What the Bishop Saw

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Nein. Englisch. Has lived in Monte Vista some years.”

  Henry nodded. “He visits our shops now and then. Quiet, but not unfriendly.”

  “All right. Who else?”

  “Another person in line between us and the counter… no, two people I think. I don’t know their names. And there were employees moving back and forth behind the counter. I guess you’d have a record of those.”

  “I do.”

  “Oh, and Abe Graber was there.”

  Meg glanced at Henry, who shrugged. He didn’t believe for a second that Abe was involved in this. In fact, the man had suffered a few cuts himself. No need to remind Meg of that. She would have a list of each person treated.

  “He seemed to be in a hurry when he left. Said hello, but nothing more.”

  “Anyone else? Anything at all that you recall from the moments before the blast?”

  “Nein. Not that I can remember. Katie Ann had seen a poster on the wall about horses, over to the right of where we were standing. She walked over to read it when… when the bomb went off. That’s where I found her—under a counter, huddled there, unable to speak or move at all.”

  “All right. Thank you, Emma. Every piece of information is helpful, and I appreciate your walking back through such a traumatic time with me.”

  Henry thought she’d leave then, but instead she turned to him and said, “Tell me what you saw.”

  “Very little. The reporter had finished asking me questions. The editor stopped in and thanked me for coming. She said she would be sure I received a copy of the article. I’d stepped out of their office, walked down the hall, and was standing in the doorway to the main room when I heard what sounded like a truck backfiring—only much louder.”

  “That would have been the explosion.”

  “Glass shattered, and smoke filled the room quickly. The reporter next to me screamed. He’d been hit in a couple of places by pieces of glass.” He pointed to his right shoulder and the right side of his face. “I led him out the back exit. By then the sprinklers had come on and the place was a real madhouse.”

  “And what did you see once you were outside?”

  “Honestly, it was so chaotic that I don’t remember what I saw. It was a full thirty minutes before I stumbled on Emma and Katie Ann. I didn’t realize they were there…” Something snagged at the back of his mind. He reached for it, but it was like trying to see a falling star someone else pointed out to you—by the time you turned your head, it was gone.

  Meg reached into a messenger bag she’d been carrying and retrieved a few sheets of blank paper—a larger size like Henry used before—and three finely sharpened pencils. She sat it all on the table in front of him. “I want you to draw for me.”

  “Draw?”

  “Do your thing, Henry. Draw what happened at the newspaper.”

  Forty-Seven

  Part of Emma’s attention was on the door, waiting for someone to come in and update her. Perhaps Clyde or Rachel would rush into the room to tell her Katie Ann was awake. She needed to hear that Katie Ann was fine. Her heart longed for the words, “She’s alert and talking. She’s ready to go home. She’s asking for you.”

  Another part of her attention had been listening to Henry’s account of what he’d seen and trying to square it with her own. And now, after Meg’s request, Emma understood that Henry needed a few moments to make his decision.

  “Some of what Henry says makes sense, but other bits don’t.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m sure the sprinklers didn’t come on that quickly. Maybe they should have, but I remember coughing from the smoke and looking around, searching the room for Katie Ann. They weren’t on then.”

  “She could be right. My memory has never been very good.”

  “Your conscious memory might be prone to error,” Meg admitted. “But your subconscious can accurately provide every detail. Right?”

  Of course she was right. Emma knew it. Meg Allen knew it. Henry certainly knew it.

  As far as she could remember, he’d never actually drawn in front of anyone else.

  Well, as far as she could remember, he’d only used his ability twice—once with the girl in Goshen and once to draw Vernon’s place. But even as that thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn’t right. When he was first injured, he must have drawn more freely. Before he learned to be frightened by his strange and unaccountable gift. Only later did he make the decision to lock away that part of himself.

  “Please draw what you saw in the newspaper office, Henry. It could be important. I have a feeling we’re close to breaking this case open, and I want to do it before anyone else is hurt.”

  “You want me to draw now?” he asked.

  “Yes, now. The first few hours after an incident are the most important.”

  “But what could I possibly have seen?”

  “We can’t know until you draw it.”

  Henry glanced at Emma, a v forming between his eyes. It wasn’t something he wanted to do, that much was obvious. But perhaps it was something he should do.

  “ ‘Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.’ ” The verse jumped unbidden from Emma’s heart to her lips. “This could make a difference, Henry. If we can catch this person, we can go back to our Plain life. If we don’t, we’re going to be constantly plagued by fear and suspicion.”

  “I’m not sure the last drawing really did any gut,” Henry muttered, but he picked up the pencil, grabbed a stack of magazines to place under the paper, and began to draw.

  Years earlier, when the grandchildren were young, Emma had found a book at the five and dime store. It wasn’t a coloring book exactly. The pages, when you first looked at them, appeared to be blank. But if you dipped a small paint brush in water and swept it back and forth across the page, a picture emerged. The children never tired of it, and she’d had to limit them to one sheet a day or they would have gone through the entire book in an afternoon.

  Watching Henry draw reminded her of that book.

  He didn’t so much put images on the paper, as he revealed what was there, what was in his subconscious, she supposed. What had been hidden, God made plain through the strange gift Henry had been given.

  Forty-five minutes later he was finished.

  No one had spoken.

  Henry had drawn without stopping, without thinking. There was apparently no need for him to erase, to pause and consider, or to throw the sheet away and start over. It was a miracle, this gift, and Emma felt a sudden tenderness for her bishop, for her friend. What a thing to carry around each day. What an amazing gift. And burden—she could see how it must be that too.

  Finally, he put his pencil on the table, returned the magazines to the stack, and waited.

  Three drawings of photographic quality stared back at them. The first was the front room of the office before the bomb went off. The second was immediately after the explosion. And the third was the scene he must have witnessed when he exited the building.

  Emma was the first to speak. “That’s my purse.”

  She tapped drawing number one. In it, she’d turned away, turned toward Katie Ann, who was standing facing the posters. All he had caught of Emma was the back of her dress and the purse slung over her right shoulder, its paisley pattern plain even in a pencil rendering.

  “Huh. I guess I did know you were there, or a part of me did.”

  Meg was leaning forward, studying the drawing, her nose nearly on the paper. With a sigh, she sat back, “This box. This was it.”

  The item she was referring to was on the floor next to the front door, as if someone had set it down and forgotten it. Wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, it looked like a package someone might prepare for mailing from home.

  “How can you tell?” Emma asked.

  “We know the initial flame was somewhere near the front door, on the east side. If your dimensions are right, Henry, and I suspect they are, then the box is approx
imately the size of a shoe box. No doubt he put a timer in it.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Henry said.

  “Someone brought it in, acted as if they had business with the paper, and then set it by the door as they left. It was either set to go off at a preset time or it was remotely activated.”

  Written in bold black marker across the front of the box were the words

  Monte Vista Gazette

  Attention: Charles Silver

  “Any idea who that is?” Emma asked Henry.

  “Ya, he’s the person I met with. The one who wrote the article about the arsonist that appeared in yesterday’s paper. He’d planned a follow-up piece for next week.”

  “If someone had noticed the box, then they would have taken it to Mr. Silver. If that had happened while you were in his office, you’d probably both be dead.”

  Emma’s heart thudded to a stop at those words. She’d never imagined a life without Henry Lapp. He’d been her friend, her bishop for years. Had she ever told him how much he meant to her?

  Henry seemed unfazed by the revelation.

  The second drawing showed the room seconds after the explosion, smoke filling the air, people scrambling for the exits, glass littering the floor. He’d even caught flames as they were being extinguished by the sprinklers.

  “So they did come on,” Emma said. “I don’t even remember my clothes being wet.”

  “They came on, ya. But maybe not as early as I thought. Must have taken thirty seconds or so, or those flames would have never reached that height.”

  Meg was staring at the third drawing. She picked it up, brought it closer to her eyes, and then held it at arm’s length.

  Emma’s voice caught in her throat, as Henry’s third and final drawing seemed to capture the reaction of those who had been caught in the explosion.

  Someone helping an older man across the lawn.

  A mother and children staring up at the building, eyes wide and mouths open.

  People in the distance running toward the fire.

  And in the far right corner, three men huddled together underneath the shade of a large elm tree—Abe Graber, Lewis Glick, and Douglas Rae.

  “What can you tell me about these three?” Meg asked, tapping the sheet of paper.

  “All good men,” Henry assured her. “Abe is a minister in our church. You went to his house and questioned him about his brother Alvin. He and his wife have seven children.”

  “Lot of kids.”

  “Not for Amish folk,” Emma reminded her. “Pretty normal for us.”

  “Like many Amish families, they have help from family. And his sister-in-law, Franey, is there too.”

  “Are they happy here in Monte Vista?”

  “I suppose. Their home is in worse condition than the one they had in Goshen, but Abe seems satisfied enough.”

  Emma started to mention that Abe was complaining just the week before about the difficulty of the farming and the size of his home. But was that relevant? Surely not. Everyone complained now and then.

  “And this man?”

  “Ya, that’s Lewis Glick. He’s the newest member of our group.”

  “As I said, he was filling out some form when I saw him,” Emma said. She picked up the first drawing and pointed to him.

  “Any idea what type of form?” Meg asked.

  Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Emma thought he wouldn’t answer. He stared at the floor a minute before raising his eyes to look at Meg.

  “I can’t say for sure. Lewis keeps to himself. He’s the quiet sort, as many Amish men are. He hasn’t been particularly happy here. Adjusting to Colorado has been difficult.”

  “So why did he move?”

  “Same reason as most of us. Felt crowded with the growth in Lancaster. And the tourists. That sort of thing.”

  “All right. Tell me what you know about this man.”

  Both Emma and Henry knew Douglas Rae, but only by name and because he’d stopped at their homes a few times to purchase items.

  “I can’t tell you anything specific about him.” Henry stroked his fingers through his beard.

  Looking at the third drawing, there was no denying that the three men were in a heated discussion. What could have been that important? What could they have been arguing about in the middle of an explosion?

  Before Emma could ask what it all meant, there was a soft knock on the door, and then Katie Ann’s doctor stepped into the room.

  Forty-Eight

  Henry’s heart thumped at the sight of Katie Ann’s doctor.

  “Are you Mrs. Fisher? Katie Ann’s grandmother?”

  “I am.”

  Henry wasn’t sure if she realized she had reached for his hand and was clutching it as if he were her lifeline in a storm-tossed sea.

  “I’d like to have a word with you alone, please.”

  “Henry is family,” she said, “and Ms. Allen… I suppose she’ll receive all of the reports anyway.”

  The doctor hesitated, and then he stepped into the room.

  “I’ve already told her parents this, but I know you’re the one who came in with your granddaughter. Katie Ann is awake and she’s doing well.”

  “Praise the Lord.” Emma closed her eyes, the worry and fatigue of the last several hours vanishing in an instant. “What a relief. I can’t thank you enough.”

  The doctor smiled. Henry wondered how many times he had delivered news that was met with tears. His was a job Henry didn’t covet one bit, but he was thankful to God that the man had been able to help Katie Ann. In fact, Henry didn’t realize until that moment how much Katie Ann meant to him. She was more than a member of his congregation. She was like the granddaughter he’d never had.

  “Her father is signing release papers now.”

  “She can go home?”

  “Katie Ann doesn’t need us anymore.” He didn’t have to look down at the clipboard to remember her name. Henry’s opinion of the man went up another notch. “I would rather she take it easy the next forty-eight hours, though.”

  He was to the door when he turned and said, “Her first words on waking were about your horse—Cinnamon?”

  “Ya. She’s our buggy mare, and Katie Ann treats her like a pet.”

  “Quite the girl you have there.”

  “That she is.”

  The doctor left the room. Emma stood, pulling her purse over her shoulder, and Meg scooped up the drawings.

  “I’m going to see her, Henry. Join us when you’re done here.” She practically skipped out of the room.

  Meg shot him an amused look.

  “What?”

  “When are you going to tell her?”

  “Tell her?”

  “How you feel, Henry.”

  His mouth must have fallen open, and he could feel his eyebrows arch. They were starting to itch where they’d been singed.

  Meg actually laughed.

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “To anyone with eyes.”

  “We’ve been friends a long time. Her late husband was my best friend.”

  “How long since he died?”

  “Four years. I wasn’t sure… well, I wasn’t sure it was long enough, and honestly, I’ve only just realized how much she means to me.”

  Meg’s expression turned somber. “These types of situations can do that. They can cause you to reassess your feelings and bring life into a sharp, black-and-white focus. May I ask you a question?”

  Henry nodded, surprised he was having such a personal conversation with an Englisch woman and an arson investigator to boot.

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixty-four.”

  “And Emma?”

  “Sixty.”

  “I’m not saying you’re old, because you’re not. Sixty is the new forty, or so they tell us.”

  “In youth we learn, in age we understand.”

  “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.” Meg smiled as she stuffed the drawings into her messe
nger bag. “But don’t wait too long. None of us is guaranteed tomorrow.”

  They walked out into the hall together. From where they stood, Henry could see into the waiting room, which was still full of families waiting to see their loved ones.

  “What will you do with the drawings?” he asked.

  “Follow the thread, like I would do with any type of evidence.”

  Now she considered his drawings evidence?

  “How will you do that?”

  “I’ll start with background checks. There has to be a connection between our arsonist and Vernon Frey. That’s where all this started, and it’s the key.”

  “I can’t imagine what the connection would be.”

  “Our research people are very good. If there’s a connection, we’ll find it. In the meantime, I’ll interview the three men in your last drawing. It’s bizarre for them to appear so preoccupied with something else while a building was being consumed by flames right before their eyes.”

  They said good night, and Henry watched her walk away.

  He still didn’t believe anyone in his congregation was involved in the arson events, but he had to admit that Abe, Lewis, and Douglas knew something, and perhaps, as Meg suggested, something that seemed minor would lead them to the doorstep of a killer.

  Forty-Nine

  It had been foolish to stay and watch the explosion, but how could he resist? The people of Monte Vista had been responsible for the disastrous course of his life. Their choices and decisions and selfishness had left him very nearly orphaned.

  Besides, it had been a huge crowd. He’d hit at a good time.

  The chances that anyone would figure out he was the responsible party were somewhere in the eight percent range as nearly as he could calculate. Even if surveillance tapes had survived, which he doubted, they would show nothing other than a room full of people conducting business with the local newspaper.

  He didn’t go directly home. Instead, he stopped by the hospital to check on folks. That was a nice touch. The arson investigator might have expected him to hang around a blaze—yes, he’d read those statistics—but she would not expect him to show up in the waiting room of a hospital. It was all he could do to keep from giggling as people speculated about who the guilty party might be. He had them all running in circles.