Shunning Sarah

by Julie Kramer

  Instead of continuing backward. I turned to the front of the diary to begin fresh with Sarah’s life in chronological order. Then I might better understand the context of her remarks.

  24. September

  Ach Gott, Ich muss hier weg. Ich habe versucht zu verzeihen, aber ich kann nicht …

  “Oh God, I must leave. I have tried to forgive, but cannot. And living among them, yet isolated from their company, is hardship. They have put the bann on me. So I will make my plans to flee. Apology is not enough. I worry for Hannah and will work to come back for her.”

  The next entry seemed to show an attempt at humor.

  25. September

  Es macht mir nichts aus, dass mein Bruder …

  “I don’t mind my brother not speaking to me, or sharing food at my plate. The good thing of the bann means he must avoid me.”

  Sarah wrote of struggling with her decision to join the Amish church by baptism. I regretted never getting to know her personally. Of all the murder victims I covered, she still remained the most mysterious.

  But diaries were traditionally a place to hide secrets. Maybe Sarah wanted to share one with me.

  Ich liess mich taufen, damit ich unterrichten kann …

  “I chose baptism so I could teach. Now with the bann I am disallowed. Shunning by the church is more pain than my family. And I fear for Hannah. At school I could protect her.”

  The next entry was more emotional—even creepier—than the previous ones.

  Ich dachte, der Bann war vorbei, als Mamm in mein Zimmer kam …

  “I thought Mamm was ending the bann when she came into my room. But no. She opened the Bible and made me read aloud the Matthew verse: Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, ‘Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?’ Jesus answered, ‘I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.’

  “Then she shut the book and left me. In the morning darkness, it was the same. No one greeted me. Or made room at the table. I peeled potatoes but they would not eat them.”

  Sarah’s writing was making me squirm. Was Miriam focused on the issue of forgiveness in the broadest sense? Or did she mean “brother” literally? I felt shivers as I continued to type the German.

  27. September

  Gestern Abend, als der Mond schien und alle schliefen, bin ich weg …

  “Last night when the moon shone and my family slept I fled. First I had practiced silence on the steps and doors. I walked miles to an old house in town. I had heard talk she would house Amish who leave the church. I did not want to wake anyone. So I waited hours on the steps outside until I saw a light. When I knocked she gave me a room.”

  28. September

  Die Frau hat mich nichts gefragt …

  “The lady at the house didn’t ask questions. She helped me find work at a large Amish store outside town. The owner didn’t mind I dressed Amish. He said it was good for business. When I earn money I will buy new English clothes.”

  The next entry wrote of being torn about keeping quiet or going to the law. And it wasn’t reporting counterfeit Amish goods that had her divided.

  Verzeihen oder beschuldigen? Was ist härter?

  “Forgive or accuse? Which is harder?”

  And as I continued to type Sarah’s words, the translation horrified me.

  Gideon had been raping Sarah. For years.

  In der Scheune hat er mich überwältigt.

  “In the barn, he held me down.”

  And Miriam knew.

  Kämpfe mehr. Bete mehr …

  “‘Fight harder. Pray harder.’ That’s how Mamm told me to stop him.”

  She related how Bishop Stoltzfus made Gideon apologize for his acts. Just like the other Amish church leaders in Ohio and Iowa. And Sarah was ordered to forgive him. Just like all the other times.

  Aber dieses Mal habe ich mich geweigert …

  “But this time I refused.”

  And that’s why they were shunning Sarah.

  CHAPTER 79

  Sarah’s tale of abuse and cover-up made me wonder how people who profess to be so God-fearing can be so god-awful. Did Gideon kill his sister to keep her quiet?

  Hovering over the English translation, I printed each page of the diary, and reread each line. Garnett was right about victimology coming alive in words by the deceased.

  Gideon soll meine Schreie in seinen Albträumen hören …

  “May Gideon hear my screams in his nightmares.”

  I had no firsthand knowledge of the abuse and this evidence alone could not convict, but I owed it to Sarah to investigate further.

  Yes, her written words might be admitted at trial, but Sarah could not be cross-examined. Gideon could not be forced to incriminate himself. Same story with Miriam, unless the state offered her a deal. I’d hate to see that, but there might be no choice. Without corroborating evidence, the sexual assault case against Gideon would be weak.

  Unless another witness could be found.

  And I was convinced I knew one. Hannah.

  The child seemed fearful. And in her writing, Sarah seemed to allude to a reason for her apprehension. Did Hannah miss her sister, distrust her mother, or dread her brother?

  Each time I’d seen the little girl, I’d concentrated on the obvious, first question. Next time we met, I’d push her deeper for answers to the more intrusive queries.

  As for her other two family members and their objections to the drawing of Sarah, did they really not like seeing her face because of their Amish aversion to pride, or did staring at her make them feel guilty?

  Just then Garnett rang to see how the diary translation was going. “As a former homicide cop, I’m still curious about our victim.”

  “It’s real bad.” I told him our murder victim appeared to also be a victim of incest. I read him the last entry of the diary: ‘I have decided tomorrow I will go to the English law.’ Who was she prepared to turn in? Her boss for fraud or her brother for rape?”

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  “I’ve never liked the brother. He creeped me out from the start.”

  That’s when I revealed to Garnett that I had been fond enough of Ike Hochstetler to kiss him. “So I was quite surprised when he turned out to be her killer, and almost mine.”

  Kissing and telling proved to be a bad idea. Garnett was angry, I could tell, even from a thousand miles away.

  “So you kissed the first guy who leered at you? Did his Amish past seem exotic?”

  “You and I were broken up, Nick.”

  “Not totally,” he responded. “We’d started talking again. And I’d offered to fly back and make up. Was he why you turned me down?”

  “Maybe I kissed Ike as a test. Just to see if anyone else had the same spark we do.”

  “And did he? Riley?”

  Garnett thought my pause meant yes, but I was actually trying to recall Ike’s lips. I did remember enjoying him enough that we almost went all the way in his sports car. But I also recalled being repulsed by his final touch. I thought best not to share either nuance with Garnett.

  “Did you sleep with him?” he said.

  “No.” That answer came without pause. But even immediately was too late. Garnett was furious he’d had to ask.

  “Well, just for your information, Ms. Spartz, I’ve got someone in Washington who I kiss.”

  “Who?” I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, or trying to hurt me because I’d hurt him.

  “None of your business,” he said.

  “Of course it’s my business, Nick. We slept together just the other night. If you’ve kissed someone since then, you’ll never kiss me again.”

  That night I slept poorly. Nick probably did, too. At least, that’s what I told myself as I stared alone at the stars. Our affair could not end this unhappily-ever-after. Or could it?

  This was another one of those times a loyal dog curled next to me would have made the hours go by faster. Instead, a parade of sta
r-crossed literary lovers kept me awake. Romeo and Juliet. Catherine and Heathcliff. Adam and Eve. By the time I got to Jack and Ennis from Brokeback Mountain I was convinced Nick Garnett and I were history.

  I hoped Husky was happy down at the farm.

  CHAPTER 80

  My cell phone buzzed the next morning at work, but it wasn’t Garnett. He hadn’t called me and I hadn’t called him. I was working up how best to tell Bryce about Sarah’s diary when Nicole texted. Her message read :) instead of *.

  Curious, I texted back: Meet in basement. I didn’t want too many people to look back and recall us hanging around together in case the Bryce situation got ugly.

  The Channel 3 lower level featured dark and lonely hallways with storage rooms tucked in undesirable corners. The photo lounge, just off the elevator, was the only habitable spot. I put my finger against my lip to signal Nicole to follow me silently to a large space with cement floors and high ceilings. Boxes with dates and story slugs scrawled on the sides were stacked everywhere, covered with dust.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “It’s the old news graveyard.”

  Channel 3 preserved investigative files and tapes five years against possible litigation. Some stations were moving toward purging all video immediately so they wouldn’t have to deal with subpoenas. But I always felt that if I ever got sued, my work was my best defense.

  We each sat on a box behind a wall of other boxes in dim light.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Riley, it worked just like you predicted. Watch.”

  Nicole held out her cell-phone screen toward me. A bouncy shot through the newsroom made up the opening scene. Then Bryce greeted her and instructed her to close the door. The bag camera was off center, but adequate. When he sat, his face was visible.

  “I’ve been thinking, Nicole.” He reached across his desk and tapped his finger against her nose like she was a small child.

  “Yes, Bryce?” It must have taken a lot of willpower for her not to try rubbing the germs off. But she stayed still and let him talk.

  “Even though you’re still technically on probation, maybe I should rotate you behind the anchor desk for a day. I’d love to see how you do as a lead anchor.”

  “Really? Me?” Dangling the anchor job in front of her wasn’t what she was expecting Bryce to do. Her voice sounded more thrilled than I liked, but she was at that stage of her career where lead anchor sounded seductive.

  “I don’t see why not?” he answered. “I sense you might have that special camera magic that lights up a TV screen.”

  But then she remembered her mission. “Speaking of cameras, Bryce, is that really you in those pictures you keep sending me?”

  “Do you like?” he asked.

  “To be honest, not really. Women aren’t into photos of male nudity.”

  “You prefer the real thing?” He stood behind his desk and while his face was no longer in view, his fingers undid the top button on his pants.

  “No, no,” she said. “Please, don’t.”

  “Oh, not here. I understand. You don’t like mixing business with pleasure.” He started moving in her direction and she grabbed her handbag.

  “I just remembered, Bryce, I have an interview at city hall. I need to run.”

  Her voice lost that marvelous broadcast quality and turned shrill. Her last words blurred together in a panic, and the video kept rolling chaotically as she dashed out of his office and into the elevator.

  I wasn’t sure what to say to Nicole. All I could think was that we were definitely working for a pig.

  “On a whole lot of levels, you handled that well, Nicole. And for hidden camera work, the quality was amazing. You’d make a fabulous one-man band.”

  She smiled coyly, like she was weighing my compliment, but she was really fishing for something else. “Do you think I’d make a fabulous anchor?”

  “You’re not thinking—”

  “Well, somebody’s going to get the job, Riley. Why not me? He might not have a choice.” She waved her cell phone, craftily.

  “Blackmail is wrong. Instead of punishing him, you’d be part of the problem.”

  “So what should I do?” she asked.

  I suggested she march up to the GM’s office and show him the video and the sexts and get Bryce his pink slip. She told me she’d think about it. If the video were mine, I might be tempted to switch it with a newscast tape so it would roll on the air for all to see—a little personal revenge mixed with public ridicule.

  Back in the elevator, I got a text from Bryce. I didn’t want to look at it, so Nicole peeked and read that he wanted me to come to his office.

  “You’re not going to mention me to him, are you?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not,” I assured her.

  • • •

  Minutes later, I was sitting across from Bryce, skimming a handful of papers he referred to as my “job review.”

  “Have you actually supervised me long enough to evaluate me?” I asked.

  “I think I have, and I believe in giving timely employee feedback.”

  He had ranked me as Meets Expectations in three areas and Needs to Improve in four others including teamwork, news judgment, technical skill, and on-air appearance.

  This was the first employment review I’d had in years. Noreen had thought all that paperwork was a waste of time. I figured Bryce was laying a paper trail so that my contract wouldn’t be renewed.

  “Didn’t I exceed your expectation anywhere?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “But this will give you something to work toward.”

  The only thing I wanted to work toward was finding a new job and a new boss. Unless Nicole could get rid of this one ASAP.

  Luckily the weekend was only a few hours away. I had already decided to drive down to the farm and surprise my parents. At that moment, I had no idea of the surprise that awaited me.

  CHAPTER 81

  The Amish schoolhouse looked empty from the road and even emptier through the window. The room’s accessories reminded me of my own early education years. Blackboard, American flag, and wall rack with hooks for hats and coats. The wooden lift-top desks looked exactly like the ones in my country school.

  I’d hoped to catch up with Hannah near school, rather than at home. I wasn’t ready to confront Gideon concerning his dead sister’s last written words.

  Eyeing the path Hannah was most likely to walk, I spotted a little white head bouncing through a harvested farm field so I parked where she’d likely exit.

  “Hannah,” I called her name from my car when she became closer.

  She looked at me dubiously, keeping her distance. Probably because she didn’t recognize my vehicle: I’d always driven a van before. But when I waved a laminated sketch of Sarah, she approached, reaching for the picture. She fingered the plastic coating uncertainly, checking the front and back.

  “This way it will stay nice for you, Hannah. Even if you have to keep your sister’s picture hidden outside.”

  “Danke.” She kissed her sister on her penciled lips.

  “Do you have a minute to chat about Sarah?”

  I opened the car door and patted the seat beside me, realizing she’d probably been instructed not to talk to English or get into cars with strangers. She glanced around up and down the road. No other vehicles, buggy or motorized, were in sight. So she climbed inside.

  “My name’s Riley.” I wasn’t sure how to proceed. “I’ve been telling your sister’s story for the news.” Under some circumstances, I could be accused of child abduction. Best to just start talking and see if the child joined in. “Did Sarah and Gideon ever have problems?”

  Hannah didn’t answer. She merely ran her finger over the outline of her sister’s sketch, as if committing the pieces of her face to memory.

  “You and Sarah sure look like sisters,” I said. “And it sounds like you had fun with her. Tell me about Gideon.”

  I didn’t wan
t to be specific, because I didn’t want to plant ideas. The girl was nervous, that much was clear. But whether Hannah was uncomfortable about being in my car or talking about her brother, who could tell?

  “Gideon is mean.”

  If she mentioned the word “touch” along with her brother’s name, I was prepared to drive her and Sarah’s diary to the county child protection services.

  “How is he mean?” I asked.

  But Hannah merely fidgeted, without offering specifics.

  “Have you told this to your mother?”

  Soon, her mother might worry about her. And question her about why she was late. Hannah must have had the same fears. She rolled the picture inside her lunch pail, then opened the car door to leave.

  “If there is anything I can do to help you, Hannah, I will.” I realized building up the kind of trust needed for this conversation might take time. “I’d like to talk more about this when you’re not in such a hurry. Is there any place we might see each other again?”

  She stared straight at me, like she was judging me. Then she apparently made a decision. “Tonight, I’m going to the corn maze.” For the first time since we met, she sounded enthusiastic.

  “The corn maze is a great time.” I saw potential for us to meet among the twists and turns. “Will all three of you be there?”

  She nodded. “We went last year.” Then she paused. “Sarah, too.”

  The corn maze was low-tech family entertainment for autumn. No devil’s tail or other technology afoot there. Just good old-fashioned family fun.

  “As it turns out,” I said, “I’m also going to be at the corn maze tonight. Should our paths cross, maybe we can duck away to chat in the rows of corn. But if your mother or brother are around, act like you don’t know me.”

  She nodded to show she understood. I was the kind of friend her family wouldn’t approve of.

  CHAPTER 82

  I could feel it in the air: a storm was coming. Distant shimmers of lightning flashed across the sky, out of season. But the climate had been unusual this autumn. As a child, during quiet weather, I remembered my grandpa teasing me about listening carefully to hear the corn grow.