The Amish Buggy Horse BOXED SET Books 1-3 (Amish Romance Book Bundle: Faith, Hope, Charity) (Boxed Set: The Amish Buggy Horse)

by Ruth Hartzler

  Isobel looked at her vadder for a long time. She did not know what to say. They sat quietly and then finally Isobel thought of something. When she spoke, her voice was wavering. “Did it keep you up at night?”

  Her vadder looked to her. He took another sip, and then he nodded. “Jah,” he said. “It did.”

  “Does it now?”

  “Nee.”

  “How did you start sleeping?”

  The older man shrugged. “The mann asked me to pray with him. He left his physical body, and I hope he went to be with Gott. These physical bodies are just clothes, nothing but clothes that we shed when we go to be with Gott. Here, pass me the Martyrs Mirror.”

  Isobel walked into the living room to fetch the Martyrs Mirror, a heavy, thousand page book owned by many Amish. It contained the story of over eight hundred Anabaptist martyrs who were imprisoned and then executed for their belief in adult baptism around four hundred years ago. In fact, at that time, many thousands of Christians were persecuted for their belief in adult baptism.

  Isobel knew what was coming; her vadder had one particular story he always liked to read, that of the martyr Dirk Willems. As so Isobel sat at the kitchen table while her vadder once again read to her the story of Dirk Willems. In 1569, Willems escaped from his prison cell and fled across a frozen moat. No sooner had he made it safely across, than the guard who was chasing him, fell through the ice and sank into the icy water. Not wanting the man to die, Dirk Willems at once hurried back and pulled the guard to safety. Despite the fact that he had saved the guard's life, Dirk Willems was executed by being burned at the stake.

  "And so," Mr. Slabaugh concluded, "Dirk Willems showed compassion for his enemy. He did not repay evil with evil."

  Isobel expected her father to close the huge book, as he always did at this point, but he tapped the page and reread the first section:

  "In the year 1569 a pious, faithful brother and follower of Jesus Christ, named Dirk Willems, was apprehended at Asperen, in Holland, and had to endure severe tyranny from the papists. But as he had founded his faith not upon the drifting sand of human commandments, but upon the firm foundation stone, Christ Jesus, he, notwithstanding all evil winds of human doctrine, and heavy showers of tyrannical and severe persecution, remained immovable and steadfast unto the end; wherefore, when the chief Shepherd shall appear in the clouds of heaven and gather together His elect from all the ends of the earth, he shall also through grace hear the words, 'Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'"

  "Death is the will of Gott," her vadder continued. "Who are we to know the will of Gott? Death holds no fear for us. Remember Ecclesiastes chapter three, which says, 'For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.'"

  Isobel nodded. Her father got up and took his dishes to the sink. He came back to the table, stood beside his daughter, and put his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed her arm, and then he left the kitchen.

  John 13: 34 - 35.

  A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

  Chapter 5.

  Isobel pulled Blessing to a stop in front of the police station and took a deep breath. She knew why she felt nervous, and it had nothing to do with the investigation, and everything to do with being in close proximity to Detective Stutzman. She had no idea why, but she had felt an instant attraction to him, and he had been on her mind ever since. He made her heart race and her stomach churn. It was foolish to have such silly thoughts, especially over an Englischer. Why, the mann probably hardly even knew she was alive, and even if he did, he would never be interested in an Amish girl. And even if he happened to be, there was no hope of any future for an Amish with an Englischer. Such marriages were strictly verboten.

  “Come on,” Isobel said to herself, taking one more breath and then climbing down from the buggy. There was a loud honk as a car in the street swerved to avoid the buggy. Isobel buried her face in her hands. She had to stop thinking about the detective. He was an Englischer, she told herself for the umpteenth time, but there was simply something about the detective that she admired.

  Isobel tied Blessing to the rail in the place reserved for buggy parking. She hurried to the sidewalk and then to the front door of the station. Inside the station was a small lobby with faded linoleum flooring that could stand to be washed, and a long, tall desk manned by a stern-looking woman with a sharp face and short black hair.

  “Hello,” Isobel said to the woman as she stopped at the desk. “My name is Isobel Slabaugh. I’m here to see Detective Stutzman.”

  The woman looked up briefly, punched some keys on her computer, then nodded and opened a drawer. She pulled out a name tag that could be stuck to Isobel’s over-apron. Instead of a name, the word Visitor was printed across a line in thick black letters. She handed it to Isobel. “Third floor.”

  With that, the woman looked back down at her computer, leaving Isobel to head to the elevators by herself. She stepped into the small box and pressed the button for the third floor. The doors slid closed in front of her and the compartment started moving upwards. There was a soft ding after it came to a stop, and the door slid open.

  The third floor was a mostly open room, with desks placed in two rows within it. Men and women moved this way and that; some sat at the desks, talking on phones and typing on keyboards. It was monochrome, all gray with white desks. Isobel smoothed her apron and stepped out of the elevator. She stood there a moment, scanning the room, trying to spot Detective Stutzman.

  Finally, she saw him near the back, leaning against a desk and speaking with an older man who was sitting at the desk. The older man had thinning white hair and a big belly that he barely managed to keep contained behind the desk. Isobel moved away from the elevator, weaving her way through the crowd of detectives and police officers until she came to stand behind Stutzman.

  She reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun, a laugh fading from his lips.

  “Oh, hello, Miss Slabaugh." His tone was less formal this time. Stutzman turned and spoke to the other man. “Don’t forget the rest of that joke, Jake,” he said. “I have something to take care of.”

  Jake nodded and reached for the half eaten candy bar sitting on his desk. Detective Stutzman turned back to Isobel and then jerked his head to the side, as if to indicate follow me. Isobel nodded and let herself be led across the room, to a much tidier desk. The detective sat behind it and she took a seat on a small fold out chair across from him.

  "Now, please describe the man to me again."

  "Again?" Isobel's voice rose. "Again? But I've described him a thousand times already. I described him in that report you read.”

  “Humor me, will you?” Stutzman said. His tone was now icy.

  Isobel looked down at a photo on the detective's desk. It looked just like the man she had seen, judging from the brief glimpse, but the detective snatched it up and put it in a drawer. “You've found him, haven’t you?" Isobel asked.

  The detective rubbed his chin. "We did find a man fitting the description you gave," he said slowly and carefully, "but it wasn’t him.”

  “It has to be him. Who else could it be? I'm sure not too many people look like that,” Isobel said. The conversation was just starting and she was already feeling frustrated. “I want to see him,” she said. “May I see the picture?”

  Detective Stutzman raised his hand and shook his head. “Actually, I had you come in today because, as I mentioned to you already, I want to have you sit down with a profile artist. Give him the description, and let’s see what the two of you can come up with.”

  “I gave you the description already,” Isobel said, her annoyance levels rising.

  “I know, but I need you to work wit
h the Identi-Kit detective. He’ll put what you say into some computer software, and then we will get a really good understanding of what the guy looked like,” Stutzman said.

  “And you didn't want me to see that photo because you think I’ll say that’s him, whether it is or not.”

  The detective squirmed. “Right.”

  Isobel crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, sending a cold gaze across the desk to the detective. How could she be simultaneously attracted to him and angered by him? "Why don’t you believe me?"

  Peter Stutzman leaned back as well, but not in anger. He took a breath. “He has a solid alibi. More than solid, it’s airtight. He was with his lawyer. We have the lawyer confirming, and some other things I can’t tell you about.”

  “You can’t tell me some things?” Isobel said, her voice rising. “My boss was murdered, and there are some things you can’t tell me?”

  Matthew 5: 38 - 39.

  You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.

  Chapter 6.

  Detective Stutzman stood up. He raised his hands in a show of surrender. “Let's go see the Identi-Kit detective, okay? Talk to him, hash some things out, and let's see what you come up with.”

  Isobel was exasperated. She knew what she had seen. “But what if I come up with a picture that looks exactly like the mann that you're so sure is innocent? What then?”

  Stutzman shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s see what we get first.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, beckoning for Isabel to follow. She followed him down a bare corridor until they came to another room. Inside was a desk, and at it sat a man bending over a computer.

  The man at the desk, another detective, stood up at once. “My name is Scott,” the man said, before Detective Stutzman could make the introductions. He had a shock of wiry red hair and a thin face with a nose that was just a tad too long for the rest of his features. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and his smile was large and welcoming. Isabel liked him at once.

  “I’m Isobel,” she said, leaning forward and shaking the man’s offered hand.

  “Great, let’s get started, shall we? Come and sit in this chair beside me.” He patted a plastic chair.

  “Sure.”

  Stutzman butted in. "I’ll go back to my desk. Buzz me when you're finished, Scott?"

  "Sure." After the detective walked away, Scott turned to Isobel. “Now, I’ll explain how this works. This is facial composite software. By the time we're finished, it will give us a highly realistic, photo-accurate, facial composition picture. It will do skin tone, everything, you name it."

  Isobel felt a bit sick to the stomach. Could she even remember the man's skin tone? She wasn't sure. Yet Scott proved to be encouraging, and soon helped put her mind to rest. Isobel found it hard going at first, but presently became used to the process. They progressed through the features until they came to the eyes.

  “Okay,” Scott said with a nod as his hands punched in keys. Isobel leaned over the desk to watch. "How is this right eye?"

  “A little wider, but not much,” she said.

  With a sweep of his mouse, Scott made it wider and Isobel nodded. "Then the other one, the left one was almost closed."

  This part of the composite seemed to take longer, but finally Isobel was satisfied with the result. “Perfect,” she said. “And his lips, they were thick and wide. And he had a beard, just a little, narrow one, just on his chin.”

  “A goatee?”

  Isobel was puzzled, until Scott showed her something on the screen.

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, "just like that. His hair was very short, and dark, although it had a lot of gray through it.”

  After a while, Scott indicated the picture on the screen. “Like that?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  And it went on like that for nearly a half hour, after which Isobel was astounded at the likeness. Scott summoned Detective Stutzman, who returned shortly. He stood by the desk, bending over the screen. He looked at it for a long moment, while Isobel searched his face for any information she could glean. Had she described the man she was sure was guilty, or was she way off? She knew the image looked remarkably similar to the man she had seen, so similar in fact, that she had the chills.

  Stutzman sighed. He sat in the chair opposite and sighed again.

  “What is it? Is it him?” Isobel asked, leaning forward.

  Stutzman held out the photograph to her. “It’s Raines,” he said, with resignation.

  "Raines?" she said.

  "I shouldn’t have said his name, but his face is already all over television. The media's already all over this." He was addressing Scott, who nodded his agreement.

  Isobel looked at the photograph. She reached out slowly, and took it up between her fingertips. As their fingertips touched, a jolt ran thought Isobel. She looked up at Peter, who flushed and looked away. He felt it too, she thought, puzzled.

  Isabel forced her attention back to the photograph. The resemblance was uncanny. Isabel assumed it was an old photograph, as the man looked much younger in it, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was, in fact, the very same man. His hair was much thicker in the old photo and there were fewer lines on his face, but the wide mouth, and especially the partially closed left eye, left her in no doubt whatsoever. “I told you,” Isabel said quietly, as she set the photograph back upon the desk.

  “It can’t be him.” The detective shook his head in disbelief.

  Isobel sighed. She pursed her lips, then breathed deeply through her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she saw the detective was looking right at her.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked him.

  “It’s just that he has an iron clad alibi."

  Isobel stood up. “It’s him. That proves it. I don’t know anything about the police stuff, but you need to figure out a way to catch that man.”

  The detective stood as well, but he shook his head. “This isn’t television; it doesn’t work like that.”

  Isobel looked at him. “I don't watch television," she said. "I'm Amish, obviously,” and then she turned and made her way to the elevator.

  * * *

  The detective watched her go. He nodded to Scott, and then returned to his desk. He didn’t want to be around people at the moment.

  The Amish woman infuriated him, but at the same time, there was no denying the pull he felt toward her. Is this your doing, God? he silently asked. Then he chuckled aloud. His job had made him so paranoid that he even thought that God Himself was plotting against him. Yet he had to admit that he was heading in a certain direction with his life, and maybe God was in fact pushing him along a little faster.

  He scratched his head, and then headed for the coffee room. Thankfully, no one was there. He poured himself a stale, over-brewed coffee while the aged drip filter machine hissed at him, seemingly annoyed to be put to work.

  The detective returned to his desk and tried to do some paperwork, but the image of the beautiful Isobel Slabaugh would not leave his mind.

  Matthew 18: 21 - 22.

  Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.

  Chapter 7.

  When Isobel returned from work that afternoon, she was concerned to see a car outside her haus. She looked around, but could not see anyone, so took Blessing into the barn, unharnessed him, and tended to him.

  When she came out, there was still no one in sight, so she hurried into the warmth of the haus. There, sitting in the living room looking very much at home, was Detective Peter Stutzman. What’s more, he was tucking into a plate of pumpkin whoopie pies with cream cheese filling as he leaned back into the comfortable but worn sofa
.

  "You're home." Her mudder beamed at her. Isobel, however, noticed that her vadder's face was solemn.

  "Hello, Detective Stutzman."

  "Call me Peter, please."

  Isobel's heart fluttered more earnestly. She looked around the room for somewhere to sit. The obvious place would be next to the detective, but Isobel was nervous enough already. Her vadder decided for her. "Sit down, Isobel," he said, pointing to the sofa.

  Isobel went to the sofa and sat down, glad that there was room for three people. She sat up the furthest end to get as far as she could from the attractive detective, and leaned against the thick arm of the sofa.

  "Now, Isobel," Mr. Slabaugh said, "Peter has brought locks for all our doors and windows and has spent quite some time fitting them all."

  Isobel's jaw fell open. Locks on the doors? Whatever would happen next? No Amish in the community had locks on their doors. And for how long had her vadder and the detective been on a first name basis?

  Her vadder was still talking. "Peter has been telling us about the situation, and he advises us that you shouldn't go to the store anymore."

  "But, Datt," Isobel spluttered, and would have said more, but her vadder held up his hand. "Nee, it is for the best, Isobel."

  "But what about Mrs. Harrison?" Isobel knew that it would be disrespectful to argue with her vadder, but she was concerned for Peggy Harrison who had asked her to keep the store open.

  Peter Stutzman turned to her. "I've spoken to Mrs. Harrison and advised her of the circumstances, and she fully agrees that the store must remain shut until this all blows over."

  "But she needs the money," Isobel said in a small voice.

  Peter simply shrugged. "Mrs. Harrison told me that she was thinking of selling the store and her apartment, and living permanently with her sister."