Mitch never called him on it. Like now, he acted as if they’d just spoken last week.
“How’s Margaret?” Tate asked.
“Hard to say. I haven’t seen her today.”
Tate tried to keep his expression neutral, but apparently he didn’t do a good job of it.
Mitch chuckled. “No worries. I don’t take it personal when a member of my congregation would rather use the staff here at the funeral home.”
Mitch studied the room and the group of visitors before he added, “Honestly, I haven’t seen much of Ethan and Margaret in the last few years. I’m surprised she called me at all.”
Tate didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t say anything.
“Have you been in yet?”
“Um, no. I was trying to figure out if I should mingle first.”
They stepped into the entry hall, and Mitch craned his neck to look down the hall toward the chapel. “If the line is short, I say we take the plunge.”
Tate had forgotten that Mitch was a funny guy. He admired a pastor who could joke at a funeral home. He also knew, firsthand, how compassionate and helpful his pastor could be. Four years ago, Mitch had certainly been a pillar of strength for him.
“Say, Mitch, before we go in, could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How do you feel about the book of Daniel?”
“How do I feel about it?” Mitch ran his hand over his jaw. “Humph. Children love the story of Daniel in the lions’ den, and of course theologically I find the episode fascinating, but the book of Daniel has a dark side as well.”
“How so?”
“Daniel 5 contains some grim stuff. Think if you were eating dinner and suddenly a hand began writing an indecipherable message on the wall.”
“That’s in Daniel?” Tate thought of the blood on Amber’s porch.
“It is. Remember, though, that Daniel is a book about God’s people in exile, and how they remain faithful to him. The events there assure us of the sovereignty of God, even in difficult circumstances.”
Difficult circumstances. Well, they were certainly having those at the moment. “Thanks. That helps.”
“No problem. It’s not every day someone asks me about an Old Testament prophet. Let me know if you have any other questions.”
The viewing was held in the small chapel, perhaps because the traditional viewing room wouldn’t have been large enough. A family of four exited the room as Tate and Mitch moved inside.
There was a short line, in the middle aisle. A few folks—family he assumed—were scattered in clusters in both the right and left rows of pews. At the front of the room Ethan’s casket was positioned between two giant floral sprays.
The flowers Margaret had chosen were black, gray, and white carnations.
Had black carnations been Ethan’s favorite flower? Who even made such a thing?
And what had he expected? Coffee bean plants?
They seemed an odd choice to Tate, but then, he’d only planned one funeral, and he’d chosen daisies because they were Peggy’s favorite flower. He supposed one flower was as good as another though, and it wasn’t as if Ethan could see the arrangements.
Pulling his eyes away from the flowers, he stared at the carpet as they shuffled forward in line. Then he heard a voice he knew, glanced up, and saw Amber.
She was ahead of them. She’d stepped to the side to speak to someone sitting in a pew—another family member he supposed. Amber wore a simple black dress and had her chestnut hair piled on top of her head, a few curls escaping at the base of her neck. His pulse accelerated at the sight of her, and his heart flopped like a fish out of water.
Looking at her, in that moment, in that place, he knew.
He knew it was all beginning again for him, and there was no use in fighting it. He took a deep breath, and his palms began to sweat.
Amber Wright.
The woman who had been his next-door neighbor for years.
His mind blanked in confusion, and then he recalled Mitch’s words in the foyer. Hadn’t the pastor just mentioned God’s sovereignty, even in difficult circumstances?
His last four years had been difficult. He certainly never would have chosen to care for someone again. Suddenly he remembered a conversation with Peggy, only a few days before she died. She’d made him promise that he wouldn’t shut his heart to life and to love.
How had she known?
And why now?
It seemed that certain things in life were predetermined or fate or God’s will. Whatever you wanted to call it, Tate realized suddenly that there was no use struggling against the tide. He realized that he didn’t even want to fight what he was feeling.
Everything before that moment was his past, and she was his future.
Even though a week ago he would have laughed at the idea, would have insisted he was too old and that phase of his life was over . . . he now knew the truth.
And as with most things in his life, he faced up to it.
He was falling in love with Amber Wright.
Amber let her eyes wander over the room—a rather gloomy room it seemed to her, but with a respectable number of mourners. She was going down the row, seeing if there was anyone she knew, when she caught Tate Bowman staring at her. At first she wondered if her hair had started tumbling down or maybe she’d worn two different shoes, but then she realized he was looking at her, not at her hair or what she was wearing.
Their eyes locked for a brief moment, butterflies pressed against the inside of her stomach, and then it was time for her to move forward and express her condolences to Margaret Gray.
Margaret wore a black suit with a gray linen blouse. Apparently she had dressed to match the unusual display of flowers.
“I wanted to offer my condolences and again tell you how much we’ll miss Ethan at the Village.”
Margaret’s red lips formed a straight line. She stared at Amber for a moment, not blinking, not speaking a word, not even acting as if she’d heard what Amber had said.
Then she leaned forward as if to confide in Amber, and said, “If you’re truly sorry, find his killer.” The words were delivered in a staged whisper, loud enough for anyone in the room to hear.
Several of the folks standing nearby stopped talking and turned their attention to Amber. She felt a blush creeping up her neck, but managed to keep her voice polite and lowered.
“I’m sure the Middlebury police will contact us both if there’s any change in—”
“The police won’t listen!” Margaret snarled. “This is your fault. It happened on your property. You are the one who should clean it up.”
Amber was stunned into silence.
She didn’t notice Tate had moved to her side until he cupped her elbow in his hand and spoke to Margaret.
“I’m sure you don’t blame Amber for what happened.”
“How are you sure of that?” Margaret looked up and down the two of them. “Oh. I see how it is. Well, I suppose one can’t expect a man to stay faithful to a dead wife forever.”
Amber sensed Tate’s muscles tense. Before he could respond though, a tall, thin man with receding hair stepped up beside them.
“Margaret, perhaps we should step into one of the prayer rooms.”
Ethan’s widow pulled herself into a rigid, perfect posture. Amber had the sense that she was about to spit venom at this man as well, when they were interrupted by the woman on Margaret’s right side.
The woman looked to be a few years younger than Ethan. Her hair was a mixture of gray, brown, and red, as if someone had started with a bottle of dye but been interrupted. It curled all over her head in a tangled fashion. She reached out a hand to touch Margaret’s arm, and Amber noticed that her skin was spotted by the sun.
She was heavy, but not in a soft way, and she wore a bright floral dress.
“Is she the one?” The words were delivered like a well-placed arrow.
Margaret jerked away as if the woman’s touch had
scalded her. She nodded her head once.
“You’re an evil, terrible person. You took my brother away—my brother!” She didn’t look directly at them and she rocked slightly as she spoke. “Ethan took care of me and now he’s gone. He’s gone because of you. It’s all your fault! I will never see him again, and it’s your fault!”
Ethan was right behind her if she wanted to see him; he was lying in the open casket. Amber didn’t think it would help to point that out, and she suddenly hoped this woman, Ethan’s sister, would not turn around at that moment. She seemed to be spinning out of control.
The woman reached up and twisted a strand of her hair, causing it to poke out even more. Her face turned first angry and then grief-stricken. It was as if she was flipping through emotions, trying to choose the one that fit. Suddenly she began to cry, quietly at first and then with giant sobs that shattered the relative silence of the room. She attempted to put her arms around Margaret, to hug her and draw some consolation. Margaret stepped out of the way, out of the reach of the woman’s arms.
A man who had been sitting on the front pew leapt forward and tucked an arm around her, though he struggled under her weight. He pulled her back toward the pew, murmuring, “It’s okay, Pat. It’s going to be okay.”
The woman continued to cry and twist her hair, now oblivious to Amber and the others. “I want Ethan to wake up. Make him wake up.”
Amber turned back to Margaret, who had a smirk on her face. “See what you’ve done? And I won’t be responsible for her. Live with that on your conscience, Miss Wright, because Ethan was the one person standing between her and the street.”
Margaret turned and stomped out of the room via a back exit. The tall man who seemed to be with Tate hurried after her. Amber stood there, shocked and unable to move.
“Come on,” Tate murmured. “Looks like you could use a cup of punch.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her down a side aisle. They had moved into the room with refreshments and Tate had snagged two paper cups of raspberry punch before Amber found her voice.
“Who was that?”
“Patricia, Ethan’s sister. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“What . . .” Amber sipped her punch and studied the room. Convinced no one was close enough to hear them, she asked, “What’s wrong with her?”
Tate shrugged, as if to say he had no idea.
Before Amber could figure out what question to ask next, the man who had followed Margaret out of the viewing room joined them.
“Amber, this is my pastor, Mitch Dodson.”
“Nice to meet you.” Instead of looking aghast or exhausted, the pastor offered a small smile and placed his hands in his pants pockets, jingling the change there.
“I am so sorry about what happened in there.” Amber stared down into her punch. “I don’t know what I could have said or done to set them both off.”
Mitch waved away her concern. “Patricia has been that way since she was a teenager. I only know a few of the details. Ethan wasn’t willing to talk about it. I do know that Patricia has an emotional disorder of sorts. As you could tell, she has trouble dealing with her feelings, or even choosing one emotion for that matter.”
“It happened years ago, when Patricia was a senior in high school.” Tate moved closer and lowered his voice. “She experimented with some drugs—LSD, I think.”
“LSD can cause that?” Amber asked. “She’s still having effects from when she was a teen? I don’t understand.”
“I’m no expert. All I know is that she never quite recovered. She’s quite intelligent, but has problems socially and emotionally. Ethan, or maybe it was Margaret, shared the details with Peggy once.”
“Is that why she does the repetitive—” Amber made a motion that mimicked Patricia’s hair pulling.
Tate nodded. “I can assure you it was nothing you did.”
“Still, maybe I shouldn’t have come. Margaret obviously isn’t ready to see me.”
Mitch studied her a moment, then said, “Margaret can be difficult at times. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“She was upset when Gordon and I visited her, but I thought perhaps she’d had time to calm down.”
“It seems she holds you responsible, Miss Wright.”
“Amber, please.”
Mitch picked up two cookies and offered one to her. Amber declined, but Tate accepted it.
“Yes. She does. I suppose because he worked at the Village.”
“Margaret feels you should have prevented Ethan’s death since you’re the manager there.”
“I am. How did you know?”
“It’s a small town.”
“Pastors tend to know most of what is going on.” Tate smiled. “Mitch winds up in the middle of many family feuds.”
“It’s true. I’m thrown into the role of unwitting negotiator more often than one would expect.”
“Is that what this is? A family feud?”
Tate and Mitch exchanged a look, indicating they knew more than they were saying at the moment. Mitch raised a hand in greeting to someone on the other side of the room. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amber. Tate, see you soon.”
Then he was gone, speaking to folks as he made his way around the room, and leaving Amber with more questions than she’d had when she arrived.
Fourteen
Hannah was locking up the coffee shop the next day when Amber appeared at her side.
“How was your day?”
“Gut.”
“That’s wonderful, Hannah. I knew you’d be a natural at this. You’re kind and courteous to customers. That’s the main ingredient for success.”
Hannah wasn’t completely convinced, but she nodded politely.
“I was wondering if you had time to chat with me.”
“Actually I was headed home. I promised to help my mamm with a quilt we’ve been working on for one of my cousins.”
“Oh. Could I give you a ride? That would save you some time.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But I want to. You’ve been very gracious to take on these extra responsibilities, and I appreciate it. Plus, I could use a little time away from the office.”
Hannah smiled and pushed up her glasses. She’d never imagined Amber as being like the rest of them. She’d just assumed that Amber lived and breathed the Village, but no doubt she had other hobbies as well.
“Ya, okay. Danki.”
“Did you ride your bike today?”
“No, my bruder needed it, so I walked.”
Hannah had ridden in Englisch cars plenty of times, but Amber’s was different. It was small and sporty and red. The seats were black leather and much softer than any leather she’d ever touched.
“Nice car,” she murmured.
“Do you think so?” Amber pushed a button and started the car, which barely made any noise at all. “I bought it because it gets great gas mileage. I have to admit that it’s fun though. I’ve never owned a red car before.”
“We don’t have much of this color in our lives.”
“That’s right. You don’t wear red, correct?”
“Ya.”
“And I think I read that you don’t quilt with it.” Amber frowned. “Come to think of it, the quilt in my office and the one in my home have red material and they’re both Amish-made.”
Hannah was surprised that Amber knew those things. What else did she know about Amish life?
“We do quilt with red fabric if we’re making something to sell or as a gift for an Englischer. It’s not that we think it’s a bad color or anything, but it’s rather—”
“Bold.”
“Ya. Bold is a gut word.”
After she’d explained to Amber where she lived, Hannah sat back and relaxed. The ride was smooth. She thought it was almost as good as a ride in her parents’ buggy.
They spoke about the coffee shop and how busy the week had been. Fortunately Amber didn’t bring up the sub
ject of Ethan. Hannah was feeling tired and depleted. She did not want to think about, let alone discuss, the death of Ethan Gray.
Amber pulled to a stop in front of Hannah’s home. It was only two thirty, so Hannah’s brothers were still at work in the fields, but as soon as the car had driven up, Mattie appeared at the screen door.
“Your little sister looks happy to see you.”
“That’s Mattie.” Hannah hesitated for a moment, then added, “Would you like to come inside?”
Amber’s smile pretty much said it all. By the time they’d walked up the porch steps, Mattie had run to fetch Hannah’s mother.
“What is it, child?” Eunice was bent over the quilting frame and didn’t immediately realize that they had company.
“Mamm, this is Amber, my boss.”
Eunice stowed her sewing needle in the quilt and walked over to say hello.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Amber didn’t offer to shake her hand; instead she stood staring at the Lone Star quilt on the quilt stand. “That is beautiful.”
“Danki.” Eunice offered Amber something to drink.
“No thank you. I gave Hannah a ride home.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“Ya, I told her that, Mamm.” Hannah picked up her little sister, sat down, and settled her on her lap. Mattie patted Hannah’s face with one hand and sucked her fingers with the other.
“Truthfully, I simply wanted some time away from the office.” Amber folded her arms around her middle, as if she were hugging herself.
“I understand. There are days when I make up errands so I can go to town for an hour or so. I suppose wherever you work, it’s gut to have time away.”
“Hannah told me you’re making the quilt for her cousin.”
“Ya. She marries in a few weeks, and we want to have this finished by then.”
Hannah set Mattie on the floor near a basket of toys and pulled her chair closer to the quilt. “You’ve worked on it some already today.”
Murder Simply Brewed Page 12
