“I’m thinking of leaving Albert here.”
“Alone?” Emma glanced up from the sandwich she was about to bite into.
“I’m grown enough to handle it,” Albert assured her.
“Well, you can handle the fields, but we’ll make sure you have plenty of meals to eat.”
“That’s kind of you, Emma.” Elmer ducked his head, and then he glanced up, smiling. “This is a gut community. We’ll miss the friends we’ve made.”
“Which is why we have circle letters,” Rachel said. “I’ve already started one to Grace and passed it on. She should receive it by the end of the week.”
Elmer seemed suddenly overcome by emotion. When he looked up, tears glistened in his eyes, but he only murmured, “Danki.”
The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, and soon all the children—even the teenagers and Albert—had abandoned the old folks for the ball field while the adults settled in chairs on the back porch. Katie Ann carried Lexi in her arms, and Henry laughed at the image of the dog smiling up at her. Could a dog smile? He’d have said no a month ago, but his opinion of such things was changing.
The adults enjoyed another glass of lemonade and the slower pace of Sunday. They spoke of summer, news from family, and laughed at the children as they swung the bat, ran the bases, and made leaping catches. Lexi dashed from person to person as if she were a part of the game.
“It’s gut to see them play,” Emma said.
An easy silence fell between the five of them—Henry, Emma, Clyde, Rachel, and Elmer.
After a few moments, Elmer leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and cleared his throat. Henry knew instinctively that the man was about to reveal something weighing on his heart.
“You all have been gut to us. Henry, I couldn’t have asked for a better bishop the last thirteen years. Clyde, you preach the Word with a sincerity that is rare.” He held up a hand to stave off Clyde’s protests. “I understand that you struggle with confidence, but it isn’t confidence that touches people’s heart. It’s the ability to speak simply, truthfully, and kindly that causes a person to listen, and you have that.”
Henry sat back and crossed his arms. “You’ve been a valuable part of our community, Elmer. You and your family will be missed.”
“We may not be the only family missed.” He wiped a hand over his face. “It’s not my place to share specifically what other people have said to me privately, but you need to know others are considering a move. We’re simply the first ones to act on it.”
“How many families are we talking about?” Clyde asked.
“That have spoken to me personally?” Elmer stared up at the sky, and Henry noticed him touching fingers to his thumb, counting. “Seven, I think. Ya. Seven.”
“That can’t be right,” Rachel protested. “We only have—”
“Twenty-two,” Henry said quietly. “That’s one third.”
“And you’re sure about this?” Clyde’s right leg began to jiggle.
“Ya.”
“How serious are they?”
“Everyone who spoke to me has already written to family, inquiring about land or jobs.”
“Yet no one has come to me.” Henry felt more hurt than angry.
“I’m sure they would eventually,” Emma said.
“Once they’ve made their decision, but by then it’s too late.”
“They understand how much you’re dealing with right now, Henry. Or so they have said to me. No one wants to add to your burden.”
“But how can I help or guide if I don’t know?”
For a moment, maybe two, his answer hung in the air between them.
Clyde said, “And this is all because of the fires?”
“In some cases that’s the primary reason. No one likes to feel vulnerable.”
“But they haven’t been, not personally.” Rachel was worrying her thumbnail between her front teeth, but then she clasped both hands in her lap. “No one has threatened them personally.”
“When one is in danger, we all feel unsafe.”
“But no one is in danger,” Rachel insisted. “Their homes aren’t going to spontaneously combust, and this person, this arsonist, hasn’t attacked—”
“Vernon’s dead, Rachel. The job site was hit, and that’s where many of our young men work. Henry, your workshop was burned to the ground. For many folks, the newspaper office was the last straw.”
They were quiet until Clyde said, “I thought that… well, I’d hoped last Sunday’s worship service helped.”
“It did, I believe. The gut word you shared helped those who are determined to stay feel safer, more confident.”
“But those who are considering leaving…”
“People will hear what they want and apply Scripture in a way that coincides with their plans.” Henry felt a sinking sensation from his chest to the pit of his stomach. “It’s a natural enough thing to do. If they were already planning on leaving, then they heard in your words assurance that Gotte would lead their way.”
“Exactly.” Elmer shook his head. He looked directly at Henry and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t feel I should betray their confidence, but at the same time… you need to know.”
“Ya, I do, and danki for telling me.”
Apparently convinced that it was better for the bishop to know, Elmer rattled off the names of several families, which Henry jotted down.
“What will you do?”
“First, I’ll pray as to how Gotte would have me handle this turn of events. Then I’ll begin visiting each family individually.”
Clyde was shaking his head before he finished speaking. “You don’t have time to do that, Henry.”
“Of course I do. I have no workshop, so I actually have plenty of time.”
“I’m sorry,” Elmer said. “You don’t deserve this.”
“Trouble isn’t something we deserve.” He reached out and clapped his friend on the back. “It’s a part of this life. I would ask that you all pray for me, and for our community. Pray that we will know Gotte’s wille and how we should proceed.”
Fifty-Three
Emma was a little surprised Henry stayed as late as he did. Plainly, what Elmer shared had disturbed him.
Rachel was inside putting the children to bed.
Clyde was making his final walk-through in the barn, something he’d done with his father for years, and now he continued the tradition. You’ll sleep better knowing everything’s bedded down for the night—animals and children. Emma was surprised the memory of her husband’s words didn’t bring the usual ache. Perhaps she was healing after all. Not that her life would ever be whole again, but perhaps the shadow of grief was lifting.
She walked with Henry out to his buggy.
He lifted Lexi up, placed her in the buggy, and the dog collapsed on the seat.
“The children wore her out.”
“A gut thing, I can assure you.”
“I’m glad you have her, Henry. I’ve never liked the thought of your living alone.”
He seemed about to answer, but instead he turned, rested his back against the side of the buggy, and stared up at the splash of stars adorning the night sky.
“This is a gut place, Emma. If it is Gotte’s wille that we leave, then I won’t argue with that, but it is, it has been, a gut place.”
“Let’s not talk about us leaving.”
“You’re committed to staying?”
“Of course I am. This is my home.”
“I wish more felt as you do.”
“Perhaps you’re reading too much into this, Henry.”
“How so?”
“Communities change. You know as well as I do it’s not unusual for things to shift and then settle again.”
“Ya. When there’s been a change in the Ordnung that is divisive.” Henry frowned, as if the memory hurt him.
“I heard some of the communities in Pennsylvania lost thirty percent of their families when they voted t
o allow solar panels for home use, but within the year they’d gained back double that number.”
“I doubt families will be flocking to the San Luis Valley, where the growing season is so short and an arsonist stalks us.”
It was actually painful for Emma to hear such defeat in his voice. Maybe that was why she reached out, put her hand on his arm, and said, “Henry, we’re not all leaving. You can count on my family. We’re staying.”
Perhaps it was owing to his being the bishop, needing to put a big distance between himself and even a hint of impropriety, but normally Henry would nod, thank her, and step away, increasing the distance between them. She’d noticed it before, especially with the widows. It had always made her smile, which was why she teased him about the women who would happily marry him. She knew how they talked. You’d think it was a badge of honor the way they went on about having an eligible bishop in their midst.
Maybe it was the stars or the comfortable day they’d spent together. Maybe it was that Henry Lapp occasionally needed encouragement like any other man, like any other person. Instead of stepping away, he covered her hand with his own. His warm fingers clasping hers sent a jolt of affection through her. Emma had never considered herself lonely. She was surrounded by family, and she’d had a good life with George.
Her life was rich and full and blessed.
She was satisfied. Wasn’t she?
Standing under the Milky Way, with Henry clasping her hand, she realized her life could be more, that she didn’t have to spend the rest of it alone, that God had meant for them to draw comfort from one another.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Henry leaned toward her and planted a kiss on her cheek. A brotherly gesture if ever there was one. So why did her heart begin pounding as if she’d run to the barn?
He climbed into the buggy, but before he shut the door, he said, “I’d hoped to spend the rest of my days here.”
“And perhaps we will. Let’s not give up yet.”
“You’re a gut woman, Emma.”
She stepped back, suddenly embarrassed. “Get on with you, Henry. Your pup is asleep and your horse is beginning to nod.”
He flashed her a smile, and then he was gone.
Emma stood there, listening to the clip-clop of Oreo’s hooves long after the buggy had disappeared into the darkness.
Instead of heading back inside, she walked to the pasture fence. Folding her arms across the top and resting her chin on her arms, she felt like a girl again. The breeze cooled the sweat on her neck. A night heron called to its mate. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped and a calf cried out for its mother. Emma knew she should follow her own advice, go to bed, and get some much-needed sleep.
But instead she stood at the fence, staring up at a star-spangled sky.
Fifty-Four
Henry was working in his vegetable garden when Meg pulled into his drive. She plodded past the house, never once smiling at Lexi, who danced at her feet.
“Doesn’t look as if you’re here to tell me you caught the arsonist.”
“Not only have I not caught him, but your people are impeding my investigation.”
“Why don’t we go to the porch? I’ll fetch us some lemonade.”
“I don’t have time for either of those things.”
Henry stood and brushed his hands against his trousers to knock off the dirt.
“What can I do?”
“You can begin by helping me find Abe Graber.”
“Find him—”
“He’s not home, Henry. His wife says he’s been gone since yesterday morning, but she claims she doesn’t know where he is. She looked worried too. I’ve had a man staked out at his place, and unless he’s hiding in the barn, he’s not there.”
“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”
“That I want to see him? No. I made myself abundantly clear. I even assured his wife that whoever is hiding him would be arrested.”
Henry didn’t answer that. He couldn’t imagine Susan hiding Abe. He couldn’t imagine Abe hiding. There had to be some mistake.
“On top of that, Lewis Glick is now a guest of the Monte Vista Police Department.”
“Why?”
“Because he refuses to answer my questions. He just sits there, staring at his hands. The man won’t even ask for a lawyer, though I fully intend to provide him one. He’s going to need good representation if he is charged.”
“You’re going to keep him?”
“I can hold him for another twenty-four hours.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’m trying to persuade him to talk to me, Henry. I need to know what he knows. I’m hoping a few hours in jail will change his mind and his attitude, but if it doesn’t then I will proceed to file charges.”
“Perhaps if I spoke to him—”
“Please do.” Hands on her hips, Meg frowned at him. Suddenly she seemed to realize she was standing in the middle of his vegetable garden. “This is a big garden for one man.”
Just when he thought she was beginning to understand their simple way of life, she said something showing that she plainly did not.
“Ya, but it’s a long winter, and also I’d like to be able to help others when they have a need.”
“My investigation is falling apart, and you’re gardening.”
“Someone once asked Saint Francis what he would do if he knew the world was about to end. He answered, ‘I suppose I would finish hoeing this row of beans.’ ”
Meg shook her head, threw up her hands, and stomped away.
Henry had to hurry to catch up with her, and still she was already in the car, seat belted when he reached her side.
“No tips to the hotline?”
“Oh, we have tips all right. Hundreds of them. Unfortunately, nothing substantial.”
“And the Englischer in the photo? Douglas Rae?”
“His mother claims he was home during each of the fires.”
It occurred to Henry that a mother would lie for her son. Meg must have read the skepticism in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s weak, but it’s something. I’ve run a background check. He has no priors and no family other than his mom. I can’t find any connection between Douglas and Vernon or between Douglas and a prior DUI. Plus, he’s the only person who was willing to answer my questions, which puts him at the bottom of my suspect list.”
“I don’t know where Abe is, but I will find out. And I’ll come to town as soon as I clean up and speak with Lewis. Sometimes Amish men are hesitant to speak to Englischers. Especially… women.”
If her eyes could have shot daggers, he would be lying in the lane beside her car.
“I’m not a woman, Henry. I’m the arson investigator for this case, and they will speak to me or stand trial for any charge I can make stick.”
Fifty-Five
An hour later Henry was perched on a stool he had pulled up to the jail cell where Lewis was sitting on a simple cot. He wished they could have privacy. At least he could be grateful that the jail wasn’t exactly full. An old man Henry suspected had been brought in for drinking in public was loudly snoring two cells down and to the left. A young teenage girl was picking at a tattoo in the cell to the right. She hadn’t even looked up when he walked past.
Lewis didn’t seem surprised, or happy, to see him.
“Meg Allen asked me to come and speak to you. See what the problem is.”
Lewis glanced up, and then he returned his gaze to the floor.
“She’s trying to help us, Lewis.”
“We’re to remain separate.”
“Ya, I agree. Whenever it’s possible I agree that is the best way, but sometimes our lives intersect by necessity. At that point we should treat Englischers as we would each other, with kindness and respect.”
Lewis didn’t answer. He scratched at his arms, jiggled his foot, and repeatedly glanced to the left and right. He seemed oblivious to the head injury he’d suffered from the newspaper explosion. Grayson told him th
e wound had been cleaned and freshly bandaged by a nurse who visited the jail once a day.
Henry waited, watching the clock on the wall tick past the noon hour.
Meg had left the building for a meeting. She’d given him one hour to convince Lewis to talk before she formally filed charges.
“Perhaps you could move closer so I don’t have to shout across the cell.”
Lewis had the grace to look embarrassed.
He stood and moved closer, dropping onto the concrete floor in front of Henry, but still he didn’t meet his bishop’s gaze.
“What’s going on, Lewis?”
“I had nothing to do with those fires.”
“And I believe you, but you need to tell Meg that. She’s the investigator.”
Lewis had seemed pumped up with indignation when Henry first walked up to the cell, but now he seemed deflated, like a child’s balloon that had quickly lost air.
“I can’t explain to her what I was doing at the paper.”
“Can you explain it to me?”
Lewis shifted uncomfortably on the floor
“Whatever you say to me will be protected by what the Englischers call clergy privilege.”
Henry remembered his first conversation with Meg, when she’d assured him clergy privilege didn’t apply. But this was different. This was a man baring his soul to his pastor, and no doubt it would be covered. Plus, Henry had no intention of sharing anything Lewis said, even if it meant he’d join the man on the other side of the bars. Unless what he said could lead to catching the arsonist. Then he would have to convince Lewis that such information needed to be shared with the authorities.
“If you don’t want me to disclose it to anyone else, I won’t. But you need to trust me, Lewis. You need to tell me what’s weighing on your heart.”
He thought the man wouldn’t speak, that he would have to return to Meg and admit defeat. When Lewis at last looked up, Henry understood the full measure of his misery, and thoughts of the investigation fell away. He was a bishop, and the man on the other side of the bars was his parishioner. A person in need of help. A man with a burden.
What the Bishop Saw Page 21
