by Karen Harper
“‘What a revelation’ and ‘Unlucky 13:13’ is not in the Bible, is it?”
“No. So our beast is adding things, making a joke about his own revelation. Do you think the fact it says he makes fire means the arsonist is a man?”
“Not if he or she is just picking Bible quotes about fire. Let’s check it out online—on the laptop.”
“The Bible is in there, too?”
He nodded as he sat on the grass, struggling into his jeans, which stuck to his wet legs. “This means the writer of the Bible notes,” he said, “who is probably the arsonist, is starting to get cute, sarcastic, maybe frustrated. That’s what I was hoping for. He’s itching to burn another barn and he’s going to get careless. I hope he or she resents that we’re holding the other notes without publishing them. You know thirteen is supposed to be an unlucky number, right?”
“Superstition, yes, but I’ll bet that’s the chapter and verse of the quote, too.”
“Let’s look it up,” he said, pulling on his bright blue shirt without putting his wadded, wet T-shirt back on.
In VERA, he slid the paper out of the sack onto the narrow table, then, with a quick glance at the sack, set it carefully aside. He leaned stiff-armed over the writing, studying it from every angle, then turned on what he called his laptop. It sat on the countertop in a little frame, probably so it didn’t slide around when he drove. She watched, wide-eyed, as he hit keys to bring up different screens, and there it was, the Holy Bible, then the Book of the Revelation, then the exact verse, 13:13.
“So tell me more of what you know about this section of Revelation,” he said as he intently scanned the surrounding words.
“This part is prophecy about the coming of the Antichrist, the ultimate evil, Satan’s tool. And, in turn, there are two so-called beasts who serve the Antichrist.” She leaned close to him to skim the section from the note.
“It says this second beast who uses fire rises up, and people worship him. In this case, the arsonist probably means people are in awe of the fires. Most arsonists are egomaniacs—extremely prideful—one way or the other,” Nate said.
“See where he makes war with the saints?” she asked, pointing to the screen.
“In the arsonist’s perverted mind that could mean his battle with the Amish. It also says that he persecutes God’s people during a time of tribulation. Sarah, this is someone who knows the Bible and hates the Amish—but that doesn’t mean he or she is not Amish.”
“But you just proved anyone can look it up,” she challenged. “Is there a way to somehow search to find a word like fire, or would the person who wrote the note have to have read and know the entire book?”
“You’re right—as usual. It’s easy to do such a search. I guess I’m remembering only the comforting parts in the Bible, not scary stuff like this.”
“At least Jacob’s not the one who sent it, since he’s in jail.”
“He isn’t,” Nate said, straightening. But just as she was starting to feel relieved that at last he believed her, at least about Jacob if not Hannah, he added, “I mean he isn’t in jail. His parents somehow raised bail money for him. But the sheriff called me to say an Englische friend picked him up in a car about an hour ago. Legally, Sheriff Freeman couldn’t hold him if we didn’t formally charge him with the arsons, and we don’t have enough evidence for that. I’m hoping, if we give him some rope, he may hang—or at least snag—himself.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling deflated.
“You still care for him?”
“Not that way. I told you, I just don’t want it to be someone Amish.”
He took her hand and they both stared down at the paper on the table, then at each other. “These notes I’ve tried to keep secret,” he said, “are like a ticking bomb. Since Peter Clawson knows about only one of the three, I’ve made a deal with him that, if he doesn’t print it, I’ll give him some early, exclusive information when we catch the arsonist. I’ve told my boss about the notes. But now, not releasing the information—I’m not sure. I don’t want to cause more panic than there already is, however your people accept the Lord’s hand in what is happening. It’s touchy when pacifist civilians start guarding their barns with hunting rifles. This has to end soon.”
“I think you’re right that releasing these notes would only foster fear.”
“Speaking of which, I’m also starting to worry it could be someone random, someone we don’t know. It’s happened with serial murderers—serial arsonists, too. Peter Clawson may be right that it could be a hate crime against the Amish. Someone who resents Amish ways or beliefs—I don’t know. But I do know you’ve been invaluable to me in all this, whatever happens. Wait—did you hear that?” he said, cocking his head. He dropped her hand and moved toward the open back doors.
“Sounds like Gabe’s voice,” she said. “I just ran off, so maybe they’re worried.”
“Good. I hope they keep an eye on you if I can’t. Don’t you laugh at me tomorrow when I turn Amish for a couple of days. Yeah, it’s Gabe,” he said, and stepped out and waved to him.
“She’s here, going over evidence with me!” Nate called to him. “Sarah,” he added, speaking quickly as he climbed back inside, “when you drop off the half-moon pies at the restaurant tomorrow morning, I’d like to ride back to your house in your buggy—hidden. I’m going to put the word out I’ve gone back to Columbus for something, then try to look Amish with your dad’s help and live undercover that way at your house for a couple of days. Your father’s going to explain everything to your family tonight.”
She stood, amazed at all Nate, her father and the church leaders had agreed on. “Ya,” she said, “I can bring you back from town. I think Grossmamm will like you much more dressed Amish, but I kind of like you in green-and-blue plaid.”
Just before Gabe popped around and peered up into VERA at them, Nate whispered, “Sarah Kauffman, you are a tease.”
The next morning, Nate drove VERA to the sheriff’s house—a nice brick ranch two miles east of town—and parked in his double garage, which the sheriff closed and locked. Hoping he didn’t need more than the communication equipment he’d put in a pack with some personal items, Nate got on the floor in the back of the sheriff’s car and rode into town with him. When the sheriff gave him the okay, Nate got out behind the office. After hiding his backpack behind the Dutch Farm Table under a bush, he walked around to the front door of the restaurant and went in to sit at the counter.
“What will it be?” Ray-Lynn greeted him. “Breakfast or more cleverly worded accusations?”
“Not much time for either today,” he said, glancing down at his watch. “I’m heading back to Columbus for a couple of days—lab work, debriefing, but I’ll be back in time for the barn raising.”
“I’m sure someone around here will miss you,” she said, her tone tart.
It was interesting, he thought, that she’d turned so cold to him when he thought they’d parted amiably after he’d questioned her. He’d figured that, no matter how upset she was, she’d be charming at the restaurant. The flip tone of “What a revelation!” in the note danced through his mind. Sarah had said that Ray-Lynn was raised a Southern Baptist. If anyone knew the Bible, they did.
“I had to tell our mutual friend, if that’s what you’re upset about,” he told Ray-Lynn when she glared at him.
“If either of you really think I could be behind something like that, you can just eat elsewhere, both of you,” she muttered, and flounced away.
One of the Amish waitresses came up, poured him coffee and took his order. Peter Clawson ambled in, looking rumpled and sleepless, like some absentminded professor, but Nate knew he was hardly that. Those comments on the last note—“What a revelation!” and “Unlucky 13:13”—sounded like something Peter would say. Of everyone he knew around here, Peter fit the egomaniac description best, but what would be the motive? Increased paper sales? That Pulitzer Prize? But then, why would Peter have cooperated with and even agreed not
to publish evidence at the request of an arson investigator? Naw, this guy was pompous but he only had time to cover the arsons, not start them.
“Nate, my man,” Peter said, and plopped down on the next stool. “How’s Noah Miller?”
“Good news for you to print for once. Despite facing a long, hard haul, he’s going to make it.”
“I called the Cleveland Clinic, but they read me the patient privacy act. How in the world did the arsonist start that fire with the boy in the barn?”
“Noah was trying to repair the hole in the loft, which he then fell through and was trapped. I haven’t had time—nor have the charred remains cooled-off enough yet—to confirm evidence. Meanwhile, I’m heading to Columbus until Saturday morning, but I’ll be back for the Esh barn raising.”
“While the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
“Isn’t that a cliché?” he tweaked him.
“One that’s apropos. Doesn’t it worry you to be leaving right now?”
“Sheriff Freeman’s on alert, and the Amish are much more aware now. Speaking of the Amish, I wish you’d quit featuring Sarah Kauffman in the paper. You know they don’t like their faces photographed—or to have a public focus on them.”
“She’s a huge part of this story. Besides, Ray-Lynn is really impressed by her art, thinks she could have a good career in the big, bad world. I’m just giving that a boost. Besides, I think she’s covering for a close contact, and I want to shake them both up.”
Nate’s head jerked up. “Jacob Yoder?”
“You’re the investigator here. Let me just say I’m sure I saw Hannah Esh standing a ways back in the newly planted field between the Esh and Kauffman farms, watching that first fire—her family’s barn.”
Nate’s stomach knotted. He stopped pouring maple syrup and looked at Peter. The man didn’t blink but added, “Here comes another cliché, but they were thick as thieves, Sarah, Hannah and Ella Lantz. It’s obvious Sarah is willing to buck the Amish establishment to a certain point with her art. I know, the bishop et al finally approved it, but only those copy-the-quilt-design paintings, when Ray-Lynn says she can do so much more. But I think Sarah would defend Hannah at any cost. Again, not to turn a cliché on its head, but I hope you’re not so enamored with one particular tree that you’re missing the entire forest. And one more thing. I’m going to have to print what was in that note dropped off at the paper. I can’t sit on that anymore. The public has a right to know.”
Though he was still trying to process Peter’s information about seeing Hannah at the fire—why didn’t he share that before?—Nate said, “I thought we had a deal on your holding that.”
“It’s too important to let slide. Besides, it might give you a lead if someone comes forward with info on it. It’s a unique note with the threat, the Bible language. I intend to print it in full in the issue that covers the barn raising unless there’s a reason to do another special edition first. If you’re going to Columbus in the midst of all this mess, check out the paper’s website to keep up with things.”
Did Peter smell a rat with his leaving at a time like this? “If you print that note,” Nate said, intentionally filling his mouth with a three-tiered bite of pancakes and chewing slowly before he went on, “and it triggers another arson, I’ll hold you accountable. And be sure to print that the state arson investigator mentioned another Bible quote, Exodus 22:6 — ‘He who makes fire shall surely make restitution.’”
Peter looked impressed, so Nate hoped he’d recalled that right. After Sarah had left with Gabe yesterday, he’d done the obvious, searching the entire Bible online for quotes about fire.
He and Peter ate side by side, not saying much more, while Ray-Lynn went past, glaring darts at both of them, though Nate had no idea why she was ticked off at Peter. He saw Sarah come in and tried to ignore her. She sat in the rear booth where Ray-Lynn flitted back to talk to her now and then. He had to make his move now.
Nate said he’d see Peter on Saturday at the barn raising, paid his bill and, when he saw Mike Getz come in, chatted with him and just happened to mention he was leaving for a few days. Before Peter could pay and catch up, Nate walked down the street and ducked back behind the buildings. He retrieved his backpack and, looking both ways, tried to get himself settled in the narrow, short space behind the driver’s seat of Sarah’s buggy.
Lying down with his knees bent, he used his hard backpack for a pillow. Besides some personal items, it was jammed full with his satellite phone, three two-way radios—Sarah had lost his fourth one in the ditch—and night goggles. Stan Comstock would supply anything else needed, and they’d use only dedicated channels to speak to each other. If something needed to be sent back and forth between the Kauffman and Hostetler farms, however much they prided themselves on being cutting-edge investigators, they would rely on Amish help with a horse and buggy.
As he tried again to get comfortable—where was that woman?—he shook the buggy. Sally merely snorted once, as if she expected strange things from him.
He figured it was about ten minutes later when Sarah came out. The buggy rocked under her weight as she settled in. “All set?” she whispered. “I’ve felt more worldly while you’ve been here, Nathan MacKenzie, and now, I guess, you’re going to get a little taste of what it is to be Amish—at least wearing the clothes and walking in our shoes a bit.”
She blew a kiss to Sally, and they pulled away. The clip-clops and the sway of the buggy could have lulled him if he wasn’t so upset that Peter had claimed to see Hannah at the first fire and suggested that Sarah was probably covering for her. Of course, Sarah had defended her friend tooth and nail. Man, he wished Hannah had a decent alibi for the two arsons. And she’d looked so shocked to hear about the Miller fire—as if it really annoyed her that someone else had dared to set one. Hannah knew the area. Like Sarah, she could easily walk the fields to get to barns she’d known all her life.
He tried to calm himself. Peter had withheld that information, so what else was he holding back on? “We’re going to be passing other buggies so I’m not talking to you.” Sarah interrupted his agonizing. “But it’s okay if you talk to me.”
“Maybe I’m taking a nap or just enjoying the view,” he said. He reached out under the seat toward her ankle, but withdrew his hand before he touched her. He had to fight his need for her. The only thing he should be concentrating on, he told himself, was catching the arsonist before one more barn burned.
Sarah was moving Grossmamm and some of her things into the farmhouse when they crossed paths with Nate in the living room as he came down the stairs. That is, she met Amish Nate, dressed in her brother-in-law’s trousers, white shirt and dark coat. Clean-shaven, he looked like an unwed Amish man except for his short hair, but the straw hat hid that. Gabe and Daad were with him. They nodded and both patted Sarah’s and Grossmamm’s shoulders and said their names, but they went to the kitchen, and she heard the screen door bang closed. For a moment, she stood in awe at Nate’s transformation, but before she could figure out quite what to say, her grandmother asked him in German, “Are you Sarah’s come-calling friend?”
At least, Sarah thought, stifling a laugh but turning bright red, the old woman wasn’t afraid of him now. “This is Nate, Grossmamm, a friend of the whole family,” Sarah said in English.
Switching to English, Grossmamm retorted, “Well, even if he’s just one of the cousins from Pennsylvania come to help in the fields, he should be your come-calling friend. He’s handsome. And,” she said to Nate, “our Sarah is a lovely, loyal young woman. I’d miss her if you took her away, but she would make a good wife.” Looking back at Sarah, she asked, “You never married that other one, did you?”
“Grossmamm,” Sarah said, wishing she hadn’t switched to English, “let’s go upstairs.”
“At least up there, it will be harder for that man in black to look in my window,” the old woman said, not budging. “When I saw him outside, I pulled up the window and told him to get away. He terrif
ied me, though, because I think he was one of them—the burners.”
Sarah got goose bumps. When she should have just passed over it and gotten her grandmother settled to avoid upsetting her, she asked, “What did he say? What did he look like?”
“He said nothing. He knew I’d caught him. Or maybe it was a woman. I can only say the person looked like a demon with huge eyes that stuck out like a grasshopper’s. I wasn’t dreaming. I was right on my knees, looking out. I’ve always told the truth. I’d tell the truth even if they tortured or burned me like is happening now. And I didn’t want him to come in and burn your verboten drawings, so I put bloody fire on them before he could….”
Sarah gasped, shocked at the demented twists in her grossmamm’s mind. But at least the arsonist hadn’t targeted her sketchbook.
“Sorry, Nate,” Sarah said, and put her sacks down to take Grossmamm’s elbow to lead her toward the stairs. “I shouldn’t have asked her.”
Nate picked up the sacks and followed them up the stairs. At the bedroom door where the old woman had slept for many years—Mamm and Daad were putting her in there since it faced the front and not the barn—Sarah thought she would balk. But entering her old room seemed to calm her. She went right in, then broke Sarah’s heart when she said, “Your grossdaad will be back from the fields soon. You two just enjoy yourselves, and I’ll be fine, just waiting for him here.”
Sarah caught Nate’s gaze. There were tears in his eyes, too.
21
“YOU READY TO PULL AN ALL-NIGHTER?” SHERIFF Freeman asked over the satellite phone Nate had provided for him.
“Hope I can stay awake after the supper they fed me here. Between the Amish and Ray-Lynn’s restaurant, Jack, I’m tanking weight on.”
“Yeah, it’s all good home cooking from scratch,” Jack said with a sigh. “I should appreciate it more than I have.”
