by Emma Miller
Rachel had no response for that.
Mrs. Morris sniffed. “How could they have come for any reason other than pity?”
“No. No, that’s not why we came.” The soft, slightly accented voice was that of a stranger.
Rachel turned to look at the slender, small-statured woman standing in the doorway. She had long black hair and a dark complexion. Her face with its huge dark eyes was not beautiful but serene and very kind. Mrs. Morris’s daughter-in-law stepped gracefully into the room and a round-faced baby with the same striking eyes and dark hair peered out from a fold of her multicolored sari. Close behind her came a little boy, fairer in complexion but possessing the same hair color and amazing eyes, his small hand clutching his mother’s tightly.
“We’ve come,” the woman said, “to take our mother home.”
“Home with us,” the child echoed sweetly.
And then, before either Rachel or Mrs. Morris could reply, the woman in the sari, the two children, and a tall, ungainly man with thick glasses and tears in his eyes rushed into the room and enveloped Mrs. Morris in a combined embrace. Endearments and apologies and introductions mingled with more hugs and not a few tears, and somewhere between the baby’s squeals and the exclamations of joyous reunion, Rachel slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
A bewildered and distraught Mary Aaron stood at the top of the stairs, and at least one guest door was open and an inquisitive face stared out.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop her.” Mary Aaron threw up her hands.
“It’s all right,” Rachel assured her cousin and then her curious guests. “It’s fine. No, really, it’s good. Family.” She wiped away a few stray tears, almost too emotional to speak rationally herself.
“Are you sure?” Mary Aaron asked.
Rachel nodded. “Ya, I’m sure.”
She followed Mary Aaron down the stairs and into the gift shop. At the moment, no one was shopping and the room was quiet. “Well, that, Mary Aaron, is what Englishers call making an error in reverse.”
“What?”
Rachel laughed, still feeling a little emotional. “You may have done what appeared to be the wrong thing, contacting Mrs. Morris’s family without her permission. But in the end, it worked out.” She went behind the counter and began to open a box containing three faceless Amish dolls that had come in that morning.
The dolls were hand-sewn and about fifteen inches high with yarn hair and dresses, bonnets, capes, and shoes that could be removed. They were crafted by an elderly Amish woman who lived at the far end of the valley. The dolls were copies of one that the seamstress had received from her grandmother when she was a child, and they had no facial features because of the belief that it was wrong to make an image of a person. Each doll was an individual, and each had a name, stitched meticulously onto the bottom of a foot. These three were Emma, Laura, and Lena. So far, every doll that the artist had produced had sold quickly. Rachel couldn’t keep them in the shop.
“Ah.” Mary Aaron nodded. “The English world is pretty complicated.”
“Ya, it is. But on a totally different subject,” Rachel began, but then Mrs. Rivera came in and Mary Aaron rang up the baby quilt she’d asked to have gift wrapped earlier. Rachel finished putting out the three dolls in the children’s corner and waited until she and her cousin were alone again before continuing with her private conversation. “What I wanted to ask you was . . .” She looked up at her cousin. “I can’t remember anyone saying who discovered Daniel’s body. Do you know who it was?”
Mary Aaron shook her head. “Ne, I don’t. I don’t think anyone ever said. There was so much confusion when they found him.” She considered the subject and then lifted her hands and let them fall. “I don’t know who was the first person to find him. I guess I just assumed it was Moses. You know . . . because he . . . because he said he did it.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t ask,” Rachel said. “But it must be in the police report.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I think I’ll ask Evan when we—” Rachel broke off as she heard footsteps descending the stairs. It was Mrs. Morris and her son’s family. Rachel went to the doorway.
“Rachel!” Mrs. Morris’s gaunt face was radiant. “I hope it won’t be an inconvenience, but I’ll be leaving today,” she said. She glanced up into her son’s face. He smiled down at her, and she wiped at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m going home . . . to . . .”
“Philadelphia first,” the daughter-in-law explained. “And then, if she’s well enough to travel—”
“We’re taking her home with us,” the son finished.
“To live with us forever!” the small boy declared. “Our own grandmom!”
Mrs. Morris clasped her hands together. “Can you believe it? Did you see these wonderful children? The oldest is the spitting image of Bruce when he was that age.”
Rachel looked at the excited child and then back at his father. Whatever the resemblance, perhaps one had to be a doting grandmother to see it. The little boy was adorable but clearly took more of his looks from his South Asian mother than from his father’s family. But it didn’t matter so long as the notion brought joy to a woman who hadn’t experienced much of it in the last years.
“You’ve been so good to me,” Mrs. Morris insisted, taking Rachel’s hands in hers. “I hate to leave Stone Mill House and all your wonderful staff, but I need to be with my family.”
“Exactly so,” Rachel agreed, leaning to brush a kiss against the older woman’s cheek.
There was no telling how long the family would have together, or what the coming weeks would bring, but for now, looking at all the joyous faces surrounding her, Rachel was certain Eloise Morris couldn’t be in better hands.
* * *
Tuesday morning was the last meeting that Rachel and Evan had with their minister before the wedding, and although Evan was working that day, he’d gotten permission to go on duty a little later than his normal shift required. They ended the session with a prayer and hugs all around before they left the church by way of a side door that led to the parking lot. In the doorway, Evan paused to put on his hat and then opened an umbrella for her before they stepped out into the mixed rain and sleet that had been falling since before the sun came up.
“Yuck,” Rachel said. “Nasty weather. You be careful out on the road.”
Evan had been pulling extra shifts for the past few weeks, and she worried about him when the temperature dropped and winter storms moved in. Actually, she worried about him all the time when he was working, but he loved what he did and he was good at it. Evan believed that he was a much better trooper than a detective, and maybe he was, she thought. He certainly looked handsome in his uniform.
“Last week of being single,” he declared as they prepared to make a dash for their vehicles. “Getting nervous?”
“Nope,” she said. “Excited, but not nervous.” Once before, she’d accepted his offer of marriage but then backed out. This time, she felt none of the apprehension or doubts she’d had then. “I’m absolutely, positively certain that we’re going to make the best couple.”
“One hundred percent?” he teased.
She reached for his free hand. “A hundred percent.”
Evan shook his head. “Sorry. Want to, but I’m in uniform. No public displays of affection.”
“Of course not,” she agreed, then seized his hand and darted out into the sleet.
He could have pulled free, but instead, he came with her, trying to keep the mixture of sleet and rain off her head and shoulders with the bobbing umbrella.
She ducked behind a church minibus and spun around, stopping short. Blocked from the view of the street by the vehicle, she raised on her toes to kiss him. For a brief second, their lips brushed and she felt a warm rush of sweet happiness. Looking directly into his eyes, she said, “I can’t wait for Saturday to become Mrs. Parks.”
“Me, too,” he said huskily.
&nb
sp; Rachel giggled. “We both can’t be Mrs. Parks.”
Evan groaned and kissed her again on the forehead. “Into the Jeep with you, woman, before someone sees us and I get into serious trouble for kissing a woman while in uniform.”
She squeezed his hand, savoring the tender moment. Here they were, standing in the cold and rain, under gray skies and on an icy blacktop, and she felt as if they were the only people in the world. “I love you so much, Evan,” she said, and uniform and all, he bent and kissed her tenderly once more.
“And I love you,” he said. “And I thank God every day that He brought us together.” He took her hand again, led her to her Jeep, and opened the door for her. “Stay out of trouble today,” he warned. Rain was dripping off the brim of his hat and ice crystals piled on the shoulders of his coat.
“You, too.” She slid into the front seat and slid her key into the ignition. “Hey, can I ask you a question before you go?”
“Sure.” He started to fold up her umbrella.
“It’s about Daniel,” she admitted sheepishly.
Evan groaned and his eyes narrowed in a frown. “What about Daniel?”
He was obviously less than pleased. She knew he was going to be. But she couldn’t let this go. She had to know. “Do you know who discovered his body?”
Evan shrugged. “Not offhand.” His mouth tightened. “Rachel, it’s time to give up on this. You’re becoming obsessed. You’ve got to let it go. Moses probably confessed because he actually did it.”
“Probably, but not positively. Evan, listen to me. I—”
“No, you listen to me for once.” He shook his head and handed the wet umbrella to her. “For once, don’t be so bullheaded. It’s honorable that you tried to help Alma and Mary Rose and Moses and the boy, Levin or Levy or whatever his name is.”
“Lemuel, his name is Lemuel.”
“Whatever. You tried your best, but you aren’t a detective. Once again, you’ve gotten involved in something you shouldn’t have and I think you’ve let your emotions take over. You aren’t being objective.” He glanced away and then back at her. “You know, they say that justice is blind.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” she protested, gesturing with one hand.
“No, you don’t get it,” he insisted, getting wetter by the moment. “Justice relies on facts. It doesn’t matter whether Moses has Asperger’s syndrome or if he’s Old Order Amish or . . . or Buddhist. The rules are the same for everybody. You found him a good lawyer, but if you hadn’t, the system would have seen that he was provided with a legal defense. Every defendant is considered innocent until he or she—”
“Confesses?”
He exhaled. “Look, I don’t have time to argue with you, and I’ve got a long and apparently damp shift ahead of me. We can discuss this later, but you know how I feel. You tried your best, but you haven’t found anything that would dispute Moses’s confession. It’s time to end your amateur investigation and focus on us—on our wedding. On me. On our new life together. Can you do that? For us?”
She gripped the steering wheel, feeling defeated. “Yes, I can. I will.”
“All right, then. Good. Talk to you tonight.”
He turned abruptly and hurried to his police car. She could tell by the stiffness of his back and the way he held his head that he was still unhappy with her, but he’d get over it. Evan never held a grudge. That was one of the things she loved most about him.
“Love you,” she called after him. He slammed his car door.
“Well, that could have gone better,” she said aloud. Grimacing, she turned up the defrost on the dashboard. Evan pulled up beside her, beeped once, and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. Rachel watched him go. He was right. She had been putting so much energy into Moses’s case that she hadn’t been giving her impending marriage the attention it deserved.
She just had a few loose ends to tie up.
Taking out her cell phone, she pulled up the number for the police department and dialed. After a few minutes on hold and several repeated explanations, she was able to speak to someone who could tell her what she had to do to get a copy of the initial police report detailing Daniel’s death.
A helpful woman told her that she could come in and pick it up. The case was closed and the information was available to the public for the asking. After she ended the call, Rachel sat there, her windshield wipers going and the slush on the window sliding back and forth. Bits and pieces of things various people had told her about Daniel went through her head.
Rosh had said he hadn’t found Daniel’s body. That he only ran to tell Mary Rose himself so that the terrible news would come from someone who cared about her rather than the English police.
But what if he hadn’t been telling the truth? What if he’d lied to her?
Was it possible that Rosh had discovered the body and then gone to Mary Rose? The lie wouldn’t be a big deal unless there was more to it . . . unless it was part of a cover-up. Was it possible Mary Rose cared for him as he obviously cared for her? George had told her that statistics proved that the person who reported a murder was often connected to the crime. Had Rosh and Mary Rose planned this together?
Rachel started the engine. Now that she was sure that Daniel had abused his wife, there might be a reason for Daniel’s death. Rosh loved Mary Rose. Was it possible that he’d killed for her?
Or had Mary Rose done the deed herself?
Chapter 17
Rachel picked up her wedding dress at the bridal gown shop, but instead of taking it home, she drove out to the Studer farm. After the near-argument she’d had with Evan, she had resolved to do as he asked and set aside her investigation of Daniel’s death. He was right: It was time to move on. The tiff with Evan hadn’t been serious and all was well between them now, but it was the wake-up call reminding her it was time to get her priorities straight. What mattered was her impending wedding, and the life she and Evan would build together.
That said, it still wasn’t all that easy to stop thinking about Moses and his family. Rationally, she saw Evan’s point. But every time she thought of an Amish boy like Moses locked in prison for the rest of his life, she wanted to cry.
There were still a few missing pieces of the puzzle that kept nagging at her. Once she’d put her mind at ease, she told herself, she could move on without regrets. After all, if she’d tried her best and come up with nothing to prove Moses’s innocence, then maybe she’d been wrong all along. And that was certainly possible. Being Amish didn’t mean a person wasn’t capable of great evil. It simply wasn’t something she’d seen often, because, as a whole, they really were gentle and God-fearing people.
Mary Rose’s mother met her at the door of the farmhouse with the sleeping baby in her arms. “Come on in. I just got her off,” Alma whispered, looking down at her granddaughter. “She’s teething and was up for hours last night. Poor little fatherless mite.”
Alma looked as though she hadn’t had enough sleep, either, and Rachel’s sympathy was for the adults in the house. With so many little brothers and sisters, she’d known what it was to be wakened by an unhappy baby, and she’d spent enough hours rocking or walking sick or teething children to appreciate the situation.
“Mam always diluted oil of cloves with water and rubbed Baby’s gums when they hurt,” Rachel suggested, keeping her voice down. “And she said that a clean, damp washcloth, chilled in the refrigerator, for Baby to bite down on helps, too.”
“I forgot about the oil of cloves,” Alma replied, motioning her inside. “It’s been a long time since Lemuel was an infant. I’ll mention that to Mary Rose.”
“Is she at home?” Rachel intended to ask Mary Rose about Daniel’s abuse, and if she didn’t think the information she received would go anywhere, she would sit Alma down here, today, and admit that she could do nothing about her son’s arrest.
“Upstairs, cleaning the attic. You can go up, if you like. I’m embarrassed to say that it’s dusty up ther
e. I shouldn’t have let it go so long.” She pointed toward the front of the house. “The steps lead up to the second floor and then to the attic.”
Rachel pushed open the door and stepped into the shadowy space to find Mary Rose washing one of the windows at the far end. Like many of the attics in the valley, the floor was constructed of rough-cut boards. The structural beams overhead were hand-hewn and marked with Roman numerals, the numbers once used to assemble the house.
Mary Rose turned to face her with a spray bottle in her hand. “Nothing’s happened to my brother, has it? I had the worst dream last night. Is Moses all right?”
“As far as I know,” Rachel assured her. “I haven’t seen him since the one day.” She drew closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was on my way home from State College. I picked up my wedding gown and just thought I’d . . . stop by,” she finished softly.
“You’re getting married on Saturday, aren’t you? To that English policeman.”
“Ya,” Rachel said. “I am. I just drove to State College to pick up my dress this morning.” She resisted the impulse to describe her wedding gown to Mary Rose. Although it was a simple one, an Amish girl wouldn’t be able to appreciate a white dress with lace and buttons down the back. It would seem proud.
“Was the baby still sleeping when you came in?” Mary Rose turned back to the window and began wiping it. “I have to keep cleaning. We do what we can when she’s not wanting something.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Rachel. “She’s a good baby, but you know how babies are. It makes me wonder how mothers manage when they have a houseful of children.” She smiled, and Rachel realized that Mary Rose had a lovely smile. “I’m surprised you found the time to come all the way out here when it’s so close to your wedding. My own wasn’t that long ago and I remember how exhausted I was in the days just before we were married.”
Had she ever heard Mary Rose talk so much at one time? Rachel wondered if it was because Alma wasn’t in the room. Or, was it possible that now that she was free of Daniel Fisher, her true personality was coming out? It was true that people mourned in different ways, but Mary Rose didn’t seem like a woman who’d been widowed only weeks ago. She seemed almost lighthearted. Driving over, Rachel had convinced herself that Mary Rose couldn’t have had anything to do with her husband’s death; now she was suddenly suspicious again.
