Meg studied her small notepad again. She flipped through some pages until she found what she wanted and then showed it to Henry. “A half dozen traffic accidents with buggies have been reported since the first Amish family moved here. I’ve listed them all. I can’t tell that Vernon was involved with any of them.”
“Nein. He wasn’t that I remember, though several times Englischers did complain to the sheriff about Vernon’s driving. He had a habit of attaching a small trailer to the back of his buggy and loading up—” He almost said junk and paused to think of another word, but his imagination failed him. “Well, he would buy things or pick up items others had thrown away and take them out to his property. It wasn’t a safe way for him to travel. I spoke to him about this, and the sheriff threatened to cite him with a ticket a couple of times.”
Henry looked again at her list and pointed to one of the lines. “This was the accident that killed the two people. The other five were relatively minor in regard to human injury.”
He traced his finger down the page. “In this one, the horse had to be put down, so it was rather costly. And in this one, I seem to remember the driver was cited for driving while intoxicated.”
“The driver of the automobile?” Meg picked up the tablet and was flipping back through the pages. “I don’t have that on my other list.”
“Nein. The driver of the buggy was cited.” At the look of surprise on her face, he said, “Never assume Plain people are perfect. We deal with the same issues as any other group, including alcoholism.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, which brings me to the last topic I wanted to discuss with you.”
Henry waited, allowing her to order her thoughts. The pup stood, stretched, and trotted over next to them, climbing across Henry’s shoes and sniffing them as if hoping a treat would appear.
“We can’t be sure if this is an Englisch person or an Amish one. As you pointed out, it’s dangerous to make assumptions. I would like you to keep your eyes open, and if you notice anyone acting suspiciously, let me know.”
Henry nodded but didn’t speak.
“Sheriff Grayson explained to me that at times you prefer to handle matters internally, but that’s not possible in this case. This is murder. I will find the person, and when I do, we will prosecute to the full extent of the law.”
“And we will cooperate,” Henry assured her. “It’s true that often we prefer to handle matters within the church—say, if there’s a disagreement between neighbors or even within a family. We believe our faith allows us to address those problems effectively. But if this is an Amish person, then it’s someone who has clearly stepped outside the faith, someone willing to kill to exact revenge. We’ll cooperate. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”
He walked her to the car, the pup following in their wake.
“One more thing. I’m holding a press conference at four this afternoon at the police station. If possible, I’d like you to be there. You won’t have to speak, and I know you don’t want to be in front of the cameras, but I think your presence would be helpful.” She hesitated and then added, “Often in these cases, perps will show up at a press conference. They like being the center of attention. I want you to keep an eye out and let Sheriff Grayson know immediately if you see anyone who jogs a memory or looks at all suspicious.”
Henry assured her he would make the press conference. As she drove back down the lane, he wondered when or if their lives would ever return to normal.
Twenty-Six
Emma was happy to accompany Henry to the press conference. Clyde had planned to attend as well, but there was a problem with the plow, and he was still working in the fields when Henry stopped by to pick her up.
As they drove toward town, they discussed the drawing, Meg’s conclusions, and the situation with Sam. “Clyde plans to go over and help him with his planting tomorrow. He said Abe and Leroy would be there as well.”
“That’s gut.” Henry kept his eyes on the road, even though the horse basically could find the way to town on her own. He’d always been a careful driver. “It’s right that we help one another.”
“I only wish we’d known of his troubles earlier.”
“Perhaps he thought he could do it on his own. The youth sometimes struggle with pride.”
“Oh, so it’s only a problem of the youngies, is it?”
“I didn’t say that.” Henry laughed at the look she gave him. “By our age, we’ve usually been humbled by life, is all. The young ones are still learning.”
He parked in the side lot next to the police station. It was obvious that the press conference was being held at the front of the building. The street had been roped off, and a growing crowd milled around. Sheriff Grayson and Meg Allen were standing on the steps. Half a dozen microphones had been placed in front of them, and news reporters with their cameramen waited.
Meg looked up, saw Henry, and nodded once.
They found a place at the back of the crowd. Emma knew the last thing Henry wanted was to be filmed for a television spot.
A young officer was passing out sheets of paper. He handed one to Emma while Henry was speaking to the manager of the construction site. When Henry returned to her side, she shoved the paper into his hands. It listed contact information for the sheriff and the arson investigator, the number for a tip hotline, and a basic description of the perpetrator.
Male
Approximately 5 feet 10 inches
Age 17 or older
There may be Amish attending this press conference.
We ask that you respect their wishes and not film
or photograph them.
Henry grunted at the paper, folded it into quarters, and handed it back to her. Emma stuck it in her purse.
The press conference began with Sheriff Grayson introducing himself and then summarizing the murder and arson at Vernon’s and the fire at the construction site. “We have every reason to believe these two incidents are related. Our investigation indicates the person of interest described on your sheet was involved in both. Either he had knowledge of the fires beforehand and failed to warn authorities or, more likely, he was responsible for setting both blazes.”
Emma must have zoned out as the sheriff explained the course the investigation had followed to date. Finally, he thanked them for coming and stepped back so Meg could speak. Emma found herself watching the crowd. Though initially she’d thought it was mostly composed of news personnel, it had grown to include quite a number of citizens, including a few from their community. Perhaps they’d been in town anyway. She waved discreetly and turned her attention back to Meg as the woman began to explain that they had a photograph of the perpetrator.
“Two of the businesses across from the construction site have security cameras. We were able to find images of the perpetrator. We know it was him based on the date, time, and also the fact that he was carrying a backpack that probably held the incendiary device. A police sketch artist has combined those photos, and you can access it on our website.”
Emma noticed that several in the crowd pulled out their cell phones and began tapping away, staring at their screen.
“Also, we’d like to announce that the merchants of Monte Vista are jointly offering a reward of five thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of our perpetrator. Anyone with knowledge of any type should contact the tip hotline.”
Emma wanted to see one of those phones. How else would she know what this person looked like? How would she protect her grandchildren if he were to show up at their home, pretending to purchase something from their vegetable stand? That was a ridiculous worry. They’d just planted their garden, so there were no vegetables to sell yet, but they did open on Saturdays and sell homemade items, such as quilts and hot pads and potted plants. They could be in danger. She needed to see that picture!
She stepped closer to an Englisch woman who was staring down at her phone. The woman glanced up at her, smiled, and offered to let her take a look.
>
Which was how Emma found herself staring at Vernon’s killer.
Henry stepped closer to view the phone over her shoulder. “Could be anyone,” he muttered.
“Ya, except he has shaggy hair.”
“Which he’ll no doubt cut once he realizes the picture is out.”
“Still, I’d like to be able to show this to our families so people can be on alert.”
“Gut idea. I’ll ask Meg if she can print off some copies.”
The arson investigator was one step ahead of him. After the reporters had finished with their questions, which were either redundant or unanswerable, Meg thanked everyone for coming and then made her way over to Henry and Emma.
Meg said hello before handing a large envelope to Henry. “Fifty copies of the photo are in there. Please pass them out to your congregation. If anyone knows anything—”
“Call the hotline,” Henry said. “I saw the phone number on the information sheet.”
“It’s also on the back of each photo.” Meg paused and then asked, “Can your people do that?”
“Place a phone call?” The retort popped out of Emma’s mouth as quickly as the thought bloomed in her head. “Ya, I believe we could manage that.”
Meg turned to appraise Emma more carefully, and Emma felt the hair on her head bristle. Fortunately, it was covered with her kapp, so the Englisch woman wouldn’t notice even if her hair had stood on end.
“I only meant to confirm that each family had access to a telephone since you don’t allow them in your homes.”
Henry jumped in, as if afraid of how Emma might answer. “We have phone shacks within two miles of every home, and some families with businesses have one in the barn.”
Satisfied with his answer, Meg asked, “Did the picture jog any memory? Anything at all? Maybe of another scene you could draw for us?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Emma and Henry said simultaneously.
Henry said, “What I mean to say is no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this person before, or if I have, it was only in passing.”
“So he’s not a member of your congregation? You’re sure?”
Emma felt her temper spiking again. Perhaps she should follow the doctor’s advice about hormone therapy. She was as prickly as a cat caught in a water sprinkler.
“The photo doesn’t reveal much about him,” Henry said. “What with the ball cap pulled low and all. But he doesn’t appear to be anyone we know.”
Meg nodded once, assured Henry she would be in touch, and then thanked them both before trotting off in the opposite direction.
“Pushy woman,” Emma said.
“Feeling a mite protective of our families, are you?”
“Maybe I am.”
Henry laughed and patted her arm. “You’re a gut woman, Emma Fisher.”
She wasn’t so sure about that, but she did know if the arsonist came anywhere near her family, they would find a way to protect their own. Many people misunderstood the Amish stand on pacifism. Turning the other cheek was one thing. Allowing someone to burn down your property or hurt your loved ones was another. If they ever came across the man in Meg Allen’s poster, they would find a way to restrain him. Emma would sit on the arsonist herself if need be, right up until the moment that nosy, presumptuous Meg Allen arrived to handcuff and cart the man away.
Twenty-Seven
The week passed quickly. Henry managed to visit with most of their families and assure them the Englisch were taking care of the arson situation. He passed out Meg’s photos, but no one recognized the nondescript image.
Many Amish churches had up to three ministers, but theirs was a small congregation and had only Abe and Clyde. Henry sat on the porch Saturday morning, his Bible on his lap and Lexi playing at his feet. The mama cat in the barn had led her kittens outside. Lexi kept a close eye on them, but she had learned the hard way that mama cat would swipe if she ventured too close to her babies. The mama’s protectiveness reminded Henry of Emma’s reaction to the press conference. She’d confessed her uncharitable thoughts while they’d ridden home.
“I can’t imagine what I’d do, Henry. But I doubt I’d turn the other cheek if someone intended to hurt my family.”
“Perhaps the Scripture speaks more to our pride.”
“How so?”
“Say someone slights you, speaks rudely to you in a store, or walks past without greeting you at a church meeting.”
“Go on.”
“Would you pray for the person and whatever issue in their life caused such ungraciousness, or would you vow to ignore them in turn the next time you meet?”
“So it’s not about turning the other cheek when someone strikes you?”
“Maybe it is that also.”
“You’re not much help. I thought bishops had all the answers.”
“If only that were true.”
The conversation replayed in his mind as he opened his Bible and focused on Sunday’s sermon. Time and again he was drawn to the Old Testament—to the testing of God’s people as well as His constant care and protection of them.
Sunday morning, Henry had a simple breakfast and then dressed in a plain white shirt, black pants, and black vest. He considered adding the jacket but decided the day would be too warm. Choosing his black hat from the hooks by the back door, he said goodbye to Lexi, promising her he’d be home in a few hours. He’d rather leave the dog outside, where dogs belonged, but she didn’t seem settled enough to know this was now her home. He’d come home one day to find her halfway back to Abe’s. So instead, he shut her up in the mudroom. With the open window and a bowl of water, he was sure the pup would sleep most of the time he was away.
Having already hitched up his buggy, he climbed in and made his way to the Beilers’. It being Mother’s Day, he spent a good part of the ride thinking of his own mamm and how much of a blessing she had been to him. He missed his parents still, though they’d been gone many years. The communities he’d been a part of had not celebrated Mother’s Day per se, since it was a distinctly Englisch holiday, but children would often write a letter to their mamm or offer to do the dishes—little things, but they added up to show the family’s appreciation.
Their home was on the small side, so he wasn’t terribly surprised to see the benches had been set up in the barn.
Daniel and Sam had spent all week hard at work putting in their crops. He could see Daniel near the barn, speaking to his wife, Abigail. Sam stood at the end of the lane, ready to park the buggies and pasture the horses.
“Gut morning, Sam.”
“Same to you, Bishop.”
“Did your week improve?”
“Crops are in. Both my pop’s fields and my own.”
“Wunderbaar. Things quiet at the fire department?”
“Only emergency call we had was a grass fire on the east side of the county. The Chinook winds didn’t help.”
“First year we were here, we didn’t know what the Chinook winds were. The blast came down through the valley, raising temperatures and melting snow. We had no idea what was happening.”
“They can cause havoc, especially if one of the big ranchers is having a controlled burn when one hits.”
“Well, this week the winds certainly warmed things up. I thought the roof was going to blow off my workshop. Were you able to put the grass fire out?”
“Before it reached any structures, and no one was hurt.”
“Gut to hear.” Henry clapped the young man on his shoulder. “We’ll speak more after the service.”
Henry was interested to hear how Sam’s crops were doing, though one week would be too soon to tell. The look on young man’s face as he’d left him sitting beside his unplanted fields and then his desperate confession in the holding cell had bothered Henry’s conscience. It was unfortunate that Sam had become caught up in arguing with Vernon, but perhaps he had learned something from the experience.
Though it was only a few minutes past seven in the morning, bu
ggies were already turning into the lane.
Henry walked into the barn and whistled. The place was as clean as his own home. Abigail must have had help preparing the area, as it was spick-and-span. She couldn’t have possibly done it all herself.
“Fine morning for worship,” Henry said as Abigail walked inside.
“Indeed it is.” She glanced toward the door, where more families were filing in, fiddled with her glasses, and then motioned in the opposite direction with her head.
Henry followed her into Daniel’s office—a small room with a window, desk, woodstove, and a few chairs. There wasn’t space for much else.
“Problem?” he asked.
“I thought you should know folks are worried.”
“Worried?”
“About the fires.”
“Ah.”
“Perhaps it’s not my place to say anything…”
“You know I value your opinion, Abigail. And I appreciate your letting me know when you’re concerned.”
Her right eyebrow arched over her glasses. “But I’m not. Perhaps it’s because Sam works with the fire department. Who knows, but over the years I’ve come to see fire as merely one other destructive force in this world—like tornadoes or earthquakes or mudslides. Gotte will protect us from those things.”
“Indeed.”
“Still, a gut word would go a long way toward encouraging folk.”
Henry nodded and reached for her hand. After squeezing it, he returned to the front of the barn. Her words mirrored his own prayers and concerns the day before. He was sure now as to who should preach the second sermon today. As for himself, he would focus on sharing his study of God’s omnipotent hand through the ages.
Twenty-Eight
Henry spent the rest of the hour greeting families as they arrived. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they had a good congregation. Sure, Leroy was a bit sullen and negative at times, but he did an excellent job distributing financial help when it was needed. Franey barely nodded when he said hello. Sundays were hard for her. Being among so many families had to serve as a nagging reminder that she would never have a family like those surrounding her. But Henry knew God had a special path for Franey Graber. He hadn’t abandoned her as Alvin had.
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