“I understand that,” he replied. “But this is me, Anna. You thought the worst of me.”
I stepped closer.
“Years ago, I did the opposite, Reed. I thought only the best of you, and look where that got me. Isn’t it time I looked at you with my eyes wide open, able to see both the good and the bad? I really am sorry I hurt your feelings. But I still think this was a step in the right direction for me. For us.”
We looked at each other for a long moment.
“Is there an us?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Is there?”
How can there be an us if there’s still a her?
Slowly, Reed reached up and placed a hand on the side of my face.
“I have a lot of flaws, Anna. I leave wet towels on the floor. Sometimes I get so caught up in my work I don’t get home till midnight. I’ve even been known to wear the same shirt for three days in a row on vacation.”
His movements deliberate, Reed placed the other hand on the opposite side of my face, his fingers weaving themselves aggressively into my hair. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than for him to kiss me, to mold his mouth hungrily against mine.
“Just don’t ever, ever question my integrity again, okay?” he asked softly, and I nodded as he moved his lips so close to mine I could almost taste them. “If I had no integrity, Anna, don’t you think I would have kissed you by now?”
He held his pose for a long moment. Then, finally, he pulled back and slid his hands from my hair, leaving me to stand there in surprise.
“See? Integrity. I’ve got tons of it,” he said, and then he turned and left the room.
I didn’t see him after that. The place was simply buzzing with FBI agents, and when I found Lydia upstairs, she had just learned the truth about Dr. Updyke and what he had done to Isaac. She was weeping in her brother’s arms, probably tears of sadness and joy all rolled into one.
Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, I knew I needed to get out of the hospital. I wanted to be alone for a while in the quiet, where I could think. After making sure Lydia was okay, I told her I was going to run back to the farm for a while. Caleb opted to stay at the hospital, but Rebecca asked if she could catch a ride with me.
All the way back to the farm, as I drove, I kept thinking about the things I had learned today. My emotions flitted from relief that Isaac wasn’t dying to anger that he would never be able to father children to joy that at least he hadn’t died of WKS as an infant to frustration at Bobby for letting Dr. Updyke play God on his own offspring. I didn’t know how things were going at the hospital between Bobby and Lydia, but he had a lot of explaining to do. Given that she was a woman of character, not to mention raised Amish, I had no doubt that she would find it in her heart to forgive him. My bigger concern was that they needed to deal with the fact that Bobby had willingly deceived his wife, an act that had resulted in nearly fatal consequences.
Rebecca had questions about what had happened, so I recapped the whole story for her. When I got to the part about the Amish infant who died from a tumor, I was surprised to hear that Rebecca knew who I was talking about.
“Yah, I think I remember that,” she said. “Weren’t those the parents who stole their own baby’s body?”
When she said that, something clicked in my memory and the whole fuzzy situation came sharply into focus. Of course! There had been a big scandal when that baby died, not because of the tumor but because the state required an autopsy whenever a death was sudden and unexplained. The Amish didn’t believe in autopsies, however, and had tried to prevent it. When the court ruled in favor of the coroner, the baby’s body disappeared before the autopsy could be done. All that had been left behind was an anonymous note, one that said that because of their religion, they could not in good conscience allow the baby’s body to be violated.
That case had made the papers all the way over in Hidden Springs. From what I could recall, everyone suspected the parents of having stolen their own child’s body, though they repeatedly denied it. The last thing I had heard, the couple had ended up moving out to Ohio, and the body had never been found. Once again, Dr. Updyke’s genetic tampering had led to much heartbreak and misery.
It was almost one p.m. by the time we got to the farm. As we climbed out of the car, we could see Grete and Isaac out by the washhouse, working to hang their colorful laundry on the line, the ever-present bodyguard standing nearby. I thought of my dream, the recurring nightmare that had seemed to come and go over the years. There was always a clothesline in the dream, the deep maroons, purples, and blues of Amish laundry flapping in the wind. I hadn’t had the dream since coming here, and I had to wonder if it would return now that I had been back and faced my past.
Rebecca went out to join them, but I proceeded into the house. It was quiet and empty, the kitchen cozy and warm as usual. I was just hungry enough to make myself at home, so I peeked in the propane-powered refrigerator and grabbed some cheese and a handful of grapes before going upstairs to change clothes and freshen up. Once I was dressed, I leaned across the bed to raise the window blinds and let in the brilliant winter sun. From my vantage point there, I could see the roofs of several of the smaller outbuildings and beyond that the back fields. In the distance were the trees on the land that had once belonged to my grandparents.
As I stood and looked out at the serene landscape, I thought about those two babies from long ago, the one whose body was stolen and the other whose body was burned. Gazing at the scene outside, thinking about the distance between where I stood now and where our group had been when we shot off the Roman candles that fateful night eleven years ago, it suddenly seemed incredulous to me that the fire had, indeed, been an accident.
In most of our trials, the distance had been a key point in our defense. But every time it came up, the prosecution would trot out an expert witness who would testify that such a long-distance spark from a roman candle would be “possible, though not probable.” That element of possibility, along with the irrefutable evidence of spent casings, had been enough to bring about convictions across the board. But that was when we all thought it had been an accident.
Now that there could have been a motive for the fire that night, the entire course of events seemed to shift before my eyes.
The realization hit me now with such force that I actually had to sit down on the edge of the bed.
What if we hadn’t caused the fire that killed Lydia’s parents after all?
What if the fire had been set intentionally by Dr. Updyke to hide the fact that the baby’s body was covered with cowpox?
What if he had seized the opportunity of our reckless behavior by using a Roman candle as the source of ignition to start the fire at the Dawdy Haus on purpose?
I knew I had to talk to someone about this, someone else who had suffered as I had for the past eleven years, burdened with guilt and self-hate and grief and shame for a tragedy that we may not have caused after all.
I needed to talk to someone from the Dreiheit Five.
My cell phone was still dead, so I decided to go out into the field and use the phone shanty. I practically ran, skirting past the washhouse and the barn, dialing Reed’s cell phone as soon as I got inside. My call went straight into his cell phone’s voice mail, so I left a message, one that grew more excited as I talked, telling him my theory.
There was no way to reach Bobby, of course, and Lydia couldn’t have her phone on in the hospital.
That left Haley. I didn’t know her number by heart, but I called information and they put me through. When she answered, she said she had just arrived at home from Doug’s funeral and was thinking about heading back over to the hospital to sit with me and Lydia. I told her to come out here instead, as there was something extremely important we needed to discuss.
“Of course, Anna. I can do that. What’s this all about?”
“Wait till you get here. I’ll explain it then.”
Back in the house, as I waited for Haley to drive over from Hid
den Springs, I was practically jumping out of my skin. I should have calmed my nervous energy by helping the others with the laundry outside, but I needed some time of solitude to wrap my head around this shocking new reality. Instead, I grabbed a broom and a dustpan and went to work, sweeping the entire downstairs.
Eventually, Grete came inside by herself to make some tea and learn more about what had happened down at the hospital. Rebecca had tried to fill her in outside but hadn’t wanted to say much in front of Isaac. I hated the thought of having to go through the story twice, so I was glad when Haley showed up then and I could tell them both together.
Haley seemed uncomfortable coming into the house after all these years, but the warmth with which Grete welcomed her was both commendable and touching. Over mugs of hot tea, the three of us sat at the table as I recounted for them much of what we had learned today. When I got to the part about the night of the fire, about Grete’s mother delivering the child and it being born dead and covered in cowpox, I was afraid the very thought might be too upsetting for Grete, but she seemed to take it okay. I explained that the procedure Dr. Updyke had claimed was an amniocentesis all those years ago had in fact been a genetic modification of the fetus that had gone terribly wrong.
I went on to tell them about the other genetically modified Amish baby, the one who had died of a tumor at three months and whose body disappeared in anticipation of a court-ordered autopsy. Both of them remembered that incident well.
Glancing at Haley, I told her that this next part was why I had asked her to come here.
“I have a theory,” I said, “one that just came to me a little while ago. I don’t think that child’s parents stole that body so that it couldn’t be autopsied. I think Dr. Updyke took it instead and left that note to cast suspicion away from himself by mentioning the Amish religion.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Furthermore,” I continued, looking at Grete, “I’m beginning to believe that the fire that burned down the Dawdy Haus and killed your parents was not started by a bunch of Roman candles that we set off way out in the back of the back fields. I think someone needed to destroy that newborn’s body too, and so they took advantage of the situation and set this house on fire intentionally, making it look like an accident when in fact it was intentional. It was arson.”
The news hit Grete and Haley in completely opposite ways. Grete seemed deeply disturbed by it, and I couldn’t blame her. Where before the fire had been a tragic mistake, now her parents had been the victims of an intentional evil.
To Haley, the news came as the stunning, incredible realization that maybe, just maybe the biggest mistake of her life had not really played out the way everyone assumed that it had. Suddenly, an agonized sob burst from her throat.
“To think, poor Doug never had the chance to know this before he died,” she cried.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Haley. The night Doug died, he was the one who discovered all of this evidence and even faxed a copy of it down to Reed in Washington. Then he offered to meet Bobby and give the information to him as well. I know you and Doug had your moments, but I have to say, I believe he died knowing this. To be honest, he died a hero.”
Haley was so overcome with emotion, she excused herself and went to the restroom. She stayed there for a while, the sink running to drown out the sound of her sobs. I hoped that they were good sobs, tears of relief and not just of grief.
Grete handled her emotions in a different way. She simply got up from the table, excused herself, and went to her room.
Left there alone, I busied myself in the kitchen, washing our mugs at the sink, wiping the water from the counter. With Haley still crying in the bathroom, I moved on to the sitting area and straightened the slipcover on the couch, picked up some of Isaac’s toys, and gathered his storybooks into a pile.
One was a book of Bible stories, and I absently flipped through it, looking at the vivid pictures, thinking how God always had things under control even when it didn’t feel like it. Turning the pages through the story of Moses brought to mind the conversation I had had with Rebecca early this morning at the hospital, about the family quilt that had been discovered among my grandparents’ possessions and was now housed in the Folk Art Museum in Lancaster.
Maybe it was my afternoon for epiphanies, but suddenly I had another realization, and this one seemed almost too incredible to be true. I put down the book, called to Haley that I’d be back in a minute, and ran full speed out to the phone shanty. There, I dialed the number for Remy Villefranche and excitedly told him that I may have a lead on the Beauharnais Rubies at last.
“Do you remember the quilt I told you about? The handmade one that my family donated to the Folk Art Museum?”
“Yes.”
“Remy, it’s just a hunch, but I think the quilt might lead us to the rubies. Are you still in town? Are you free right now?”
“Yes, I’m still in town. And as to whether or not I’m free, do you even have to ask?”
With so much going on, I didn’t want to leave the farm and take time to meet him at the museum, but I asked Remy if he could run over there by himself with a camera, snap some pictures of the quilt, and then come here. I thought we could study the images together and see if they didn’t give us some sort of lead—if not to where the rubies were now, at least to where they had been once upon a time. Without hesitation, Remy agreed to hit the road right away. After hanging up, I ran back toward the house and past the clothesline, ducking under a big sheet that was flapping noisily in the wind. Rebecca and Isaac were nearby, and as I passed them I grabbed their hands and spun them around.
I didn’t know why I was so happy. I didn’t know why I suddenly felt as though weights were lifting off of me. All I knew was that my brother had been found, I had a lead on the jewels, and most important of all, there was a very real chance that the truth I had believed about myself for the past eleven years had, in fact, been a lie.
FORTY-THREE
STEPHANIE
September 7, 1812
To Your Highness, Duchess Stephanie de Beauharnais:
It is with warm greetings that my wife and I write this letter. Our answer is yes. We accept with great honor and humility the responsibility that is being bestowed upon us. As for details, perhaps the same method of conveyance for this letter could be employed to convey the “item” in question. It is our sincere prediction that after you give birth to your son, you will develop a deep craving for schnitz pie, and that you will insist on at least seven or eight pounds’ worth. I would be grateful to deliver that basket to you myself, as I would like to meet the new prince or princess in person and pay to him or her my deepest respects.
In Christ’s Name,
Samuel Jensen
FORTY-FOUR
ANNA
There was still a little juice left in my laptop, so when Remy finally arrived an hour later, we uploaded his photos of the quilt. Both Haley and Grete had rejoined me in the kitchen by then, and though Grete busied herself with making dinner, Haley sat with Remy and me at the table. For a moment, I wondered if I was being disrespectful to my hosts by using a computer in their home, but I then decided that it was probably okay for the time being since it was running off of battery power.
When the pictures finished loading, we studied them on the screen, zooming in wherever necessary. Suddenly, the quilt that had seemed so unattractive and incompetent before took on an entirely different luster in this new light.
The first panel featured the Moses scene, including a river, a princess, a commoner, a baby in a basket, and even bullrushes. On the river bank to the right was embroidered a small, red fire. I still didn’t understand why there were brown rocks on top of the baby in the basket, but I had to assume that had something to do with how Stephanie de Beauharnais and the Jensen family had made the switch.
Without knowing the truth behind the picture, it really did look as though it had been designed to tell the story of Moses. Looking at it with n
ew eyes, however, the babe in the basket clearly wasn’t Moses at all, but the son of Stephanie de Beauharnais and her husband, Karl Friedrich, Grand Duke of Baden.
The second panel, which we had always thought was supposed to represent Noah’s ark, was instead the scene of the two couples on a ship as they sailed across the ocean to America. This time, the red fire was shown burning on the bottom deck of the ship, inside a wooden box.
The third panel, which we had assumed represented David tending his sheep on a hillside in Bethlehem was probably the newly located Amish farmer, Karl Jensen, tending his sheep in Lancaster County. The red fire in that square burned just under the roof of the house, along a dotted line surely meant to represent the attic.
The fourth panel, which we had taken to be the story of the Prodigal Son leaving home was more than likely either a depiction of Peter Jensen leaving the Amish religion, or his son William Jensen heading off to sell some of the jewels. Either way, in that picture the man carried the red fire with him, burning brightly from a lantern he held in his hand as he waved goodbye.
The fifth panel looked to be an Amish barn raising, the bare skeleton of a house just going up. Under the house was a large gray square, and we had assumed that it represented Jesus’ admonition that a wise man builds his house upon a rock. In that panel, the fire burned under a nearby tree.
The sixth and final panel featured a man standing with his arms outstretched, surrounded on all sides by odd red columns. That had always been the hardest one to decipher, but by the positioning of the man’s arms, he seemed to represent Christ on the cross.
Instead, I realized now, the man was simply holding out his hands to emphasize what surrounded him: five fireplaces. In the center fireplace burned the red fire.
“The rubies were hidden in a fireplace,” I said.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Remy replied, shaking his head. “Extreme fluctuations of heat can damage jewels. No one would ever use a fireplace to store such a valuable treasure.”
Shadows of Lancaster County Page 30
