Who the Bishop Knows

by Vannetta Chapman

  Katie Ann’s voice in her ear brought her back.

  “Hold my hand. We run as fast and as long as we can.”

  She had a fleeting moment of hope as they took off across the parking lot. The moment their feet hit the adjacent field, she nearly whooped for joy. And then a bright light shone in their eyes. They both skidded to a stop, unsure what to do, unsure where to run now that he’d caught them. His voice said, “I thought you’d try something like that.”

  He stood in the field, as if he’d been waiting for them. Of course he’d been. He’d known they’d try to escape. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “We think it’s time for us to go home.” The words spilled from Naomi’s mouth before she could consider if they’d only serve to anger him more.

  “Not yet, it isn’t. Now, turn around. This time you’re going in the horse trailer.”

  “What are you going to do to us?” Katie Ann asked.

  Naomi was impressed that her friend’s voice didn’t shake. They’d both been frightened, plenty frightened over the last nine hours, but one could only hold on to that emotion for so long. For her—and she felt sure for Katie Ann too—fear was quickly being replaced with a seething rage. He had no right to do this to them. There was no acceptable reason for his behavior.

  They outnumbered him two to one, and although he had a gun and a skewed view of reality to fuel his actions, they had each other.

  They had their faith.

  They had families they were determined to go back to.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” He sounded offended that they would suggest such a thing.

  “You hurt Jeremiah. You killed him. Didn’t you? How do we know you won’t—”

  “Jeremiah was a different matter entirely.” His hand shook on the spotlight as he walked toward them. “I won’t hurt you unless you try something stupid again. Unless you make me.”

  He stepped closer, pointing his large flashlight to the ground, and Naomi could just make out his silhouette even though her vision remained clouded with large black dots from the bright light. But she could see plainly enough—through the rain, and even with the fear and the residue of being nearly blinded—that in his other hand he clutched the handgun.

  “Now, walk back toward where I parked.”

  When they made it around the corner of the building, Naomi saw he’d opened the back of the horse trailer. She could make out bales of hay, an old blanket, and a small collapsible table with a single chair pulled up to it. On the table was a sheet of paper, a pen, yet another flashlight, and a roll of duct tape.

  Fifty-Two

  The night passed so slowly that Naomi feared dawn would never come, but it did. The sun always rose. That was one thing you could count on.

  Because of the LORD’S great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

  Someone had quoted those verses at their last church service. If you’d asked her, Naomi would have said she hadn’t paid much attention at the time, but somehow the Scriptures had soaked into her soul, and her heart had called up exactly what she needed to hear.

  She’d dozed off and on throughout the night. Whenever she woke, she’d lie there thinking of her family—her mother and dad, Aenti Abigail and Onkel Daniel, even her cousin Sam. They’d all been good to her, and perhaps she’d taken their kindness for granted. She couldn’t wait to see them again. She prayed she would, and she fervently hoped she’d have a chance to tell them how much she cared.

  Her thoughts turned to her aenti’s sayings. She’d always rolled her eyes at them, but now they circled in her mind, an endless loop of tried-and-true proverbs.

  Courage is fear that has said its prayers.

  Don’t count your eggs before they’re laid.

  It is better to suffer wrong than to do it.

  They were certainly suffering wrong, and Naomi didn’t like it one bit. What was happening to them wasn’t fair. She wanted it to be over. She didn’t think she’d ever take another day of waking up in her own bed for granted. She would appreciate normal and chores and working at the bakery.

  And breakfast.

  And her mother’s letters.

  And her aenti’s smile in the morning.

  As the sun rose, she mulled over all those things and how much she missed them. Instead of eating eggs and fresh biscuits, she and Katie Ann sat huddled together in the back of the horse trailer.

  The smells of hay and manure and horse were actually comforting, even to Naomi. Those smells assured her that life had been normal and safe in the past, and that it would be normal and safe again soon.

  She’d been filled with enormous hope as the sky lightened, even before the sun’s rays had begun to heat the inside of the trailer. At first that thought had been a relief, because the night had been cool and they’d had only one old horse blanket to cover up with. But soon the sun would be high in the sky, and they would both begin to sweat.

  “We need a plan,” Katie Ann said. Her throat was hoarse from screaming. They’d both hollered for at least an hour the night before, after he left, but it had done no good. No one had heard them.

  “Ya, I agree.”

  “There’s only one of him. At least it doesn’t seem as though he’s working with anyone else.”

  “And there are two of us.”

  “If we could just get this stupid tape off.” Katie Ann held up her hands in front of her. The tape was wide and gray and shiny. It was also incredibly strong.

  “He used nearly half the roll,” Naomi said. “You’d need a knife to get through this.”

  He’d twisted the duct tape round and round their wrists and then their ankles. They both held a bottle of water, which they could awkwardly raise to drink from, but what happened when that water ran out? What happened when they needed to use the bathroom again? He’d let them out of the horse trailer only one other time, just before he left, with the warning not to try anything.

  The trailer and truck had remained parked very close to the wall of the motel. There’d been no other opportunity to run, not with him standing outside the bathroom door, holding the gun.

  So where had he gone? When was he returning, and what did he have planned?

  “They’ll be looking for us.” Katie Ann leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure they will. Henry and Mammi, my parents…”

  “My aenti and onkel.”

  “And the police. They’ll be looking too.”

  “I don’t think he means to hurt us,” Naomi said. They’d been through this the night before, gone over every possibility until they were too tired to pass it back and forth again.

  “He’s not even bothering to hide his face. That must mean something.”

  “It means he doesn’t plan to stay around here after—”

  The sound of a vehicle passing by on the highway cut off Naomi’s sentence. She glanced at Katie Ann, and then they both began screaming and rocking the trailer. They carried on for several minutes, but it was obvious the driver hadn’t heard them.

  Hope fled like air from a deflating balloon.

  They stopped screaming, and silence once again permeated the trailer.

  “One thing we know,” Katie Ann finally said. “He is coming back.”

  “And when he does, we need to be ready.”

  Fifty-Three

  Henry didn’t stop drawing until Lexi stood, stretched, and walked to the door. She sat in front of it, head cocked, waiting patiently.

  Henry also stood and stretched, shaking the cramp out of his hand. “I guess it is about that time.”

  He opened the door, and she bounded out into a morning so beautiful it stirred an ache deep in Henry’s heart. The sky was a robin’s egg blue, unblemished by a single cloud. The sun peeked over the horizon, splashing its palette of colors across the land. The desert floor had been rejuvenated by the life-giving rain.

  Flowers bloomed. Cranes landed in the fields in
front of him. Birds called to one another.

  Henry was stunned by the beauty before him, and yet he had to fight the urge to turn his back on it and go back into the workshop, shut the door, and continue drawing.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he walked across to his house. Lexi beat him to the backporch steps. Together they walked inside, and he put her breakfast into her little bowl—just one scoop as Doc Berry had cautioned. “A fat beagle is not a healthy beagle, Henry.”

  He went into his bathroom, cleaned up, and donned a fresh set of clothes.

  Glancing at his reflection in the small mirror, he was surprised to see his white hair standing straight up. “Old age has its mysteries,” he said to no one as he slicked it down with water.

  He didn’t bother to make coffee or eat any breakfast. Instead, he spent thirty minutes feeding and caring for his horse, and this time when he hitched her to the buggy, he whistled once to Lexi. She jumped up into the front seat and patiently waited for him to finish his chores in the barn.

  Ten minutes later they made their way back down the lane, onto the blacktop, and toward Emma’s.

  He felt painfully awake and aware of all that was going on around him, and at the same time like a man moving through a dream. The colors and sights and sounds were real enough, but a part of him was still back in the workshop. He didn’t think the answer was there—not yet, but he was getting close. He could feel the revelation inching closer to his fingertips.

  When he reached Emma’s place, half a dozen other buggies were already in the yard.

  The widows were dropping off food. “Terrible thing, Henry. We’ll keep baking. If anyone needs anything at all, please let us know.”

  Sam Beiler had joined his father, Daniel.

  “Naomi wouldn’t have wandered off,” he assured Henry. “She’s matured a lot since moving to the valley.”

  Leroy and Abe were there, ready to spend the day searching.

  And Emma, his darling Emma, looked like a completely different woman from the night before. She wore a crisply ironed white apron over a dark-green dress. Her kapp was precisely pinned and her eyes looked less anxious, if not exactly rested. The smile she gave him eased the worry in his heart. His Emma was strong. Together they would help Clyde’s family through whatever lay ahead. When he walked into the kitchen, which was a beehive of female activity, she pulled him into the mudroom and out to the back porch.

  “You look better,” he said.

  “Ya.”

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Not much, but Henry… I think, that is, I’m sure that today we will find them. That by this evening, they will be home.”

  “You had a revelation—a word from God.”

  She blew out a long breath and smiled. “Maybe. Maybe I did. I only know that when I finally looked out my bedroom window, when I saw the beauty of this place and remembered God’s promise for each new day, I felt a peace that it’s all going to end—and soon. More than that, I felt certain it’s going to end well. That probably sounds ridiculously optimistic.”

  “Not at all.” Henry was thinking of his own glimpse of the sunrise, of the image of a lighthouse the night before, of the drawings littering the walls of his workshop. Were they all messages from God, meant as a balm for their weary souls? Was a personal word from God a momentous, once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, or was it something so everyday—so commonplace—that they forgot to listen?

  And yet when fear had nearly consumed them, they had heard.

  When grief tore at their hearts, they were comforted.

  It was what God had done for Abraham and Isaac, David and Jonathan, Jeremiah and Job. The God they worshipped was full of compassion, and certainly His mercies were new every morning.

  “God filled your heart with confidence for a reason,” he assured Emma.

  “I think so. It seems that everyone is more optimistic today. Even Rachel. She’s much calmer.”

  “We’re going to find them. This thing, whatever it is, is almost over.”

  “And your drawings? Did you discover anything important?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m close.”

  “To an answer?”

  “To something. Something important.”

  Clyde stuck his head out the back door. “Grayson’s here.”

  All breakfast preparation stopped as they gathered around the kitchen table.

  “None of my officers have seen any sign of Katie Ann or Naomi.” Grayson held up his hands as everyone began talking at once. “This could be a good thing. If something had happened to them, more than likely someone in this town would have seen it and called it in.”

  “What’s our next step?” Henry asked.

  “Wait, as I said before. If we don’t hear anything by tonight, we’ll put out the official BOLO.”

  “Which means what, exactly?” Clyde wasn’t challenging Grayson. It was plain by the look of hope on his face that he hoped and believed what the sheriff was doing would help.

  “It means every officer in the state will be on the lookout for the girls. We’ll probably even get some news coverage, which in this case would be a good thing. Once we have everyone—”

  But Grayson never finished that sentence because the sound of a horse and buggy shattered the quiet of the room. Whoever was coming down the lane was in a hurry. They all rushed to the front porch as Abigail Beiler pulled to a stop, her mare tossing its head and snorting, its tail slapping back and forth at the joy of being allowed to break into a gallop.

  Then Abigail tumbled out of the buggy and rushed up the porch steps, clutching a piece of paper in her hand.

  Fifty-Four

  Emma sat at the kitchen table, stunned at the turn of events.

  “I’d say this mystery is solved,” Grayson said. “And I’m glad it’s nothing more serious.”

  All the volunteers, all the concerned neighbors, had left after Grayson read the note aloud. There was much slapping on the back and murmurs of “God is good” and “Rumspringa is a difficult time.” No one seemed put out that the girls’ careless actions had created such a false alarm. Everyone was relieved that Naomi had left the note for her aenti, that the girls had at least thought to leave word.

  But it didn’t sit right with Emma. None of it made any sense.

  The children had gone to take care of chores. Only Henry and Emma, Rachel and Clyde, and Abigail and Daniel were around the kitchen table. And, of course, Sheriff Grayson, who had accepted some hot coffee and was enjoying one of the widows’ sticky buns. Three dozen eggs remained on the counter uncooked. There was no need to feed the group of volunteers. The emergency had passed.

  “I just can’t believe they would do such a thing. This is so unlike them.” Emma’s voice sounded far away, even to her own ears. She stared down at the note Abigail had brought, the note she was still holding.

  “Our mailman doesn’t come until later,” Abigail explained again. “But I walked out to the road, just to look around. I suppose I had some foolish idea that maybe I’d see her coming up the road toward home.”

  “Why did you check the mailbox?” Henry asked.

  “Habit, I guess. Couldn’t remember if I’d checked it yesterday. She must have left it last night, only we didn’t know.”

  “And that’s where you found the note? In the mailbox?” Emma was holding the single sheet of paper in her hand, which was shaking so badly she couldn’t read the words. She set it on the table and stared at it, trying to believe what Naomi had written.

  Dear Aenti Abigail,

  I hope you aren’t worried. Katie Ann and I decided to go to Alamosa with some friends. We’ll probably stay the night. I know I said I’d be back before dark, but I’ll explain when I see you.

  Much love,

  Naomi

  Only three sentences, and yet they were supposed to wipe away all of the anxiety and fear of the night before. Was this the reason for her earlier optimism? Had her heart known all was fine, that there was a logi
cal explanation?

  Grayson wiped his fingers on a napkin and took another gulp of coffee. When he’d set down the mug, he scratched his head and said, “The problem is that your family has been through so much, your entire community has, and so it’s easy to jump to the worst possible conclusion.”

  “First the Monte Vista arsonist.” Henry nodded in agreement.

  Rachel tapped her fingers against the book she’d set on the kitchen table. She’d been carrying it around all night in her pocket, though she hadn’t opened it once. “Then poor Sophia Brooks.”

  “And finally Jeremiah.” Abigail sighed.

  “It’s been a tough three years.” Daniel seemed to be struggling to speak, to find the right words. “Naomi has become like a daughter to us. She’s a part of our family now, and we care for her like we would one of our own. This has been… quite the scare. I don’t mind saying the last twenty-four hours has been harder than any amount of field work.”

  “Three murders in three years.” Clyde shook his head. “Maybe we have grown in our faith, grown closer to one another, but I’ll be happy to put the last three years behind us.”

  “More than that,” Grayson said. “More than three years. Your trials go back all the way to Goshen, to Henry’s involvement with the Betsy Troyer case.”

  “That was a terrible time indeed,” Henry said.

  “It changes a person, a community. It sets them on edge.” Grayson seemed to warm up to his topic. “I’ve seen this before, mainly with officers who transfer here from a large city. They’ve seen so much violence that they expect to see it behind every 9-1-1 call, with every motorist stop. They’re a bit twitchy.”

  “But we weren’t expecting the girls to disappear.” Emma pushed the note back across the table, toward Abigail.

  “That’s true. However, when they did disappear, when they did something fairly normal for a young adult to do, you immediately assumed the worst. But it’s not always the worst that has happened.”

  Finally, Grayson stood and said, “It’s been a long night. I suggest you all get some rest today.”