Chapter 26
When we reached the front of the church, Lindy waved at an Amish man. “That’s my husband. I should go see what he might need.” She smiled shyly at me. “You’ve been very kind.”
I could go back to my table and wait for the fudge to set for judging, or I could finally peek at the scene of the crime. Of course, I chose option two. I glanced back and forth to make sure neither Aiden nor any other sheriff’s deputies were around before I ran up the church steps to the main entrance. I placed my hand on the door and opened it easily.
I stepped into the wide entry in front of the sanctuary doors. Faintly, I could hear voices floating down the hallway from where I knew the fellowship hall and kitchen were. I wondered if any last-minute candy makers were bringing fudge over to the church to chill. The judging of the fudge was in ninety minutes. The fudge would need all that time to set up even in the deep freezer.
The oak doors between the entry and the sanctuary opened inward. I pushed one, and the fall wreath hanging in the middle of it rocked back and forth on its nail.
The large overhead lights were off, but enough light poured in through the windows for me to see every corner of the expansive room. As always, the organ dominated the middle of the sanctuary. The only indication that anything sinister had occurred in what should have been a hallowed place was a band of crime scene tape across the small door that led into the inner workings of the organ.
A small figure with unmistakable strawberry-blond hair and a white prayer cap sat in the front pew with her head bent.
The heavy church door that I had been holding opened slipped from my fingers. Before I could catch it, it slammed with a resounding thud, and Charlotte jumped out of her seat and spun around.
“It’s just me.” I waved.
She had a hand over her chest. “You scared me, Bailey.”
I walked down the center aisle toward her. “I’m so sorry about that.”
She leaned back in her seat and stared forward again. “It’s all right.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I wanted to play the organ. The playing soothes me when I’m upset. It wasn’t until I was here that I remembered that I can’t do that. I have a lot of big decisions to make, and I thought playing would help. I was praying for guidance.”
I eyed her. “And did you find that guidance?”
She dropped her eyes to the hands folded on her lap. “I don’t know.”
“Aiden is looking for you,” I said.
She licked her lips. “The deputy is the least of my problems.”
I wasn’t so sure of that.
“I wish I could play,” she said barely above a whisper. “Maybe through playing, I would know what I have to do. Whether I have to give it up or the music is what Gott wants for me.”
“I thought you had already decided to leave the Amish.”
“Almost.” She bit her lip. “But if I am leaving, I owe it to my family to tell them. My father will be very angry. He will all but shun me, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the deacon asks him to do that permanently unless I return and do exactly as he says.” She looked down at her hands again. “He would, you know, and my father would follow the deacon’s lead. My father has always obeyed the leaders of the district. It doesn’t matter how wrong they might be. He says that Gott tells us to obey, and we must.”
“And you don’t believe that?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head. “How can we obey someone as cruel as Deacon Clapp? He makes up most of his rules not because of what Gott wants, but because he has the power to do so. He knows that the members of the district will do whatever he says. He is the one who said my playing the organ was wrong. The deacon we had before never said a word about it, but as soon as Deacon Clapp was blessed as the next deacon, this”—she pointed at the beautiful instrument—“was a sin.”
“He has the power to do that? I thought the bishop oversees the district.”
She looked at her hands. “Our bishop is very old, and he’s tired. I heard my parents talking about him once. They said they believe the bishop is relieved to let the deacon make most of the decisions.” She looked up at me. “I did try to talk to the bishop once about the organ and what Deacon Clapp had said about it, but he fell asleep just when I was asking him to intercede.”
“A new deacon can come in and change everything? Even the rules of how to live?”
She nodded. “He can. He was appointed to the job by Gott. We should not question Gotte’s choice, but I can’t help questioning. I know that’s wrong, but Gott gave me this talent. Am I supposed to turn my back on it? Is that what He would really have me do?”
“I’m not the one to ask,” I said. “My faith is wobbly at best.”
She studied me. “Do you not believe in Gott?”
I sat next to her in the pew. I examined the organ, the pulpit, and the altar as I mulled over my answer. It was not a clear yes or no question for me. “I do,” I said finally. “But I’m not sure it’s your God or the God of my grandparents either.”
“It is,” she said with more confidence than I would have thought possible for someone so torn by the choices she had to make. “Just sitting here, I know I have to leave the Amish way because it’s not allowing me to praise Gott as I see fit. Praise can be expressed through music and even through making candy.” She smiled at me when she said that.
“Like your aunt did.”
She frowned. “Ya, I suppose. That was Aunt Josephine’s way to praise Gott.”
“Tell me about your uncle,” I said.
She raised her eyebrows. “My aunt’s husband?”
I nodded. “What happened to him?
“He died when I was six. It was a buggy accident. He was a big man, and I always thought that he was a little scary. Like my father, he was a stern man, but he seemed more frightening when I was a child because of his size. When I was little, I remember that I liked Aunt Josephine very much; she was kind then. It seemed that she changed after Uncle Hiram’s death. She became more like he had been.”
“Did she ever remarry?”
She shook her head. “Nee, but I overheard my mother once telling a friend that another farmer was interested in my aunt. She was a beautiful woman, especially when she was young. I guess I was nine when I remember my mother telling her friend this. Aunt Josephine wanted nothing to do with the other man. My mother said Josephine told her that she would never marry again. By that time, she already had ideas of opening a candy shop in Berlin. She had always been good at baking and making candies.”
“Tell me about the buggy accident.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember the accident. I wasn’t there, and I was very young at the time. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from my father.” She grimaced. “Uncle Hiram is a sore spot with my father. I think most days he likes to pretend that he didn’t have a brother. He would have done much better at pretending if my aunt hadn’t been around.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
She bit her lip as if she realized that she had said too much already. Maybe she had.
“How did the accident happen? Was he hit by a car?”
She shook her head. “The buggy shop that my uncle owned, which is now my father’s, is at the top of a hill. The driveway is on a steep incline. My uncle was at the bottom of the hill, standing by himself, waiting for a delivery. One of the buggies at the top of the hill came loose and flew down the hill, hitting him. It killed him instantly. It was such a tragedy. I was very young, but I remember the crying. Aunt Josephine was never the same after that.”
“How did she change?” I turned in my seat so that I could see her better.
“She became very strict. She thought that the Amish way was the only way to live. I heard my mother once say that Aunt Josephine had Englisch friends when she was young, but not after her husband died. She pulled away from the Englisch world. She took the money she had from my uncle and opened Berlin Candies, and her whole life became her candy shop. Well”—she paused—“that and correcting people. She loved to correct people.”
“She must have been happy that someone like Deacon Clapp took over the district.” I shifted my position on the hard pew.
She frowned. “Maybe. I don’t think the deacon cared for her opinions. Even if he might have agreed with them. She was a woman, and he didn’t want to hear ideas from her.”
I tried not to bristle at that comment. I was only moderately successful. I replayed the scene that Charlotte had described in my head. In my mind’s eye, I saw the buggy at the top of the hill and Hiram standing at the bottom, waiting for a delivery he would never receive. He was looking down the road, turned away from the shop. He might have been impatient, tapping his foot and eager to get back to work in his shop. Then he hears a buggy flying down the hillside. He doesn’t have enough time to jump out of the way. He’s hit, and everything goes dark.
“I’m confused,” Charlotte said. “I don’t know what I want. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And that scares me.”
I patted her arm, feeling like the older woman giving advice to the young when in reality I was only a few years older than Charlotte. “Well, right now, you are going to go over to Swissmen Sweets and help out my grandmother. She always says to me that you can find your purpose in the work yet to be done.”
She smiled. “That’s very Amish of her.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“I think you are right. I think helping Clara will clear my head.” She squeezed my hand briefly. “Both you and Clara have been so very nice to me. Believe me when I say that I won’t forget it. I will repay my debt to you someday.”
I shook my head. “There is no debt to repay. We’re family. That’s what family does.”
“I’m glad you moved here, Bailey.” Her face fell. “I’m going to need all the family I can find very soon.”
I wished I could tell her that wasn’t true, but I was afraid she just might be right.