Shadows of Lancaster County

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Half of the people on my campus hadn’t known who I was before, but now it seemed that all of them did. After a week of sympathetic glances, snide comments, and a flyer about “Are You Considering Suicide?” anonymously slid under my dorm room door, I gave up.

  With the last shred of dignity I could muster, I marched down to the administration building and dropped out of school.

  Back home, feeling even more infuriated and violated by the experience, I decided to sue for false representation and illegal audiotaping. The author and publisher settled out of court, but of course the money I won did little to erase the damage that had been done. In fact, almost every penny of it was used to reimburse my parents for the legal fees that had been incurred during my criminal trial—so while I was able to break even, I ended up with only a few thousand dollars left over.

  At that point I began to take steps to create a new identity for myself, a new life, far away from the tragedy and the past and the media that had so defined me since the fire. I had been growing my hair out for the last year, but now I dyed it blond, changed my name, obtained a new ID.

  Then, with just those several thousand dollars to my name, I packed up my car, told my parents goodbye, and drove to California. Once there, I worked my way up the coast until I found a town I liked and a decent job. After one week in the skip tracing department at Kepler-West Finance, my coworker Kiki saw that I was looking for a cheap apartment and asked me if I would like to rent a room in her house instead. We worked out the details and I moved in, and I had been there ever since. Like Norman, Kiki knew I had made a break with my past, changed my name, and started over. Unlike Norman, though, she didn’t know why—and to her credit, she never once asked. She simply took me for what I was and became my friend.

  At that point in my life, I really needed a friend.

  Now Kiki was in the hospital with twelve stitches sewn into her forehead, and my carefully constructed world was about to be blown to bits. As I reached Dreiheit and turned onto the road that would lead me to the Schumann farm, I took a deep breath to ask God to keep me safe and prepared for all that lay ahead.

  SIXTEEN

  As I neared the farm I shouldn’t have been surprised to see a news van parked at the end of the driveway. I called Lydia and told her about it and asked if we could meet elsewhere.

  She suggested we go to her and Bobby’s apartment, explaining where I could find the hidden key to let myself in.

  “You go first, and I will wait a bit and then come there myself and join you. That way, if the news people follow me, they will not realize that you are already in there.”

  I had only been to their apartment once before, so Lydia reminded me of the directions and I headed off, glad to see when I got there that the place was deserted. Their apartment was in downtown Dreiheit, two blocks from Main Street in a small complex of ten units. I parked my rental car in the nearly empty lot in a space marked for visitors and then walked to door 108. The key was hidden in the light fixture just as Lydia had described, so I easily got it down and used it to let myself in. As I did, I thought about the break-in that had happened here night before last, and I wondered if their intruder here and the man who had broken into my house in California were one and the same person. A shudder ran through me at the memory, and I had to remind myself that he was still hospitalized and in police custody.

  Once inside the apartment, my heart raced as I gingerly checked each of the rooms to make sure I was indeed alone. To be extra careful, I peeked in all the closets and under the beds as well. As I did, I could see what Lydia had meant about the place being out of order somehow, but I was still impressed by how neat and clean it was overall. Knowing what a slob Bobby had been growing up, I felt sure all the credit went to Lydia.

  Their apartment was comfortable but small, with a galley kitchen and breakfast nook, a living room, one bathroom, and two bedrooms. There was a crib in the master bedroom, and it wasn’t until I saw it that I remembered Lydia was pregnant. The poor thing. Here she was going through all this at a time when trauma was the last thing she needed. I tried to calculate how far along she would be by now, but I couldn’t remember when Bobby first told me she was expecting. Four months ago? Six months ago? Whenever it was, it had been a while, so she must be due to deliver soon. I felt guilty for how little I knew about their life. What kind of sister was I?

  Worse, their son, Isaac, was my nephew, and I didn’t even know how old he was. Judging by a row of photos that hung in the hallway, he looked to be about six or seven. No, actually, I realized that he had to be at least eight, because the last time I saw him was seven years ago when I came to Dreiheit to say goodbye, just before I moved away to California. At that time Isaac was still in diapers, not yet walking. Judging from the pictures I was looking at now, he had grown into an adorable little boy.

  Once I finished my search and knew no bad guys were in hiding, I returned to the living room to wait for Lydia. More photos lined the top of the television, and I walked over to take a look. Most of them were candid shots, taken outside in nature: Isaac grinning down from his perch in a tree, Bobby waving from a Jet Ski, Lydia holding Isaac’s hand as they strolled through a pumpkin patch. They were all so engaging, and I was glad that when Lydia left the Amish order she had left behind their ban against photographs as well. As far as I knew, none of the local Amish communities allowed photographs of people, feeling that would violate the Bible’s commandment against making graven images.

  I picked up the last picture on the row, the one that seemed to be the most recent. It was a family portrait, and judging by the autumn leaves in the background, I guessed that it had been taken at a photo studio just a few months before. In the picture, all three of them were smiling, and I could make out a small baby bulge under Lydia’s maroon corduroy jumper. Isaac sat in front, and his impish grin reminded me so much of Bobby when he was a boy. Except for that smile and the trademark dimple in one cheek, Isaac was all Lydia, with the same long eyelashes and delicate features.

  To look at that picture, they seemed like one big happy family, their smiles genuine, their pose comfortably affectionate. Who could know whether that was an accurate representation or not?

  I was just putting the picture back in place when I heard the front doorknob jiggling, and then the door swung open and a large man stepped inside. Still jumpy from my encounter with the ski-masked intruder, I was about to scream when Lydia walked in behind him.

  “Anna!” she cried, setting down the bag she was carrying and then waddling quickly across the room to give me a long, fierce hug. I was startled by the intensity of her greeting—not to mention the girth of her pregnant belly that protruded between us—but I hugged her back, realizing as I did that I was genuinely glad to see her.

  The man who had come with her disappeared into the back without a word, which seemed odd. Judging by his defensive posture as he went, however, I realized he must be some sort of bodyguard. He was gone for a short while, and then he returned and announced that all was clear.

  Lydia released me from our hug, and as we pulled apart I gave her a questioning look.

  “Let us go to the kitchen and I will explain everything,” she said.

  Picking up the bag she had brought in, she led me to the breakfast nook set in the curve of a bay window. I took a seat there, asking if the man who had remained in the living room was a friend.

  “No, he is a professional,” Lydia replied, setting the bag on a nearby counter and unloading its contents. “I believe such a thing is very expensive, but this is being paid for by Mr. Wynn.”

  I wasn’t sure why Hayley’s father had become involved here, but I was glad to see that Lydia was being protected by someone who obviously knew what they were doing.

  “What happened to the Amish protection brigade?”

  “The men who guarded us yesterday had to go back to work today, and Caleb and Nathaniel need to spend their time out with the cows, not inside the house with the women and chi
ldren. Mr. Wynn offered protection last night, so this morning I took him up on it.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Why Mr. Wynn? What does he have to do with anything?”

  Lydia let out a long sigh as she continued to unload the bag.

  “I called Haley again last night, to see how she was doing and to tell her that you were coming. Her father was there when I called. She was resting, so I spoke with him instead. When I told him you had been attacked, he pointed out that between your attack and Doug being dead and Bobby going missing, it sounded to him like maybe someone is out to get the Dreiheit Five.”

  “The Dreiheit Five? Why?”

  “We could not come up with any reason. But right then Mr. Wynn decided to hire a bodyguard for Haley just in case, and since Bobby had already said Isaac and I were in danger, Mr. Wynn insisted on hiring a guard for us too, probably because he knew I could not afford it. He did not know how to reach you, but he told me to extend the same offer to you when you came.”

  “That’s awfully nice of him, but I’ll decline for now,” I said, trying to hide my dismay at Lydia’s big mouth. She had no business telling Haley’s dad that I was on my way or that I had been attacked. Mr. Wynn was a good man and an old friend, but it still wasn’t Lydia’s place to share my business with anyone. “You didn’t tell anybody else I was coming, did you?”

  “Just my sister so she could ready a room at the farm.”

  If the sister knew, the kids likely knew, and soon word would spread through the Amish grapevine and eventually be out all over town. Great.

  “Of course,” Lydia continued, “I had to insist that the guard not carry any weapons. There can be no guns on the farm, not to mention that when Bobby shows up, I do not want him accidentally shot.”

  I didn’t comment, but I was savvy enough to know that the bodyguard now stationed in the living room was not unarmed. I hadn’t seen any telltale bulge at his side, but I felt sure he had a gun on him somewhere, probably in an ankle holster.

  “What about Reed?” I asked, my pulse suddenly surging. “Has he been warned? Has anything bad happened to him?”

  “I guess he is okay or we would have heard otherwise. Mr. Wynn was going to call him last night after he talked to me. At least Reed can afford to hire his own bodyguard if he wants one. He is some big shot down in Washington, you know. I think he is very successful.” Lydia unwrapped some foil to reveal a large square of cornbread, glancing at me. “You want lunch, yah?”

  My face flushing with heat for no reason, I nodded. My appetite had returned since sitting in the restaurant with Mr. Carver, and now I realized I was famished. Lydia opened various containers she had brought and served up two plates with a hearty-looking beef stew and a colorful pile of carrots and peas.

  “You look so very different with the long, blond hair,” Lydia said, glancing my way again as she put one of the plates in the microwave. “Is very stylish, very…how you say…sexy, yah?”

  She giggled with the word “sexy,” and I was reminded of the sheltered nature of her upbringing. She hadn’t been Amish for years, but in many ways, she hadn’t changed at all. Then again, I thought as I watched her push the buttons on the microwave, in some ways she had become a regular, modern woman.

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I didn’t do it to be sexy, just unrecognizable. I really don’t relish the thought of seeing my face splashed all over the news again.”

  “I know, I know. The reporters, they are respectfully staying off of my sister’s land, but with their long-range cameras pointed right at the house, we have had to close all the blinds for fear of being photographed inside. The children are going stir-crazy not to be outside.”

  “Outside, are you kidding? It’s freezing out there.”

  “Yah, but they are used to it. They like to get bundled up and play stick ball in the yard.” She pulled one steaming plate from the microwave and put in the next.

  “How are all the kids, Lydia?”

  “They are gut, thank you.”

  “How about Grete? I’ve always felt so sorry for her, that she had to become a mother to her younger brothers and sisters when she was barely an adult herself. Are she and Nathaniel still doing all right?”

  “Oh, yah. Grete was no stranger to hard work, and she has done well with the kids. She and Nathaniel have been good stewards of the land too, keeping the farm profitable.”

  “That’s a relief. And your siblings are really okay?”

  Lydia considered my question for a moment.

  “I think Caleb could have used the stern hand of a real father, but Rebecca and Ezra are fine.”

  “Did Grete and Nathaniel ever have any more children of their own, or were their hands already full raising your siblings?”

  “They wanted more, but Tresa is the only child of theirs born without the disorder that runs in our family. Three other times Grete carried a babe to term, but they always died soon after delivery. Is not unusual around here. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Like you said, she already had her hands full anyway.”

  Lydia busied herself with setting the heated plates of food on the table, and adding napkins and silverware. As she did, I thought about the incredibly high incidence of genetic disorders that existed among the Amish. From what I understood, it had to do with the fact that the Lancaster County Amish usually married within the community, so their gene pool grew more limited—and more prone to genetic mutations—with each generation. According to Bobby, progress was being made all the time in the prevention and treatment of many of the common Amish disorders, though I wondered how close they were to finding a cure for the disorder that prevented Lydia’s sister from being able to deliver healthy, surviving children. At least Lydia hadn’t had to worry; by marrying a man who wasn’t Amish, she had altered the direction of her own genetic fate.

  She joined me at the table and bowed her head in silence. I thought maybe she was waiting for me to pray, but after a moment she softly said, “Amen,” opened her eyes, and began eating.

  “Amen,” I echoed, feeling foolish as I remembered that that was how the Amish began every meal, in silent prayer.

  I ate the delicious stew as Lydia caught me up on the latest development with Bobby’s situation.

  Looking embarrassed, Lydia told me she had called Bobby’s office this morning, to see if they knew anything of his whereabouts. According to the office manager, they hadn’t seen Bobby for days, not since before he was suspended.

  “Suspended?” I asked, nearly dropping my fork.

  “Yes, Anna. I was very shocked to learn that two and a half weeks ago, Bobby got in trouble at work and was given a three-week suspension without pay. He is supposed to start back on Monday, if he shows up by then. Why he never told me this, I do not understand.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “No,” Lydia replied, looking as if she was on the verge of tears. “They say that is between him and Dr. Updyke. Mostly, I was just mortified that I did not know about any of this, even though I am his wife.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Do you mean to tell me that Bobby hasn’t been to work in two and a half weeks and you never noticed?”

  “That is correct. If he had stayed at home or laid on the couch or spent time with us somehow, then I would have known. But my husband left this apartment every morning at the same time as usual and come home at the end of the day at the same time as usual. I do not know where he has been going or what he has been doing every day, but the office manager swore to me that he was not coming in to work.” Lydia blinked, and two tears ran down her cheeks. “Bobby loves me,” she said intensely. “I do not know why he did this strange thing—or why he thought he could not tell me about it—but I trust him. I believe in him. Whatever he has been doing, I know that all will be made clear in the end.”

  We sat there together in silence as I thought about what she said, and I could feel myself growing furious with Bobby. It was one thing not to tell his wife that
he had been suspended from his job; it was quite another to carry out the elaborate pretense of a regular nine-to-five job, day after day, for almost three weeks.

  “Did you ask to speak with the doctor? Surely he could tell you why Bobby was suspended.”

  “I have called several times, but always he has been busy or out.”

  I was reminded of the disposable cell phone I had bought at the airport. After loading the number into my own phone, I gave it to Lydia, who thanked me profusely.

  Returning to our conversation, I asked Lydia about where she thought Bobby may have been going every day, but she had no idea.

  “Sorry to be so personal,” I said, “but I need to know about your marriage. Were you happy? Did Bobby lie to you often? Given what you know now, do you still believe there’s no chance that he has simply abandoned you?”

  Lydia was quiet for a long moment, and my questions must have killed her appetite because she pushed her plate away as she sat there thinking. Finally, she answered me, pretty much telling me exactly what I had expected to hear. According to her, she and Bobby were still deeply in love. Lydia insisted that he was happily married, that he adored spending time with Isaac, that he very much enjoyed his job at the lab, and that she had no doubt he intended to live there with her and Isaac forever.

  “He was especially excited about the new baby. I cannot tell you how many nights he lay next to me in bed simply holding on to my tummy, whispering sweet words to our child. A man who does that has no intention of leaving. You have to believe me on this, Anna.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “I am going to proceed on the assumption that every-thing you’ve just said is true. But if I find out about even more secrets that Bobby was keeping from you, I won’t be surprised—and you shouldn’t be either.”

  SEVENTEEN

  We were just finishing our lunch when we heard a knock on the front door.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” I whispered.