Page 59 of Rage

He looks at the photo, his expression turning pained. “I met her a time or two.”

“What’s her name?”

“Cass.”

“Last name?”

He shakes his head.

“How did you meet her?”

“There was a big rager a while ago,” he says. “She was there.”

A “rager” is an Amish party, usually held out of doors, in a field or barn. It draws large numbers of young people, mostly Amish, but sometimes English youth show up, too. Word spreads via social media or word of mouth and it’s not unusual for two or three hundred young people to attend. Food trucks are brought in. Bands set up shop. Vendors sell everything from Jell-O shots to T-shirts.

“What rager?”

“The one down to the Campbell farm. Last fall, I think.”

I don’t recall hearing about a rager at the Campbell farm. Then again, most attendees are pretty tight-lipped. The events are spontaneous. With so many underage youths present and the alcohol and drugs flowing freely, ragers are rife with trouble.

“How did Samuel meet her?” I ask.

“Met her at the rager. Same as me. They hit it off. I didn’t see him too much after that.”

“Were they involved?”

“Yeah, but…” His brows knit. “She was having some problems. Too young to be on her own. It’s more like he was trying to save her or something.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She’d just left the Amish. Her parents—”

“She was Amish?” My brain hits the brakes so hard I can practically hear the screech. “Are you sure?”

He looks at me as if that’s something I should have already known. “That was her whole problem. Her parents kicked her out of the house. She didn’t have any money or a place to stay.”

“Cassidy isn’t an Amish name,” I say.

“I don’t think it’s her real name.”

“Is she from Painters Mill?” I ask.

“Coshocton County, I think.”

Which is a different church district and explains why none of the local Amish know her. “Joseph, what do you mean when you say Samuel was trying to save her?”

He lifts a shoulder, lets it drop. “He was always drawn to the women with a lot of drama in their lives. The ones who needed help. Crying and looking all helpless and pretty. The ones in trouble.”

I think about that a moment. “Is there anyone I can talk to who might be able to help me locate Cass?”

“I don’t know any of the Amish down south.” He shakes his head. “All’s I know is that Samuel had a weakness for women like that. If they were down on their luck, he rushed in like some fool. Problem is, I’m not sure this woman was worth saving.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Just a feeling.”

I nod, everything I’ve learned churning in my brain. “How did you get that cut on your hand?” I ask.