Page 26 of Shamed

“We’re here to speak with Annie,” I tell him.

His brows furrow. For an instant, I’m afraid he’s going to refuse. But he knows what’s at stake. “This way.” He leads us into a well-lit kitchen.

Two Amish women stand at the sink, washing and drying dishes. A third mans the stove, stirring a steaming Dutch oven with a wooden spoon.

Mackie extends her hand to Helmuth and recites her name. “I’m with BCI,” she tells him.

“Sit down.” He motions to the big wooden table. “I’ll get Annie.”

Mackie and I pull out chairs and sit. She puts the doll on her lap and sets her hand on it. I nod, letting her know it’s going to make a good first impression.

A minute later, Ivan and Miriam Helmuth appear at the kitchen doorway with their daughter. Miriam’s hands are on Annie’s shoulders. The girl is pale, with circles beneath her eyes. She’s wearing a light green dress with sneakers and her kapp. Upon spotting us, she turns and buries her face against her mamm’s skirt.

“You remember Chief Burkholder?” Ivan asks.

The girl doesn’t turn around, but nods.

“You can call me Katie,” I tell her in Deitsch.

She turns her head, peeks at me out of the corner of one eye. Curious about my use of Pennsylvania Dutch.

“My friend’s name is Mackenzie,” I tell her, “but everyone calls her Mackie.”

Annie turns slightly, her one eye seeking the BCI agent, and she repeats the name, testing it, as if she likes the way it feels on her tongue.

The instant the girl makes eye contact with Mackie, the BCI agent raises the doll. “I’m hoping we can come up with good name for her. Do you have any ideas?”

The girl looks up at her mamm as if asking for permission to speak. Tugging out a chair, the Amish woman settles into it, pulls the child into her lap, and wraps her arms around her. Ivan leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching.

“What do you think about Willie?” Mackie says with a mischievous grin.

Annie smiles shyly and presses her face against her mamm. “That’s a boy’s name.”

Mackie laughs. “Do you have any ideas?”

The girl nods, but she’s not engaged; she doesn’t want to talk to us. She doesn’t care about the doll.

“I always liked the name Susie,” I tell her. “What do you think, Annie?”

For the first time the girl gives us two eyes, dividing her attention between Mackie and me and the doll. “I like it.”

“Susie it is then.” Mackie looks longingly at the doll, giving an exaggerated frown. “I think I’m a little too old for dolls.”

“Annie’s just about the right age,” I put in.

Mackie perks up as if she hadn’t thought of it. “What a great idea! Annie, would you like her?”

Again, the girl looks up at her mamm. Asking for permission to accept the gift. The woman nods, encouraging her to interact.

The girl gives an enthusiastic nod. “Ja.”

Mackie runs a hand over the doll’s head, gives it a big, smacking kiss, and then passes it to the child. “There you go.”

A smile whispers across the girl’s face as she takes the doll. Something shifts inside me when she looks at the doll, then closes her eyes and hugs it against her.

“Maybe Susie can keep you company until we find Elsie,” Mackie says.

Caution enters the child’s eyes, but she nods.