Timothy kept his promise, and Ellie agreed to meet with me. In the late afternoon, we walked together toward her home. Although the air was cool, the sun’s rays warmed my face. Timothy laughed. “Enjoy the sun while you can, because bad weather is headed our way. The weatherman predicts snow. We haven’t had a white Thanksgiving in more than ten years. If there is enough snow, maybe we can talk Grossdaddi into hooking Sparky up to his sleigh.”
“Grandfather Zook has a sleigh?”
Timothy nodded. “He’s almost as proud of it as he is of his buggy.”
That was saying a lot.
As we got closer to the house, I notice two houses in the back of the property. The large white two-story home with gray shutters could be seen from the pavilions, but beyond that a smaller one-story ranch-style home stood behind it painted the same colors.
“The first house belongs to the twins,” Timothy explained as we passed the larger home. “Ellie and her husband lived there, but after her husband passed on, the family built the small home, leaving the big house for her sons.”
“Neither of the twins married?”
He shook his head.
Clearly Timothy didn’t know about Sadie and Ezekiel’s relationship. I wondered who did. It was a miracle the couple kept the secret in such a close-knit community. Did the bishop know about it? Did he approve or disapprove? Could I find out from Ellie if she knew without breaking Sadie’s trust?
Timothy squeezed my hand. “You look nervous.”
Several Amish men stood outside Ellie’s house, drinking coffee from metal thermoses. Remembering what the deacon said about my influence on the Troyer family, I removed my hand from Timothy’s grasp.
Timothy’s expression fell. He recovered, then approached the men, speaking to them in Pennsylvania Dutch.
A man who was a good foot taller than me stepped over to us. I got a crick in my neck looking up at him. “She’s grieving,” he said in English.
“I know,” Timothy said.
The man was stone-faced. “You will have to come another time.”
I stepped back, ready to go. The front door to Ellie’s home opened, and Uri poked his head out. “It’s okay, Levi. I knew they were coming. My mother is expecting them.”
Levi cracked his knuckles and stepped away from the door. I suspected he was the Amish equivalent of a bouncer. In the English world such a man would be outside of a bar. In the Amish world he was posted outside of a home in mourning.
Uri held the door open so that Timothy and I could enter. We stepped into the living room, its furniture simple except for a large china cabinet against one wall containing a collection of beautiful hand-painted dishes. Three women sat in the room, working on needlepoint projects. They didn’t look up from their work when we entered.
The house smelled like cookies. “Maam is in the kitchen.” Uri’s eyes were bloodshot and no remnant of his teasing nature remained. Despite everyone saying the twins were not close, the death of Ezekiel had obviously come as a blow to his brother. He nodded toward the kitchen. “It’s the place she feels the most comfortable.”
We followed Uri through the shotgun-style house with the kitchen in the back. The restaurant’s kitchen had all the modern conveniences: stainless steel appliances, blenders, food processors, and electricity. Electricity was allowed in the family place of business. Their home was a different story. The kitchen was much like the one in the Troyer farm. It had running water, but the white appliances ran on propane, even the refrigerator, which hummed in the corner. A lit kerosene lamp hung low over the kitchen table causing me to wonder if anyone had ever knocked it with their head and caught their hair on fire.
“Maam,” Uri said. “Timothy and Chloe are here.”
Ellie pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven and placed it on the stovetop. She placed another sheet in the oven. “Have a seat and a cookie.”
The kitchen table was piled high with cookies: chocolate chip, peanut butter, shortbread, and the list went on. Each one perfectly baked. There wasn’t a burnt or misshapen cookie in the lot. “Wow, that’s a lot of cookies.”
She grunted as she straightened up. “I have to be ready for the viewing.”
Uri leaned against the wall. “Maam, you know every lady in the district would make the cookies for you.”
She eyed him. “They wouldn’t be half as good. I won’t have mediocre cookies at my son’s wake.”
I studied Ellie. Outwardly she appeared fine. Is this how the Amish women grieve? Through baking? More likely this reaction was specific to Ellie. Timothy and I sat at the table in front of a pile of white cookies that resembled coconut macaroons. They smelled like cinnamon. Despite having just eaten a full meat loaf dinner, my mouth watered.
“Go ahead and have one,” Ellie said. “Those are my sour cream cookies.”
Sour cream in a cookie? What did I know? I only baked those break-apart premade cookies from the supermarket. All you had to do was slap them on the tray and pop them in the oven. Still, half came out burned to a crisp and the remainder raw.
I selected the smallest of the sour cream cookies. Timothy reached across the table and took the largest one. It was light and fluffy, somewhere between a cookie and cake. “This is the best cookie ever.”
Ellie moved perfectly round shortbread from a cool cookie sheet to the wax paper lying across the table. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll give you the recipe.”
I smiled, knowing my cookies would never come out like these. However, I’d happily share the recipe with Becky. Sigh. My diet was suffering a long and painful death. My wayward thought startled me and I cleared my throat. “When is the viewing?”
She sat at the head of kitchen table and selected a peanut butter cookie from the pile in front of her. “The police chief said his body will be released to the funeral home at four o’clock today. Uri, with the help of the men, will bring him here from the funeral home.”
My brow shot up. “The Amish use a funeral home?” I clamped my mouth shut, feeling crass for asking such a question.
Ellie broke a cookie in half. “Yes, we do for the embalming part of death. We don’t have anyone to do that, and it is the law. We don’t have services there as the Englischers do. Instead, we hold our own services on the third day after death.” She broke the cookie into quarters. “Because of the violent nature of my son’s death, we have had to delay it. The body will be displayed in my home for two days and friends and family will visit. The funeral is on the third day.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
“Death is unavoidable.” Her expression fell. “No mother wants to outlive her child, but I have to accept this as the will of Gott.”
I wasn’t as sure about that. I still couldn’t find God’s will in my mother’s death nearly eleven years before.
Timothy swallowed another sour cream cookie. “Grossdaddi sends his condolences.”
Ellie smiled at that. “He’s a gut friend. I hope he will be well enough to attend the funeral.”
“I know that he will want to,” Timothy said. “But the bishop has instructed the district to avoid him and the rest of the family for a time. Grossdaddi would not want his appearance to disrupt such a solemn day.”
Ellie stacked peanut butter cookies five high. “I don’t much care what the bishop and deacon want right now. If I want you and your family to be there, you should come. Chloe, I would like you to come too.”
Uri cleared his throat. “Maam, this isn’t a gut time to irritate the bishop.”
“There’s never a gut time for that. I hope he will respect my wishes.”
“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” Uri muttered.
A timer dinged, and Ellie bustled to the oven. She pulled out the cookie sheet and slipped a new one inside. The baked cookies were just as perfect as every previous batch. “I know you and Timothy aren’t here to talk about the bishop and deacon.” Ellie returned to her seat and started stacking cookies.
I glanced at Timothy and he told Ellie about the attack on his grandfather.
Ellie dropped a cookie on the floor. “That’s horrible. He could have been killed. Do the police think it’s the same person who killed my son?”
Uri picked up the fallen cookie and tossed it into the sink.
“That’s one possibility.” I stacked a few cookies.
“It is hard to believe there would be two monsters like this in the district.”
Uri plucked a sour cream cookie from the table. “Do you really think they are monsters, Maam? They may only be desperate men who made poor decisions.”
She held her son’s gaze. “Whoever would consider murder an option is a monster in my thinking.”
Uri grabbed two more cookies and leaned against the wall.
She glanced back and forth between Timothy and me. “The police must catch this person.”
“That’s why we’re here. We’re helping the police in a . . . um . . . unofficial way.” I resisted the urge to pick up another cookie.
Uri leaned against the wall again. “What does unofficial mean?”
“It means we are concerned citizens.”
He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. Even to my own ears it sounded weak.
“I know Gott has a reason for all this, but I don’t want it to happen again or to someone else’s child.” Ellie nudged her cookie stacks away from the table’s edge. “How can I help you?”
“Can you answer a few questions?” I asked.
She snapped a cookie in half. “Go ahead.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you know if anyone was angry with Ezekiel?”
“Chief Rose asked me the same thing. Ezekiel rubbed lots of folks the wrong way. A vendor or supplier always seemed to be mad at him. I don’t know how many times I heard my son arguing with someone over the phone about the cost of something. He was a shrewd businessman and felt we deserved the best price and terms on everything. But we’ve worked with all of those vendors and suppliers for over twenty years. I cannot see why any of them would hurt my son now after all this time.”
Ellie had a point. After twenty years, it seemed like a waste of time for those vendors and suppliers to kill Ezekiel now.
“My son was gut at his job. Without him the business would have failed when my husband died.” She sighed.
Against the wall, Uri flinched.
“Was he close to anyone outside of the family?” Timothy asked.
Sadie’s round face came to my mind.
Uri shifted in his place against the wall. “I loved my twin, but he didn’t have many friends. He was prickly. Even so like Maam, it’s hard for me to imagine anyone would want to kill him. Most people were irritated by him.”
“It’s hard to imagine the business without him.” Ellie removed another cookie from the pile and placed it in front of her. “I know how to cook and run a kitchen, but I have no head for figures. Ezekiel took over managing the business, and it’s tripled in size in the ten years since my husband’s death.” She sighed. “It will be up to Uri now to keep the business running.”
Uri pushed away from the wall and scowled. “I’ll be in the barn.” He stomped out of the room.
Ellie sighed. “Uri’s never had much interest in the business. He’s let his brother do most of the work for years. He must realize that it’s on his shoulders now.”
I began stacking chocolate chip cookies. “And if Uri can’t manage the business?”
She frowned and moved cookies crumbs around on her placemat. “Then I will have to reconsider what I want for the restaurant and flea market. My eldest daughter, Bridget, and her husband James have already hinted to me that they are willing to help.” She frowned. “James has had his eye on the flea market since the day he showed up in his courting buggy.”
Mentally, I added James to my list of people to talk to. “Do Bridget and James live in the district?”
She nodded. “They have a sheep farm down the road. It’s been in James’s family for generations.”
I knocked over a stack of cookies and quickly restacked them. Sheep farm? Didn’t Chief Rose say the killer stabbed Ezekiel with sheep shears?
“Are Bridget and James here today?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as eager as I felt.
“They were, but they had to go home to tend the flock. They will be here as much as possible,” Ellie said.
“Uri will rise to the challenge,” Timothy said, “in time.”
She smiled. “You might be right. You know it was his idea to enclose the pavilions, which despite everything, will be a great improvement for our family. Perhaps he will pull through.” She sighed. “Time is what he needs. He’s taking it hard. I know everyone thought the twins spent most of their time fighting, but they were close. They have lived together their whole lives. I worry about Uri. I hope he knows he can go on without Ezekiel.”
I leaned forward. “Was Ezekiel acting strangely before he died? Anything out of the ordinary?”
She thought for a minute. “He was his typical grouchy self, but somehow he seemed less so. I even caught him smiling to himself once. I asked him what he was smiling about, and he snapped at me. That was his way. He didn’t have time for frivolity.”
Sadie. She was the one who’d managed to bring a smile to Ezekiel’s face. I twisted my mouth. “Was there anyone else Ezekiel talked about outside of the family?”
She snapped a butter cookie in half. “You mean in business. He spoke of many people. You wouldn’t believe the number of vendors, suppliers, farmers, and merchants we deal with on a daily basis to keep the restaurant and flea market running. Also, now with the construction, the number of folks Ezekiel dealt with had doubled.”
“Any . . . um . . . friends?”
Timothy stared at me.
Ellie frowned. “Nee, my Ezekiel was too busy for friends, and neither of my sons has shown much interest in marriage.”
“How old are the twins?” I asked.
“They just turned thirty this past May.”
“That’s not too old.”
“Maybe in the Englisch world, but for the Amish they should have two or three children by now.”
Timothy, who was twenty-seven, shifted in his seat. Had he stayed Amish, he would certainly be married by now with children. The idea made me sick to my stomach.
The timer went off on the oven again. “Do you have any more questions?” Ellie asked.
I opened my mouth, but Timothy was faster. “Not right now. Thank you for speaking with us, Ellie.”
She opened the oven door. “You’re welcome. In return, I expect to see both of you at the funeral.”
I opened my mouth again to make an excuse, but again Timothy spoke first. “We will be there.”
Timothy and I walked back to the restaurant together. “Why did you tell her that we would attend the funeral? You know how the bishop feels about it.”
He peered down at me. “If a grieving mother wants me to attend her son’s funeral, I’m going to be there. It’s as simple as that.”
“Are you free now?”
“I can be,” Timothy said with a smile.
“Good, because I need to meet some sheep.”