Suspendered Sentence

by Laura Bradford

  “It is.” He dropped into a squat and added two fresh logs to the fire, the accompanying crackles and pops merely intensifying the coziness of the room. “The dreams that happen when your eyes are open are always the best kind, in my opinion.”

  “Agreed.” She pulled the quilt more tightly against her body and shifted her focus to the rest of the frames displayed atop the mantel. To the immediate left of hers, was a picture of the hidden swimming hole Jakob frequented as a young Amish boy. “I know how special your memories are of that pond. Makes me wish I could transport myself back just to see you and Martha laughing and having fun.”

  He poked at the fire a few times and then returned the metal pole to its holder on the far side of the fireplace. “I couldn’t have asked for a better sister than Martha. She made growing up Amish the treasured memory it will always be for me. But that’s not all I think about when I look at that picture.”

  “It’s not?”

  Slowly he rose to face her once again. “I also remember putting my arms around you for the very first time so I could teach you how to skip rocks.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the memory as she, too, found herself recalling the jolt of awareness that had come from the feel of his arms—an awareness she’d pushed aside at that time purely out of fear and confusion. “Thanks to you, I’ve become quite the little rock skipper, if I must say so myself.”

  His laugh warmed her as quickly and completely as the restoked fire, and she moved on to the picture of intertwined hands. “Is one of those yours?”

  “That’s Esther’s and Eli’s hands on their wedding day. I know I probably shouldn’t have taken it, but I thought it would be a nice memory.”

  “Did they know you took it?” She heard the surprise in her voice and rushed to explain it. “I just know the Amish don’t like to have their photos taken.”

  “I know. It’s why I almost left the camera at home before I picked you up that day. But, in the end, I couldn’t help myself. Then, at some point when I was walking around, giving myself a tour of Martha’s home and grounds, I saw the two of them holding hands. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. I’m pretty sure Eli saw me because he turned their hands just enough to give me a clear shot.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said in awe.

  “I put that one in a frame to remind me there’s always a chance.”

  She pulled the quilt from around her shoulders and tucked it under her arm instead. “A chance?”

  “When I moved back here, I fully expected my sister and my brother would pretend as if I didn’t exist. I dared to hope I was wrong, of course, but I was Amish once, too. I knew the drill.” He took the quilt and her hand and led her to the couch. “Within days of being here, I met you. And before I could fully bask in that good fortune, you and your shop gave me a place where I could at least see my sister and my niece. Five months later, I’m at her wedding. Granted, I was only there as your guest, and not a single solitary Amish person gave me the time of day, including my own family, but, still . . . What matters is that I did get to watch Esther get married and I know my being there meant something to her and Martha even if they could never show that in front of Bishop Hershberger or any other member of the Amish community.”

  “I’m glad you were there with me that day,” she said honestly. “In fact, I was proud to have you as my date.”

  “The feeling was mutual.” He reached across the end table closest to him and retrieved a stack of DVDs she hadn’t noticed. Holding them out like playing cards, he smiled. “Okay, so what sounds good to you? I tried to make sure all genres were represented—documentary, mystery, a missing person drama, comedy, and even a so-called chick flick.”

  She looked from title to title and then shrugged. “How about I narrow it down to the drama and the comedy, and you make the final decision?”

  “Hmmm. Okay, let’s go with the comedy. The way I see it, Miriam Hochstetler’s vanishing act this week is enough of a missing person drama all on its own, don’t you agree?” He deposited the remaining movie cases back on the end table and opened the one he’d selected. “I’ll pop this in and then head into the kitchen to make some popcorn. What can I get you to drink?”

  The last thing in the world she wanted to do at that moment was think about Sadie Lehman and her long-buried body. But ever since Mike O’Neil’s visit to Heavenly Treasures that afternoon, she’d been able to think of little else.

  “Claire?”

  Something about the tone in which Jakob said her name had her reaching for the quilt all over again. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now but . . .” She stopped, swallowed, and then started again, all hesitancy falling by the wayside as she thought, again, about the town’s newest mayoral candidate and the disdain he seemed to have for himself. “I was wondering if you’ve been able to reach Miriam yet.”

  If he was bothered by the unexpected detour her question brought to their evening, he didn’t let it show beyond a raised eyebrow and a momentary pause. “She’s Amish. She left to care for an Amish friend in upstate New York. I can’t call her because she doesn’t have a phone. And I can’t solicit the help of the appropriate law enforcement agency in the area where she’s gone because even Jeremiah seems at a loss for where, exactly, his wife went, and which friend she has gone off to care for.”

  “So now you move on, right? To one of the other names mentioned in Elizabeth’s journal?”

  “If all goes well, Bishop Hershberger will have some information for me on Miriam and her whereabouts very, very soon.”

  “Bishop Hershberger?” she echoed, shocked. “I thought he refused to even acknowledge you as a human being.”

  He held his hand up, quieting her words. “As a former member of the community, he will not speak to me. But, as the police detective assigned to finding out what happened to Sadie Lehman, he will. Zebediah and Waneta deserve answers about their daughter’s death. They deserve to know how she died and why someone would bury her on their former property and never tell them.”

  “I know this, and you know this, but does Bishop Hershberger know this? Especially when tracking down this information invariably means having contact with you?”

  “Yes.” Jakob’s hand came down on hers and held it, warmly. “I know it bothers you the way the Amish treat me, Claire, and your loyalty in that regard is one of many things I love about you. But you have to understand I made the choice to leave after baptism. I knew the repercussions of that decision. You can’t hold them accountable for my choice.”

  She tried to accept his reality, but it was hard. “I guess I just really struggle with the hypocrisy of a group that will turn the other cheek for someone who commits a horrible crime against them, yet can’t do the same for someone who’s only so-called crime is becoming a police officer.”

  “It’s not that I became a police officer, Claire. It’s that I did it after being baptized.”

  She stared down at his hand atop hers and took a steadying breath. No amount of bemoaning the Amish rules of excommunication was going to change anything. All she could do was support the people she loved—regardless of where they fell on the Amish/English spectrum.

  “So who’s next?”

  “You mean in terms of the investigation?”

  She nodded.

  “Besides Miriam, I’ve got to interview Leroy Beiler and Mike O’Neil.”

  “When will that be?” she prodded.

  “By week’s end, I hope. Leroy’s wife, Eva, is due to deliver their sixth child anytime now and Ben asked me to wait. Since Leroy isn’t the type to cut and run, I agreed. But, as an added precaution, I’ve asked one officer from each shift to keep watch outside Beiler’s farm.”

  “And Mike?”

  “That’s one I have to take slowly. His father has a lot of pull in this town.”

  “I know. I’ve heard.”

  He spun the chosen DVD case around in his hands before bringing it to a st
op on the edge of his knee. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Claire?”

  She felt the hitch to her breath as she looked from the fire he’d carefully set to the DVD he was eager for them to watch together. More than anything, she wanted a date with Jakob, wanted an opportunity to kick back and get to know him even better. But if she shrugged off his question and smiled herself back into date mode, it wouldn’t be with the same undivided attention he deserved.

  “How much can a former mayor actually sweep under a carpet?”

  He stopped, stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, and then finally spoke, his eyes fixed on hers. “What are you trying to get at, Claire?”

  More than anything she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. If she had, they’d be cuddled up with one another on the couch by now, laughing at the antics on the screen. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t . . .

  “He knows what happened to Sadie. I’m positive of it,” she finally said. “And I think it claws at his soul in much the same way it did Elizabeth’s.”

  “You think who knows?” Jakob asked.

  “Mike O’Neil.”

  Jakob looked up at the ceiling and released a pent-up burst of air. “If you’re right, his candidacy for mayor is o-v-e-r.”

  Chapter 20

  Claire didn’t need history with Annie to know the girl was upset. It was obvious in everything from the not-so-subtle twist of her lips to the heavy-handed way she arranged the latest influx of Amish dolls.

  But in true teenager style, each inquiry Claire made was met with the same terse brush-off. After the tenth rote reply, she ushered Annie to a stool.

  “Look, kiddo, you keep telling me, ‘it is nothing,’ but there are twenty brand-new dolls sitting on that shelf over there who would beg to differ.” She pointed toward the pyramid shelf Ben had designed especially for the doll display. “They’re soft dolls, Annie . . . yet, somehow, each and every one you added to the shelf made an actual thump sound.”

  Annie’s brown eyes cast downward in shame.

  “I’m not trying to guilt you, Annie. I’m not trying to reprimand you, either. I just want you to tell me what’s got you so worked up.” Claire reached for the second stool and pulled it close enough to perch against its cushioned edge. “Sometimes talking out a problem has a way of making a person feel a little better.”

  Balling her hands together, Annie bounced them against her lap, the anger she’d displayed all morning clearly at odds with the tears she rushed to wipe away. “I would not know. He does not have time to listen.”

  The split second of confusion stirred by the teen’s words was pushed right out of Claire’s thoughts by the memory of a two-day-old discussion. “You’re talking about your dat, aren’t you?”

  For a moment, Annie said nothing, the only indication she’d even heard Claire coming via a watery eye roll. Then, after a second swipe at even more tears, she lowered her nodding head into her hands.

  “Aw, sweetie, I’m sure your father isn’t trying to hurt you. It’s just that he—he has such an important role in your community.” She hurried to Annie’s side and wrapped her arms around the crying girl. “I’m sure if you just tell him how you’re feeling, he will make more of an effort to carve out time for you.”

  “I did try. He did not have time.”

  Her heart ached for the girl whose shoulders hitched with each sob. “I imagine your mother’s passing has been hard on both of you,” she mused softly. “I’m sure you both miss her terribly.”

  “Dat does not speak of Mamm often, but I know he thinks of her as I do,” Annie said between sniffs. “I miss her, Claire. But I miss Dat, too. He has not passed but he is busy—too busy for me.”

  Claire reached out, pushed a wisp of hair off Annie’s forehead and back inside her kapp. “I know the days are busy for the Amish, but isn’t the time before bed about being together as a family?”

  “Yah. But when there is something wrong, when someone has a problem that must be discussed, they come to the bishop, like I told you. Last night was such a night. I wanted to tell him about my job, about the things that I do here, and about you. But when I started to tell, the knocking started.

  “First, it was that policeman.”

  “Policeman?”

  “Yah. The one that was Esther’s uncle.”

  “You mean the one that is Esther’s uncle?” Claire corrected, firmly.

  “Yah.”

  “His name is Jakob and he is a detective with the Heavenly Police Department. He’s investigating the discovery of Sadie Lehman’s body on the Stoltzfus property last week. He has to talk to your father in order to find the truth about what happened. It’s his job.”

  Annie recoiled as if she’d been slapped, prompting Claire to temper the rest of her statement with some much-needed understanding. “Don’t get me wrong, I would imagine having to share your parent—particularly your only parent—with other people all the time has to be hard. But maybe if you can find a way to tell him how you’re feeling, he will realize you have needs every bit as important as the people in his district.”

  “I see Dat. I see him troubled by things others do. I do not want to trouble him. I just want to talk to him. I want him to smile at me, to nod his head when I speak of my new job and the customers I have met.”

  “I get that. But I know Jakob didn’t stay all night because he was back at his home by seven o’clock.” She heard the slight catch to her voice and knew it was a reflection of the disappointment she still harbored at the way she’d single-handedly derailed her first movie date with Jakob. Pushing aside the avalanche of self-recrimination that was sure to start next, she forced herself back to the topic at hand. “Did you try to talk to him after Jakob left?”

  “The next knock came before Jakob left.”

  “And who was that?” she asked.

  Annie’s face contorted in disgust. “It was who it always is—The Pest.”

  She felt awful laughing in the face of Annie’s obvious angst, but there wasn’t much she could do. The girl’s facial expression, theatrical tone change, and chosen nickname for her father’s second visitor was nothing if not entertaining. “The Pest?” she repeated.

  “Yah,” Annie said, firmly. “He is a pest. I do not think a night goes by when he does not knock on our door. If there is a fire, he is the one to tell. If there is a new baby, he is the one to tell. If someone is to be shunned, he is the one to tell.”

  “The English have folks like that, too, Annie. Only we call them busybodies.”

  “Mamm used to say it started when Leroy and Eva were courting. Back then, he came with only good news. After the wedding, he would bring bad news, too.”

  “Wait. I don’t understand what this person has to do with your sister and her husband.”

  “The Pest is Leroy’s dat.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Leroy courted my sister. Leroy’s dat courted my dat.”

  “And when they got married?” Claire prompted, intrigued.

  “He is at my house each night as if he is my family. As if he is my dat’s”—Annie’s brow scrunched—“oh, I cannot think of the word right now . . .”

  “Assistant?”

  “Yah!” Annie jumped down off her stool and smoothed her hand down the front of her aproned mint green dress. “Last night he came to tell Dat Eva’s baby would be here soon. She is my sister and Dat’s daughter. Of course we know the baby will be here soon.”

  “Sounds like your nickname for Mr. Beiler fits.”

  Annie wrung her hands together and then wandered over to the register, the slump of her shoulders and the absentminded way she began to trace the number on each button a clear indication her sudden swell of irritation was taking a backseat to sadness once again. “I want people to see him as my dat. Not someone . . . special.”

  “Have you ever talked to your sister about this? Since she, too, grew up a bishop’s daughter?”

  “Dat did not become bishop until Eva was
baptized. After that, she was courted by Leroy. Mamm was alive, too.”

  Claire nodded. “So then your sister had lots of people to talk to in her life, yes?”

  “Yah.” Annie turned from the register and sighed. “For me, there is no Mamm, anymore. I am not courting . . . yet. Eva is busy with her own family. I only have Dat and Dat’s many knocks.”

  Claire held her hand out and waited for Annie to take it. “I know this is only your third day here, but you have me now, too. I’m happy to listen whenever you want.”

  The bell over the door jingled loudly and prevented Annie from putting any words to the resurgence of tears she valiantly tried to blink away. Instead, she offered a smile constructed from trembling lips that vanished from her face the moment she looked past Claire.

  Confused, Claire turned toward the door, the five foot eight Amish man standing just beneath the string of bells, unfamiliar. “Good morning. Welcome to Heavenly Treasures. How can I help—”

  Annie stepped around Claire, clearly fidgeting as she did. “Mr. Beiler,” Annie croaked. “Is—is everything . . . okay?”

  “It is time.”

  “Why did my dat not come?”

  “I told him I would collect you and bring you.”

  “I will get my things.” Annie glanced at Claire over her shoulder with large, unreadable eyes. “Claire, I must go. My sister is to have her sixth child and I must help. Mr. Beiler will take me in his buggy.”

  Claire nodded politely at the man, then brought her lips within whisper distance of Annie’s ears. “I take it that’s The Pest?”

  Annie nodded.

  “Are you okay going with him?”

  A momentary hesitation was followed by another, slower nod as Annie returned to the counter and the lunch pail housed on the other side. “Eva needs me. I must go.”

  “Okay, kiddo. Take as long as you need and just come back when you’re ready, okay?”

  Annie set the pail on top of the stool and came around the counter to accept Claire’s waiting hug. “I hope you do not give this job to another person. I will work hard when I come back.”