“Life is a gift, eh, Emma?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Hard times and gut. During the hard times, we depend on our faith and on one another.” Henry added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee and placed the spoon on the napkin sitting between them. “The gut times we should enjoy… enjoy and share with one another.”
Emma listened and waited, one of the many qualities he liked about her.
“I would like to enjoy more of this life with you.” Now both of her eyebrows shot up, giving her a surprised look. Well, maybe she was surprised. He should have confessed his feelings long ago. “Would you be willing to go on a buggy ride with me? That is, once Doc says it’s okay to drive?”
“Are you asking to court me, Henry Lapp?”
He reached out and covered her hand with his. “We’re not too old, and I care for you, Emma. Courting is an important time. We can learn more about one another.”
“Learn more?” Now she tilted her head back and laughed.
Lexi whined once in her sleep, rolled over, and snuggled closer to his feet.
“I’ve known you nearly all my life.” Emma’s voice softened. “I’ve celebrated with you during the gut times—”
“And sat with me during the bad. As I have with you.” He picked up his fork and sampled the coffee cake. It was moist and rich, like his life. “But do you know that I wait every year for the sandhill cranes to come through in March? I can spend hours watching them. They are majestic birds.”
“Are they now?”
“They are. Do you have a favorite bird, Emma?”
“I love the hummingbirds. They remind me of children, darting back and forth. When they appear, I know summer has come, and when they leave, I know it’s time to prepare for winter.”
Katie Ann banged through the back door and came in from the mudroom. “I forgot the carrots.” She plucked two off the counter where Emma had left them and hurried back out.
“She seems to have recovered from her traumas.”
“She’s still suffering from the nightmares. I don’t sleep as soundly as I did when I was younger, and I hear her. More than once I’ve gone in to sit by her bed.” Emma turned the coffee mug so that its small chip was facing him. She ran the tip of her finger over it. “Twice now she has asked me to pray with her about Douglas.”
“That’s gut. That is exactly what we all should do.”
They spoke of her family, hopes for a good harvest, and the community’s growth. Most of the families had decided to stay. Henry felt confident their numbers would continue to grow and prosper in the San Luis Valley.
The remainder of the hour passed too quickly for Henry’s liking. He marveled that he could be so at rest in Emma’s company. Usually he refueled by being alone, but she had a bolstering presence. Yes, he realized he would be a fortunate man indeed to pass the rest of his years with Emma Fisher.
Katie Ann bounded back into the house, talking of Oreo, a nest of birds in the barn, and wildflowers she’d spied near his pump.
She had a piece of the cake and then carried her grandmother’s cleaning supplies to the buggy they’d brought.
“Surprised you didn’t walk.”
“I offered to go to town and pick up some books from the library for Rachel.” They’d walked out onto the front porch.
When Henry looked out across the valley, he was awed at the beauty, the harvest they would enjoy, the blessings of this place.
Emma touched his arm. “I care about you as well, Henry, and I’d be happy to take a buggy ride with you.”
“Excellent.” He reached for her hand, squeezed it, and then he sat down in a rocker to watch as they made their way down his lane.
A burden in his heart lifted, something he didn’t realize he’d been carrying around—the fear that Emma would think he was being foolish, that their time for companionship was past. But they were made for companionship—friendships, family relationships, and romantic relationships. God blessed them richly, not only with the land or what they could coax from it, but with each other.
Eighty-Two
Meg stopped by later that afternoon. Henry was sitting on the front porch, whittling a piece of wood into a turkey call. He’d learned the skill from his father, but he hadn’t made one in a very long time. He rather liked the challenge of remembering what he had been taught all those years ago.
Lexi slowly left the porch to greet her. When Meg pulled a dog treat out of her pocket and handed it to the little dog, Henry started laughing.
“She seems to have won you over.”
“How can I not like a dog who helped me crack a case?”
“She’s brave, that is for sure and certain.” He motioned to the rocker beside him, and Meg sat, releasing a deep breath and putting the rocker into motion.
“Nice place you have here, Bishop.”
“Ya? I thought you might find it rather boring compared to your big city.”
“District headquarters is only three hours from here, yet it feels like a world away.” Meg scooted the rocker so she could face him while they talked. “How are you feeling?”
“Everyone’s treating me like I’m old.”
“You are old.” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “And this community cares about you.”
“For which I’m grateful.”
“I actually stopped by for a reason other than to tease you about your age. I wanted to catch you up on the case.”
“The paper said Douglas would be transferred to Durango for trial.”
“Actually, there’s not going to be a trial. Douglas decided to plead guilty and waive the right to a trial.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing.”
“Saves money. Saves time for all involved.”
“I’m a little surprised. He didn’t seem to fully understand the gravity of what he’d done.”
“His exact words were, and I quote, ‘The statistical odds of being found innocent are less than one percent, and I would rather not waste my time.’ ”
“So we won’t have to testify.”
“No. He will appear before a judge and be sentenced. That will take place in Durango as the paper reported. Then he’ll be transferred to Englewood to serve his sentence.”
“Which will be—”
“He’s looking at forty-five years behind bars. Felony murder always carries that sentence. Plus, there are the charges of attempted murder, arson, and destruction of property. He’ll serve those sentences concurrently. The judge may offer a possibility of parole. If so, Douglas Rae will be an old man by the time he’s released.”
Henry thought of what he’d told Sam and Emma while they were waiting, locked in the deserted warehouse. Never doubt the reach of Gotte’s love and the life-changing power of it. He believed in the deepest parts of his heart that God could reach Douglas. As long as there was breath, there was hope.
“It’s a relief, for sure and certain. We can put all this behind us now.”
“There’s one more thing.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. “We showed Douglas the drawing you did. He remembered the letter, remembered it well enough to fill in the blanks for us.”
Henry stared down at the letter. Someone had transcribed it, corrected the errors, and typed it up neatly. No doubt it would now appear in Douglas’s file.
“I want to apologize to you, Henry. When you first showed me that drawing, I thought you were crazy.”
Henry glanced up, surprised to see she was smiling, shaking her head, nearly laughing. “Who would believe such a thing, such an ability, was even possible? I guess there will always be things in this world to surprise us.”
Henry read the letter, his heart breaking anew for Vernon, for Douglas, and for all who had been hurt by his actions.
“Word-for-word, it’s the same as what you gave me.” Meg sat back in the chair, once again rocking.
“This is an obvious cry for help.”
“It is.”
“If only Vernon had listened. If he had shared this letter the afternoon I went to visit him, he might still be alive.”
Meg didn’t answer that.
But God’s plan was perfect for each life, and Henry realized he could trust that Vernon’s life was complete. A person’s days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed. Henry had quoted the words from Job 14:5 at many a funeral.
Looking back over the letter, he pointed at the first paragraph. “Seems to be a reference to Sam, or perhaps all of our children who attended public school the first year we were here.”
“Douglas had indeed gone to school with Sam. According to his mother, the eighth grade was a time when he was struggling with his dyslexia as well as his superior intelligence. She thought he would work it out on his own.”
“Obviously that didn’t happen. What about the other missing pieces? Did Vernon buy his father’s land? How was the trial for Shawn Neely connected to Douglas? And why did he target the newspaper and Emma’s place?”
Meg held up a hand to stop his questions. “Vernon didn’t directly buy the Rae family farm, which is the reason we didn’t find that connection. It was bought by Vernon’s uncle, a man named Jethro Kepf, in a cash sale.”
“I remember now. Someone from the original Plain community once told me Vernon’s uncle, his mother’s brother, was in charge of the family purse strings when Vernon’s parents died. He didn’t approve of Vernon’s chosen profession.”
“Buying and selling used items?”
“That would be the nice way to describe it. Jethro thought farming was the only honest occupation, especially for an Amish man. He agreed to purchase the home, hoping Vernon would come to his senses. At the time, Vernon would have been… forty-nine years old by my recollection. There was no chance he was going to take up farming.”
“The title transfer showed Jethro offered well below the asking price. In desperation, Douglas’s father accepted.” Meg nodded at the letter. “That’s a chronology of the events that led to Douglas’s desperate actions. Frustration in school, the factory in town closing, losing the family farm, and then his father’s drinking worsened and in time he abandoned his family. I checked the county records. He died eighteen months after selling the farm. He was drunk, clutching a bottle, actually, and stepped out into the middle of the road. The trucker who hit him didn’t have a chance of stopping.”
“This part about the buggy…”
“Douglas had no brother, but his family started taking in foster children, possibly for extra money. Shawn Neely was a few years older than Douglas, and apparently Douglas thought of him as a brother. As you know, Shawn was convicted of involuntary manslaughter for killing Mervin Weaver and his young daughter Lilly. We didn’t originally find that connection because Shawn and Douglas are not technically related.”
“Douglas wasn’t at the trial.”
“No. His mother wouldn’t allow it, but since that time Douglas has written to his brother, who’s imprisoned at Englewood, and we know that he has visited twice.”
“Such tragic times.”
“The final straw was Douglas being turned down for a job at the construction site, which seems to be why he targeted Emma’s house. Her grandson, Silas, was hired the same day Douglas was turned down. He had no experience in construction, but his mother was nagging him about getting a job.”
“It would seem that with his intelligence, he would have been able to find work.”
“If he’d ever made it into a collegiate environment, maybe, but our day-to-day life doesn’t have much use for a genius.”
“A sad statement if I ever heard one.” Henry paused, his mind combing back over all that had happened. “What about the newspaper? Why did he strike there?”
“The Monte Vista Gazette was not a part of his original plan. He was upset about the story they had run the day before covering the fires.” She stood, and Henry handed her the paper with Douglas’s letter.
“I appreciate your coming by.”
“Thank you. If it weren’t for your drawings, we might have been looking in another direction. We might never have caught Douglas Rae.”
“I can’t see as they were much help, actually. We didn’t understand the significance of a single thing in my drawings.”
“But we did. The letter was the most important clue, but the drawing of Abe, Lewis, and Douglas standing outside the burning building narrowed down our suspects.”
He followed Meg as she walked to her car, opened her door, and then she turned to explain.
“We were closing in on him even before he abducted you three in the woods. Sniffing around his school records, letting it slip to the paper that we had a letter—”
“He had to have known the letter burned up in the fire.”
“But there was a possibility Vernon had given it to someone. All of those things provoked him into accelerating his timeline, and when rushed, even a genius like Douglas can make a mistake.”
“The school fire.”
“He wanted to be sure it burned all of the school records. He stayed around a little too long, which is how we caught him at the scene.”
She climbed into the car, rolled down the window, and started the engine. “That gift of yours… it’s something, Henry.”
He’d always thought of it as a curse. He could admit that to himself now, but perhaps she was right. Perhaps God had found a way to use this strange ability of his. Instead of trying to explain any of those thoughts, he simply nodded.
“If I could think of a way to use you in active investigations, I’d pester you to join my department.”
“An Amish man on an arson squad? Not likely.”
Lexi barked twice and they both laughed.
“Hopefully, things will quiet down around here. No offense, but I hope not to return to Monte Vista until Grayson’s retirement party next year.”
As Henry walked back to the porch, he realized quiet was exactly what they needed—a plain, simple, quiet life. Which was the reason they’d moved to Colorado in the first place.
Epilogue
Seven months later
Henry bundled up to walk to the end of the lane and fetch the mail.
A scant half inch of snow lay on the ground, but Lexi bounded through it as if it were three feet deep.
He opened the mailbox and retrieved three letters, one bill, and a sales ad from the discount store that had recently opened.
Stuffing the letters into the sales circular, he whistled for the dog, who fell in next to him.
They walked back to the house by way of his workshop, where he picked up the item he was working on for Emma. He would take the small box to the house and add one more coat of oil to the finish. It was the length of the letters he was holding, but much deeper. He understood how much she missed Katie Ann. The girl had decided to spend the winter with relatives in Sarasota. The entire family had agreed that the warm air and change of scenery would do her good. And it seemed to be. With each letter, Emma said she saw more of the girl’s joyful spirit return. She was healing, as they all were.
He set the mail on the counter. After pouring himself a glass of water, he scooped up the letters, put on the reading glasses Emma bought him for his birthday, and sat down at the table to study what he had.
One letter was from the bishop in Elkhart—a genealogy matter Henry was researching in anticipation of a certain spring wedding announcement. The second was a circular letter from his cousins in Ohio. He looked forward to reading it and adding his portion to the bottom, then sending it on. It was a tradition he’d always enjoyed.
He pushed those two letters and the sales ad aside, and drew the letter to him with the postmark from Englewood, Colorado. Pulling out his pocketknife, he opened the small blade, slipped the tip beneath the corner of the envelope, and slit it open.
Three pages, typed.
Douglas was indeed dyslexic, but since transferring to the f
ederal prison in Englewood, he’d been working with a computer program that was supposed to help his writing problems. Glancing at the page, Henry decided it must be working. Not a misspelled word that he could see, which meant Douglas had gone through it several times.
Henry realized he was probably the only person receiving mail from Douglas, other than perhaps Shawn Neely, who was incarcerated in the same prison. Did they have interprison mail? Did he ever see his brother? In his first letter Douglas had admitted that his mother asked him not to write to her, that she didn’t think her blood pressure could handle the stress.
The first page spoke of his routine in the prison, day-to-day minutia everyone liked to share with someone.
Henry read the lines carefully, forming a response in his mind.
It was on the second page that Douglas returned to the subject of the fires.
I’m still amazed you were able to recreate the letter I wrote to Vernon. I looked up both acquired and accidental savant in the prison library, but there was nothing to be found on the topic. Fortunately, I’m given one hour each day on the Internet (preapproved sites only), and I was able to read a few medical journals.
Henry could picture him poring over the medical texts. In another life, Douglas’s genius might have been used for good. He could have been a doctor. He could have been anything he wanted to be, anything other than a man waiting out a life sentence in federal prison.
I take issue with the term accidental. What happened to you was an accident, but our lives intersecting seems too coincidental. I’m not ready to say God intended it, though I respect your beliefs and continue to read the devotional you mailed me. But the odds of your having such an ability and your being at Vernon’s at exactly the right time to see the letter I mailed seem incalculable. Perhaps it was destiny or fate, or, as you believe, the will of God.
I remember sitting in my room at my mother’s house, writing that letter. Mother’s television was blaring some show that was supposed to be reality TV. I don’t believe I’m insane, but if I was, her television habits would have been reason enough to send me over the edge. I’m more than a little embarrassed about my grammatical errors in the original letter. I reconstructed it in its entirety for the arson investigator. I hope she showed it to you.
What the Bishop Saw Page 31
