by Marta Perry
“I will, Mamm.” Sarah slid down. Easier to say that than to argue over a subject on which they’d never agree.
Anyway, not all her friends were married. She still had two dear ones, Abby and Lena, who weren’t. But since they all lived far apart, their only connection was the round robin letters they sent from one to the other. They understood, even if Mamm didn’t.
But she couldn’t take comfort in Abby’s unmarried state much longer. The long-awaited letter she’d received yesterday had contained surprising news. Her friend would soon wed Ben Kline. They’d been brought together at last after Ben’s return from the Englische world. That news from Abby had probably been what started Mamm on her current train of thought about marriage.
Sarah waved as her mother clicked to Bell and the buggy moved onto Springville’s main street. Mamm had stopped saying it, but they both knew who she had in mind for a son-in-law. She and Jacob’s mother had been planning their children’s marriage since the two of them were in their cradles.
But if they’d been serious about marrying Jacob and her off to each other, they’d have been better not bringing them up so close that they were like brother and sister. Jacob was her best friend and the brother she’d never had, but to think of falling in love with him was laughable. Why couldn’t Mamm see that?
Sarah unlocked the door into the back hall off the kitchen, pausing there to hang up her black bonnet and sweater and straighten the apron that matched the deep green of her dress. Getting dressed for work was simplicity itself when you were Amish. She’d had a choice between green, blue and purple dresses, all cut exactly the same.
Exactly the same, just like all her working days. She’d been taking care of the house for elderly Englischer Richard Strickland for over three years, and nothing ever changed, because that was how he liked it. Probably that was partly due to his bad eyesight. He didn’t want to trip on anything that had been moved.
She went on into the kitchen, reaching automatically to pick up the breakfast dishes on the table. And stopped. The table was bare, except for the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers that always sat in the center.
Every day she let herself in the back door at eight-thirty, and every day she found Mr. Strickland’s breakfast dishes on the table. Her employer would be in the sunroom on the side of the house, enjoying a second cup of coffee while he listened to the news. But the coffeemaker was cold, the sink was empty and shining, and no sound broke the stillness of the old house.
A chill spread through her. Sarah spun, moving quickly toward the front of the house. Mr. Strickland must be ill…nothing else would cause him to change the immutable habits of a lifetime. She hurried through the hallway, thoughts racing faster than her feet—call Mr. Strickland’s doctor, or the rescue squad if it looked very serious. They could be here faster and—
She skidded to a stop a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. Neither the doctor nor the rescue squad would be of help. Richard Strickland lay tumbled on the polished stairs, one hand reaching the tiled floor of the hall. Sarah didn’t need to touch him to know he was dead.
She had to, of course. She knelt next to him, silent prayers forming in her mind, and searched for a pulse. Nothing stirred under her fingers, and his skin was cold. Pity and grief seemed to have a stranglehold on her throat. Mr. Strickland hadn’t been an especially likable man…eccentric, the charitable said. He was the last of the Strickland family, a name that had once meant something in Lancaster County, and folks just shrugged off his crankiness. But she was used to him, fond of him, even.
Standing slowly, Sarah went to the telephone in the small alcove off the hall and dialed 911. After she’d said what she must, she went back to kneel by the body, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Even so, she couldn’t keep her eyes from seeing, or her mind from wondering. What had Mr. Strickland been doing on the stairs in the night? And it must have been night, because the upstairs hall light was on. He never came downstairs after he’d taken his pills in the evening, because he said they made him dizzy. And he also never came out of his bedroom until he was fully dressed, so why would he be wearing a robe and slippers?
The doorbell pealed, followed by insistent knocking, and in a few minutes the hall was filled with people. The retired doctor who lived just down the street conferred with the ambulance attendants. A young patrolman stood by the door, looking so pale Sarah wondered if he’d ever seen a dead person before. Adam Byler, the township police chief, was deep in conversation with Leo Frost, Mr. Strickland’s attorney.
Sarah sat on a straight chair against the wall, hands folded in her lap, blinking against the tears that threatened to fall, wondering when she’d be able to go home. Wondering what, if anything, she should say.
Her gaze was caught by the leather slipper that lay on the tile floor, and she frowned.
Chief Byler picked up the slipper, holding it out to Mr. Frost. “This is probably the culprit,” he said. “It looks as if Strickland was coming downstairs in the night, and he tripped on the slipper. Easy enough to happen, and these leather soles are slippery.”
But Mr. Strickland wouldn’t come down in the night, wouldn’t wear those slippers.
Sarah pressed her lips together. She could practically hear Daad’s voice in her mind.
Amish have a duty to obey the law of the land and respect its officials, but we don’t become involved with them.
What would Daad say she should do now? Speak or be silent? She suspected she knew the answer to that. So she sat, silent, her gaze on her hands.
“Sarah?”
She looked up, startled, to find that Chief Byler stood in front of her, along with Mr. Frost.
“I know this is upsetting for you, but I have a few questions.”
“Ja.” She rose. For sure she should answer any questions the police asked.
He glanced at the paramedics, who were moving a stretcher into place. “Let’s go into the kitchen to talk.”
Nodding, she led the way back down the hall. He was being kind, but it didn’t bother her so much as he might think, being near the body. Death was a part of life, and she’d been old enough to help lay out the body when her grossmamm passed. It was only the Englische who thought people should die in hospitals and be taken off to funeral homes.
Chief Byler put a notebook on the kitchen table. “Did Mr. Strickland seem well when you left yesterday? And what time was that?”
“Four o’clock,” she said promptly. “That was my time. Mr. Strickland had dinner at one o’clock, like always. Roast chicken, it was, so there was plenty left for his supper.”
“And did he seem all right then?” Byler asked.
“Ja, he seemed fine.” Her voice thickened despite her efforts. “He was upstairs in his study, working at his desk. I asked if he needed anything, and he just said no and that he would see me tomorrow.”
But he hadn’t.
Chief Byler nodded. “And this morning?”
She hesitated, putting her thoughts in order. Surely, since he asked, she ought to tell him what she’d noticed.
“It’s all right, Sarah,” Mr. Frost said, his lined face kind. “Just tell it the way it happened.”
“I unlocked the back door and came in. Hung up my things and went to the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes, but there weren’t any.” She felt the chill again. “I knew something was wrong. Mr. Strickland’s routine was always exactly the same.”
“True enough
,” Leo Frost said. “Richard insisted everything be done exactly the same way at the same time every day. He went through I don’t know how many housekeepers because he couldn’t find anyone to suit him, until I found Sarah for him.” He patted her shoulder. “You always made him comfortable and as happy as he was likely to be, my dear. I know he wasn’t easy to get along with.”
That was true enough, but it might seem rude if she agreed, so she kept silent.
“So you found him and called 911,” Chief Byler said. “Apparently he’d been dead for some hours, according to the doctor. If there’s anything else…”
He paused, as if waiting for her to say something.
The words hovered on her tongue. But the odd things she’d noticed—would they mean anything, or just sound like so much foolishness to an officer of the law?
A step sounded in the back hall, and then Jacob was standing there, looking solid and safe and familiar in his faded blue work shirt, suspenders crossing broad shoulders, his summer straw hat sitting squarely on his light brown hair. “Sarah? Was ist letz?”
What’s wrong? At the question, the tears she’d held back overflowed, and she ran to him.
His arm encircled her shoulders firmly. “Komm,” he said. “I will take you home.”
* * *
JACOB LOOKED OVER SARAH’S head at the two men. Both Leo Frost, the lawyer, and Chief Byler were usually thought of as friends of the Leit, the Amish people. If they objected to her leaving…
Well, it was his job to look after Sarah, like always.
Frost and Byler exchanged glances and the chief shrugged. “That’s fine. You go along home. I know where to find you if I have any more questions.” A smile tempered the words.
“I’m sorry you were the one to find him, Sarah. Try not to dwell on it.” Leo Frost looked at her with concern. “I’ll come by the house and check on you later.”
Sarah managed to smile at Frost, but it was a wobbly effort that worried Jacob. The sooner he got her home, the better.
“Danki.” With a word of thanks, he steered Sarah to the door, stopping while she grabbed her bonnet and sweater, and out into the warm spring air.
He helped her up to the buggy seat and climbed in himself. He didn’t like that frozen look on Sarah’s face. Whether she’d admit it or not, it had been a shock to find her employer dead. She’d been fond of the old man, despite his crankiness, and she was grieving.
Sarah didn’t speak until the buggy had passed the outskirts of Springville and started along the narrow country road. She stirred, fiddling with her bonnet strings as if she didn’t remember putting it on.
“Danki, Jacob.” Her voice was husky. “How did you know?”
“Ach, you know how fast news travels around the township. Bishop Amos stopped by the machine shop to tell your daad. The bishop always knows everything.”
She nodded, finally smiling a little. “Ja, the Amish grapevine works well, for sure.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know you cared about Mr. Strickland.” She’d spent nearly as much time with him as with her family in the past three years since she’d been taking care of the house for him. Of course she’d miss him.
“It’s not just that.” The words burst out of her as if she couldn’t hold them back. “Can I tell you something, Jacob?”
He studied her face, the warm, creamy skin dotted with freckles already, a strand of brown hair escaping from under her kapp to curl against her cheek, her blue eyes serious.
“Ja, for sure. Always.” She ought to know that.
Sarah took a deep breath and blew it out. “I went in the hallway and saw Mr. Strickland.” Her voice shook a little, and he reached across to take her hand in a comforting grip. “He was lying on the stairs, head down. He had on a robe and slippers, and the light was on in the upstairs hall, which must mean he’d fallen during the night.”
Jacob nodded, not sure what she was driving at. “Chances are he died right away, pitching down those stairs. If you’re worrying that he lay there—”
“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head in that decisive way of hers, impatient as always. “Don’t you see? It was all wrong. Mr. Strickland never came downstairs in the night. He said the medicine he took before bed made him a little dizzy, and he wouldn’t risk it. He was very particular about that…made sure he had a pitcher of water and a little tin of crackers in his bedroom in case he wanted them.”
Jacob considered for a moment. “Maybe he felt sick.”
“Then he’d have called for help. He always had the phone right next to him.” She shook her head, her bonnet strings fluttering in the breeze. “He never came out of the bedroom without being dressed. Nobody saw him in his robe and slippers. And those slippers—he showed them to me once. Said they were so slippery it was like the person who gave them to him wanted him to have an accident. It’s just all wrong.”
It would be easy to dismiss her worries, Jacob decided. Whether Sarah wanted to hear it or not, just because a man always did things a certain way didn’t mean he wouldn’t change if he had to. If he heard someone in the house, for instance. But surely the police would be able to tell if someone had broken in.
“Well?” Her voice crackled with impatience. “It shouldn’t take that long to tell me what you think.”
“Always in such a rush, Sarah.” He kept his voice light and teasing. “Always jumping to conclusions and landing yourself in trouble, ja?”
That distracted her, as he’d known it would. “I’m not in trouble. And if I were, I’d find my own way out.” Her forehead wrinkled slightly. “But should I tell Chief Byler what I noticed? I know I shouldn’t get involved with the police, but isn’t it wrong to hold back?”
He pondered that. Sarah wouldn’t be able to let go of the questions in her mind. Knowing her as he did, he could feel sure of that.
“Mr. Frost isn’t the police,” he observed.
She nodded, the sparkle coming back into her eyes. “Ja, that’s true. If I tell him, he can decide if the police need to know. Danki, Jacob.” She squeezed his arm, and it seemed to him he felt that touch in his very bones. “You are a gut big brother.”
Her words were easy, and he was glad he’d been able to put the light back in her face, chasing away the sorrow and worry. But he wished she’d called him anything else.
“Ach, I have forgotten.” Sarah’s hands flexed as if she’d grab whatever it was that had gotten away. “I didn’t say anything to the chief about telling Hank Mitchell. Poor Hank. He must have been at his college classes, and he’ll come home, not knowing. Someone should tell him.”
“Not you,” Jacob said, before he could think how sharp that sounded. “It’s not your job to take care of Mr. Strickland’s cousin.” Truthfully, he was getting tired of hearing the man’s name since he’d come to live in the garage apartment at Mr. Strickland’s place.
“Distant cousin, I think,” she corrected. “That’s the only reason Mr. Strickland let him live in the garage apartment. He doesn’t—didn’t—like strangers around, but he said you couldn’t turn away kin.”
“Well, whatever he is, he’s not your responsibility.” Leo Frost would deal with the man, as well as the apartment and the house. That was his job.
And Sarah’s job, it seemed, had ended.
She was glaring at him, he realized.
“You sound like my daad,” she said, her tone frosty.
He’d made a mistake, for sure. But what with her calling him her bi
g brother and comparing him to her daad, he could hardly admit that he was jealous.
The horse turned automatically into the lane between their homes and headed for the barn. Jacob didn’t speak, because he couldn’t find anything to say.
He was always the logical one, but he didn’t feel that way at the moment. He didn’t want to go on being Sarah’s brother, because the feelings he had were not at all brotherly. But he couldn’t say anything, because once he did, there was no going back, and he might lose her friendship and be left with nothing.
CHAPTER TWO
SUPPER WAS NEARLY OVER, and Sarah was grateful. Her younger sisters had been agog over the fact that she had found a body, and their questions had gone on until her throat was tight with pressure.
If anyone had asked her a few days ago, she would have had to admit that Richard Strickland was crotchety, irritable and intent on having his own way. Despite that, Sarah had grown to love him, as she’d love any creature she took care of, whether it was an ailing foal or an elderly Englischer. It seemed impossible that he was gone.
He was gone, and she was the only one who suspected his passing was more than a tragic accident.
“But how did he look?” Ten-year-old Emma’s eyes shone with excitement. “Was he all bloody?”
“I don’t think Sarah wants to talk about it anymore.” Jacob, who was taking meals with them while his mother was off visiting his married sister, intervened.
“Ja, for sure.” Daad frowned at Emma and Rachel. “That is enough from the both of you. Go outside and do your chores now.”
