What the Bishop Saw

by Vannetta Chapman

  “We’re finishing up here,” Doc Berry assured her. “I want Lexi to rest, no chasing arsonists, rabbits, or balls. If you notice any difficulty in breathing, weakness, or a lack of appetite, call me immediately.”

  “And you’ll send me your bill?”

  “I will.” She patted him on the shoulder, gathered up her supplies, and said good night to Meg.

  Once the door had closed behind her, Meg said, “We need to talk.”

  Thirty-Four

  Meg pointed at the coffeepot on his stove. “Anything in there?”

  “Left over from yesterday.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Henry turned on the burner and pulled out a single coffee mug from the cabinet. He settled for a glass of water. The last thing he needed was caffeine at this hour.

  “We have only two clues—the top of a plastic gas can, which is what we think he used to ignite the building, and the swatch of fabric Lexi tore off his pants.”

  “No bottle? No… what did you call it… Molotov cocktail?”

  “Not this time, and the fact that he’s varying his methods worries me. Who knows what he has planned next.” She pulled the black plastic cap out of her pocket. It was safely ensconced in a clear evidence bag. “Could this be yours?”

  “Nein.”

  “You don’t have a gas can?”

  “I have no reason for one, though some of our people do. If, say, they have a generator in their barn to operate their business. Even gas-powered weed eaters, but I have none of those things. How did you find it?”

  “Must have fallen out of his pocket. Our perp seems to have planned this out carefully. He knew your workshop was full of shavings and wood—perfect fuel for a fire. All he had to do was bring in a gas can and surround it with some newspaper. I assume you had newspaper in your workshop?”

  “Ya. There was a small stack next to my workbench.”

  “So he waits until he knows you’re asleep, bikes in, puts the full gasoline can in the center of the room with newspaper bunched around it. When he sets the paper on fire, it gives him a good thirty seconds to get out, grab his bike, and leave. What he wasn’t expecting was Lexi.”

  “She tore out after him as soon as I opened the door.”

  “It could be he’s afraid of dogs, or maybe he was caught by surprise. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t as careful. The cap fell out of his pocket. We found it in the lane.”

  “Will there be fingerprints?”

  “Normally yes, we could lift prints from plastic, but I suspect we won’t find any. Most likely he was wearing gloves. And this swatch of fabric? Looks to me like regular denim, like most blue jeans are made from.”

  “Which everyone wears. Even our teenagers do on occasion.”

  “I’m worried, Henry.”

  “Because?”

  “Because he’s targeting people in your group.”

  “So you think it’s the same person?”

  “Not much chance we’d have two arsonists in a town the size of Monte Vista.”

  “Should be easier to catch him, then.” Henry placed sugar and cream on the table before also setting down a plate of leftover cookies.

  Meg didn’t even hesitate. She took one chocolate chip and one raisin and set them on the napkin in front of her. “Investigations always increase my appetite.”

  “You have a difficult job anytime, but especially in the middle of the night.”

  He checked the coffee. Satisfied it was hot enough, he filled her mug, set the burner to low, and placed the pot back on it.

  “Why do you think he’s targeting families in my congregation?”

  “Are you in denial? First Vernon’s place and now yours.”

  Henry didn’t answer immediately. He waited for her to sip her coffee, devour one of the cookies, and pull out her notepad. Lexi was sleeping contentedly in the box of blankets he’d brought in from the mudroom.

  “The construction site is decidedly Englisch, and yet our arsonist targeted it as well. Perhaps he doesn’t like people in Monte Vista.”

  “Are you forgetting the letter? The details in the letter indicated a clear desire for revenge against Amish people.”

  He waved away that remark.

  Meg crossed her arms and sat back, studying him. “You’re the one who drew it. You’re the one who told me about your talent.”

  “Not sure I used the word talent.”

  “Do you believe the drawing was accurate?”

  Henry didn’t want to have this conversation. He wasn’t comfortable talking about his ability to draw things he couldn’t even consciously remember, but they were far past that. Meg Allen had asked him a straightforward question, and she deserved an answer.

  “Ya, I do.”

  “Then he’s targeting Amish families. As far as the worksite, my guess is he hit it because he lost a job or was turned down for a job. The construction manager told me a quarter of his workers are from your community.”

  “Building comes nearly as easily to us as farming, and the youngies tell me the pay is good.”

  “Youngies?”

  “Teenagers. Young adults.”

  She considered that for a moment. “I want to have a meeting with your families.”

  “Not necessary. I can tell them—”

  “It’s not only what I want to tell your families. I also want to see their reaction. I want to give people an opportunity to come forward and speak to me. That will be easier if it’s done someplace where they are comfortable and with your blessing.”

  “Could you not speak to only the elders?”

  “Henry, why don’t you want me talking to the Amish families here in Monte Vista?”

  Instead of answering, he stood, fetched the coffeepot, and refilled her mug.

  When he sat again, he chose his words carefully. “Much of being Amish means being separate. Our appearance and lifestyle are modest, simple. Walk into an Amish home, walk into my home, and what do you notice?”

  “It looks rather like my grandparents’ place. Pared down, plain…”

  “Simple.”

  “Okay. I get that. I do. No television. No computers. No blaring music. There’s even a subtle attraction to it.” Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket, frowned at it, and thumbed a quick response. “But I think what you’re trying to tell me is that you want to protect your people from this—”

  “It’s only my job to guide them. Gotte protects them.”

  “And yet one of them may be our arsonist.” She pushed away the mug and crossed her arms on the table. “They may be our arsonist or know him, and even if neither of those things is true, they need to be properly warned. Now, I can go house to house and speak to each family, or you can call a general meeting and we can do it all at once. I’m giving you that option. But I’m not giving you the option of whether I talk to them. That’s my job.”

  She was passionate about her responsibilities, that was for certain.

  “When would you like to do this?”

  “The sooner the better. Tomorrow, if possible.”

  “All right, tomorrow. Six in the evening, Leroy Kauffmann’s place.” He gave her directions, which she jotted down in her notebook.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She’d made it to the mudroom door before she turned and said, “I’m sorry about your workshop.”

  “Temporal things.”

  “And yet it was important to you.”

  “True, but everything in that shop can be replaced.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  Once she was gone, he turned off the burner under the coffee and checked on his dog. Satisfied that there was nothing else he could do before sunrise, he returned to bed, but it was many hours before he managed to sleep.

  Thirty-Five

  You’re sure Henry’s okay?” Emma’s pulse had kicked into a double rhythm when Abe appeared at their door, explaining about the fire.

  “Ya, he’s fine. Says the litt
le dog was real courageous.”

  “I still can’t believe Henry has a dog.” Clyde invited him inside, but Abe shook his head.

  “I have three more houses to tell about the meeting. If you could pass it along to the neighbors on both sides of you…”

  “Of course we will.” When Abe left, Emma returned to the kitchen to help Rachel with the breakfast dishes. The boys were already out working in the field. Clyde had come to the house when he saw Abe’s buggy approaching. Katie Ann, as usual, was working in the barn.

  Rachel was standing in front of the sink full of dishes, reading one of the books Emma had picked up at the library.

  “Careful you don’t drop that in the water.”

  Rachel smiled, finished the paragraph she was reading, and slipped a piece of ribbon between the pages of the novel. It was a good thing the woman had apron pockets. Otherwise, she would have no place to put the books she carried everywhere.

  “This one is about a young woman who travels to Canada to teach school in 1910.” Her eyes took on a faraway look as she filled the sink with soap and hot water. “Actually, their life doesn’t sound so different from ours.”

  “Though they probably didn’t have an arsonist.” Clyde kissed his wife on the cheek, squeezed Emma’s arm, and hurried out the back door.

  “It’s a bad time for this,” Emma said. “Not that there’s a gut time for such terrible things.”

  “Everyone’s working so hard to plant the crops. Silas even read in the almanac that it’s likely to be a wet summer.”

  The boy loved books nearly as much as his mother, though he tended toward ones that focused on farming.

  “A wet summer. Are you sure Silas was talking about our San Luis Valley?”

  “I know. It’s hard to believe.” Rachel dipped a bowl into the water, scrubbed it clean, and set it in the rinse water. “I’m a little surprised Henry would agree to such a meeting. Usually he likes to handle any interaction with the Englisch on his own, or quietly with those involved.”

  “I suspect the authorities gave him little choice.” Emma picked up a dish towel. “What a tragedy about his workshop.”

  “We’ll rebuild it for him. Didn’t Abe say the men would start next week?”

  “As soon as the crops are in. Maybe Thursday. But think of all the projects he’d finished, all the hours he’d spent there working on something that—poof—vanished in a cloud of smoke.”

  “Are you worried, Emma? That the arsonist might strike here?”

  “Nein. Gotte will take care of our family, as He always has.”

  Rachel bit down on her bottom lip, a habit she’d had since she was a young bride trying to learn to mind her words when she lost her temper. Emma felt a surge of affection for her daughter-in-law. It was true that she’d pull out a book if she had even a minute to spare, but she loved and cared for her family, and there were worse habits than reading.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Rachel Fisher. You’re wondering why Gotte didn’t take care of Vernon—”

  “At least with the job site and Henry’s workshop no one was hurt.”

  “Other than the dog.”

  “Ya, other than that, and it’s sad for sure.” She set a cup she hadn’t quite cleaned into the rinse water, and Emma handed it back. “It’s easy enough to say Gotte will watch over us, and I do believe that, but what about Vernon? Was Gotte watching over him? Was it simply his day to die?”

  “Those are hard questions, and I won’t pretend I know the answers.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” Now Rachel was smiling, clearly amused that Emma hadn’t spouted wiser words.

  “That’s all I’ve got, but if you’d like a proverb I can quote those easily enough.”

  “They never made any sense to me.”

  “Worry ends where faith begins. How about that one?”

  “That one I like.”

  Once they’d finished the dishes, they went outside to sow seeds into the rows of their vegetable garden. Clyde had already turned over the dirt. Long rows stretching the length of the house lay waiting.

  Katie Ann joined them as they sorted through seeds and consulted the sheet where they’d drawn out what to plant where.

  “Can’t we just do what we did last year?” Katie Ann squinted at the drawing. “We had the green beans on this side and the tomatoes on that side. Why change it?”

  “Because we learn from what we did last year. We improve on it. Remember how our tomatoes grew—”

  “Large and fat.”

  “Ya, but they didn’t turn red.”

  “We even tried putting them in a paper bag with a banana.” Rachel laughed at the memory. “Seemed to be working until the boys ate the banana.”

  “Probably they needed less sun,” Emma explained.

  “Less?”

  “The plants themselves like sun, but sunlight is not what makes the tomatoes ripen. Because we’re at such a high elevation, we’ll try moving them to partial shade… here, closer to the house.” She pointed at a spot on the drawing. “The green beans we’ll put on the far row where Clyde has set the little garden fence.”

  Rachel folded up the sheet and stuck it in their basket of supplies. “Which will keep the boys out while they’re playing ball.”

  “And give the plants something to grow on.”

  “If you say so. Horses make complete sense to me. Plants, not so much.” Katie Ann accepted a packet of seeds and made her way down the row.

  “She’s a gut girl,” Emma said, watching her kneel at the end of the row.

  “That she is…” Rachel began.

  “What is it?”

  “Only that I’m a bit worried about her.”

  “What could possibly cause you to worry about Katie Ann?”

  “I saw her talking to Sam after our church service yesterday.”

  “He’s a nice boy.”

  “Sam is not a boy,” Rachel pointed out. “He’s much too old for her.”

  Rachel pulled out two packets of green beans, handed one to Emma, and then they both made their way to the far side of the garden. “Did you remember your sunglasses, Emma? Wouldn’t want you getting a migraine.”

  “Ya. They’re right here.” She pulled them out of her pocket and slipped them on. “And don’t think you can change the subject. Are you worried there’s something besides friendship blossoming between Katie Ann and Sam?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I’ve known Sam’s parents all my life. They’re a fine family, strong in their faith and hard workers.”

  “But she’s only sixteen, and Sam is what… twenty-nine?”

  “Sounds like a big age difference now, but when Katie Ann is twenty-six and Sam is thirty-nine, it won’t seem like so much.”

  Rachel was stabbing the ground with her spade. “And what of his being on the firefighting crew? I’d rather my doschder not have to worry about her husband running toward a fire in the middle of the night.”

  “You’ve moved the buggy a bit before the horse.”

  “You can laugh, but these things happen too quickly. Before you know it, the situation is out of hand.”

  “There’s something you’re not saying.”

  Rachel’s hand stilled over the furrow she’d made in the row. “What if he is involved in what happened at Vernon’s? I’m not saying he is, but what if he knew something or… I don’t know. I’d rather Katie Ann have nothing to do with fires or arsonists or criminal investigations.”

  “We can’t keep children from growing up, Rachel. We can’t protect them from every hardship in life.”

  “Which doesn’t stop me from wishing I could.”

  Emma didn’t say anything for a few moments as they made their way down the row—Rachel digging the furrows, Emma dropping the seeds in and covering them up. When they’d reached the middle, Emma began to laugh.

  Instead of asking, Rachel waited, an exasperated look on her face.

  “I was just rememb
ering how I worried about Clyde—marrying someone who couldn’t cook, someone who was raised Mennonite and didn’t understand our ways.”

  “There was much I didn’t understand then, and I had no idea what I wanted.”

  “True, but it worked out, now, didn’t it?”

  “Sure it did.”

  “So all my worrying was a waste of time.”

  “I guess so, but only because you decided to teach me how to cook. Otherwise, he might have starved.”

  Thirty-Six

  Henry spent the day throwing the charred remains of his workshop into a burn pile. He didn’t do so alone. In fact, he was rarely alone for more than a few minutes. His congregants came as they were able—alone, in pairs, and sometimes even in small groups showing up all at once.

  “We’ll have this rebuilt in no time, Henry.”

  “You can have something a bit larger. Your business has grown, ya?”

  “A bigger window would be nice.”

  Their words were encouraging, but their labor was a gift Henry realized he would not be able to repay, and he said as much to Abe.

  “Actually, you have repaid it already,” his elder reminded him. “You lead us well.”

  “I guide in ways the Lord allows me to.”

  “And how many homes and barns have you worked on?”

  “Ya, it’s true, but I’m learning it’s easier to give help than to receive it. This is humbling, Abe. I know each man who comes here needs to be working on his crops, needs to be at home attending to his own business.”

  “They’re here because they want to be. Accept their help with a grateful heart.”

  “When did you become so wise?”

  “I serve under a gut bishop.”

  Henry appreciated the words of advice from his friend. It helped to lift the heaviness on his heart. That heaviness wasn’t only because he’d lost his workshop and a few months’ worth of work. He felt weighed down by the necessity of the sacrifice they made for one another. It seemed so unnecessary. Why would someone want to burn down his property? What was the common link between him, the job site, and Vernon?

  That question plagued his mind while the site was cleared of debris, men came and went, and Lexi oversaw the entire de-construction project. Dr. Berry had suggested the little dog rest a few days, but Lexi had other ideas.