“My father’s a pastor, and his father before him,” he told her. “My great-grandfather was a circuit rider for the gospel. I’m following in their footsteps.”
By the time they drove beneath the brick arch to the NLC campus, she was convinced Ethan Goodson Turner would be the next Billy Graham.
Upon their arrival at the women’s dorm, Ethan introduced her to Charlotte Hale, a music major from Alabama. Charlotte was vibrant and full of Southern charm and hospitality. A senior graduating in June, she had already made plans to go with a mission group to Mexico and present the gospel in music and drama.
Over the next two days, every minute was taken up seeing the campus, especially the departments in which Dynah was most interested: music and education. She heard about various programs, scholarships, and activities and met dozens of people. Charlotte seemed to know everyone and introduced Dynah to them all. She met professors and students, the deans, the manager of the bookstore, and even two of the gardeners who kept up the grounds. Dynah loved every minute of her stay.
On Saturday evening, to her surprise and delight, Ethan joined them for dinner at the mess hall. She blushed when he sat down. He lingered until a girl came over and asked if he was going to an evening Bible study.
“Half the girls on campus wish they could marry him,” Charlotte had remarked, watching him walk away.
“I’m not surprised,” Dynah had said, remembering how embarrassed she had been for daydreaming about just that during the drive from the airport.
Charlotte had looked at her then, straight on, and smiled. “You should come back. He’ll be a senior next year.”
She hadn’t dissembled. “Are you suggesting I join his legion of admirers?”
Charlotte laughed. She didn’t say anything about Ethan after that, but it was clear she had done her best to plant a seed for thought.
They hadn’t been back at the dorm fifteen minutes when Ethan called. He told Dynah he would be picking her up and taking her back to the airport. She thanked him and said she would be ready. By morning, Dynah had decided against coming back to NLC because of Ethan. If she was infatuated after a few days, she knew she would be head over heels in love if she saw him every day of the year. And NLC wasn’t so big a campus that she could miss him. No, she didn’t want to become one of the legion, and she held no false hopes of becoming his choice.
She smiled now, thinking of it, feeling his engagement ring on her finger with the back of her thumb. She had been so nervous on the drive back to O’Hare. She had told Ethan he could drop her off in front of the Delta terminal, but he had insisted he would accompany her inside. He parked, took her carry-on, and stayed with her. When they got inside the airport, he stood with her in line as she got her boarding pass. She had been so embarrassed, she wanted to crawl into a hole.
“I know I haven’t seen much of the world, Ethan, but I don’t need babysitting,” she had said, trying to laugh off his concerns.
“I know that,” he said quietly.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, either.”
He looked at her, and she felt foolish and young, too young for him. There had been such an intensity in his eyes that she had blushed.
“Come back to NLC, Dynah.”
It had sounded like a command. She smiled. “Do you have to meet a quota?”
“God wants you here.”
He sounded so serious, so certain, she had to ask. “How do you know?” Surely, if God wanted her at NLC, God would tell her.
“I just know, Dynah. I knew the minute I saw you.”
Looking into his blue eyes, she decided not to dismiss what he said. In truth, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to see Ethan Turner again, and the thought that he wanted the same thing was heady incentive indeed.
“Will you pray about it?”
She nodded, knowing she would be doing little else.
She didn’t hear one word from Ethan through spring and summer, but five minutes after she walked into the gymnasium for registration that fall, he came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder as though staking public claim to her. The first thing he did was introduce her to Joseph Guilierno, his best friend and roommate.
Joe was a surprise. He didn’t appear to fit the NLC mold but looked more like the many young men she had seen around San Francisco on excursions with her parents. Tall, dark-eyed, strongly built, Joe looked street-tough and older than Ethan. Not so much in years as worldly experience.
“No wonder,” Joe said cryptically and extended his hand. His fingers curved around hers firmly as he smiled. Three months later, after she was wearing an engagement ring, Joe told her that Ethan had come back to their apartment the day he picked her up at the airport and said he had met the girl he was going to marry.
“I asked him if he had consulted God, and Ethan said it was God who put it in his head.”
Smiling again now as she had when Joe first told her that, Dynah reached the corner of Sixteenth. She let her mind drift along rosy avenues. Ethan had a wonderful future laid out for them. He would graduate with honors at the end of the year. Dean Abernathy was very impressed with his work and was encouraging him to go on for his master’s. The dean had already arranged for Ethan to work part-time at one of the local churches. Dynah would be able to finish her education as well. Ethan was adamant that she get her degree, convinced that her studies in music and youth ministry would be of great use in his ministry.
She felt so blessed. They would be equally yoked, working together for the glory of God. What more could she want?
Oh, Lord, You are so good to me. I will do anything for You. All I am, all I ever hope to be, is from You, Father. Use me as You will.
A car pulled up alongside her and slowed to her pace. Her heart jumped as she noticed it looked like the same one that had passed her on Maple Street. Her nerves tensed as the window lowered and a disembodied male voice said, “Are you going to the campus, miss?”
“Yes, I am,” she said before she thought better of it.
“I can give you a lift.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m going there myself. Visiting my brother. Unfortunately, I’m lost. First time in town. He lives near the main gate of the campus.”
She relaxed and stepped closer. Leaning down, she pointed. “Go down a mile to Henderson and turn right. Keep going, and you’ll run right into it. It’s a block past the city park.” She couldn’t see the man’s face.
“If I give you a ride, you could show me.”
A strange foreboding gripped her. “No, thank you,” she said politely and took a step back. She didn’t want to offend the man. What excuse could she offer? She looked toward the bus stop, where a woman was sitting, and found an excuse. “I’m meeting a friend.”
“Sure. Thanks for the directions,” the man said, sounding far less friendly. The window whirred up. As he drove on down Sixteenth, she saw the car bore the same Massachusetts plates. The two red taillights stared back at her as the car passed the bus stop.
Shivering, she walked on. She recognized the waitress sitting on the bench. “Hi, Martha. How are you this evening?”
“So-so. My feet are killing me. Was someone trying to pick you up back there?”
“Not really. He was lost.”
“Yeah, right. That’s his story.”
“He was looking for the campus.”
“I hope you told him where to go.”
“I gave him directions.”
Martha laughed. “I’m sure you didn’t give him the ones I would’ve given him.”
They talked about their jobs until the bus arrived. Martha climbed aboard first and moved to her usual place near the back, where she could read her romance novel uninterrupted. Dynah took a seat at the front, across from the driver.
Her first day aboard, she had noticed the pins on the lapel of Charles’s neat uniform jacket. When she asked what they were, he said he had one to show for each five-year period he had driven without an accident.
After a few weeks of riding with him, Dynah had gone to a trophy store and had a plaque made up for him that said, “In honor of distinguished service to Middleton, Charles Booker Washington is awarded the title of Driver Emeritus.” He had laughed when he opened it, but it was now proudly displayed next to the No Smoking sign at the front of the bus.
“How’s things, Charlie?”
He grinned at her as he hit the button to close the door. “Pretty good now you’re aboard. Missed your sunny smile last night.”
“Ethan picked me up.”
“He driving a Cadillac yet?”
She laughed. “No, sir. Still has his Buick.” She leaned forward in the seat and rested her arms on the iron railing.
Charlie nodded. “When he gets a church, he’ll get his Cad. We don’t let our preachers drive anything else. Treat ’em good.”
“I noticed.” When she had gone to Charlie’s church, she had seen the new maroon Cadillac parked in the “Reserved for Pastor” space. She had enjoyed herself so much at the service, she pleaded with Ethan to go back with her. He had gone once, grudgingly, but had refused to attend with her again. He said the service was a little “too lively” for his tastes. He hadn’t felt comfortable with the loud gospel music pouring from the choir, nor with the way the members of the congregation interjected their remarks during the pastor’s sermon.
“It felt irreverent.”
She hadn’t shared his discomfort, though the service had been far from the kind of service to which she was accustomed. She felt the Spirit moving in that church. The members celebrated their love for Jesus and for each other. She had enjoyed the experience. Something about it had stirred her. The pastor had preached straight from the Word, and the people made sure he knew his points were sinking in. However, Dynah didn’t argue with Ethan’s assessment. She had learned early that he took his role as the spiritual head of their relationship to heart. She also knew he had been brought up in a conservative denomination who showed their zeal in other ways. His parents, like her mother and father, were deeply involved in community action and charities.
She and Charlie talked about all manner of things. He had been driving a Middleton city bus since before she was born and had learned a lot about human nature. He didn’t mind sharing what he knew.
Tonight, Mr. Packard was on Dynah’s mind.
“I know the Packards,” Charlie said. “He and his wife used to get on the bus every Tuesday and ride it to the end of the line. Good people. I read she passed on. Too bad. She was a nice lady.”
“Maybe I could tell him you miss seeing him.”
“You do that, girl. Maybe I’ll drop by and see him myself. Between the two of us, we might get him out of his apartment and back among the living.” He brought the bus close to the curb and slowed to a stop at the corner of Henderson.
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“You watch yourself, girl.”
“I will.”
“Tell Mr. Packard I have a front seat saved for him,” he said and hit the button. The doors swished closed, and he gave her a wave through the glass.
Dynah waved back and watched as the bus pulled away from the curb. Adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag, she started the walk to campus.
Henderson Avenue was a long, pretty street with old-growth maples and neat brick houses with snow-covered lawns. In the city park located a block south of the campus was a small community center building used by students interning as youth leaders and teachers. In two years, she would be working there. The center housed a daily preschool program in the morning and youth activities through the afternoon every day of the week except Sunday, when everything in town shut down for worship services. Only a few businesses, mostly nationwide chains, stayed open.
As Dynah came abreast of the park, she paused, frowning. The car with the Massachusetts plates was there, just across the street, parked beyond a cobblestone driveway beneath a canopy of winter-bare branches. She peered at the vehicle, anxious, then noticed with relief that no one sat in the driver’s seat. The man must have found his brother after all. He had said he lived not far from the campus.
A twig snapped to the right, and her nerves jumped. She turned and saw a tall, dark shape moving toward her. A man.
Every instinct screamed, “Run!” but surprise made her hesitate—and within a few seconds she knew she had made a terrible mistake. A couple of seconds. That’s all it took for the man to have a hold on her.
Purdy Whitehall received the call at Middleton Police Department at 10:37 Wednesday evening, January 8. It had been a quiet evening with only one complaint, about a party disturbing the peace. Sergeant Don Ferguson had reported a few minutes earlier that it was nothing more than a bunch of baby boomers feeling nostalgic and singing to Elvis records.
This call was altogether different.
“Someone’s screaming in the park,” a woman said. “Come quick, please! Someone’s screaming!”
The caller’s telephone number came up on Purdy’s computer screen along with the address. Henderson Avenue. Speaking with a trained calmness, she assured the woman help would be coming and put her on hold in order to dispatch a squad car to the location.
Frank Lawson was just pulling up to Ernie’s Diner on Sixteenth for a badly needed coffee break when his radio crackled with the message. Muttering under his breath, he rapped the radio sharply and picked up the speaker. Depressing the button, he identified himself and his car number. “My radio’s having PMS again, Purdy. Repeat the message.”
“There’s a disturbance at the park on Henderson Avenue, Frank. How close are you?”
“Ten blocks. I’m on my way.” Putting the speaker back, he swung the squad car in a sharp U-turn and hit his flashing red lights. Few cars were on the road at this time of night, so he didn’t use his siren. No use waking people up if it wasn’t necessary.
As he barreled down Sixteenth, he saw a white station wagon heading west. The red taillights glowed as the car pulled to the side of the road in obedience to the law. Frank never passed it. He made a sharp left onto Henderson Avenue.
Coming to a smooth stop by the park, he grabbed his heavy flashlight, made a quick call to Purdy, and got out. He surveyed the park as he came around his squad car. His heart quickened, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.
Something was wrong. He was sure of it.
Adrenaline pumping, Frank glanced around and saw lights on in three houses near the park. A woman came out to stand on the front porch of one.
“Over there!” She came down the front steps in her bathrobe. “Over there near the activity center! Please hurry. Someone’s been hurt.”
“Go on back in your house, ma’am. We’ll take care of it.” Another squad car pulled up, and Frank saw Greg Townsend get out.
The woman fled up her steps and banged the screen door behind her, but she remained silhouetted in the doorway watching, her arms hugged around herself to ward off the cold.
Greg reached Frank. “See anything?”
“No, but it doesn’t feel right. Take the path over there, and I’ll come in from this side.”
“Gotcha.”
Frank knew every inch of this park like it was his own backyard. He brought his three small children here to play every Saturday afternoon so his wife could have a few hours’ respite.
There was enough light from the park lamps that he didn’t need to use the flashlight, but he kept it in his left hand anyway, his right over his gun. He saw evidence of a struggle in the snow near the sidewalk that ran the length of Henderson to the NLC campus. A little further in, he found a backpack. Just beyond it was a torn parka. He walked along the edge of the pathway cautiously, eyes sweeping, ears trained for any sound out of the ordinary.
As he neared the activity center, he heard a rustling sound in the bushes nearby. Something was scrambling frantically away, like an animal clambering for a hiding place.
Instinctively he removed the loop from his gun and pulled it free of his hol
ster. “Police! Come out onto the walkway where we can see you.” He moved slightly, away from the light, so he wouldn’t make himself an easy target.
The rustling stopped, and he heard another sound, soft and broken. A woman sobbing.
Oh, God. Oh, God, no. Not here. Not where I bring my kids every week.
Holstering his gun, Frank went to the bushes and drew some branches back. Training his flashlight, he saw a girl huddled beneath the canopy of leaves. Flinching back, she covered her face with her arm. Her blonde hair was tangled and damp from the snow. Frank noticed the ripped waitress uniform, the bleeding scratches on her shoulder, the fresh bloodstains on her skirt.
Anger filled him. “Easy,” he said gently. Lowering the light so it wasn’t straight on her, he hunkered down. She cowered from him. “I’m Sergeant Lawson, miss. I’m here to help you.” He kept talking quietly, trying to give her a sense of safety.
She raised her head after a few minutes, her blue eyes wide and dilated. Her lower lip was split and bleeding, her right eye swollen from a blow. Drawing her knees up, she sat on the dirty snow and then, covering her head with her arms, she cried.
Compassion filled Frank, along with a sick rage. Whoever had done this should pay.
Greg approached from the other side of the park, his footsteps crunching in the hard snow. The girl’s head came up again, eyes wide and frightened. He could see the pulse hammering in her throat.
“It’s all right,” he said, sensitive to her fear. He straightened and stood aside so she could see Greg. “This is Officer Townsend, miss. He was just checking the area to see if anyone’s still around.” He looked at Greg.
Greg shook his head and looked past him to the young girl huddled in the covering of bushes. “Rape?”
“I’m afraid so. Better call an ambulance.”
“No,” the girl said brokenly, covering her face again. “No, please don’t.” Her shoulders began to shake violently.