by P. L. Gaus
Lance nodded and said, “I got a call from Stan. They’ve dusted pretty much everything in the Silver residence. There are plenty of prints, and none of them is on record anywhere. Family, friends, neighbors, we can’t tell. It’d be almost impossible to try to print everyone who might have gone to see her.”
“OK, Lance, but once we have a suspect, the prints will help us.”
Lance nodded and drew a burdened breath. “Are you going to let Stan go back on detective duty anytime soon, Sheriff?”
“When he’s ready.”
“He complains about it every night, Sheriff. It’d help me out a lot, if you could just clear him for duty.”
“I’ll talk to his therapist, Lance. That’s all I can promise.”
“I’d be grateful,” Lance said. “I can’t have him moping like this anymore, just lying around the house at night. His shoulder has mended. Getting back to detective work would do a lot to boost his spirits.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In tiny Joel Pomerene Hospital, at the door to John Yost’s room, Alice Shewmon was wearing a frown, leaning back with her shoulder blades pressed against the wall. Her arms were folded, and she was apparently embroiled in her thoughts. The professor came up to her ahead of Robertson, and he read the expression on the social worker’s face. “What, Alice?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
As he spoke, the sheriff advanced farther down the hall, to speak with a nurse.
Shewmon said, “There’s nothing really wrong, Mike. Well, actually, I’m working on the vaccine angle here. None of the Yost children has been vaccinated. Tetanus, measles, whooping cough. Nothing. Their grandparents say they don’t believe in vaccines. And I’d like to talk with John Yost about it, to see if I can’t make some progress on this. But Evie is in there with him. She’s not allowing visitors, yet.”
Branden said, “She has her own problems, I suppose. Getting John settled. Getting him some help. They’re Schwartzentrubers, remember. They’re not going to want to use medicine.”
“Like anti-depressants?”
“And sedatives. Whatever.”
“OK, how about this?” Shewmon said sounding hopeful. “I’ve got photos here of the types of parasites that enter through bare feet. I’ll show that to the bishop. All their children go barefooted in summer. I’ll bet he’s never seen these types of microscopic parasites. I think it’ll convince him to use pharmaceuticals, and that’ll give me a lead-in to discuss vaccinations with him.”
Branden said, shaking his head, “You got a good look inside Mose and Ida’s home last night?”
Shewmon nodded. “The grandparents across the road.”
“So, you’ve got to know that this will be an uphill battle.”
Shewmon closed her eyes momentarily, and then she looked back to Branden. “It’s primitive, Professor. The household furnishings are simple. Rudimentary, really. To the point of being archaic. I haven’t seen much of that yet. That’s the most primitive I’ve ever seen it, and I’ve worked with a lot of Amish people.”
“But I guess you were content to leave the children there last night?”
“I couldn’t find a reason not to. The house was clean, and there was plenty of food. The children seemed to know the place, like it was their second home.”
“Probably it is,” Branden said. “How did Mose and Ida take the news about Lydia?”
“The bishop had told them before I got there. They were crushed. First about Lydia. Then about John. Plus, they’ve been heartbroken about the disappearance of Mary and Esther. Really Mike, they were just crushed by it all.”
Evie Carson came out into the hallway, and Sheriff Robertson came back to join the conversation. To Carson, Robertson said, “I need John to answer some questions, Evie. His wife is missing. His daughter, too.”
Evie shook her head. “He’s agitated, Bruce. And depressed. Manic with worry.”
“Just a few questions, Evie.”
“No, Sheriff,” Evie said, almost in a whisper. “Not until he’s stable, and not until I’ve counseled with him. I want him properly medicated. I want him mentally stabilized, before you question him.”
“Why are you being so careful about this?” Robertson asked.
Evie asked, “Do you know anything about his younger brother?”
Robertson shook his head, and he leaned in a bit. “What?”
“I’ve had a talk with Bishop Yost this morning. Didn’t you see his buggy in the lot?”
“No.”
“Then you just missed him.”
“OK, what about this brother?”
“A younger brother. He used to have a family and a farm. In Indiana. Now he’s in a psychiatric facility. He suffers from this kind of clinical depression, too, and he has been refusing antidepressant medications. He says his church doesn’t believe in them.”
Chapter 12
Tuesday, August 29
11:15 AM
Driving his white pickup under a bright noonish sun, Professor Branden followed the sheriff’s Crown Vic northwest out of Millersburg, through sleepy Mt. Hope, and then north to TR 606. There Robertson turned in at the Yost farm, intending to check on John Yost Junior and then head off to find Bishop Yost, if he wasn’t with Junior. Branden however continued west on 606 to the next property across the road, the home of Meredith Silver.
He turned into the graveled drive and saw a long tan-brick ranch house with a covered front porch. Farther down the drive, fifty yards past the house, a Freightliner tractor truck was parked with its wide, flat nose facing out. The sleeping compartment behind the cab rose up taller than the cab, and on top of that there was a wind deflector of rounded silver metal arching backward to shield a trailer in tow from the wind. But there was no trailer attached to the back of the parked cab. With a tangle of weeds growing up around it, the truck looked like it had been parked in retirement for quite some time.
In the driveway, there was a black Chevy Nova, and as he shut his engine off behind it, Branden saw a short, thin woman backing out through the front screened door with a black garbage bag brimming over with clothes. He came forward on the walkway, and he introduced himself to Louise Herbeck. Once she had shaken his hand and explained who she was, Branden insisted that she drop the clothes on the floorboards of the front porch.
“They’ve got it roped off out here,” she complained with sorrowful eyes, pointing to the yellow crime scene ribbon that had barred the steps leading up onto the front porch. “But her clothes are all back in her bedroom, and I can’t see how this’ll hurt anything.”
Branden eyed the cut yellow crime scene ribbon, and he proceeded up the porch steps. “You’re not supposed to cross the barrier, Mrs. Herbeck.”
“It’s just for the clothes,” Herbeck argued. She dapped at a sheen of tears with the corner of a bathroom towel.
Branden decided to let it drop. “She was your size?” he asked. “Meredith?”
“Oh, no. Not really. She was an exercise nut. And much taller. No, I’m taking these to a resale shop. I need the money. When they release the house, I’m going to wipe up all of that fingerprint dust and move in here.” Shaking her head sadly, she added, “Meredith left it to me.”
Although he had introduced himself to Louise by name, Branden figured it was appropriate to explain his status to her as a reserve deputy in the sheriff’s department. He took out his badge case and showed it to her. She seemed surprised and said, “I thought you were just a friend,” Herbeck said with a nervous glance at the yellow ribbon that she had cut.
“No, I never really met her. I mean I did speak with her briefly last night at the Yost farm, but that was because Lydia Schwartz had died. Did you know Lydia?”
“Sure. But how do you know her?”
“I was her professor at the college.”
“A deputy and a professor? How do you manage all of that?”
“Sometimes I’m not sure that I do. Anyway, I’d like you to tell me about Meredith. And her n
eighbors out here, if you know them.”
“I know them all, Professor. Like what?”
“Can we sit here on the porch?” Branden asked, pointing to the wicker chairs that sat to his left. “You really shouldn’t go back inside.”
Herbeck shrugged. She gave the appearance of not caring what she did next. “I suppose,” she answered tentatively. “I can't offer you anything to drink. They’ve got the entire kitchen all roped off. Bathroom, too.”
“We could just talk a bit,” Branden offered, and he led Louise across the porch.
They took seats, and Branden said, “It’s about Mary Yost, actually. Meredith was hosting bible studies with her and a Donna Schell from Millersburg.”
“What about her?” Louise said. “I haven’t seen her lately. Really, she was Meredith’s friend.” Herbeck’s eyes were moist again, and she pulled a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I should have paid more attention to Meredith’s friends. I should have paid more attention to her.”
“Were you expecting to see Mary? I mean did you run into her regularly over here?”
Louise nodded and smiled. “I was over here from time to time. Visiting. Mary came over here once a week or so. When she could get away.”
Louise gave thought for a moment, and then she popped up onto her feet and said, “Wait right there.” She stepped off the porch and went down to the Nova on the driveway.
Branden took the opportunity to survey the property. The Silver’s front lawn was wide and green, recently mowed. A stretch of blacktopped TR 606 was visible past the Silver’s culvert fence, and a car sped by, passing a black buggy. Branden waved at the family in the buggy – a mother in a black bonnet, with a father in a black vest and four young children, also dressed entirely in black – but they didn’t see him.
He felt isolated on the open farmland, with corn, soybeans, green beans, and all the crops spreading wide, out over the hills and beyond, surrounding him like a testament to a slower, simpler life than the one he knew at the college. Life in the big city, as someone had called it. As if the quaint and tiny village of Millersburg could ever qualify as a big city. As if the pace at the insular college could be considered too hectic.
After searching through her garbage bags of clothes in the trunk of her Nova, Herbeck came back with a knitted black sweater. She sat back down next to Branden, handed him the sweater and said, “This is Mary’s I believe. You can return it to her.”
“I can’t,” Branden said. “She’s missing. She’s evidently been gone for a while.”
“Then she finally did it.”
“Did what?” Branden asked, leading her.
“Left him, of course.”
“John? He’s that bad?”
“Swings good and bad. You never know which John you’re gonna get. Normal John or sad John. It gets pretty bad over there. Worse than ever, lately, Meredith said.”
“Did you study scripture with them, Mrs. Herbeck? Or was it just Mary who did that?”
“Just Mary. Whenever she could get away. Which wasn’t that often, with her kids and all.”
“Do you know the children?”
“Not really. But Meredith knew them all. All the children, on all the farms. Should I call you Professor or Deputy?”
“Why not just Mike? You don’t think John Yost is a stable person?”
“No more than his brother, Mike.”
“Alva?”
“No. Alva is fine. As far as Schwartzentrubers go. I’m talking about Daniel. The younger brother. He’s like John. Always so serious. Stern. Can’t seem to keep himself happy.”
“Daniel’s the one in the hospital? I gather it’s a psychiatric facility.”
Louise nodded. “He’s the youngest of nine Yost boys. Mary has good reason to have left John.”
“Why?”
“He’s always so moody. Demanding. Most of the time he just sulks.”
“No. Why is Daniel in prison?”
“You really don’t know anything,” Louise commented, smiling briefly.
“No, I guess not.”
Louise frowned. “Daniel got into one of his spells. He had a wife and a young son. But he gets into bad spells of depression. One day he walked out into the road in front of his house. He was almost catatonic, and he tried to kill himself by getting hit by a car. Now he’s in the psych ward of an Indiana state hospital. And John Yost is a lot like him. He’s a troublesome man.”
Branden nursed a moment of silence. He ran his fingers through his combed brown/gray hair, and he blew out a cleansing breath. “I guess I understand that,” he said after the pause. “But my question is about the children, Louise. Why would Mary be willing to leave six of her children over there, on the farm with John?”
Herbeck shook her head sadly. “It was Meredith,” she said, suddenly sad again, and seeming to remember her sister. “She said it to Mary Yost more than once. ‘You have to save yourself, before you can save anyone else.’ If Mary really has left, you can bet she has a plan to rescue her other children, too.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“I can’t imagine why she would leave them, Michael,” Caroline said at lunch. “OK, you have troubles with a mentally unstable husband, or even with an abusive one? That’s not a reason to leave the kids. No, Michael. Something else must have happened.”
They were seated at the glass table on the screened back porch, eating chicken salad sandwiches, with sliced fruit from a bowl. All the tall porch windows were open, and the breezes of the day were blowing gently through the screens. Cotton ball clouds drifted over the Amish valley beyond the drop-off cliffs at the edge of their property. The rains that had raced through the county yesterday were only a memory. Summer heat had not yet bled out of August. It seemed to promise a hot September.
“Louise Herbeck made it sound like Mary needed to be rescued,” the professor said. “Maybe she was going to get away first, and then arrange to take the children off the farm later. Isn’t that how she would do it? Get herself out first, and then file a complaint to bring the other children out legally?”
“I don’t know, Michael. Why couldn’t she have put them all in a buggy and driven them into town? To Social Services. Or to the Family Assistance Agency. They have an F.A.A. up in Wooster, too, and if she had gone up there, she would have put some distance between her and her husband. Those are safe places where troubled families can get some help. Wouldn’t someone like Donna Schell know how to work with a program like that?”
“I’ll ask Alice Shewmon,” the professor said. “To see what programs we have in Holmes County. But even if Mary knew about one of them, she’d be reluctant to trust them.”
Caroline considered that for a moment. “And why would she take only Esther with her? Because she’s the youngest?”
“Maybe she figured the older ones could manage for a couple of days,” the professor said.
They heard loud knocking at their front door, and then they heard Bruce Robertson’s voice calling through the screened door. “Are you home, Mike? Anybody home?”
Branden walked out to the front and brought the sheriff back to the porch. Caroline laid a third plate on the glass table, and she put out half a sandwich for the sheriff. While Branden and Robertson got themselves seated there, she went into the kitchen and brought back iced water for Robertson.
“We’ve found Lydia Schwartz’s diaries in her dorm room,” the sheriff said as Caroline sat down. “Pat and Ricky are going through them now. I brought this one for you to see.”
The sheriff handed a steno pad to Branden. It was flipped open to one of the very last pages. The professor read aloud from the journal.
Need to talk with Dithy. Maybe she knows where Mary is. Can’t believe she’s been gone this long. Pray she’s OK - Please Lord, let them be OK. Dithy must know something. Talk with Donna too. This is a BAD IDEA. Check on babies and midwives. See who would know about private births. Check with the midwives. She must have delivered by now. She would
use a midwife. Mary must have a new baby by now.
“There are several more of these diaries,” the sheriff said. “Lance and Niell are going through them now, plus other things in Lydia’s dorm room. If the diaries are right, she had been worried about Mary for months. She was trying to find her last week. And the most recent entries in her diaries? BAD IDEA. All caps. BAD IDEA.”
Chapter 13
Tuesday, August 29
2:50 PM
When the professor approached in the second-floor dormitory hallway, there was a college girl standing off to the side, outside Lydia’s room, leaning sideways against the wall. She looked distraught, Branden thought, and perhaps also a little impatient. She had cropped blonde hair – with a streak of red dye on the side – and she was fidgeting with a gold eyebrow stud. She nodded curtly to the professor, and he returned her slight greeting, saying, “Hello, I’m Professor Branden,” as he held out his hand.
She took his hand lightly, briefly, and she pushed away from the wall to stand up straight. Some of the emotion bled out of her expression. She still fiddled with her eyebrow stud. “I know who you are,” she replied. “Professor Branden. History.”
“Are you Susan?” he inquired. “Susan Randall?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“You must be pretty upset about Lydia.”
Susan shrugged, and her fingers came away from her eyebrow stud. “She was nice. I didn’t know her too well. Really, I just moved in with her at the start of the semester.”
“Didn’t you know her last year? While you were sophomores?”
“I’m a senior, actually,” Susan said. “But yes, I’ve known her for a couple of years. We didn’t hang out too much. She’s been in this room since May. Took summer classes. The Dean of Students told my parents that I needed a ‘quiet and reserved’ roommate. So, here I am. She’s Mennonite. Was Mennonite. But she was OK.”
