Clara smiled tightly and turned to go, but before she reached the back door, she reversed direction and walked back to Emma. She stopped only a few inches away, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small notebook. It had a blue cover, and would have easily fit into a shirt pocket. “I found this in his room here.”
“Did you look through it? Are you sure it’s his?”
“Ya. It’s Jeremiah’s writing. He jotted some things on the pages, but they make no sense to me. Gideon told me to throw it out, to toss it into the pond or the fire and be done with it, but maybe it will help find the person who did this to him. Will you give it to the sheriff? Or perhaps Henry? Maybe he’d be so kind as to turn it in for me. I don’t think… I don’t think I can face the police again.”
“Of course.” Emma accepted the notebook, though it felt hot in her hand. She stared down at it, wondered what secrets it held, and then quickly pocketed it. “Both Henry and Sheriff Grayson will keep Ruth apprised of any progress in the case. Grayson can even call you in Goshen if he has any questions.”
“Danki.”
And then Clara was gone, back into the house to say her final goodbyes to her son.
Twenty-One
Henry led the funeral procession, his buggy chalked with a large number one on the side.
The casket had been loaded onto a cart attached to the back of his buggy, the equivalent of an Englisch hearse.
Ruth, Gideon, and Clara rode in Ruth’s buggy, chalked with a number two.
And so it went, a long line of procession, black buggies pulled by strong horses, snaking its way across the San Luis desert. Behind the buggies were Englisch cars, their headlights on, and at the crossroads, Sheriff Grayson waited with his vehicle, top lights throwing out a beacon warning traffic to stop. Another officer would move on in front of them, and in that way they would take turns at each of the roads they had to cross to reach Leroy’s place. Englisch vehicles traveling toward them pulled to the side. He saw only two news vans, and fortunately they remained at a discreet distance. No doubt their long-range lenses were catching everything.
He hadn’t taken time to consider what interest another murder might have to the local or even national media. The last time—in the wake of Sophia’s murder—everything had turned into a real circus. Fortunately, they’d all soon grown tired of the story, especially once the murderer was behind bars. Henry was glad no one had intruded upon Ruth’s privacy, at least before now.
Henry understood that funerals were more for the living than those who had passed. Jeremiah’s grave had been hand dug by one of Leroy’s sons. The casket had been made by Lewis Glick. Once they arrived at the cemetery, men from their community carried Jeremiah’s coffin and gently lowered it into the grave. Henry stood before the people assembled, both Amish and Englisch, and he chose his words carefully. He spoke from Job about the sovereignty of God.
Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set,
or who laid its cornerstone—
while the morning stars sang together
and all the angels shouted for joy?
He longed to remind them of God’s sovereignty, of how much their heavenly Father cared for them. His heart ached at the expressions of confusion and grief. He read from the book of John, reminding them of Christ’s promise to prepare a place for them. He ended with Paul’s assurance that, though now they saw only a reflection, one day they would see Him face-to-face. Now they knew only in part, but one day they would know fully.
They sang one of the old hymns. Jeremiah’s mother had chosen “Precious Memories,” which reminded Henry of other funerals he’d officiated in the past. It was part of his job as bishop to guide his flock through such things, and death was a natural part of life despite Jeremiah’s ending in such an unnatural way.
Clara wept and was comforted by the women, including Emma and Ruth.
Gideon remained stoically silent.
After the funeral, when they’d returned to Ruth’s for the evening meal, he was approached by Jeremiah’s father.
“I want to speak with you for a moment.”
“Of course.”
“Privately.”
Henry motioned toward a breezeway that led to Ruth’s barn. Gideon didn’t waste any time once they’d stepped into the shade.
“I know about your drawing.”
Henry waited.
“I suppose everyone knows—even saw what was written about you in the Englisch magazines.”
“Something I had nothing to do with.”
“As far as your drawing, you should know we don’t approve of such things.”
“Approve?”
“It’s not my place to point out the Scripture to you, what with your being a bishop and all.”
“Just say what’s on your mind.”
“I won’t have you drawing my son. I don’t know what you did or didn’t see, or how your ability works, but Scripture plainly says we’re not to dabble in sorcery.”
“I can assure you that—”
“Let me finish. I won’t be judging your strange ability—”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“We’ve all heard about the Monte Vista arsonist, and that other situation, the one with the waitress.”
“Her name was Sophia.” Henry kept his voice soft and worked to keep the anger out of it. The man standing in front of him was hurting, and no doubt in a day or a week or longer he would regret what he was saying now.
“No one in Goshen has forgotten about Betsy Troyer, either.”
Henry felt the pulse at his right temple twitch. He thought of the young girl often, even after so many years. He could be weeding in his garden, and his thoughts would abruptly wander to her family and to the time he’d spent in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. He was moving past those hurtful memories, but sometimes they still pricked his soul. Gideon’s words brought back those times with the force of a spring thunderstorm.
“I’d like you to give me your word that you won’t be using this thing you can do in connection with Jeremiah. The boy had lost his way, and he paid for that.”
Which was probably what sent Henry over the edge, this man’s presumption of knowledge and his quickness to judge.
“We can’t know what life God had called Jeremiah to.”
“He called him to a Plain life.”
“I understand your pain, more than you think I do—”
“You understand nothing.”
“But in your pain, be careful what presumptions you make.”
“I suppose I know the condition of my son’s soul.”
“Do you? Had you spoken to him recently?”
“I didn’t need to talk to him to know he’d fallen away.”
“And did you speak to him even when he lived with you? Or did you sit back and judge—”
“What would you know of having a child, of having a son? Nothing. You’ve never had your heart broken the way I have.”
“So because Jeremiah chose differently than you thought he should, you closed your ears to his words and hardened your heart to his needs?”
The look of contempt on Gideon’s face did nothing to slow Henry. He was ready to quote Christ’s Sermon on the Mount word for word. If it would soften this man’s heart, he’d read the entire New Testament to him and then go back to cover the Old Testament as well.
He knew too well that Gideon’s bitterness would poison not only his relationship with his other children, but also the union with his wife, and ultimately it would damage his relationship with his Lord.
Henry understood that it was his duty to speak to Gideon clearly and without anger, to guide him in the ways of their faith.
But he didn’t have the chance, because there was a crash and a scream, people began to run, and t
hen pandemonium erupted.
Twenty-Two
Emma had been watching her grandsons Stephen and Thomas, so she knew the moment they were in trouble. The children had wandered off after the evening meal, and it was no surprise that someone started throwing around a baseball. Normally such behavior was frowned upon during such a formal event as a funeral, but this funeral had been particularly difficult and somber. Grief was always present, but normally funerals also served as a celebration of life and a reminder of their heavenly reward.
The day seemed to have lasted the length of two or three. First the visitation period and then the lunch, followed by the ride to the cemetery.
The short message from Henry to the community had been poignant, but the boys had begun growing restless. Emma knew the signs—shuffling from foot to foot, bumping shoulders, picking up small pebbles and tossing them at one another.
Henry’s sermon had been followed by singing and prayer.
The boys had begun to squirm on the ride back to Ruth’s home, and she’d caught them tossing peas at each other and kicking each other under the table during dinner. In truth, she was glad when they asked to be dismissed and headed out to the pasture. The problem came after they’d been playing catch for a good five or ten minutes.
Emma’s attention was torn between watching the boys and keeping an eye on Henry, who was talking to Gideon Schwartz. The talk seemed to be going none too well by the way Henry’s posture stiffened. On the other hand, the boys were moving perilously close to Ruth’s pasture fence. Ruth kept both sheep and goats, but they were penned in two grazing areas. She was very careful to keep them separate.
“The goats are like a classroom full of schoolchildren—lots of energy and always investigating things,” she’d once explained to Emma. “Sheep, on the other hand, are like infants. They like things to be quiet, and they’re easily upset. Once one starts crying, they all start crying. Takes forever to settle them back down again.”
Thomas threw the ball at Stephen, who lurched for it but missed. The ball rolled under the gate on the sheep’s side of the pasture fence. Stephen jogged over and reached up to open the fence gate. Emma began moving toward them, and she was just about to warn him to leave the ball where it was when Stephen opened the gate and the sheep crowded forward. He jumped back, inadvertently pulling the gate open even wider. The sheep surged out of the fenced area, bleating and looking for all the world like a fluffy stampede.
At the same time, Curtis Graber began laughing so hard that he fell off the goat side of the fence, where he was perched. He landed on his backside on the wrong side of the fence, and when he stood, dusted off his pants, and then opened the gate, the goats pushed and shoved and would have climbed over him, but he jumped out of the way.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
One of the women screamed as a goat tried to pull a piece of chicken from her hand, which alerted everyone to what had happened, and then the adults and children were all moving at once.
Emma stood under an elm tree with Franey and Nancy, watching the chaos that quickly followed. Her feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground, and she’d slapped her hand over her mouth, unsure whom to shout at first.
The sheep pushed their way through, baaing and bleating, running left and then right, moving together like a giant wave. One would stop to pull up some of the grass, and then another would bump into its back end, and off the entire group would run. They pushed their way through the guests, into the midst of the tables that had been set up. Women jerked babies off the ground, toddlers squealed in delight, and men jumped up, grabbing their plates of food and drinks off the tables before they were knocked over.
Three of the goats peeled off and headed toward the serving table, bumping into its legs and pulling at the tablecloth. A platter of potato and vegetable scones went flying.
The sheep continued to graze on the grass around the tables, but the goats were less interested in the food as they headed for anything they could climb on.
“Never realized how fast a goat can move,” Franey said.
“Never realized Ruth had so many,” Nancy added.
It suddenly seemed as if goats were everywhere. They were standing on top of an overturned wheelbarrow, climbing the steps of the porch, and even hopping onto the picnic tables. Somehow three billies had climbed up onto a trampoline Ruth had never gotten rid of. They bounced and brayed and knocked one another off, but were quickly replaced by others, who alternated between jumping around and bumping into yet more goats.
Some of the Englischers were laughing, and a few of the teens had taken out their phones and were recording the animals’ escape.
Emma was seized by a fit of laughter watching the sheep and goats. The sheep looked terrified, running from one side of the area to the other. The goats were simply delighted to be freed. No doubt they’d been thinking of getting out of that pasture for months. Now they had their chance and were making the most of it.
Henry had left Jeremiah’s father standing in the breezeway and was attempting to herd the freed animals back where they belonged. Katie Ann, Silas, and their friends tried to head off the animals moving toward the parked buggies, and Ruth was standing in the middle of the entire thing shouting, “Turn them back, and catch the one headed toward the garden!”
That was all the encouragement the Englisch kids needed. Emma had been surprised they returned after the trip to the cemetery, not exactly mingling with the Amish, but apparently unsure if it was okay to take off yet. Now they sprang into action.
“Those kids were raised mutton busting and calf roping,” Franey said.
“This is terrible,” Emma replied.
“But funny.” Nancy pointed toward the front porch. “Is that one standing on a rocking chair?”
And then they all fell into another fit of laughter.
One of the goats had taken a liking to Deborah King’s apron, and she was attempting to shoo it away with a pot holder with one hand while clinging to her baby with the other. Claudia Yoder rushed over to help Deborah, but at that moment a fluffy ewe pushed in between the two of them, her lamb close behind. Claudia stopped so as not to bump into the ewe and ended up landing on her backside, though she was laughing as she went down.
“Hang on, Deborah!” Claudia called out, sounding anything but confident. In truth, the goat was the one who looked sorely afraid. It took a last bite out of Deborah’s apron and scampered away.
Henry glanced toward Emma, raised his hands in exasperation, and lurched for a lamb. He managed to catch it and pick it up. Emma ran over to take the small thing. It had been years since she’d held a lamb in her arms, and she was surprised at how soft and vulnerable it felt. It cried like a small child and stuck its nose in the crook of her arm as if to hide its eyes.
“I’ll take him back,” she said.
Henry winked and scampered off after a wayward goat about to pull down Ruth’s clothesline as it tugged on her bag full of clothespins. Emma turned toward the pens, where an Englisch girl stood on the sheep side, opening and closing the gate as needed, and Katie Ann stood on the goat side.
Emma slipped the lamb inside. It stood there forlornly, looking left and right before it raised its nose into the air and began to cry. The little guy’s mom froze where she had been eating some of Ruth’s potted flowers, turned toward the sound, and then began to run in the direction of her baby. The Englisch girl swung open the gate at the last possible second, uniting the two.
It took nearly an hour to return all of the animals to their pens and to right the mess of tables, chairs, and dishes scattered across the yard. While the men loaded up the benches, the women covered and stored the leftover food they could salvage in the refrigerator. Gideon had disappeared, and Clara was sitting on the front step with one of the small children, who was retelling how she’d climbed onto a sheep and taken a ride. It was the first and only time Emma saw a look that resembled happiness on the woman’s face.
The sun
was setting, and people were beginning to pack up and leave.
“We’re sorry, Ruth.” Stephen and Thomas stood in front of her, their straw hats in their hands and a look of real consternation on their faces.
“No harm done,” she assured them.
“Except to your flowers, which the boys will be by to replant tomorrow.” Clyde stood with his hands on his hips, turning in a circle to survey the damage. “If any other chores need to be done, or if you’d rather they come another day… ”
“Nein. Tomorrow will be fine. Gideon and Clara are leaving first thing in the morning, and I suppose I’d like the company.”
Stephen and Thomas nodded obediently, though when they walked away Emma thought she heard them say something along the lines of “there go our plans for fishing.”
“Are you riding with us, Mamm?” Rachel stopped at her side. They were all exhausted, but somehow also lightened by the chaos of the last hour. Everyone would need to work the next day, and both Rachel and Ruth looked ready to fall asleep on their feet.
“I’d be happy to take you home, Emma.”
She hadn’t heard Henry come up behind her, but she nodded immediately. A few moments alone with Henry would help to calm her soul, plus she wanted to ask him about that conversation he’d been having with Jeremiah’s father. And she also needed to give him the notebook Clara had given her.
Emma stepped forward and enfolded Ruth in a hug. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course, though it doesn’t feel like it today. Thank you for asking.”
“Please call me or send someone if you need anything at all.”
But they were all aware that Ruth would have no one to send. Her son and his wife were leaving at first light. She’d once again be alone on her farm, as she’d been before Jeremiah had come to stay for the summer.
Ruth assured them both she would be fine, and perhaps she would. She was in business with Franey and Nancy, running the Bread 2 Go bakery, and the venture had been a healthy diversion for all three women. Plus, it seemed she was making good money at it.
More importantly, she’d grown close to the other two women. They would see that she wasn’t left alone for too long. Emma had heard them mention that Ruth would be taking off the rest of the week before returning to work.
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