Chapter 5
Rachel drove past all-black buggies, gray-topped buggies, and open buggies that lined the narrow road that led to a stone-walled lane and the Glick farmstead. She parked in the field near the end of the dirt driveway, got out, and threaded her way between rows of horse-drawn vehicles and pickup trucks to walk to the two-story frame house. Dressed modestly in a navy calf-length riding skirt and two-button jacket, she was obviously an Englisher, but no one, not even her mother, would find fault with her clothing.
Before leaving Stone Mill House, Rachel had twisted her hair into a chignon and covered it with a dark-blue Italian scarf, similar in appearance to the ones Mary Aaron wore to work in the garden. Tonight, it felt, if not comfortable, then at least appropriate. Wasn’t there a saying about not being able to take the Amish out of the girl?
Rachel didn’t know how much discussion, or argument, there had been within the Glick household, and within their church, concerning whether or not the Glicks would accept their lost child’s body for burial. In other places, in similar circumstances, families had refused to accept the bodies of shunned family members, and the state had been forced to bury them. Thankfully, the innate good in those involved had prevailed, and Beth’s body had been brought home so that family and loved ones could pay their respects before burial. Where she would be buried had not yet been determined.
Families, friends, and neighbors, both Amish and English, stood in the yard, on the wide porch, and inside the front hall. In the heat, all the doors and windows to the home were propped open. It seemed like everyone in the valley was there. Tragedy brought the people of the valley together, and differences in race, religion, and age didn’t seem to matter when one of their own was grieving. It was what made Stone Mill a special place, and what Rachel had missed most in her time away. Wherever she fit, and she still wasn’t certain where, this was and always would be her home. Even in such a time of sorrow, there was a feeling of comfort knowing that your neighbors were there to catch you and support you if you stumbled.
It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening when Rachel approached the Glick farmhouse. The sun had already settled behind the mountains, and twilight would soon turn to darkness. Evening chores complete, Amish neighbors and church members would come and go late into the night. Others would come and stay, joining Beth’s brothers, sisters, and parents in keeping vigil over the deceased.
Rachel entered the front hall of the house, nodding to one person after another. Conversations and voices were muted, but she felt welcome, and knew almost everyone there. She hadn’t seen her parents or brothers and sisters yet, but she had no doubt that they’d already stopped by or would arrive soon. Even though they were not close friends of the Glicks, they wouldn’t fail to pay their respects.
Rachel steeled herself to view the body. She didn’t fear the dead; since she was a young child, she’d attended wakes and funerals. But neither was she eager to again see the tragic face of a girl who’d been wrenched from this world far too soon. She paused and whispered a silent prayer for Beth’s soul.
“She’s in the parlor. There to the right,” a rasping voice said. A tall woman in a black bonnet motioned toward an open doorway. Rachel knew that by she, the woman meant Beth. By tradition, the name of the newly dead was rarely spoken, even at her own wake.
Rachel moved to the doorway.
According to custom, and despite her separation from the Amish church, Beth had been laid out in the kerosene-lamplit parlor off the main hallway. Garbed all in white, she rested in a wooden coffin held up by two sawhorses draped with blue quilts. Straight-backed chairs lined the walls, but only a few were occupied, and those few by elders. Most of the furniture had been removed to make room for the coffin and the mourners.
Several middle-aged Amish women stood together near the cast-iron woodstove, cold now in deference to the August heat. From the open windows, a slight breeze fluttered the plain white curtains. The room smelled of floor wax, cinnamon, and too many people. There were no flowers.
Rachel held her breath as she entered the room. Her mouth felt dry and her palms damp as she forced herself to approach the coffin.
Beth Glick looked smaller than Rachel remembered. Thankfully, someone had covered the young woman’s face and throat with a man’s white linen handkerchief. Beth was clothed in a white dress and white stockings; only her bare hands were visible, fingers folded stiffly around a worn German Bible. Rachel exhaled softly. Such small hands . . . wrinkled from their immersion in water. Her eyes stung as she stared at Beth’s swollen and discolored flesh, two fingernails broken off raggedly at the quick.
Rachel swallowed once and then again, determined not to break down and cry. Whatever happened to Beth, she’s no longer suffering, Rachel told herself as Evan’s report echoed in her mind: “According to the medical examiner she was strangled unconscious before she met death by drowning.” Evan had gone on to say that the water in Beth’s lungs was identical to that of samples taken from the quarry, proving that death had occurred there. “No evidence of sexual assault,” he had added hastily.
Sounds of subdued weeping pierced her musing. Figures in Plain clothing moved around the coffin, and Rachel caught the scent of sour sweat.
“Good of you to come, Rachel.”
Rachel turned toward the familiar voice. “Bishop Abner?” She took another breath, grounding herself. It wasn’t his body odor that had offended her. His was a clean wholesomeness: green apple soap, licorice chewing gum.
Rachel glanced back at Beth’s pale form. “Thank you for this,” she whispered to the bishop. “I’d worried that the family would . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to speak of what she’d originally feared, which was that the Glicks would refuse to accept their runaway daughter’s body. She had been afraid that no one would give her the last rites of her faith.
“It was the least I could do. Who is more in need of our prayers?” Bishop Abner laid a lean hand gently on the edge of the pine box.
“Bishop.” A stern face beneath a white kapp appeared on the other side of the coffin, and the breeze from the open window carried the odor of unwashed underarms and clothing in need of airing. Rachel steeled herself so as not to flinch. It was something she’d had to get used to again after fifteen years away from the valley, and she’d discovered that she found it far more distasteful than she had as a girl. Her family had always used deodorant, but some Amish considered it forbidden as too worldly.
“Her poor mother,” the woman intoned. “To lose a child with no hope of salvation.”
“Yet,” Rachel murmured, her gaze downcast, “the Bible tells us that He is a merciful God.” She had plenty of opinions on the subject, but this was neither the time nor the place to discuss theology.
The woman stiffened and stared at her for a moment before her lips thinned and hardened. “For one who has broken her promise to the Almighty, there is no hope of salvation.”
“We are all sinners, and we can always hope,” Bishop Abner said. He glanced meaningfully at Rachel and then toward the door. Rachel nodded and followed him quietly out of the parlor. “Beth’s mother asked to speak with you,” he murmured.
“Me?” She wondered if she’d offended the Glicks with her presence. But there were many Englishers from the town, so she didn’t think so. A wake was a public event.
The main hall was crowded with Amish. She and the bishop worked their way past a cluster of elderly women in black prayer kapps, and several men who were members of her parents’ church community. Three little boys dressed in black trousers, black suspenders, and white shirts sat solemnly on the stairs that led to the second floor, straw hats in hand, feet decently covered in black stockings and high-top leather brogans. The bishop led the way toward the back of the house.
“Bishop Abner?” Eli Rust, her Uncle Aaron’s next-door neighbor, tugged at the bishop’s sleeve. “A moment of your time?” Rachel noticed that Eli’s brother was with him. Both men were members of Abner’s church community.
Joab Rust nodded in her direction. She nodded back.
Abner raised one finger in a gesture that she assumed meant she was to wait. “How can I help you?” he asked the men.
Rachel half turned to give them some privacy in the crowded space and stepped back against the wall to allow Polly and Ed Wagler by. Ed’s eyes were swollen, as if he’d been crying. “Polly. Ed.” The Waglers ran the town grocery, and Rachel had known them since she was small.
“Terrible business, this,” Ed said. “I can’t . . .” He choked up, pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose loudly.
“To think that something like this would happen here, of all places.” Polly embraced her, enveloping her in a cloud of gardenia cologne. “And you had to be the one to find her.”
“Terrible,” Ed repeated. “Words can’t express . . .” Again, he seemed unable to go on.
Well-meaning Polly had no such obstacle. “Such a young girl, with so much life ahead of her, a lovely Christian girl, always so pleasant when she came into the store.” Ed blew his nose a second time, almost drowning out his wife, but she went on. “We brought a lunchmeat-and-cheese platter, the large one.”
Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his thin neck. “No need to mention it, Polly. Least we could do.”
“Ed said he’d do the same again in a few weeks,” Polly said. “When our Calvin passed, Ed was fine during the funeral, but later, he just fell apart. Just sat and stared at the pond. Couldn’t seem to eat a bite or take pleasure in anything.”
“So much to do right afterwards, a body doesn’t have time to think. But later, later it all sinks in. Good thing the Glicks have their faith to sustain them,” Ed added. “It’s something you admire about the Amish. They accept death as part of life.” He took his wife’s arm. “Best we go in and pay our respects,” he said.
“Have you been in to see . . .” Polly glanced down the hall. “They say she looks peaceful, just like she’s asleep.”
Rachel said nothing. She’d never felt the dead looked like they were sleeping. They looked dead.
“Let’s do it, Mother,” Ed said.
The kitchen door at the end of the hall slid open, and a stout Amish woman carrying a wailing baby pushed through. “We’re holding up the show,” Ed said. “See you in church, Rachel.”
“Talk to you later,” Polly said, and they moved toward the parlor.
A minute later, Bishop Abner returned. “Shall we find the parents?” he suggested.
Rachel nodded and followed him toward the back of the house. She could smell the food before they passed through the pocket door at the end of the passageway.
The huge kitchen and attached dining room were women’s domain, and the amount of food and drink amassed there could have easily fed half the valley. Every flat surface of table and counter space was laden with bowls, platters, and plates of food. Pies, cakes, gingerbread, and sweet rolls stood cheek by jowl with trays of roast beef, fried chicken, and smoked hams. The sea of aproned women with rolled-up sleeves and sweaty foreheads parted. Nursing mothers whisked blankets over exposed breasts and babes, and toddlers were shushed from begging for bites of this and that.
Everyone stared at Rachel and the bishop.
“Bishop.” A plump-cheeked woman closed an oven door and stepped back to give them room.
“Bishop Abner.”
Rachel didn’t recognize the teenage girl who spoke, but her red and swollen eyes and the haunted expression on her face hinted at someone near and dear to the deceased.
“Mam,” the girl said, “Bishop Abner’s here.”
A tall, thin woman with sad eyes rose from the table. “Bishop, it’s good of you to come.” A young mother with a newborn wrapped in a shawl got up as well, and Rachel noted a strong resemblance to the dead girl. A sister? Under the table, Rachel caught sight of a toddler sucking a thumb. The child wore a close-fitting white baby cap and a shapeless white dress. Rachel couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. Wisps of brown hair curled around the baby’s rosy cheeks.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Bishop Abner said. He turned to Rachel. “Do you know Mabel Glick?”
“You are the one who found our Beth?” the woman asked. She sounded as if she’d been crying for a long time, and her cheeks appeared sunken. “Thank you.”
Rachel added her condolences to those of the bishop. She recognized Mabel as someone she’d seen at the grocery and at the farmer’s market, but she couldn’t remember if she had ever spoken more than a few words to her. Mabel’s eyes were blue, her hair streaked with gray.
Did she know that her daughter had been murdered?
The young woman with the baby slipped an arm around Mabel but said nothing. The infant squirmed in the blanket and began to whimper. Rachel tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing seemed adequate. The kitchen was stifling, and she needed fresh air. She backed away from the table. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please just let me know.”
The thought of retracing her steps back through the kitchen and central hall was daunting, so Rachel edged toward the back door. As she opened it, she heard a man’s strident voice. The angry words were in Deitsch, telling Rachel that the speaker was Amish. She couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, though.
She glanced back at Bishop Abner, who had obviously heard the man as well. One rarely heard a raised voice among the Amish, and it was certainly even more unusual considering the circumstances of the gathering. As she stepped out onto the back porch, she immediately spotted the cause of the uproar.
A Pennsylvania State Police car was parked in the yard. Standing beside it, she saw Evan in full uniform and a small, red-faced Amish man. The bearded man was obviously angry, because he was shaking a fist at Evan and delivering a verbal tirade in Deitsch. And from what Rachel could now hear, she was thankful that Evan’s grasp of the language wasn’t good. Shocked by the violent gesture she rarely witnessed among her people, Rachel descended the back steps and crossed the yard toward them. Abner followed her, but she didn’t wait for him.
“I only came to pay my respects,” Evan said. “I know that today is—”
“Not for outsiders, with your guns of the hand and your shiny buttons!” the little man exclaimed, switching back to English. “This is my land, my home. Tonight we sit with the body of our daughter, who is lost to salvation because of you Englishers.”
Evan caught sight of Rachel and flushed an even deeper red than his accuser.
Bishop Abner spoke up quietly. “Mose, I’m sure that this officer of the police meant to give no offense. He is a good man, trying to do the proper thing.”
Mose. Aunt Hannah had told her that Beth’s father was Mose. “This is the trooper who was with Beth,” Rachel explained in Deitsch. “At the quarry. He stayed with her until the ambulance took her to the hospital. Bishop Abner is right. This Englisher is a good man. He was a good friend to my Uncle Aaron when he had his trouble over Willy O’Day.”
Mose glanced at her, unclenched his hand, and dropped his arm to his side. “Not today is he welcome here,” he said firmly in English. “Not with my Beth lying cold in there.” His eyes, nearly hidden behind round, black-rimmed glasses, were full of pain.
Rachel looked back at Evan. “Maybe it would be better if you came another day,” she said, “unless Mose is required, by law, to speak to you now—”
“No. No.” Evan shook his head. “I only wanted to let the family know how sorry I was, to show my respects for their loss.” He seemed to recover a little of his composure. “I didn’t want to cause you further upset, Mr. Glick.” He offered his hand, but Mose stepped back, ignoring it.
“I want no gun of the hand here for my children to see. Such a gun is not for hunting. Only for shedding the blood of other men.”
“I’m sorry,” Evan said. “I should have thought . . .” He grimaced. “I was on my way to fill in for another . . .” He shook his head. “I’ll leave you, Mr. Glick. I just wanted you to know how badly I feel about what happened to Beth.”
Mose’s beard bobbed as he swallowed. He stepped back and pointed. “Leave now.”
Evan gave Rachel a stricken look and got back into the police car. Mose folded his arms and stood stiffly as Evan backed up the vehicle and drove back around the house.
“I think that he meant well,” Bishop Abner told Beth’s father. “Did he come to ask you more questions?”
Mose shook his head. “Ne. He did not. Early this morning, another two Englishers with guns came. They had many questions, but what could I say? She has been lost to us for a long time. We do not know where she goes or what she does. What evil people she might have . . .” He trailed off.
“This is a terrible time for you and for Mabel and for your other children,” Rachel said. The bishops had broken the news of Beth’s death to the family, but it was the police who had come to them this morning to tell them that she had been murdered. “But Evan Parks is a good man. He will help find the person who did this awful thing. They will be brought to justice.”
“You believe this?” Mose regarded her intently. “You think that finding the murderer and putting him behind bars will right the wrong?” He shook his head. “It will not. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’ It is for God to make justice on the sinners, not man.” He made a choking sound and turned away. “I will not allow hatred for a bad man to make my heart as black as his. I will find a way to pray for his soul, that he may yet be saved.”
Rachel was at a loss for words. The Amish way was to forgive the sin and forgive the sinner. Revenge wasn’t a concept they accepted.
“When the police find the killer and bring him to trial, he will be put away for the rest of his life,” she said. “To make certain he will never do to another human what he did to your daughter.”
Mose walked away without answering. A group of middle-aged Amish men standing beside the barn parted to let him into their midst, but he walked through the space between them without speaking. He didn’t pause when a tall man in a black coat and hat uttered his name.
“That is Mose’s bishop, Bishop Johan Schroder,” Bishop Abner explained. “And those are the elders of his church.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “This isn’t easy for any of them. Deciding what should be done with Beth. With her body. Where she should be buried. They don’t know what is right.”
“You know what’s right,” Rachel said, fixing her gaze on her family’s bishop. “You took pity on Beth. You did what you could for her, despite her having left the faith.”
“Some think I interfered where I should not have. Even some of my own church feel that I am not firm enough in condemning her.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Rachel said. “I’m glad we came to you first.”
He sighed. “I wish I could be glad. And I wish I could be certain that my detractors are not right. Maybe I am too lenient in my decisions.”
“Or maybe you are a wise leader,” Rachel said. “One who knows the true meaning of love.”
Rachel sat in Evan’s driveway outside his house the next morning at eight ten; it was his day off. He was a creature of habit, so she knew he’d be back from the gym any moment.
The evening before, she’d left the Glick house soon after Mose had ordered Evan to leave. After another fitful night’s sleep, she’d risen early and worked in her office. Then she’d scooped up some of Ada’s sticky buns and brought them to Evan’s.
When she saw him pull in, she got out of the Jeep.
“Still mad at me?” he asked as he joined her in the driveway. He was dressed in athletic shorts and a T-shirt. He drank water from a green Nalgene bottle she’d given him for his birthday. “I pretty much made a fool of myself last night at the Glicks’, didn’t I?”
She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I know you meant well.”
“I didn’t go there to interrogate her parents. I just wanted to express my condolences.”
“I know that.” She held up the plate of sticky buns she’d covered in plastic wrap. “I thought I’d make breakfast for us. You jump in the shower, and I’ll whip up a cheese omelet.”
He groaned. “No cheese. I ate the last of it on a slice of stale bread last night.”
She chuckled. “I thought there might not be.” Evan was notorious for having an empty refrigerator. The ingredients for his pasta sauce, yes. Other staples, not so much. “I came prepared.” She went to the back of the Jeep and retrieved a bag with a dozen eggs, a green pepper, mushrooms, and cheese. “Do you have milk?”
“I think so.” He took the bag.
“Good, then we’re making progress.” She walked up the sidewalk, waited while he unlocked the back door, and followed him inside the small, neat rancher.
“It’s pretty early in the morning,” he said. “Are we going to ruin your reputation if anyone sees your Jeep in my drive?”
She smiled up at him. “I’ll just tell them that I’m rumspringa .”
He grinned back at her. “Thanks for coming. I still feel bad about what happened last night. You warned me to stay away, but I thought that since I hadn’t come on official business. . .” He stopped and started again. “Guess it was dumb to come in the car and the uniform, but with the overtime hours . . .” He exhaled and downed the rest of the water in the bottle.
“Don’t worry about it.” She walked past him, into his kitchen. “What’s important is that you find out who did that to Beth. Quickly.”
“I fully intend to.”
“That’s what I told Beth’s father.”
“But you aren’t,” he warned, pointing at her. “You know what happened when you got involved with Willy O’Day’s murder. You took chances you shouldn’t have. You’re not to try and play detective with this case. It’s not safe.”
She held his gaze steadily, the bag of groceries between them. “That thought never occurred to me.”
“Right.” He frowned. “Well, good, so we agree on this. I’m the cop. You—”
“I’m the proprietor of a B&B.” She set the plate of sticky buns on the kitchen counter and went back to him for the bag of groceries.
“You’re more than that to me, Rachel.” His voice grew husky. “I care about you.”
“I know. Why do you think I’m here? I thought you needed a friend this morning.”
“I won’t let you put your life in danger again.”
She nodded, taking the grocery bag from him. “I hear what you’re saying, but—”
“But nothing. It’s not up for discussion. I shouldn’t have called you yesterday with the medical examiner’s report. It won’t happen again. No more privileged information. It just encourages you.”
“Fine,” she said, offering him a smile. “Now let me start this omelet before we ruin a pleasant morning by quarreling.”
“I’m sorry you ever went to that quarry.” He touched her cheek. “Sorry you had to see something like that.”
“Me, too,” she agreed, taking the bag to the counter. “But not nearly as sorry as I am that Beth Glick had to die like that.”