“I didn’t see Sam. I suppose he was behind me in the crowd.”
Henry returned his gaze to Meg. “You can’t arrest a man for being agitated. This thing has our entire community worked up, thanks largely to your insistence of addressing them personally.”
Meg didn’t respond directly to that. Instead, she stared at her list. Finally she asked, “What of Abe Graber?”
Henry heard Emma’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring his own surprise.
“Surely you don’t believe Abe to be capable of such a thing.”
“He’s on your church staff?”
“We don’t have a staff. We have men who were nominated by our congregation and chosen by Gotte to serve over us.”
“Convenient.”
Henry had spent a fair amount of time with Meg over the last two weeks. She’d always been extremely focused on her job, but he’d never seen her quite so snippy. “Abe has served competently for many years.”
“He was quite adamantly against tonight’s meeting.”
“As was nearly every family here,” Emma said.
Henry knew Emma would be calm but vocal on her opinions. It was one reason he had insisted she stay and hear what Meg had to say. As for himself, he was beginning to fear he was losing an objective perspective. When his own property had been attacked, the situation had quickly become personal.
If they were both going to have to sit and listen to Meg’s foolishness, then Emma certainly had earned the right to offer her two cents’ worth.
“Abe spoke to me about his doubts,” Henry admitted. “He had misgivings over allowing you to speak to our families, as did all in our leadership. Each man thinks these things are best handled within the church. After we discussed it and prayed over it, they agreed with my decision to allow you to address the group.”
“So you don’t think he’s capable of these crimes?”
“Nein, and why would you ask me that?”
“Because you know the men in this group better than anyone else. Who else would I ask?” Meg shook her head in frustration. “I visited a few houses this afternoon, including Abe’s.”
Henry briefly wondered why Abe hadn’t mentioned that, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. “I trust he put your mind at ease.”
“No. He did not. That’s why I’m asking you about him.”
“Abe is a gut man. You’re chasing rabbits now because your investigation has yielded nothing.”
“My investigation is creeping along because your people won’t talk to me.”
“We are by nature a private group,” Emma reminded her.
“Privacy won’t keep you safe.” She turned back to Henry. “And your guy, Abe, has family in Alamosa—where the envelope addressed to Vernon in your drawing was postmarked. That’s not a possible connection I’m willing to overlook.”
Without waiting for his reply, she turned and trudged off to her car.
Henry stood and reached a hand down for Emma. They walked, shoulder to shoulder, toward the last of the buggies—his, Clyde’s, and Lewis Glick’s.
“How’s Lewis settling in?” Emma asked.
“Fair…”
“Except what?”
“I don’t like to guess.”
“But you’re worried about him. Why is that?”
Henry shrugged. He was worried about Lewis, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. So instead he said, “He still keeps to himself more than I’d like to see, but it’s a hard land to adjust to, and the place he purchased… well, it needed quite a bit more work than he had anticipated.”
They were nearly in earshot of the others.
Emma placed a hand on Henry’s arm. She waited until he’d stopped before she asked, “It’s a coincidence, right? That Abe’s brother lives in the town postmarked on the envelope you drew.”
“If the letter even came in that envelope. The funny thing to me? No one questions the letter’s existence anymore, or that it was indeed from Alamosa. Such a small detail in a drawing.”
“And yet you saw it. You remembered it, and there’s no doubt it’s an important clue.” When he didn’t answer, Emma pushed on. “I don’t think Meg was saying she suspects Abe. I think she’s giving you fair warning that she’s about to pull in his brother, Alvin.”
“Why would she do that?”
Instead of answering, Emma crossed her arms and turned away from the last of their group, toward the mountains. Together they looked out over the last of the sun’s rays as they melted across the valley.
“You know Rachel is a big reader.”
“Ya. I seem to remember she always has been.”
“Sometimes she talks about the characters in her novels as if they’re real people. I guess when she finishes a story, she has a longing to share it, and I have to admit… they are entertaining.”
Henry nodded, wondering what she was getting at.
“Her books are always Christian fiction, but in some there are investigations, and sometimes… sometimes the investigator will leak some information or clue on purpose, to see if she can smoke out the guilty party.”
“So rather than Meg revealing her suspicions about Alvin to Abe, I’m supposed to warn Abe, who will warn Alvin, causing him to run or do something incriminating.”
Emma laughed and reached down to pick up Lexi, who was splayed belly to the dirt at Henry’s feet. “Sounds like fiction, I know, but then our life… it seems to have taken a turn worthy of a bestseller.”
Thirty-Nine
The next day passed in relative calm.
Henry spent the morning prepping for the upcoming workday.
He ordered lumber from the store in town.
Needing to burn the debris from his old workshop, he stopped by city hall to pick up the burn permit. While there, he walked over to the adjacent building to check in with Sheriff Grayson.
“Henry, I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Needed a burn permit for that pile of charred wood that used to be my workshop. Then it occurred to me that I should check with you and confirm it’s okay to get rid of it. Or maybe I should ask Meg?”
“I’m sure it’s fine. No clues left there. As for Allen, she’s been called back to the district office.”
“She’s given up on finding the arsonist?”
“Hardly. She’ll continue working the case. Many investigations are cracked open by good, old-fashioned detective work—following threads until you find one that leads you to the perp.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lots of grunt work. She’ll check computer files, records, and previous complaints in surrounding counties. Who purchased what from whom. Who benefited from the fires. Who has a background that indicates a spiral into felony murder is possible.”
“She can do that from a computer?”
“That and phone calls and hitting the pavement.”
Henry thought of Abe and his brother. What would she find about Alvin? What had he been involved in since he’d left the faith?
Grayson walked him to the door out of the station. “Don’t be surprised if you see her back here.”
“You’ll keep me posted on any developments?”
“Of course.”
Henry went home, burned the debris pile, directed the delivery guys on where to place the new lumber, and spent the afternoon praying and studying for Sunday’s service.
He ate a light supper and then hitched up Oreo to the buggy. There were still several hours of daylight left, and Abe lived close by. He would easily make it back home before dark. Henry preferred not to be out on the road in the evening—less chance of an accident.
Lexi rode next to him on the seat.
Abe’s children crowded around the buggy when he arrived.
It was Anna who hung back, worry clouding her features. “Lexi is okay? I heard the arsonist kicked her.”
“Doc Berry says she’s fine. Don’t you worry about that.”
“Why would someone do that, Henry? Why kick a little dog?” She drew on the dust covering his buggy with a single finger, a picture of stick girls and boys, and what might have been a small stick figure dog.
He thought of explaining that Lexi had been intent on stopping the arsonist, but did a child need to know that? Probably not.
He settled for, “We can’t know what’s in someone’s heart. What we can do is pray for them.”
“I guess.”
“Rest assured that Lexi won’t be chasing after anyone for a while. I’ll see to that.”
Seemingly satisfied, Anna stopped drawing and said, “Thanks, Henry.” She skipped after the other children.
Abe was already standing on the front porch. “Didn’t expect a visit from you tonight.”
“There’s something we need to talk about.”
“Susan started brewing a pot of coffee when she saw you pull up, and it’s decaf. Come on into the kitchen.”
Henry had spent a lot of time with Abe and Susan, and not only because he was a preacher in their church. He was also a close friend. The last few years had not been easy on them. Having Franey live in their home had caused quite a bit of friction. Eventually, they’d built a small mother-in-law house for her. It was close but not attached, and it provided some degree of privacy for both his family and her. From what Henry could tell, it had helped to ease the tension, though based on what had happened between the two women at Vernon’s funeral luncheon, he guessed that some days were better than others.
“Meg Allen spoke to me about Alvin. She found out he lives in Alamosa, and, well, we believe Vernon received a letter from Alamosa shortly before he died.”
“We know about the drawing,” Susan said. “Don’t look so surprised, Henry. Everyone knows about it. Your gift… it’s an amazing thing to us.”
Abe crossed his arms and scowled at the floor. “But she can’t think Alvin had anything to do with this.”
“What she thinks is the arsonist is someone who has a vendetta against the Amish. Viewed a certain way, Alvin could fit that description.”
“My brother would never do such a thing. It’s true that he fell away from the faith, but violence? Nein. He doesn’t have it in him.”
Henry accepted a mug of coffee but shook his head when Susan offered him a brownie bar. If he didn’t start watching what he ate, he’d soon be dealing with health problems. The fire had reminded him of many things, including his own mortality.
“Have you spoken to him recently?”
Abe glanced at his wife, who nodded slightly.
“I go to see him, once a month.”
“Franey doesn’t know.” Susan took a seat across from Henry, next to her husband. “We do not approve of his leaving the faith. I think it’s terrible that he would divorce her, but we’ve learned firsthand that she isn’t an easy woman to live with.”
“You have provided for her since the day he left.”
“Of course we have, and we’ll continue to do so.” Abe ran a hand up and over the top of his head. “But I won’t abandon my brother. I realize that, in more traditional Plain communities, Alvin would be shunned for what he’s done…”
Henry waited, knowing Abe was finally baring an ache he’d buried in his heart for too long.
“I think the practice of shunning is terribly harsh.”
“In this instance I agree with you.” Henry chose his words carefully. “However, it’s important that we not be perceived as condoning such decisions. Leaving the faith and divorcing your wife can’t be tolerated. Encouraging Alvin to move away from Monte Vista, and to break ties with those he knew from our community, was necessary for the gut of everyone.”
“We tore my family apart!” Abe shook his head and made an obvious attempt to quiet his temper. “I tore my family apart. I agreed when we sanctioned Alvin. I’m not saying it’s your fault or Leroy’s. Clyde wasn’t even nominated then.”
“It’s been many years.”
“And don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying I believe in divorce. But Alvin didn’t become a terrible person because of one decision. He still reads his Bible, attends church, and even volunteers on missions with MDS.”
“I’m glad he’s found his place within the Mennonites.”
“If you think it’s wrong that I visit him, Henry, then I’m sorry. I’ll even confess it before our congregation on Sunday if you think that’s necessary. But what I won’t do is turn my back on family.”
“We strive for grace and forgiveness, Abe, and while we cannot tolerate behavior in direct conflict with the Ordnung, I don’t feel your visiting your brother once a month falls into that category.” Henry finished his coffee, which was actually quite good for decaf. It would have been even better with one of the brownie bars, but he pushed that thought away.
“I would like to go and see Alvin tomorrow. I’ve hired a driver who will be at my place at nine in the morning. I realize this isn’t the most opportune time, but if you’d like to join me—”
“I’ll go,” Abe said. “Our crops are in. I was planning on helping Sam, but there will be others there.”
“Then it’s settled.”
When they walked back outside, Henry looked across at the other house and noticed Franey in the rocking chair on her porch. He raised a hand in greeting and she did the same, though she made no attempt to join them.
“She keeps to herself,” Abe said. “Maybe too much.”
“A wounded heart doesn’t heal overnight.”
“It’s been years.”
“The deeper the wound, the longer it can take to mend.” He wished them both a good night and called to Lexi.
During the ride home, he tried to process what he’d learned.
Abe was obviously more angry about how his brother had been treated than he’d previously let on.
Furthermore, he was still in contact with Alvin.
But the idea Henry couldn’t wrap his mind around was that either Abe or Alvin could be angry enough to hurt someone within their community.
Divorce and remarriage were difficult to imagine in an Amish family, though it did occasionally occur. Henry had consulted with other bishops, and he found it happened more than he was aware of. Such things were dealt with quietly, and as compassionately as possible.
But murder of one of their own by one of their own?
That was something Henry couldn’t begin to fathom.
Forty
Henry had not seen Alvin Graber in the eleven years since he’d left their community. The man had certainly aged. His dark hair was now peppered with gray, and the lines around his eyes had deepened. In spite of those changes, Henry had to admit he looked better than he ever had. He appeared to be healthy, physically fit, and content. His new life agreed with him. Or so it seemed.
“I was a bit surprised, I’ll admit, when Abe called. Didn’t expect to ever receive a visit from you, Henry.”
They were sitting in the living room. It was plainly furnished, though not as bare as an Amish home would be. There was no television or computer in sight. They might have been back in a spare bedroom or office. Some Mennonites allowed for such. The starkest difference was the pictures on the mantel—three family photographs with Alvin, his new wife, and their twin daughters, taken at different times over the years. As the girls grew, their resemblance to their mother became stronger, though Henry thought he saw a touch of their Uncle Abe in their brown eyes and plentiful freckles. As a child, Abe had been virtually covered with freckles, while Alvin had none.
“You seem to be doing well.”
“Ya. I suppose so. I’m sorry Jessica couldn’t be here. She works at the library most mornings while the girls attend school, or in a few weeks, summer camp.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the fires we’ve had in Monte Vista.”
“Sure. They’ve been in the paper as well as on the television news.”
“Do you have any idea as to who would be angry enough with our community
to do such a thing?”
Alvin sat back on the couch and crossed his right leg over his left knee. “As I told Meg Allen, I don’t see many Amish folk anymore. You all made sure of that.”
“You’ve spoken with the arson investigator?”
“She came by yesterday. She even asked me if I had an alibi for the dates of the fires. I told her I didn’t need an alibi since I would never do such a thing.”
“And she was satisfied with that answer?”
“Hard to say. Even after eleven years, I’m still not so gut at reading Englisch women, not that we’re Englisch, mind you, but we interact with the mainstream community more than you do.”
Henry sat forward, elbows propped on knees. “We’re certainly not accusing you, Alvin.”
“That’s a relief, since we have a history of that.”
Abe attempted to stay him with a hand, but Henry said softly, “Let him speak.”
“You did accuse me of plenty. Do you remember that, Henry? The night you came to my home? Franey was hysterical when I told her I couldn’t stay. She had disappeared. I suspected she was at Abe’s, but I had no way to know.”
“It was a difficult time.”
“For you? Or for Franey? Or perhaps for me as I sought a new life?”
“Perhaps for all of us.”
“You accused me of not taking seriously my commitment to Christ, of stepping away from the faith, even of not caring for my family. Not caring!” He closed his eyes, visibly trying to calm himself. “If I hadn’t cared about Franey I wouldn’t have stayed with her as long as I did. And I tried to convince her to go to a doctor for the depression. You know that. Still, you judged me.”
Henry didn’t respond. He didn’t think Alvin was looking for an answer to his grievances. Perhaps he only needed to share them.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be told you can no longer visit your family—my own brother, my niece, my nephews. You cast me off as if I was a rotten piece of fruit. You said…” He shook his head, stared at the floor a moment, and then pierced Henry with his gaze. “You said my relationship with my family was broken as my relationship with the church was broken. You took a difficult situation I was going through and made it immeasurably worse.”
What the Bishop Saw Page 16
