by Leslie Gould
“Look,” Tommy said. “I was going to head back to Nevada.”
“You need to hold off on that until we figure out where Miriam is.”
“Is this a criminal investigation?” Tommy asked. “Isn’t she eighteen?”
I winced. It wasn’t exactly that he sounded guilty, but still, the questions seemed a little suspect.
“We need to know she left on her own volition,” Deputy Rogers said. “And that there wasn’t any foul play.”
Tommy nodded coolly. “I can wait a few days.”
Deputy Rogers drained his mug. “I’ll be in touch.”
Tommy met the man’s gaze and nodded but didn’t smile.
Deputy Rogers stood. I did too. He said, “No need to walk me out.”
I ignored him and strode after him as he walked to the front door. As we neared it, I hurried ahead and stood in front of it. “What’s really going on here?”
“I can’t discuss the case with you.”
I crossed my arms. “How worried should I be about all of this? For Miriam’s sake?”
He crossed his arms in response. “Fentanyl is being sold in the area, and there have been a few bad batches. We’ve been trying to figure out who the source is for a few months now, and the problem started about the time Kenny and Tommy came back to town.”
“That hardly ties Tommy to Miriam’s disappearance—”
He cut me off. “Call me, like you did today, if you see or hear anything suspicious.”
I turned the knob and pulled the door open. He stepped through without saying good-bye. I watched him march down the steps. I knew from my work-related research into the prescription drug epidemic that Indiana, along with so many other states, had been affected by opioid abuse. Fentanyl seemed to be the next one to surface in many communities, including in Northern California, once the number of opioid prescriptions decreased. I hoped that Kenny and Tommy weren’t involved, nor any Amish Youngie.
Once Deputy Rogers reached his car, I closed the door and returned to the kitchen. I wanted to think the best of Tommy, but it was proving hard to do. He was staring at his cup of coffee as I asked, “What’s the bad blood between you and the deputy?”
He shook his head. “It’s a long, tedious story. I don’t want to bore you.”
“I’d really like to hear it.”
Tommy exhaled. “Kenny and I had some bad years during our late teens. Partying. Petty vandalism.” Tommy wrapped his hands around his cup. “Deputy Rogers had every right to be after us, but he was relentless. He pulled me over thirty-four times and only once gave me a speeding ticket—for going four miles over the speed limit.” He shook his head. “To be honest, he’s part of the reason I left Nappanee. But then Rogers turned all of his attention on Kenny, who followed me a few months later.” He met my gaze. “Don’t get me wrong. We were horrible. I knew it then, and I can see it even more clearly now. But I’ve never known anyone to hold a grudge like Deputy Rogers.”
My eyes locked with Tommy’s.
“Sorry to drag you into this,” he said.
I suppressed a shudder. “Hopefully, it will all be resolved soon.” I didn’t tell him that Deputy Rogers thought he and Kenny were running drugs. Instead I said, “So, you’re headed back to Nevada?”
He nodded.
“You had that planned all along?”
He nodded again.
“Your mother knows about it?”
He frowned. “I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet. I mean, she knew I wasn’t back home for good, just for a short time.”
“What about Mason?”
“I’m taking him with me. His mother wants him back.”
THE NEXT DAY, just after noon, Mammi and I picked up Wanda at Ervin’s farm. It was about five miles from Mammi’s, with a huge white barn, an old farmhouse, and a large dairy herd.
Wanda was definitely bigger than Mammi or me, but there were three seat belts, and we all fit in the cab of the pickup, although it was pretty cozy.
“Where’s Mason today?” I asked.
“Playing with Ervin’s younger kids,” Wanda answered. She didn’t offer anything more, and I didn’t ask about him or Tommy. I was thankful Mammi wasn’t a gossiper and didn’t ask any questions either. I didn’t want to get any more involved with the drama than I already was.
A few snowflakes fell, but the roads were clear. When we reached the quilting shop, there were already several other women at work. Mammi introduced me around again. Phyllis and Lois were there and both greeted Wanda. The bishop’s wife, Catherine Deiner, was there too.
I was surprised they didn’t ask if anyone had heard anything about Miriam right away, but perhaps they didn’t want to bring up Tommy in front of Wanda. Or perhaps not in front of the bishop’s wife.
“I have a casserole in the fridge for you to take to Arleta,” Jane said to me. “If that will still work.”
“Yes, of course,” I answered. “Mammi and I can drop it off when we leave.”
“Denki.” She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “And I also have a quilt for the baby.” I was sure that would mean a lot to Arleta.
Lois asked Catherine about her new twin grandchildren. “They’re doing well,” she answered. “Nearly sleeping through the night already. They’re number fourteen and fifteen for us.”
Catherine appeared to be in her early fifties, definitely not more than fifty-five. It amazed me how young Amish grandmothers could be and how quickly they could amass dozens of grandchildren.
“And how is Sophie doing?” Phyllis asked.
Catherine pursed her lips together. “Just fine.”
“Still in Elkhart?”
Catherine nodded. “She’s working at a grocery store there.”
Lois looked up from her quilting. “You must miss her.”
“Oh, well . . .”
There was a long pause. I couldn’t help but wonder what Sophie’s story was, but obviously Catherine didn’t want to talk about her. Every family had its problems.
There were two Englisch women among the quilters, an older woman named Betty and her middle-aged daughter, Jenna. The Amish women spoke a mix of Pennsylvania Dutch and English. There were a few times when I lost track of the Pennsylvania Dutch conversations, but mostly I kept up.
It was Betty who brought up the missing Amish girl. “I heard from a friend who has an Amish neighbor that she’s Arleta’s daughter.”
Lois confirmed that she was.
“We also heard she’s eighteen, so the police can’t do anything,” Jenna said. “Is that true?”
“She’s eighteen,” Phyllis said. “If she left on her own, they can’t do anything. But from what I’ve heard, they’re investigating.” Mammi, Wanda, and I all kept our heads down.
“Do they have any suspects?” Betty asked.
No one responded.
Finally, Jane said, “I’m thinking of a story, one I’ve been saving for just the right time—and person.”
“I think a story is a great idea,” Wanda said.
Jane looked directly at me. “Savannah, you’ll especially appreciate this one.”
I left the needle in the quilt as I looked up, touched that she was thinking of me. “Why is that?”
“It’s about a woman named Emma Fischer. She was a widow when she first came to the area in 1842, and she worked as a midwife.”
Jane added, “Plus, she’s an ancestor you and I share.”
I tilted my head and looked from Mammi to Jane. “I didn’t know I’m related to you.”
Mammi smiled. “Jane and I are fourth cousins. Emma was my great-great-grandmother. So she would be yours too, with four greats.”
“And three greats for me,” Jane said. “Of course, there are a lot of us around these parts who are her descendants, that’s for sure.”
“I know there are some Fischers around,” I said. “But it doesn’t seem like there are that many.” Not like the Millers, for example.
“Well, you’ll have to hear
the story to find out, although I won’t be able to tell all of it today.” Jane pursed her lips and then sighed. “Honestly, this is a hard story to tell, and I’ve avoided it because of a particularly tragic thread.” She squared her shoulders. “But I believe it’s time.” She glanced around the circle with an empathetic expression on her face. “Everyone grab a cup of coffee and something to eat. Then I’ll get started.”
Mammi told Jane she’d wait on any customers who came in, and Jane thanked her. The women all gathered around the refreshment table and filled their plates with the same healthy fare Jane had served on Monday. I wasn’t sure how she made any money.
Once everyone sat back down, pushing their chairs back a little so they didn’t drop any crumbs onto the quilt, Jane placed her hands together, as if in prayer. “Now, mind you, this story doesn’t start in this area. No, it started all the way back in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. I won’t tell you Emma’s entire story, but I will tell you that she was born in 1818, the second child and only girl in her Amish family . . .”
CHAPTER 8
Emma Fischer
October 7, 1840
A gust of wind caught a cluster of maple leaves and lifted them up in a swirl of orange and red. Emma expected her son, Hansi, to take delight in the autumn colors, but instead he stopped and lifted his arms. At three, he was too heavy for her to carry for long, especially when she was just months away from delivering her second baby. She took his hand and kept walking, but he soon began to whine.
His face was flushed, and she let go of his hand to feel his forehead, under his curly hair. It was warm.
“Walk to the top of the hill,” she told him. “And then I’ll carry you home.”
They continued on the trail from her parents’ farm, where her father had a blacksmith shop. The bucket of apples Emma had picked knocked occasionally against her leg. She planned to make a cobbler to have with their supper.
Her husband, Asher, wouldn’t be home until late.
When Emma and Hansi reached the crest of the hill, he stopped and reached up for her again. She put down the bucket, hoisted him to her hip, pulling her apron to the side, and then reached down for the apples. A twinge raced across her stretched middle. She paused a moment, waiting for it to pass.
Ahead, their field of cut hay cured in the cool autumn air. It had been warm during the day, but at night, frost would appear. Beyond the field was their pasture with their cow, calf, two steers, and Emma’s horse. Her Dawdi had given her the cow, named Bossie, and her own mare, Red, when she married, plus a small flock of chickens. She was grateful for her grandfather’s generosity.
The hilly landscape of Somerset County had been Emma’s family’s home since her great-grandparents moved from Lancaster County fifty years ago for more farmland for their growing family. Now, Emma’s aunts, uncles, and cousins, along with others in their Plain community, populated the area.
She breathed in deeply while surveying the autumn landscape. She couldn’t imagine ever leaving. She’d been a sickly Boppli and Kind and was spoiled by her grandfather, according to her mother. Then she’d struggled with her nerves, something she’d been admonished about over and over. If she only trusted God more, she wouldn’t give in to the fears that seemed to plague her. At least that was what her mother told her.
For the most part, Asher had been understanding of her problems—until he began thinking he wanted to sell their little farm and move. Four men from their community had traveled west in the spring and were expected home soon. Asher could hardly wait to hear what they’d found.
Some in the area had already gone to Ohio over the last decade, but land there was now more expensive, and anyone wanting to leave Somerset County for better opportunities needed to move even farther west. The travelers had planned to go through Ohio, and then on to Indiana and Illinois. Emma shivered at the thought. The name Indiana meant Indian Country. What dangers might lurk there? She figured Illinois would be similar, but Asher said the Native people had mostly all left, going to Kansas, to a new land.
Emma couldn’t imagine any of it and didn’t want to try. She certainly didn’t want to experience it. She’d heard stories of raids and killings, and she wanted to stay as far away from anything like that as possible. She was safe in Pennsylvania with her little family, with her parents and brothers only a short walk away.
Her mother was a midwife, and Emma often worked as her assistant. While her mother was energetic, resourceful, and confident—as well as able to easily accept death as God’s will—Emma found herself anxious and soon overwhelmed when a birth went awry. Her mother would simply say, “The Lord’s will be done,” while Emma questioned if there was anything they could have done differently to save the baby and, once, the mother. She shivered at the thought even now, as she sweated from carrying Hansi. Mamm also stitched people up when they were injured, set broken bones, and treated people for all sorts of illnesses.
Emma’s brow puckered as she thought about the differences between her and Mamm. The main one, she determined, was that Mamm was strong and easily took charge, while Emma, as much as she tried not to be, was fearful and wanted others to make decisions.
Still, she enjoyed assisting her mother with births the majority of the time. Caring for a mother and witnessing a baby come into the world brought her immense joy. There was nothing as incredible in all the world.
The trail narrowed and became rocky. Emma chose her steps carefully as she carried Hansi along the pasture. The cow bellowed, and the calf, who was in the weaning pen, called back to her. Emma would need to milk the cow once she had the cobbler baking.
Hansi rested his head on her shoulder, his curls pressed against her face, and by the time they reached their whitewashed clapboard house, he’d fallen asleep. She made her way into the big bedroom, rolled Hansi onto her bed, and covered him with a comforter.
Then, she stirred the hot coals in the cooker, stoked the fire, peeled the apples, mixed the flour, butter, cream, and sugar, assembled the cobbler in the Dutch oven, and placed it in the oven.
After she’d put the leftover sausage and cabbage from their noon meal on to heat next to the pot of bone broth, she checked on Hansi. He was still asleep. She considered waking him, because if she didn’t, he might be up late into the night. Then again, perhaps he was falling ill and needed the extra rest.
Leaving him, she went out and herded Bossie into the barn and milked her. When she returned with the pail of milk, Hansi called out to her.
“Mamm!”
She put the pail on the kitchen table and rushed into the bedroom.
He sat in the middle of the room, on the floor, his face beet red and his eyes cloudy. She felt his forehead again. Before, he’d been warm, but now he was burning.
Emma took off Hansi’s coat and then grabbed a cloth and the bucket of water from the kitchen. She carried him to her bed again and sat beside him, dipping the cloth in the water and running it over his forehead, pushing back his curls. She couldn’t carry Hansi all the way to her parents, and she didn’t want to leave him alone. If he grew worse, she’d try to ride Red while holding him.
She pulled the boy onto what little lap she had left as she pressed the cloth to the back of his neck. “Your Dat will be home soon,” Emma said. “I’ll send him for Mammi.” Her mother would know what to do.
BY THE TIME Asher came through the back door, bringing a cold blast of air with him, the sun had set and darkness had fallen. His face was streaked with dirt, his sandy hair pushed back on his head, and his hazel eyes were tired.
Emma met him in the kitchen, asking him to go get her mother.
“Should we take Hansi to her?” Asher asked. “That would be faster.”
Emma shook her head. “He’s running a fever. I don’t want him out in the cold.” She lit the lantern and handed it to Asher. He headed out into the frosty cold, the lantern swinging as he strode down the porch steps.
It seemed to take forever until they returned. Emma moppe
d Hansi’s forehead again. He complained of a sore throat, and his voice grew hoarse. After a while, he dozed in Emma’s arms. Finally, Emma heard the back door bang and then Mamm came into the bedroom, followed by Asher and then Emma’s younger brother, Isaac. At fourteen, he was as quiet and earnest as his Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down every time he swallowed or spoke. Besides her grandfather, Emma was closest to Isaac out of all of her family members.
As Mamm stepped to the side of the bed, Asher said, “Joseph and Daniel Miller have returned. And Joseph Speicher and Nathan Smeily too. That’s the word at your Dat’s shop. There’s to be a meeting tomorrow evening so they can tell us what they’ve found.” Excitement had replaced his tiredness.
Emma didn’t respond. She was glad the four men were safe, but moving west was the last thing she wanted to think about at the moment.
“Go get your supper,” Mamm said to Asher. “And you too, Isaac, while I take a look at Hansi.”
Emma appreciated her mother’s intervention. Mamm sat down beside Emma and ran her fingers through Hansi’s curls, massaging his head. “Mammi’s here,” she said. “Can you wake up for me?”
He stirred and opened his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Mamm asked.
He touched his throat. “It hurts.”
Mamm felt his forehead and then touched around his neck. “It’s swollen,” she said. “Has he eaten?”
Emma shook her head. “I’ll get him some broth.”
“And get him a cup of water.”
Emma headed into the kitchen, where Isaac and Asher sat at the table, eating their meal. Asher looked up when he saw her. “Will you come to the meeting with me tomorrow?”
“Let’s see how Hansi is.” Lately, she felt as if she was constantly balancing Asher’s dreams and desires with the reality of their everyday lives.
“Surely it’s just a cold, don’t you think? It seems as if the boy is sick all the time.”
That wasn’t true. He had colds and stomachaches from time to time, but she didn’t think any more so than other children.
