“Jenny stayed in touch with my mom. She and the rest of them went to Stroudsburg and found out that Rachel was dead. She let my mom know.”
The man reached down and pushed the second bill over. “And...”
It felt hot in the room. Sammy wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “Uh...”
“C’mon, Sammy, just a little more.”
“Halverson! The sheriff’s name was Halverson! And Jenny married the hippie. My mom told me she sent her a letter.”
“And what was the hippie’s name, Sammy?
Sammy’s brow furrowed. “That was a long time ago, pal.”
The hawk-face man reached for the third bill and put it back in his pocket.
“Wait. Uh...the guy’s name was Johnny or John. That’s the best I can do. When my mom told me, I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Good boy, Sammy.”
The bill appeared magically and made its journey to Sammy’s side of the coffee table. Sammy picked up the money and felt the crispness of it between his fingers. “Brand-new Franklins. This will keep me up for a week. Thanks a lot.”
Sammy heard the click of the door latch closing and looked up. The hawk-faced man was gone.
*****
“So Rachel St. Clair is dead. What about the girl?”
Augusta listened intently while the voice on the other end of the line replied to her question. Then she spoke again. “All right, she was alive in 1965. That’s twenty-five years ago, Randall. Have you made any progress in finding her?”
Again, the voice spoke while Augusta listened. “Uh-huh, all right, Randall. Where are you now? Wooster? Why Wooster?”
Another long pause and then Augusta smiled. “Good work, Randall. Let me know when you find out more.”
Augusta hung up the phone and turned to her grandson, Gerald. He was sitting stiffly on a couch in an elegant sitting room at the St. Clair mansion. He tapped his fingers together nervously and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes.
Augusta waved her hand. “Not in here, Gerald. If you want to smoke those filthy things, do it outside.”
Gerald frowned and put the cigarettes back in his pocket. “So what did our spy have to say?”
“He’s not a spy, Gerald. He’s a former Special Forces and CIA. That makes him exactly suited to our needs. There is nothing Randall can’t find out.”
“Well?”
“All right, Gerald, calm down and I’ll tell you where we stand. Rachel St. Clair, your great aunt, is dead. She overdosed on heroin in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, in 1950. The man she was with, Joe Bender, left her body behind in a motel room and drove west with Rachel’s child, Jenny St. Clair. He crashed his car outside of Dalton, Ohio and was killed. The girl survived the wreck and was adopted by an Amish couple in Apple Creek, Ohio. She was still alive as of 1965.”
“How in the world did Randall find all that out?”
“Gerald, you must never underestimate Randall. He is ruthless—without feeling. His intelligence-gathering capabilities are superb. He was able to gain, umm...access to police files in Stroudsburg. In them, he found that in 1965 one Bobby Halverson, who was the sheriff of Wayne County at that time, paid a visit to the department there. Jenny St. Clair, along with her adoptive father and another man, Jonathan Hershberger, accompanied him. They were able to give the police information that established Rachel St. Clair’s identity. It was all in the file. Randall is in Wooster following up on Halverson. He’ll be back to us soon.”
“Well, I wish he would hurry up. I’m getting tired of this whole game. I don’t see why they won’t just give me the money. I’m a St. Clair, too!”
Augusta looked at her grandson. He was such a beautiful boy, but he was so impatient. She smiled anyway. “Now, Gerald, dear, don’t get petulant. Things have changed and it’s not going to be as easy to get our hands on the money as I thought. But I’m working on it. So just relax. Your grandmother will take care of everything.”
Augusta stood up, walked over behind the couch and began to stroke Gerald’s hair and forehead. “Haven’t I always taken care of you, dearest? Why don’t you relax. Grandmother will handle everything.”
Gerald turned to look at Augusta and then shrugged his shoulders and accepted the caresses.
*****
The black BMW drove slowly up to the small house in Wooster, Ohio. Yellow daffodils bloomed along a white picket fence, and yellow forsythias blossomed on large bushes under the windows. Birch trees in the front yard were putting forth their lime-green leaf buds. An older man stood by the front porch with a hose in his hand, absentmindedly watering some juniper bushes that grew on either side of the steps. The whole place was immaculate. The man in the yard was big and carried himself with a military bearing. He looked very tough, despite the years that had lined his face. Randall stopped the car and watched the man for a moment, assessing him. Then he climbed out of the car and walked up to the fence. The old man glanced up at Randall. “Mornin’. Can I help you with somethin’?”
Randall looked down at his notebook. “Ralph Halkovich?”
“Bull Halkovich. Nobody’s called me Ralph since I broke my Aunt Daisy’s window when I was ten.”
“Okay, Bull. I’m looking for Bobby Halverson. The folks down at the Sheriff’s Department said you knew how to reach him.”
“Uh-huh.”
Bull went back to watering the bushes.
“I said I’m looking for Bobby Halverson.”
Bull sighed and glanced up again. “I heard you.”
“Well, can you help me?”
Bull twisted the nozzle on the hose until the mist he was directing toward the junipers was cut off and then he laid the hose down. He walked over to the fence and looked down at Randall. “Mister, I don’t go handing out Bobby’s info to any Tom, Dick, or Harry that comes driving into Wooster in a fancy car with New York plates and smoked windows. Bobby’s retired and he’s getting old and he doesn’t like people to come around much, so you’ll have to give me a real good reason to spill my guts.”
Randall smiled and took a guess. “Semper Fi, Bull.”
“You a Marine?”
“Yes, First Division, Vietnam, then Special Forces. How about you?”
“Nope, but I fought side by side with them in the Pacific.”
“Wasn’t Halverson a Marine?”
“Yep, won the silver star on Guadalcanal. He was a real tough customer...”
Bull’s eyes narrowed. “Say, you trying to squeeze something outta me? How did you find out so much about Bobby?”
“Take it easy, Bull. I’m just trying to be friendly here. In my line of business you have to do your homework.”
Randall realized that it didn’t seem wise to try and outfox the old guy, and he better tell Bull as much of the truth as he could. “Look, Bull, I represent a family that is looking for the heirs of one Robert St. Clair. We understand that Bobby knows quite a lot about the subject and we’d like to contact him.”
Bull put his hand to his chin and rubbed it contemplatively. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know about any Robert St. Clair and I ain’t giving you no info on Bobby until I check with him. Gimme your card and I’ll have him call you.”
“I assure you that I’m on the up and up here, Bull...”
“Gimme the card!”
Randall reached in his chest pocket to retrieve a business card. He felt the handle of his pistol and debated using a different tactic, but Bull was ahead of him.
“If you’re thinkin’ about pulling that popgun you got in your pocket, I can tell you this. I may be old but I’m still in army shape, and I could come over this fence and break your puny neck before you got it out. And besides, I’m too big to kill with that little .38. So leave that idea in the filing cabinet.”
Randall’s hand moved past the gun and pulled out a card. He handed it to Bull. “My number’s right there. I would appreciate any help. Have the sheriff call me.”
&nbs
p; “And who should I say you represent?”
“I represent Augusta St. Clair, Robert St. Clair’s sister-in-law.”
Bull looked down at the card. “Uh-huh.”
Randall reached out a hand. “Well, nice to meet you, Bull.”
Bull just stared at him with steely eyes, so Randall turned, went back to the car, climbed in, and pulled away. He drove to the end of the block and looked back. Bull was still staring after him. Randall watched as an old cat that had been hiding under the hydrangeas walked slowly out and began bunting against Bull’s leg. Bull reached down and picked him up, turned, and headed toward the house.
Randall smiled. “And now Bull goes in and calls Halverson. Army guys are so predictable.”
He glanced at his watch and then headed back toward Pennsylvania.
Chapter Eight
An Open Door
The Paradise Post Office was a small brick building right on the corner of Highway 30 and Leacock Road. Rachel parked her scooter by the phone booth, went around to the front and walked up the stairs to the big glass door. She peeked through the glass and saw Mrs. Shoemaker, the postmistress, behind the counter. Rachel went inside, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Shoemaker waved at her and smiled.
“Yoo hoo, Rachel! It’s here!”
Rachel glanced around to see if anybody heard Mrs. Shoemaker and then went to the counter. “Please, Mrs. Shoemaker, I don’t want everybody to know.”
“Whoops, I forgot.”
Mrs. Shoemaker looked around furtively, too, and then, with a secretive air, handed Rachel an official-looking envelope.
Rachel’s heart leaped. She stared down at the envelope, her heart pounding. An elegant logo was printed in the upper left corner. There was a red double circle with a book in the center and the words “Cornell University—Founded 1865” printed inside the lines. Off to the right was a red rectangle with the words, “Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine.”
“Aren’t you going to open it, dear?”
“I’m afraid to, Mrs. Shoemaker.”
“Well, there’s only two answers that could be in it, yes or no. So you might as well get it over with.”
Rachel nodded in agreement and took a deep breath. She had been waiting for six weeks for an answer from the admissions department and now here it was. Her hand shook as she gently undid the seal on the letter and pulled out the folded paper inside.
My Dear Miss Hershberger,
We received your application for admittance to the School of Veterinary Medicine. As you may know, our standards are very high and only a small percentage of applicants gain entrance to the school. What makes your case interesting is that we have never had an Amish applicant before. Normally, a person in your position, that is, one who has technically only completed the eighth grade, would not be considered for entrance, but your obvious passion for the field of animal husbandry, as detailed in your charming letter, convinced our committee to pursue this matter further. After careful review of your middle school transcript, which, by the way, was exceptional, and the records you sent us from the community college where you took several courses in which you ranked at the top of your class, we are willing to pursue your application further, with a few conditions.
First, you will be required to take the Scholastic Assessment Test (SAT). You must demonstrate high aptitude on this test (in the top ten percent) in order to be eligible for consideration for entrance. You will also need to take the GED test to show us that your education has reached high school level or beyond. Once you have completed this testing, you will need to come to Ithaca for a personal interview. Our final decision will be based on your performance in all of these areas.
As Dean of Admissions to the college, I must say that your letter was very interesting, and we were all quite impressed. If your skills can be shown to be as high as your desire, then your application may have a positive outcome, after all. Please contact me personally if you have any questions and let me know as soon as possible if the conditions we have stipulated can be met by January. In the meantime, I want to wish you all the best in the pursuit of your dream.
Dr. Eloise Tillinghast
Dean of Admissions
Cornell School of Veterinary Medicine
Mrs. Shoemaker leaned over the counter. “Well? What?”
Rachel folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. Then she burst into tears. Mrs. Shoemaker came around the counter and took Rachel in her arms.
“Did they say no, Rachel?”
Rachel took a breath. “No, Ma’am. They...they said they will consider me if I can meet a few more requirements. If I do, they want me to come for an interview.”
“So, that’s good, right?”
“Yes and no, Mrs. Shoemaker. It’s wonderful, but there’s a big problem.”
Mrs. Shoemaker looked at her, and Rachel saw the question in her eyes.
“I have to convince my folks to let me take the tests, and if I pass, to let me travel to Ithaca for the interview. That’s not going to happen. I don’t know why I had my hopes up. I wish Cornell would have just rejected me.”
Mrs. Shoemaker pulled a Kleenex out of a box on top of the counter and handed it to Rachel. Rachel dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. The postmistress put her arm around Rachel once more. “Is it your father, Rachel?”
“Yes, Ma’am. It’s just...well, it’s just that he’s so strict. We have fought over me just taking some classes at the community college, so this will put him right over the edge.”
“What about your mom?”
“I think she supports me in this, but she loves my papa, too, and doesn’t want to upset him. He’s had some real physical and emotional problems since he came home and...oh, I shouldn’t be telling you all this. It’s really kind of personal.”
Mrs. Shoemaker sighed. “It’s okay, honey. You’re a sweet girl, and from what I hear, you would make a fine vet. I won’t say anything about your problem to anyone, but I will pray about it.”
Rachel looked at the woman in surprise. “Are you a Christian, Mrs. Shoemaker?”
The postmistress chucked Rachel under the chin and smiled. “The Amish aren’t the only ones around here that love God, sweetie.”
Rachel blushed and looked down. “I...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Mrs. Shoemaker gave Rachel a hug. “It’s a big world, Rachel, and there are all kinds of people in it. Now, you should head on home. You have some things to work out, and I don’t envy you. But, like I said, I’ll be praying.”
Rachel hugged Mrs. Shoemaker back and smiled through her tears. She walked to the door and then turned. “Thank you, Mrs. Shoemaker; you are very kind.”
Rachel walked to the post office door. Then she turned. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Shoemaker, I could use some...”
Mrs. Shoemaker waved her hand. “I know, honey. I’ve already been praying for you, too.”
*****
Rachel peeked around the doorframe into the front room. The weather had cooled, portending rain. A fire popped and crackled in the fireplace, and her daed was sitting in front of it, staring into the flames. Jenny sat in her rocking chair, sewing a torn pair of Jonathan’s pants. From time to time, Jenny looked up at Jonathan and smiled, but he seemed lost in his thoughts. Rachel ducked back behind the doorframe and stood with her heart racing, the letter from Cornell clutched in her hand.
I’ve got to say something, but I’m so afraid. Oh, Gott, why is every-thing so hard? Vielleicht sind Sie nicht ebenso freundlich, wie Mama sagt. Perhaps you are not as good as mama says.
Rachel turned to go back down the hall to her room. The thought that maybe Gott wasn’t as kind as her mama said confused her. Then she felt a soft hand on her shoulder. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she turned to see her mama.
“Rachel, what is it?”
Jenny had come quietly out into the hall and was standing beside her. Rachel stared at her, and then took a deep breath.
“I...I have something...I mean...I...”
“What is it, Rachel? Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, Mama, it’s just that I...”
Rachel’s hands were trembling. Jenny took hold of them and looked deep into Rachel’s eyes. She nodded toward the back and together they went down the hall into Rachel’s room and closed the door.
“What is it, Rachel?” Jenny asked softly.
Rachel looked at her mama and then handed her the letter from Cornell. Jenny looked at the address on the outside and then back up at Rachel. “What is this, dochter?”
“It’s...it’s... Oh, just read it, Mama.”
Rachel sat down on the edge of her bed and put her face in her hands. Jenny opened the envelope, took out the letter, and read. When she finished, she looked down at Rachel and sighed. Rachel looked up at her mama’s face, hoping for a reaction that she could read, but Jenny’s face remained stoic. Then Jenny came and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. She put her arm around Rachel’s shoulders and drew her close.
“What, Mama?”
Jenny drew a breath and squeezed Rachel. She held her that way for a long time. Finally, she spoke. “This is a hard thing, Rachel. My heart is torn for you. On the one hand, I am so proud of you and what you have become. You are so smart, Sie machen mich so stolz, you make me so proud of you. You have your papa’s mind and my determination. But I am afraid that you have chosen a path that can only bring sorrow and strife to our family. Your papa, he...”
“He will say no, that’s what I know,” Rachel said.
“Perhaps if you let me speak to him first. You two are not good with words and you make each other so angry.”
Jenny sighed and then continued. “It was not always so. Sometimes, I think it would have been better...”
But the thought remained unspoken. Jenny folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. “Also, there is more to this than just taking the tests and going to the interview, Rachel, even if we can get your papa’s permission. There is your faith and your commitment to the Plain Way. It would not be easy to convince the elders that this is a good thing. They believe that higher education can promote ideas that are counter to Christian values, and rightly so. But they also believe that education is useful when it can be shown that it is for the good of the Amish community. The elders could decide that a good Amish vet would be of great value to all of us. So this is a matter that could be decided either way.”
The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
