Who the Bishop Knows

by Vannetta Chapman

  Thunder crashed and the sky darkened so that she could barely make out his expression as he stepped toward her. “We’ll go together.”

  “Ya.”

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “Nein, but I left Clyde a note in the mailbox. I couldn’t bear him worrying.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Only that I had to see you, and that I’d explain when I returned.”

  “Good. That will buy us some time.”

  “But what are we going to do? We can’t possibly come up with ten thousand dollars. Does the church even have that much?”

  “Ya. The benevolence fund has been growing—no natural disaster or major illness since our last offering. But that’s not really the issue…”

  “The money’s in the bank.”

  “It is, and it would look suspicious for me to withdraw so much.”

  “Then we have to go to Leroy and tell him we need the money.”

  Henry scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t just ask him to hand over that amount of money without an explanation. Leroy is very careful about how he handles our funds. It’s one of the reasons he’s the perfect man for that position in our community.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We go without the money. Whoever this is, they’ll call—”

  “Or shoot us as we walk into the phone shack.”

  “No. They could shoot us here. My guess is he really wants or needs the money, and yes, I realize I said he. I can’t imagine a woman doing this sort of thing. Can you?”

  Emma shook her head. In truth, she couldn’t imagine anyone doing such a terrible thing, and for what? Ten thousand dollars?

  Henry glanced at his watch. “Three hours.”

  “Why did he give us so long?”

  “He couldn’t have known when you’d find the note, and maybe he needs time on his end.”

  “To move the girls?”

  “Or secure them somewhere so they can’t run away.”

  “We have to find them, Henry. We have to bring them home.”

  Instead of assuring Emma they would, Henry put his arms around her, held her close, and began to pray.

  As he petitioned God for the girls’ safety, for wisdom and strength, to make clear their path and guide their decisions, the sky darkened like night, lightning streaked across the sky, and the rain began to fall in earnest.

  Fifty-Eight

  Henry and Emma huddled beneath the overhang of his workshop. The darkness had abated after the first fifteen minutes, leaving a dreary summer afternoon sky as rain continued to fall. Lexi lay with her head on her paws, as if she knew what they were contemplating, as if she wanted to somehow save them from this foolish act, but it was beyond the power of a dog. Finally, she sighed, rolled over onto her side, and fell asleep.

  “What are we going to do?” Emma asked. “Who is doing this? Why did they take Naomi and Katie Ann?”

  Henry put his arm around her, and she tucked in close to his side.

  “We’ll get them back.”

  “That’s a promise?”

  “Yes, Emma. I don’t know how, but we will get them back.” Even as he uttered those words, he thought of the dozens of drawings behind him in the workshop—covering every wall, taunting him with the fact that he’d seen nothing of importance.

  That was it. He’d seen nothing of importance.

  “Maybe it’s not what we’ve seen.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe it’s not what we’ve seen.” The idea solidified in his mind, and then it was as if he could see it. In the same way a blind person could imagine, accurately, the furniture placed in a home, so could Henry and Emma see this situation clearly. Because it wasn’t about what they’d witnessed with their eyes, it was what they knew in their hearts.

  He pulled her over to the rockers, repositioning one so that he was facing her, their knees nearly touching. “Maybe it’s not what I’ve seen or what we’ve seen… ”

  “Because neither of us saw anything.”

  “Exactly. I wasn’t there when Jeremiah was shot.”

  “And I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I wasn’t there when Seth was run off the road.”

  “Thank God he wasn’t hurt.”

  “And you weren’t there when Katie Ann was taken.”

  Tears slipped down Emma’s cheeks, but she wiped them away, and nodded in agreement.

  “I believe God has placed us in the middle of this because we know something, something we don’t even realize we know, something that will help the police to resolve the situation.”

  “We know the person is Amish.”

  “Not definitely. We can’t prove it.”

  “But we don’t have to prove it.”

  Emma stared out at the rain, pulling her bottom lip in and worrying it. Her hair had come loose from her kapp, and Henry reached forward and tucked it behind her ear, allowed his palm to cup her face.

  “With Sheriff Grayson, it’s a matter of what he can prove,” Emma admitted. “But as you said, we’re involved in this for a reason, and we don’t have to prove anything. We only have to follow what we know, and then if we’re right… ”

  “Grayson will wrap it up.”

  “Exactly.”

  Henry rubbed his hands together. “I agree, then. The person is Amish, for a variety of reasons.”

  “Ya. Someone who is Englisch might know the words of the hymns found in the Ausbund…”

  “But the one this person chose speaks of the suffering of Christ. It’s a rather obscure hymn, and one we sing only once or twice a year. An Englisch person wouldn’t have randomly chosen that one. There’s a reason whoever is doing this quoted that particular hymn in the note.”

  “We agree it’s further proof that he’s Amish.”

  “Ya.” Henry set his rocker in motion, his mind focused on the details Emma was calling to mind.

  “All right. We’re agreed, then. The person is male and Amish. I think… that is, I feel certain he’s also young. Do you agree?”

  “Youngish. He uses Englisch words too naturally… ”

  “No wires or police.”

  “Words and concepts that people from our generation barely understand. We sure wouldn’t think to include them in a note.”

  “This is a ransom note.” Emma’s eyes narrowed. “He’s focused on the money. Greed. That’s his motive.”

  “I’m not even sure what wires refers to,” Henry admitted.

  “It’s a microphone sort of thing they hide on your body.” When Henry raised his eyebrows, Emma shrugged. “Rachel’s been on a suspense kick with her reading.”

  “Suspense?”

  “Murder, robbery, all sorts of terrible things.” She added as an afterthought, “But always Christian fiction.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So no wires. Where would he think we’d get a wire?”

  “He thinks, or he fears, we will go to Grayson.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because we have to.”

  “How? The kidnapper, who is almost certainly also Jeremiah’s killer, could be watching us.”

  “I suspect he is.” Henry tapped his fingers against the rocking chair arm to the rhythm of the rain. It had slowed to a steady drip from the roof eaves. It wasn’t typical weather for August. March was supposed to roar in like a lion and out like a lamb, but it seemed to Henry that most Colorado weather fit that description. He checked his watch. “We have a little more than two hours.”

  “I can tell you have a plan, Henry Lapp. I hope it’s a good one.”

  Instead of answering, he strode into the workshop, pulled out a sheet of paper, and jotted down a note.

  “After…” Emma was watching over his shoulder. She pointed to the second line and said, “It should be after so we can give him the killer’s instructions.”

  “Gut idea.”

  He fetched another sheet of paper and rewrote the note.

 
“The inside lobby is open until five?” he asked.

  “Ya. Monday through Friday.”

  He finished the note and then pushed it to the middle of the table where they could both stare at it.

  Emma and I have been summoned by the girls’ kidnapper. Find Grayson. Insist that he ride in your buggy but hidden from sight. Meet us at the phone shack at 3:40 exactly.

  “Could be a few minutes early,” she said.

  “Could be a few minutes late.”

  “How are you going to deliver it?”

  “That’s the sketchy part of the plan.”

  “Sketchier than this?”

  Henry folded the note top to bottom and then in half again, so that it was only a couple of inches wide. Turning it sideways, he wrote across the top edge EMERGENCY. Next he walked over to a block of cubbies next to the workshop’s door. From one of them he removed Lexi’s vest. Pulling an exacto knife from a drawer, he slit the top seam of the vest and tucked the note into it so that a good inch of the paper was hanging out. The word EMERGENCY was plainly readable.

  “She’s a smart dog, Henry, but I don’t know…”

  “We can’t deliver it ourselves. As we said earlier, the kidnapper might be watching us. If he sees us go next door, he might follow through on his threat. It’s an implied threat, but it’s there nonetheless.”

  Henry squeezed her arm in reassurance and walked out onto the porch. He glanced out at the storm and wasn’t at all surprised to see that the rain had stopped completely. The clouds continued to press down, and the wind occasionally gusted, but the main body of the storm had passed. He squatted beside Lexi, who stood in anticipation of a walk or perhaps even a ride in the buggy. Her tail set to wagging, and she looked at Henry with such adoration that he had a surge of confidence that she could do the thing he was about to ask of her.

  She stood patiently as he fastened the vest on her, buckling it under her torso. Then she looked at him, no doubt waiting for him to clip on her leash. But Henry didn’t plan on walking her anywhere.

  “Go to Seth’s, Lexi. Go see Seth and Roseann.”

  Lexi yipped, hopped off the porch, and stood waiting for Henry.

  He squatted down, and she ran back up the steps.

  “I need you to do this, Lexi. I need you to go to Seth’s. Go straight there, okay, girl? Go to Seth’s and give him the note.”

  Lexi reached out and licked his cheek, and then she turned and trotted away from the workshop. She stopped once to look back at him. When he waved her on, she scampered through the hole in his fence that he’d been meaning to mend.

  “Do you really think she can do this?”

  “Ya. I do.” Henry turned to Emma, to the woman who would soon be his wife, and he smiled for the first time since seeing her rush into his workshop and thrust the ransom note in his hands. “Gotte used Balaam’s donkey. My personal opinion is that a beagle is a whole lot smarter.”

  Fifty-Nine

  Their plan would only work if they went to the phone shack first, at the kidnapper’s set time. They hoped they could talk him out of his demand for money, but if not, they should still have enough time to go to the bank.

  So they sat, and they waited.

  Emma prayed for Naomi and Katie Ann. She prayed for Lexi and Henry’s neighbors. She prayed that they would be successful, and that the person responsible would come to his senses.

  A strange calmness flooded her heart and soul in the time they waited.

  Henry pulled several of the drawings off the walls of his workshop. Did any of them include the killer? She didn’t think so. When she looked at them, all she saw was people having a good time at the rodeo moments before tragedy struck their town.

  Henry slipped the drawings into a flat paper sack. Finally, he left to hitch Oreo to the buggy. Emma walked outside to watch him, and then she turned and went back into the workshop, looked around, and spied a backpack Henry sometimes used when he went bird-watching at the refuge. Unzipping it, she found his binoculars inside. Those could come in handy. She searched for and found a flashlight in one of the cubbies and added that. There was no telling where they were going or how late they would be out. Best to go prepared.

  Henry had no weapons of any sort except an old hunting rifle he hadn’t used in years. “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered to herself. They didn’t need weapons. What they needed was divine intervention. What they needed was to find Naomi and Katie Ann, help Grayson arrest the murderer, and put this entire chapter behind them. Seemed like a lot to ask, but then Henry was always reminding them that their God was mighty, compassionate, all-knowing. Those thoughts filled her mind and pushed away the last remnants of fear and doubt.

  She hurried over to the house, added a can of soda she found in the fridge, filled a thermos with water, and wrapped up some of the widows’ cookies in a dish towel. There was no telling where this desperate attempt to save the girls would lead them or how long it would take. She wanted to be prepared for anything they might need. As a last thought, she added a chunk of cheese and some bread.

  By the time Henry pulled up, she was waiting beside the house.

  “I packed us a picnic,” she said, climbing into the buggy.

  “A picnic?” Henry cocked his head as if he’d heard her wrong.

  “I don’t know what lies ahead, what this person has in mind, but I don’t want us weak because we haven’t eaten all day. And if he… if he kidnaps us and takes us to wherever he’s hidden Naomi and Katie Ann, I want to have something to give them.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, Emma Fisher.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away, reached across the buggy seat, and squeezed his hand. “Let’s go get our girls.”

  Which was how she thought of both Katie Ann and Naomi. They were close friends, good girls, and would grow to be fine women. She’d do everything in her power to make sure they had the chance to live a Plain and simple life.

  But Henry didn’t call out to Oreo right away. Instead, he bowed his head and began to pray—for their safety, for Sheriff Grayson, for Lexi, for Seth, for Katie Ann and Naomi, for the troubled soul who had committed murder once and might do so again.

  Ten minutes later they were at the phone shack.

  “We’re early.”

  They stood together at the counter, though there was a stool. Emma didn’t want to sit on the stool. She wanted the phone to ring so they could do whatever this man told them to do.

  They’d seen no unusual activity when they passed Seth and Roseann’s farm, but then there wouldn’t be. Not if they were following Henry’s instructions. They’d already be gone and fetching Sheriff Grayson.

  The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie.

  “Good thing you came alone.”

  Henry held the phone so Emma could hear, though for her to do so their heads were nearly pressed together. The voice on the other end of the line was male, relatively young, and definitely Amish. The Pennsylvania Dutch was thick, and if Emma was right, there was a hint of Indiana to it.

  “What do you want?” Henry asked.

  “The money and the drawings.”

  Emma realized then that this person meant to kill Henry. He thought Henry had seen and then drawn a picture of him raising a rifle to kill Jeremiah. Henry could hand over what he’d drawn, but what would stop him from returning home and drawing the same thing again? This person feared what was in Henry’s mind and what he could do with that information. And she understood then that they could argue all day long that Henry hadn’t seen anything, but the killer wouldn’t believe them because he was being driven by fear.

  “I have the drawings,” Henry said.

  “And the money?”

  “Nein. Not yet. It’s a lot of money, but in the end, it won’t satisfy you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. You have one more chance to get the money. That’s all, or—”

  “What do we do once we have it?”

  “Drive straight to the
arena.”

  “The arena?”

  “Go now, and don’t stop anywhere else.”

  “I’ll have to stop at Leroy’s. He handles our finances.”

  “We both know he doesn’t keep it under his mattress.”

  “Nein. He keeps it at the bank. I’ll need to ask him to go and get some out.”

  “Stop playing with me, Henr-rry.” He drew out the last syllable as if this were all one big joke. Emma wanted to reach through the phone and shake him.

  “We both know your name is on the signature card for the account.”

  “All right, but it would raise less suspicion if he were to withdraw the money.”

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with a good story to explain yourself—”

  “We want to speak to the girls.”

  “Well, I want a million dollars, but I didn’t figure you’d have that much.”

  “We don’t.”

  Emma couldn’t remain silent one second longer. “Where is Katie Ann? What did you do with her? Where is Naomi? Let them go. They are not involved in this.”

  “But they are now, thanks to Naomi’s need to blab in the Budget. As far as Katie Ann, that was an accident… wrong place, wrong time, and all that.”

  “I want to speak with her.” Emma felt her emotions spiraling out of control.

  Henry still clutched the phone with one hand, but he reached across and clasped her hand with his free one.

  “Yes, calm her down, Henry. We don’t need an emotional woman messing things up.”

  Emma’s head jerked away from the phone. They’d suspected whoever this was might be watching them, but she hadn’t realized he was. She leaned toward the window of the shack, trying to determine where he might be, which only succeeded in drawing a laugh from the young man.

  “You won’t see me, Emma. What fun would that be?”

  “We’ll go to the bank,” Henry said. “And then the arena.”

  “Enter through the east entrance one hour from now.”

  “We’ll need more time than that.”

  “One hour. Be at the east entrance. Enter into the breezeway and wait fifteen minutes exactly, and then walk into the middle of the field.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter why, Hen-rrry.”