Perhaps Mary would be fine today.
Perhaps Naomi would be comforted by the outpouring of love from her community.
Perhaps they could put the terrible tragedy of what had happened to Owen behind them.
Within a few moments they were at Naomi’s home.
Usually at social gatherings the family would join the others immediately, and their father would stay behind to care for the horse and buggy. He’d catch up with them within a few minutes. But today there looked to be two teams of two men accepting the buggies as they pulled up and walking them down the long line of visitors. They would care for the horses as each family handed over the reins. Hannah looked down the fence rail as she adjusted her kapp. The buggies formed a grave, black line.
Hannah, Eunice, Mattie, and the boys waited for their father to give a few instructions regarding the horse. When he’d gathered Mattie up in his arms and moved beside Eunice, they all walked to the house together. Jesse and Andrew stood near the barn, and Hannah had an urge to hurry over and speak with Jesse. But she would have to wait. She knew it wasn’t the right time. He did send a pointed look her way and nodded his head once—as if he was thinking the same thing she was. As if he needed to speak with her.
Hannah couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to Naomi’s, probably when she and Jonas had hosted church service. It could have been the previous winter, but she wasn’t sure. At the time, she’d been caught up in so many things—her job at the Village, the two boys who were courting her, and Jesse’s friendship. He’d always been there, as if he were patiently waiting for the way to clear, and then suddenly he was more than a friend.
Many Amish houses did look alike, but Naomi’s was simpler than most. The garden to the right of the house held a few scraggly vegetable plants, though it was well past harvest. No flowers brightened the rows. The house itself was plain to the point of being almost drab. She supposed with six children and a husband who couldn’t work, such things as a trampoline for the children or flowers for the garden were not financially possible.
Their community would help if there was ever a need for money for doctor bills or the rebuilding of a structure. They probably had helped with the burial expense, though that would be minimal. Amish funerals were much like Amish lives—simple.
But the atmosphere permeating Naomi’s house was more one of hopelessness. How did the community help with that? What could they do to bring life back to a place that looked as if it was dying? And now this.
Owen.
Owen’s death.
Owen’s untimely death.
There was a line of folks waiting at the door. Hannah stood next to Dan. She glanced up and was suddenly aware of how tall he was, taller than she, though he was seven years younger. She noticed what looked like hay on his black coat. Reaching up, she brushed the fabric clean. He glanced down and smiled at her uneasily.
They reached the door, and Hannah took a deep breath.
She stepped inside. Naomi and Jonas were sitting in two straight-back chairs that had been placed near the front of the sitting room. Naomi looked pale and older than her years. How old was she again? Thirty-five? She looked older than Eunice. She looked tired and worn. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and dark circles rimmed her eyes.
Six children, looking to be between the ages of five and fifteen, sat scrunched up on a bench beside them. Boys and girls, all dressed in black. They squirmed on the wooden seat as if hours had already passed—and perhaps they had.
Hannah wondered if they’d grown close to Owen since he’d returned. Would they miss him? He wasn’t merely their favorite onkel. As far as she knew, he had been their only onkel.
Jonas was breathing heavily and sweat beaded his forehead. The room was stuffy, but Hannah thought it was probably a result of his condition rather than the crowd of visitors. Jonas’s last round of chemo had been difficult, or so she’d heard. His beard was a spattering of gray and white, and his eyes were a glassy blue.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Eunice said as they moved forward.
“Danki.” The word was barely a whisper.
When Hannah reached Naomi, she thought the woman straightened a bit. For a fleeting moment she looked as if she might want to say something more than “Danki for coming.” But she glanced toward her husband and apparently thought better of it.
Since they had no family in the area, Katie Schmucker, the manager of Katie’s Mercantile at the Village, was escorting visitors to view Owen’s body. It was set out at the back of the sitting room, which was a long, bare affair. The couch had been pushed into a corner and extra benches brought in, the same benches they sat on during their worship services. Benches lined the kitchen as well, and they were all filled with members from their congregation, all dressed in their black clothes and speaking in low tones.
Hannah followed her parents to the coffin. Somewhere it registered in her mind that Ben had moved forward with her parents, but Noah and Dan were staying back beside her. Mattie was still in her father’s arms and seemed oblivious to what was going on around them. They’d all been to plenty of viewings and funerals before, but this one struck Hannah as being unsettling. Perhaps the boys sensed that in some way also.
Katie looked to their dat as they stood in front of the hinged wooden coffin. The top portion was open and the bottom half was closed. A sheet covered the body. Hannah’s dat nodded once, and Katie reached forward to pull back the piece of white linen.
Though Hannah stood behind her parents, she had no trouble seeing Owen. He looked—in death—much like he had in life. His skin was paler, for sure. The funeral director in town had taken care of the embalming, but again the process was abbreviated—no makeup or fancy hairstyle for the Amish, though Hannah had heard it was often done for Englischers. Owen’s expression was peaceful, though, as if his last thought in this body had been one of hope.
“Down,” Mattie whined, attempting to reach down and touch Owen’s clothes. Their dat reached for the little girl’s hands in time, seconds before she touched Owen. It wouldn’t have been proper, though Mattie couldn’t have known. Then they were all moving away from the coffin, allowing the next family to step forward.
Hannah found a seat with her family on a bench in the kitchen. She couldn’t erase the image of Owen from her mind. It didn’t upset her, like she’d thought it might. If anything, it helped to calm her feelings about him. Dressed completely in white, as was their custom, he’d looked at ease, bound for heaven, no doubt leaving all his cares behind.
He hadn’t looked frightened or in pain or even worried, so he hadn’t been arguing with whoever had done this. And surely his features would have revealed something if he’d been surprised—they would have frozen in some sort of confused expression.
He probably hadn’t even realized what had happened, and that was a blessing for sure.
A life cut short, but as the bishop often reminded them, God knows the number of our days before we are born.
Hannah wasn’t sure how that figured in regard to murder.
She did feel, deep inside of herself, that the right thing to do for this family would be to find the perpetrator. If that meant working with the Englisch police, she would gladly do so. And if it meant pressuring Mary to tell her whatever she knew, then she’d do that as well.
Twenty-One
Mary came into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, accompanied by her parents and siblings. Her gaze briefly met Hannah’s, and then she quickly stared down at the floor.
Quiet conversations continued, though Hannah couldn’t make out what folks were saying. The point, as her mother had reminded her, was to be with Naomi and Jonas and the children during their time of grief.
The point was to share the burden.
Her brothers were behaving moderately well, though Noah appeared to be in danger of falling asleep. He rose even earlier than her dat each morning so he could take care of the pups before his regular chores. She wouldn’t be surprised if h
e passed out in the buggy on the way home.
There were a few other women in the kitchen. Fanny Bontrager and Olivia Wagler sat next to each other. Hannah didn’t see either of their husbands, but perhaps they were helping with the horses. No cooking was going on. The big meal would be after the funeral tomorrow.
Mattie had hopped down off her father’s lap and was making her way down the line of family members. When she reached Hannah, she looked up and patted her arm. “Potty,” she insisted. At two she was still wearing diapers, but she was also using the toilet. They were all trying to encourage the latter, as it would save on a lot of laundry and a little money for the few disposables they bought.
“Potty,” she repeated, wiggling from her right foot to her left and then back again.
“Take her,” Eunice said. “Best use the outhouse. The one inside has a line.”
Hannah clasped Mattie’s hand and walked her out through the kitchen door, down the back steps, and across the yard to the outhouse. Some families did have both indoor and outdoor bathrooms, though more and more Amish homes were being built without the outdoor facilities.
There was no line, and Mattie quickly took care of her business. As they exited the outhouse, they both heard a squeal. Walking around to the adjacent pasture, they found an entire group of youngsters all being watched over by the bishop’s daughter, Emily.
At fourteen, Emily still had the look of a young girl, all skinny legs and a too-thin body frame, but she also had the maturity of someone older. Perhaps because she was the bishop’s daughter, his only daughter among his six boys, she’d grown up rather quickly. Or so it seemed to Hannah. It wasn’t uncommon to find her presiding over a large group of youngsters, and today was no exception.
“Mattie can come and play with us,” she called out.
Before Hannah could decide if her mother would approve, Mattie was tugging on her hand, pulling her toward the group of children.
“Dat says it’s better to have them out here, not disturbing the family,” Emily explained. Her kapp was tipped back on her head, and she reached up to pull it forward. As she did, one of the youngsters picked up a pile of hay and dropped it in her lap. “He’s pretending I’m a horse.”
Smiling, she motioned toward Mattie. “It will be gut for her to play a little.”
“Are you sure you want one more?”
“Oh, ya. It’s not so many, and my bruder was helping, but he went inside to fetch some water for the youngsters.”
Hannah sat with Emily and the children until John returned. He was ten years old and probably would have fussed about helping with the children any other day. But today all the other boys were still trapped inside the house. He looked relieved to be outside in the fall sunshine.
And who could blame him?
Hannah was in no hurry to return to the heat and solemnity of the kitchen herself.
After promising Emily she’d be back to retrieve Mattie in twenty minutes, Hannah turned and started back toward the house. It was when she was coming back around the corner of the barn that she heard voices. She had no intention of eavesdropping, but thinking that it might be Mary and she might want some company, she stuck her head around where she could see better.
The scene that greeted her eyes caused her to back up, her heart tapping out a skittish rhythm.
She peeked back around, wondering if she’d seen what she thought she’d seen.
Yes.
Mary was there, standing very close to Andrew. Though she was facing in the direction of Hannah, she never looked up, never noticed her at all. She probably wouldn’t have noticed one of Manasses Hochstetler’s camels if it had stepped out in front of her.
Andrew was holding a piece of paper in his hand, staring down at it and glowering.
Mary was chewing on a thumbnail. If anything, she was paler than she’d been when Hannah had seen her in the house.
“You found this?” Andrew asked.
“Ya. Someone slipped it inside the shop door.”
Then Andrew said something Hannah couldn’t hear. She’d flattened herself against the barn wall, wondering if she should step out and ask what was going on, but she was afraid to interrupt them.
She peeked back around and saw that Andrew had his arm around Mary and was leading her back toward the house. Once they turned around and passed the corner of the barn, they would definitely see her.
What should she do? Step out in the open? Call out to them? Or maybe hide in the barn? Maybe that would be the best thing to do.
She heard their footsteps drawing closer, and then there were other voices. She desperately wanted to peek around and see who was there, but she didn’t dare. The voices were male, and their tone was angry. Their sentences were short and choppy.
She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but she heard Andrew clearly enough. He made no attempt to lower his voice as the others did.
“Go inside, Mary. I’ll take care of this.”
“Nein. I won’t.”
“Go inside.”
One of the men said something else, and then Mary skittered across the yard and up the back porch steps, never once looking back where she could have plainly seen Hannah.
Hannah’s palms had begun to sweat, though the weather wasn’t warm enough to warrant it. Her heart was still racing, and she wondered if she might be about to hyperventilate. Who were the men talking to Andrew? And did they have anything to do with Owen’s murder? What was the sheet of paper Andrew and Mary had been reading?
She dared one more glance around the corner.
The two older men had their backs to her. They were definitely Amish, no doubt there for the viewing. She guessed they were older, but she wasn’t certain until one reached up and removed his hat, revealing black-and-gray hair. The other struck her as a bit younger, shoulders less slumped, arms more muscular, which she could tell even though he was wearing his jacket.
She knew all the men in their district, but couldn’t get a good look to identify these two.
Who were they?
Andrew was facing her, facing the men, actually, and he probably hadn’t seen her, he was so engrossed in the conversation—if that was what they were having. It seemed the two men were doing all the talking, and Andrew was merely shaking his head.
Hannah knew she should pull back, knew that eavesdropping was wrong—not that she’d set out to listen in on a private conversation. It had just happened that way. She was torn between going after Mary and heading back to Mattie.
And it was in that moment that Andrew glanced up and saw her.
He didn’t blink.
He didn’t acknowledge her in any way.
And that, more than anything else, told her that Andrew was in more serious trouble than she had guessed.
Jesse stood staring after the Englisch car. A fellow from the neighboring district had arrived and told their bishop, Joseph, that he was needed. One of the older men from their district, who hadn’t felt well enough to attend the viewing, had been taken to the Englisch hospital in an ambulance, Memorial Hospital in South Bend. From what Jesse heard, the older man would be all right—he was having chest pains again and went as a precaution.
“If anyone asks, I’ll be back later this afternoon,” Joseph had said as he’d opened the door to the Englisch car. Joseph was young for a bishop, in Jesse’s opinion. He barely had any gray hair at all. But he’d served well since accepting the position a few years earlier. No taller than Jesse, he was steadily gaining weight—a few pounds a year, but it would add up. His fraa, Anna, was an excellent cook.
“What about your buggy?”
“Anna will drive it home.” The bishop settled into the car, pulling the seat belt across his lap and then lowering the window so he could turn his attention back to Jesse. “The funeral will be tomorrow as we planned.”
When Jesse nodded in understanding, Joseph said something to the driver, and they pulled away, spewing gravel and dirt. It occurred to Jesse—not
for the first time—that being a bishop would be a difficult job, especially when your responsibilities as a leader were added to all the everyday chores a father and farmer had.
He was turning back to the row of buggies when he saw Andrew hurrying toward him.
“I need to borrow the buggy you brought.”
“What? Why?”
“You can ride home with Mamm and Dat.”
“I’m supposed to stay until late afternoon. They’ll be leaving in another hour or so.”
“Then get a ride with someone else, or walk.”
“You walk!”
Andrew turned on him suddenly. When he did, Jesse saw such a mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and a little fear—that he stepped back.
Scrubbing his hand over his face, Andrew pulled in a deep breath, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Jesse. There is no reason for me to take this out on you.”
“Take what out on me?”
“I apologize that I raised my voice, but I need your buggy or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Andrew looked left, then right, as if to assure himself they were alone. “There’s something I have to take care of. If it could wait, then I’d stay.”
“I don’t know what you’re into, but it’s about time you told me. Maybe I can help.”
Andrew shook his head and stared out across the fields. The silence lengthened between them until finally Jesse shrugged and went to fetch their mare. When he returned, Andrew helped him hitch it to the buggy.
“Don’t share with Mamm or Dat any more about this than they have to know.”
“I don’t know anything about this! What would you expect me to share?”
“Cover for me. All right?”
“What’s going on, Andrew? Are you planning to meet with the Englischers again? The ones in the car? The ones who came by to pick you up when—”
“I can’t talk about it, and it’s better if you don’t know the details.” Andrew hopped up into the buggy and picked up the reins. “And, Jesse . . . if I’m not back by tomorrow, go see Mary. Talk to Mary.”
Murder Tightly Knit Page 13
