In the church’s cloakroom, I searched for my black peacoat among the sea of black fabric. A flickering dome fixture in the ceiling lighted the way as my fingers rifled through the tightly packed garments. Wooden hangers knocked together like Asian wooden chimes, and I was no closer to finding the peacoat.
I should invest in brighter colored outwear. Black was the go-to color of choice for the Mennonites of Appleseed Creek, Ohio. Perhaps I would buy a nice royal blue or purple coat as an early Christmas present to myself. Red was out of the question, because it would clash with my hair.
Two women in long skirts and sensible shoes stepped into the tiny room. “I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anything like it,” one of the women told her companion. Her brown-gray hair fell in a long braid from the base of her head to the waistband of her skirt. “It’s scandalous and makes everyone in the district look bad.”
Her friend pulled a ski coat from a hanger and struggled into it. The puffy jacket accentuated her plump figure. “And to attack the bishop’s daughter like that.”
“It’s terrible. She’s such a sweet girl. Not particularly bright, but sweet. I always prefer she wait on me at the bakery,” the woman with the braid confided. “The bishop’s daughter may give me the wrong change, but she does it with a smile on her face. The other girl who works there acts like she’s doing me a favor by selling me a loaf of bread.” She patted her slender hip. “As you can see, I’ve had a few too many of those.”
“Don’t be silly. You look like you live on carrots and salad.” The woman’s coat ballooned up near her ears as she leaned closer to her friend. “I’ve been thinking about all of this.”
I should have let the ladies know I was there, but instead, I backed further into the closet to better conceal myself.
Braid nodded encouragement. “Yes?”
“This has to be some kind of message to Bishop Hooley.”
“Could be. He’s only been bishop a few weeks, but I heard much has changed in the district since he took the post.”
“My Amish neighbor told me Bishop Hooley is more rigid than Bishop Glick, God rest his soul. Hooley forbade a man from attending Sunday services because the man’s beard was too short.”
Braid searched the top shelf of the cloakroom and collected child-sized hats, mittens, and gloves. “I heard Hooley broke up a youth social meeting. Sent everyone home and caused quite a stir in the community.”
Braid picked up a fedora she’d knocked to the floor. “Some Amish parties are wild.”
Her friend wrinkled her nose. “Most aren’t, and my neighbor insisted there wasn’t any drinking or carrying on at the party.”
“How would she know? Was she there?”
“No. Her son told her.”
Braid rolled her eyes as she set the fedora back on the shelf. “You know teenagers. Of course, the son would say the party was completely innocent. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times my children have lied to my face.”
Ski Coat began to gather her children’s hats and mittens too. “I say if Bishop Hooley thinks the Amish district needs stronger control, there must be a reason.”
I stepped deeper into the closet and knocked the back of my head on a row of empty hangers. They clattered together and swung wildly on their pole. Ski Coat glared at me and whispered something to her friend. Braid nodded, and the pair collected the remainder of their coats and left the cloakroom.
I bit my lip. If the bishop chastised an Amish man about the length of his beard, what did he have planned for the Troyer family? Who attacked Bishop Hooley’s daughter? How was she attacked?
Becky Troyer, my nineteen-year-old roommate, popped her head into the cloakroom, the cheeks of her heart-shaped face slightly red from the cold wind. Her long, blonde braid fell over her shoulder. “Chloe, what’s taking so long? Timothy’s waiting to take us home.”
I felt a smile form when she said Timothy’s name. Timothy was Becky’s twenty-seven-year-old brother and I had a monstrous crush on him. I suspected he felt the same way about me, but we’d yet to discuss it. Both Becky and Timothy grew up Amish and left their district to live as English. Despite leaving the Amish way, they were close to their family—their parents, grandfather, and three younger siblings. “I can’t find my coat.”
She scanned the black wall of fabric and plucked my peacoat from its hanger on the first try.
I blinked. “How did you do that?”
“I know what it looks like.” She handed it to me. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
Outside of the cloakroom, Timothy waited for us. It took all of my willpower not to gawk at him. He and Becky shared the same white-blond hair and blue eyes. All the Troyer children had those features in common. He was just shy of six feet tall and had the muscular build of a man accustomed to working with his hands.
When he saw me emerge from the cloakroom, his eyes crinkled at the corners. A silly grin formed on my lips but faded when I saw who stood next to him.
Hannah Hilty, a tall, slender brunette, prattled in Timothy’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Timothy. Daddy said that you will find great success as a contractor and your business will rival his.”
Timothy tore his eyes away from mine and bent his head to meet Hannah’s gaze. As he did, his blond hair reflected the hallway’s ceiling lights. “That’s nice of your dad to say, Hannah. If I do half as well as he has, I’ll consider myself successful.”
“You already are.” She placed a small, white hand on his arm as if in reassurance. Her pink-polished fingernails were filed to a sharp point. “Daddy says the Young contract is the biggest one in the county right now. He’s so pleased his protégé got it.” She sighed. “I wish you and Daddy would team up somehow.”
I clenched my jaw. I knew exactly how Hannah wanted her father, one of the most successful general contractors in Knox County, Ohio, and Timothy to team up: with a wedding.
“That’s a great idea, Hannah,” her friend Kim cooed. Tall and rail thin, Kim was one-half of Hannah’s cheering squad. Emily, the other half, was MIA.
Becky rolled her eyes at me. “Timothy, I found Chloe.”
I tried to plaster a pleasant expression on my face but a scowl formed instead.
“Chloe, there you are,” Hannah trilled as if she had just noticed me. “I was telling Timothy that you might have gotten lost. The church building can seem so large and confusing to a visitor.”
Kim covered her mouth.
I forced a smile. “In the last few months, I haven’t gotten lost yet.”
Hannah shrugged. “It takes time to find your way.”
Becky skirted behind Hannah and crossed her eyes at me. I stifled a laugh.
“Ready to go?” Timothy asked.
I nodded and buttoned my coat.
Hannah squeezed Timothy’s arm. “Before you go, have you heard the news?”
I had a bad feeling about this.
Timothy fished leather gloves out of his coat pocket. “What news?”
For a second, I wondered if Hannah would say something about the conversation I overheard in the cloakroom. What did she know about the new rules in the Amish district or the bishop’s daughter?
“Isaac Glick and Esther Yoder are set to marry on Thanksgiving Day. I’m so happy for them. They’re the perfect match. I see lots of little Amish children in their future.”
Becky paled. Isaac was Bishop Glick’s son and formally Becky’s suitor. Their relationship died along with the beloved bishop during the summer. Esther had been waiting not-so-patiently to snatch up Isaac for some time.
Kim’s mouth bent upward in a crooked smiled, this news bulletin had been carefully orchestrated.
Timothy cleared his throat. “I knew they were courting.”
Hannah laughed. “It is Amish wedding season. There’s been a wedding every Tuesday and Thursday this month.”
Becky took a step back as if she knew what would come next.
Hannah’s long, canvas skirt ballooned around her ankles as she spun around. She placed a hand on her cheek. “I’m sorry, Becky, I forgot about you and Isaac. This news must be upsetting, considering . . .”
Sure, you did.
Becky fingered her long, pale-blonde braid. “I’m happy for Isaac.”
Hannah placed a hand to her chest and sighed deeply. “Good. I would hate to upset you.”
I’ll bet.
Kim turned around, her shoulders moving up and down in barely restrained laughter. A smirk played at the corners of Hannah’s mouth. After saying good-byes, the pair strolled down the hallway arm-in-arm, their heads close together.
I stole a glance at Becky as we stepped through the church’s front door. She concentrated on the top of her boots—Ugg knock-offs we’d found on a trip to the Polaris Mall. Along with the boots she wore a knee-length pencil skirt, black tights, and a teal winter coat with a faux fur-lined hood over an orange sweater. She’d come a long way from her Amish upbringing of plain clothes. As for her physical appearance, the last remnant from her Amish childhood was her uncut, blonde air. Even braided, it hung all the way to her tailbone.
I pulled a cotton scarf from my coat pocket and wrapped it around my neck. The late November wind bit into my exposed skin. A fine dusting of snow blanketed the church lawn, and an earlier-than-normal winter storm warning was in the forecast for later in the week. It seemed Knox County was due for a frosted Thanksgiving in addition to the standard white Christmas.
In silence, we followed the walk that wrapped around the outside of the white-washed Mennonite church building to the parking lot. As we rounded the corner, Timothy’s blue pickup truck came into view.
Other parishioners leaving the church gawked and whispered to each other. Appleseed Creek Chief of Police, Greta Rose, leaned against Timothy’s truck like she didn’t have a care in the world. Mabel, Timothy’s shaggy black and brown dog, stood in the bed of the truck trying, unsuccessfully, to convince the chief to scratch her between the ears.
Becky pulled up short. “What is she doing here?”
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. There were few people I was less eager to see than Hannah Hilty, but Chief Rose was one of them. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”