by Karen Harper
From the three walls of shelves, she took down a carton of oatmeal, then looked for raisins and honey. She heard the back door open and then men’s voices in German, close by—Daad’s and one she couldn’t place. Someone must have buggied in and joined her father in the barn. Would a guest be staying for breakfast? It probably wasn’t Seth because Marlena was going to stay with Seth’s mother and Ella now when he went to work. Hannah thought she’d better let her presence be known—but it was too late.
“I’m doing what I can, Joseph, so I don’t think we need this discussion again. I’ve confessed as much as I can both to you and to God.”
It wasn’t Seth. Embarrassed to be overhearing a private, spiritual discussion, Hannah quietly closed the pantry door and stayed put, though she was surprised that she could still hear their impassioned words.
“Do you admit at last that you have overstepped?” Daad asked. “Is there any way you can pull back from all your investments before disaster befalls? And what’s this about publicity for the mill?”
Mr. Troyer! The visitor was Levi Troyer, Naomi’s father-in-law.
“You know, Levi,” Daad went on, “that ausländers ‘devise deceitful matters against the quiet ones in the land.’ So have you been too prideful in your dealings with outsiders? And now, Seth says, you might borrow money from them to hire him to help rebuild the mill and to build Naomi and Josh a new house.”
“I have been dutiful, not prideful.”
“Ach, I just mean you are overextending your God-given funds and letting worldly men hold the purse strings. And that means you must owe and rely on—give power to—those who do not honor our ways.”
“I’m committed now and won’t go back on my word. I’ll be able to work my way out of this debt, I vow I will.”
“Do not become desperate, my brother. Desperate men do desperate deeds. Believe me, I know and have confessed such to the Lord not long ago, for a rash act I committed and am still paying the price for.”
What, Hannah wondered, was her father referring to? What desperate deed could he have committed not long ago?
They evidently got whatever they had come in for and trooped out again. The back door closed, and their footsteps sounded across the back porch boards as their voices faded. Hannah opened the pantry door and got the oatmeal for three to cooking. When Mamm came downstairs, she told her, “Danki, Hannah. I was just so tired this morning after the wedding. Now here you go to another. I saw Levi Troyer’s buggy in to talk to your father again.”
“I think they’re still talking out back.”
“Well, whatever is amiss, the Troyers are family now.”
“Mamm, has something been bothering Daad lately? It isn’t my fault still, is it?”
Mamm kept busy fixing toast to go with the oatmeal and didn’t turn to face her. “The graveyard shootings upset him real bad, worse than he let on, I can tell. He stopped sleeping well, walked the floor after that, no doubt because his Hanni could have been hurt. He wanted to go to help right away that night, after he came in from taking a walk and we heard the sirens. At least our lives changed for the best to have you back again.”
“What? He was walking outside that night?”
“We’d had a coyote in the area, so he was keeping an eye out for it with his gun. It killed some of the Lantz chickens, and the men were all determined to get rid of it. Now eat that oatmeal fast, because I see Ray-Lynn’s here. I can’t approve of your going, my girl, but I am proud you are loyal to your lifelong friend.”
Hannah quickly downed the rest of her breakfast, kissed Mamm’s cheek on the way out and grabbed Sarah’s gifts. But something had grabbed her, too, out of everything said this morning. Her own father had been outside, maybe walking the fields with a rifle the night someone shot at five goth kids disgracing themselves in the graveyard. And he, the shepherd of his flock, was not only angry with her for something unspoken but maybe sorry for something desperate he had done. He might have confessed it to God, but he sure hadn’t told anyone else.
“I did kind of get something out of Lily Freeman at the shooting range,” Hannah told Ray-Lynn once she’d filled her in on Naomi’s wedding.
“I’m listening and promise I won’t steer off the road.”
“Well, a couple of things, I guess. She actually blamed rampant hormones and early menopause for being mean to the sheriff and taking off.”
“If she’s gone through menopause, she’s taking designer hormones, because she looks darn good—too good. And?”
“And she said the sheriff wouldn’t tell her anything about the shooting case even when she wined and dined him.”
Ray-Lynn hit the steering wheel with a fist, once, twice. “What? Wined and dined? Like where around here? He’s been too busy, unless they’ve gone out late at night and not around here! Maybe she means at his house. Hannah, I hate to ask you this, but can you find out at the B and B if Lily’s been coming and going late at night?”
“They don’t sign out or anything like that, and they all have their own keys, but I’ll keep my ears open.”
“Drat, I hate to have you playing spy for me. I take back what I said. That was wrong of me, so just forget further snooping. I’ll level with Jack, ask him. If she’s telling someone like you she doesn’t know all that well, who knows who else she’s told?”
“Maybe Clair Kenton at the Hair Port?”
“Good idea! I heard Lily gets her hair done there. Clair talks to everyone about everything, and I need a cut and color, anyway. Yeah, if it doesn’t work to ask Jack, I might just try that. You know, I wish I could say all this was the least of my worries, especially since I left my restaurant in the hands of four Amish waitresses today. Listen, Hannah—if you choose to stay in Homestead, I’d like you to consider helping me run the restaurant. I should have a manager or assistant, but I never quite found the one I thought could handle both the locals and visitors. I know you could.”
“I have no background in business, and I don’t think you want a singing greeter.”
“I’d train you, of course, and you could work into it. Just a thought—just a real, good thought. That’s all contingent, of course, on my getting out alive in this mess with ‘the other woman.’”
“Don’t joke like that—getting out alive.”
“Sorry. Let’s just concentrate on making this a great day for Sarah, whatever we’re both going through.”
Hannah was surprised that there were about sixty people at Sarah’s wedding, though most were Nate’s coworkers and M.E.’s friends. Still, several artists attended as well as the couple who ran the art gallery in Columbus where Sarah was going to have her first art show this summer. And, of course, Hannah and Ray-Lynn were there to support the bride, though that was a sad representation for all of the Homestead area. Ray-Lynn sat with her friends who ran the art gallery whom she’d introduced to Sarah. Hannah stood in front to sing, almost as if she were a bridesmaid or sidesitter, since neither Sarah nor Nate had anyone stand up with them.
Although Sarah had said the organist could accompany her two songs for the wedding, Hannah sang a cappella, just as she had at Naomi’s. Besides “Whither Thou Goest,” she sang “The Lord’s Prayer” at the end just before the final blessing—no different from the Amish one, Hannah thought, until she realized that Sarah must have written the traditional one out for this minister, word for word.
Like Naomi, Sarah radiated joy, though it seemed to her that this was the marriage of a man and a woman instead of a girl and a boy who would grow into those roles. What made the difference? Worldly experiences? Suffering? If so, Hannah figured she was a prime candidate for marriage.
During the reception at a charming restaurant, Hannah found herself again, if for different reasons, a center of attention, especially after the meal when she sang “Wind Beneath My Wings” and “We’ve Only Just Begun.” An artist friend of Sarah’s whose name Hannah had forgotten, a woman with corkscrew-curly hair and huge eyes, dressed something like a gy
psy—she stuck out here as much as Hannah did—came up to her with a glass of champagne in her hand.
“Here’s a toast to you, as well,” she told Hannah with a little lift of her glass. “You know your voice is quite unique, kind of reminds me of Karen Carpenter. She made that song famous, you know, ‘We’ve Only Just Begun.’”
“That’s a very nice compliment. I’ve heard her music, I think. But nothing new lately.”
“Oh, she died years ago—young, too. Anorexia, kind of like she killed herself. Well, keep up the good work, and don’t let anyone turn you into Lady Gaga. Mind you, she is a work of art deco with all those splendid outfits and dancers. They’re even too avant-garde for a Paris runway. Speaking of which, did you hear Nate’s taking Sarah to Paris for their honeymoon?”
“Paris? No!” That sounded about as far away as Mars. And here, she’d been thrilled to see Lake Erie!
“I guess it was a secret until today. Nate’s never been there, either, but he’s taking her to see the art of the Impressionists, even though that’s not her style. Sarah’s art is wonderfully primitive.”
You might know, Hannah thought. With that, the woman’s eyes went over her hair, apron, long dress, black stockings to flat, black shoes. But she seemed only curious and interested, not disdainful.
Finally, Hannah got a few moments alone with Sarah and dragged her over to the wrapped gifts on the table. “You have to open these so I can report in,” she said, and pushed the box of lavender products at her first.
“Is it—I can smell what it is. Did you buy these for me from Ella?”
“No, she chose and sent them. There’s a card in there for you, too, warm wishes from her.”
“I could not have hoped for more from her. I miss her, too.”
“And these are from Naomi’s wedding, your favorite nothings. Ella and I decided you should have some.”
“Mmm,” she said, diving into the box and breaking off a piece, which she munched on with her eyes closed as if she could transport herself in time or place. “Don’t think I won’t do some traditional cooking and baking just because I’m not in an Amish family anymore!”
“And this one—it’s from your mother for you. Your father doesn’t exactly know. It’s—well, it was Grossmamm Miriam’s.”
Sarah’s teary eyes met hers. “Oh, Hannah, I hated to leave Grossmamm, even though she was off in another world most of the time. And now, here I am, off in another world all the time. Thank Mamm for me and tell her I cried and cried when Grossmamm died!” She pulled the paper away, hugged the quilt to her, then put it down and hugged Hannah.
“Sure I will. And that reminds me, Seth said to give you a kiss, so there!” she said, and pressed her lips to Sarah’s teary cheek.
“Then I’m going to give you a kiss and hug back to give him. And you see that you do!” she insisted as they hugged each other again, both trying to stop threatening sobs.
When they stood apart, Nate was there, watching them both swipe tears from under their eyes. “Tears of joy,” Sarah told her new husband.
“Hannah’s always welcome in our home,” he said, putting a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and the other around his wife’s waist. “So, did you make that beautiful quilt, Hannah?”
“Sarah’s grossmamm did,” Hannah told him. “The pattern is Wedding Ring, and her mother sent it.”
Nate bit his lower lip and nodded as his blue eyes misted, too. “Maybe someday…” he said, but his voice trailed off. “We hope the sheriff and the FBI agent are making progress on the crimes,” he rushed on. “Above all, in case someone thinks you know something—even if you don’t—be on your guard, and leave the investigations to the experts.”
“In other words,” Sarah put in, leaning her head on his shoulder, “do as he says, not as I did, even if you and I have always been birds of a feather.”
Sarah’s and Hannah’s eyes met and held. She knows me, Hannah thought. She knows that, no matter what, I’m jumping in with both bird’s feet and feathers flying.
17
RAY-LYNN ALWAYS CLOSED the restaurant on Sundays, despite how she could use the profits. She wanted to honor the closed-on-the-Sabbath, no-Sunday-sales beliefs of the Amish. Today she had Jack coming for dinner to her house and, hoping they could start again from how things were between them before Lily showed up, she’d fixed that same meal she’d left at his house that night: meat loaf, mashed potatoes and his favorite raisin cream pie.
“Wonderful food, wonderful cook—wonderful woman,” he told her as they finished their coffee and pie, sitting catty-corner from each other in her dining room.
“I know you’re working hard—late nights, too?”
“You asking me to come back later?”
“I just want things to be honest and open between us. Lily’s been telling folks that she’s been wining and dining you.”
“What? We met once at the fast-food place up the street, ’cause I know you don’t want her in your—our—restaurant.”
“It’s a free country, and I took personal care of her the one time she came in. But I thank you for not bringing her there.”
“As for the bit about her wining and dining me—like where and when? Oh, that’s why you asked me about working late? Ray-Lynn, wining and dining’s just a figure of speech. She’s just bragging or it’s wishful thinking.”
“So it’s not true?”
“Did you just hear me? Look, honey,” he said, rising, and pulling her to her feet, “I know my temper’s short, but you gotta trust me or not. No more cold shoulders, no more fancy put-downs like you’re so good at. You believe me or not, you want me or not, and I’ll settle things with her either way. You and me—yes or no? I’m aching to put my hands all over you, carry you upstairs to bed, but I’m not gonna do any of that right now, and you’re going to give me an answer and stick to it!”
“Yes. Yes!”
He hauled her hard against him, and she held tight. His kiss was demanding but giving, too.
“Then you’re gonna have to let me go—leave, I mean—right now and you’re gonna have to be strong,” he told her. “You are strong, Ray-Lynn, just be strong with me and not against me.”
“I said yes, and I meant it. I trust you, but I don’t trust her.”
“I said I’ll take care of it—then, after this graveyard case and ID search for three John Does is over, I’ll take care of you, honey.”
He kissed her again, thanked her for the meal and apologized for running, but he’d told her he couldn’t stay long when he’d accepted her invitation. She peeked out through the drapes as he backed out of her driveway and his police cruiser’s red taillights disappeared into the night.
Monday afternoon, two days after Sarah’s wedding, Hannah headed Nettie and the buggy away from the B and B. Marcy Shin had checked out. Lily Freeman was not in again, but Amanda had mentioned that Lily had come in late at night a couple of times, without saying where she’d been. Once, when Amanda had gotten up to see if she was all right, she’d said something about being at the Rooster Roadhouse. Amanda called it a watering hole, though Hannah knew they didn’t sell water there. She’d heard about the place from a couple of her running-around friends during their rumspringa. But unless Ray-Lynn asked her direct, Hannah was not going to volunteer that information and get more involved. She didn’t want to make the sheriff her enemy or Ray-Lynn’s, either.
According to the conversation at church yesterday, after four days of searching for evidence, the opened graves had been closed again and at least some of the media visitors had gone home. Daad had told the congregation that gawkers were still stopping to look at and tramp around in the graveyard. Having that as an attraction was not the way they’d hoped to bring more visitors into Eden County, he’d said. Hannah had not yet dared to ask him anything about his being outside with a gun the night of the shootings.
Honk! Honk! sounded behind her. She nearly jolted out of the buggy, even though Nettie didn’t break stride. Hannah twisted
around and saw it was Harlan Kenton’s truck. Though she wasn’t certain if he knew it was her, he was waving. He evidently just wanted to pass and was giving fair warning.
As no one was on the road but them, he pulled up beside her and slowed down. He rolled down his passenger’s side window, so she reined in. “Hey, sorry I missed you at Amanda’s just now,” he called to her, leaning over toward the window. The fact he was in a truck made them almost eye to eye. “I left some cold cuts for you there, but you can pick them up tomorrow.”
“That’s so kind of you, Mr. Kenton, but you don’t have to do that. You’ve been very generous.”
“Least I can do for someone who’s been through what you have and is friends with Amanda, too. In case you’re wondering, I had to use some raw steak on my shiner, here,” he added, and turned more toward her so she could see the left side of his face. He sported a black eye. He must have thought she could see it and was curious.
“What happened? I think my mother has an herbal wash that could help that.”
“Naw, I’ll be fine. Indian Chief Arrowroot and I just have a continuing discussion on things, that’s all.”
“He hit you? You should tell Agent Armstrong or the sheriff!”
“I hope they’re on his case already. Naw, I just turned away from him and knocked right into the meat locker door at my shop. I may look like a bruiser but ‘Peace and Plenty,’ that’s my motto. Here comes a car. You take care now,” he said, and pulled away.
The other car passed with tourists, at least five of them, peering at her through their car windows. Despite not wanting to go back to the graveyard again, she decided to drive by it before her next errand. Maybe just seeing it looking normal would help. She had a box of Naomi’s clothes she was going to deliver to Troyers’ place. She had finally convinced her parents they could not keep her in the house, at least in broad daylight.
Several cars, including the one that passed her, were parked at the graveyard with outsiders looking in and several more inside. Linc should have left the police tape up for a while. It looked to her, at least from this distance, as if the BCI people had filled in the graves pretty well, though the sod over them was now ragged from being taken up. Linc had ordered every grave to be probed with the radar machine, so at least there would be no other grotesque surprises buried here.
