Upon A Winter's Night

by Karen Harper

  “That’s probably what he wanted—us together—not the camel,” she told him, keeping her voice down. “At least that picture shows what I told him about our relationship—only that I work with your animals. Glad he didn’t get us in the buggy together. But what a bad start for Ray-Lynn’s big night. Oh, Sheriff Freeman’s here.”

  “And Ray-Lynn’s filling him in. That reporter could be trouble. I think he’s the type to keep hanging around.”

  Things definitely improved after that as the animals were moved onto the set and the cast of characters took their places. The choir began to sing. The sheriff kept cars going past on the road, unless they wanted to pull into the parking lot for a longer view. Lydia jumped each time someone took a flash picture from a car, but at least the photos were from a distance and only of the manger scene. She estimated that about one-third of the visitors were in buggies.

  Lydia especially loved the angels, pretty, blonde teenage girls with wire wings who stood on a platform hidden behind the manger under the star of Bethlehem. They held trumpets and pretended to play. The Virgin Mary cradled a doll, and the church choir sang all the hymns Lydia loved, even the one with the haunting tune, “When blossoms flowered ’mid the snow, upon a winter night...” And Melly, even though they had strapped the ornate seat on her, seemed to be behaving for the three bearded wise men who more than once knelt before the manger with their treasures for the holy child.

  Lydia kept watching the buggies that went by, looking for her parents and others she knew. Gid drove by and pulled in the lot for a few minutes. She talked to him briefly, hoping he would not hang around, and he didn’t. He told her he had somewhere else to go and left with a wave. Bess drove slowly past with her grandsons and daughter-in-law in the car but no Connor. Lydia wondered if he was still out spraying sick trees. Wouldn’t it get all over town, and beyond, if he was actually defrauding his Christmas customers?

  Others from her church passed by in a line of buggies. She saw Bishop and Mattie Esh, and following them, Hannah and Seth Lantz with their two young children. The third buggy in that group carried Ella, a lavender grower, her husband, Alex Caldwell, and their young daughter. They were members of Lydia’s church, but a family with a worldly last name because Alex had been reared in the world and was one of the few outsiders to turn Amish. The last family she recognized were wood carver Ben Kline and his new wife, Abigail Baughman, who raised mushrooms, of all things.

  But, from the moment she’d arrived, Lydia had wondered which one of the background workers was her distant relative, Nathan Hostetler. By eight o’clock, with only an hour left to go, the donkey and sheep were starting to eat the straw on the floor of the manger and Melly had pulled a turban off one of the wise men. Ray-Lynn, looking frazzled but happy, came up to Lydia and whispered, “Nate Hostetler has some time to talk to you now. He’s taking a break on the porch steps behind the tableau. Good luck,” she added with a pat on Lydia’s back before she darted off again.

  Lydia whispered to Josh where she was going and hurried back toward the church.

  * * *

  Josh sure hoped that newspaper reporter didn’t show up again, because he was afraid he’d lose his temper and hit him. The guy had dared to come to the barn this afternoon, announced by the raucous greeting of the donkeys. He’d had the gall to walk right in and flash his name card, as if that made everything on the up-and-up.

  “I’m busy, Mr. Manning,” Josh had told him, once he’d read his card which announced he was a field reporter for the Cleveland newspaper. “And I’d appreciate it if you would get out of my barn and off the property.”

  “I know the Amish are good businesspeople,” he’d said, ignoring that request. “How about I do a story this spring on your petting zoo to bring in a lot of extra people, and you, in turn, answer a couple of my questions now? Like which loft did your friend Sandra Myerson fall from?” He craned his neck to look around. “Oh, I’ll bet that one there with the ladder.”

  “The Amish are law-abiding, nonviolent people, Mr. Manning, but I’m asking you to leave. There will be no answers to questions, no interview. Talk to the sheriff if you must, but—”

  “I have. He didn’t exactly say so, but you surely must have been a suspect in your former girlfriend’s death, at least before the accidental death ruling.”

  Josh fought to keep his temper locked down. It had gotten the best of him more than once recently, and the results were always bad. Besides, this guy had what they call the power of the pen. All he needed was to throw him out bodily or shove him...

  Instead, he forced himself to just turn away—turn the other cheek—and walk over to get Melly out of the pen. He was tempted to spit at the guy, just like a camel.

  “Just a few questions about your relationship with Ms. Myerson, then,” the idiot dared to ask, following but at a distance, so he had to shout. “I’ve interviewed the Columbus friends you have in common, but the fact she came here several times, was asking around, some say about your current girlfriend—seems Ms. Myerson still cared about you and wanted you back...”

  That, Josh thought, was too close for comfort. Was this guy fishing for a way to imply that either he or Lydia had wanted Sandra out of the way? The last thing he needed was Manning hitting on the possibility he had shoved Sandra off that loft.

  Josh flexed his fists and fought to keep from throwing the man out. Then he realized he should get Melly and maybe let her do the dirty work.

  He swung the gate to the pen open wide and called Melly out, Gaspar then Balty. With an open sack of feed in his hand, he walked straight for Roy Manning, the three camels shuffling in quick step behind him. He even threw a bit of camel feed at the man’s feet, so the animals crowded closer and swung their big heads toward him.

  Ya, thank the Lord. Cursing, the man raced for the door he’d come in. But as he started his car, Josh wondered if the intruder who had been lurking around his barn could be someone like that reporter.

  Josh had hoped he wouldn’t see Manning again, but he’d figured he might—and then here he’d turned up tonight at the tableau...with a camera.

  Josh shook his head to clear the memory and walked along the fence to look at the manger scene from the side. His animals were pretty much behaving. Hank had been picked up to go to his son’s birthday party, though he’d left the truck for another Englische guy to drive the animals back home.

  And, Josh saw with a glance back at the lighted church steps behind the manger, Lydia was finally getting to talk to a Hostetler relative who might have known her birth mother.

  * * *

  “Did Ray-Lynn tell you that my birth mother was Lena Hostetler?” Lydia asked Nathan Hostetler.

  “She only said you were related, and then were adopted by the Brands,” he told her. He was soft-spoken. Tall and lean with a sun-weathered face, he wore a trimmed beard, not an Amish one, and seemed quite nervous. He was dressed all in black, as were the other church members who were background workers.

  “I believe you are a distant cousin of my mother, Lena,” Lydia said. “I was hoping you or someone you are related to could tell me what you recall about her. She and my father, David Brand, were killed in a buggy accident when I was very young, so I don’t remember either of them. Any details or memories would mean a lot to me. I wonder if I resemble her or David at all.”

  He shifted on the step beside her. Frowning, he averted his eyes. “Not so much,” he said. “Well, hair color. I remember them, of course, family reunion, weddings, including theirs, Christmastime. But there are many Hostetlers, some still Amish, who are disappointed my family left the church to become Mennonites.”

  “I understand that. Is there anyone else you could mention that I could talk to, someone who knew Lena better? And do you know if she collected those little plastic snow globes?”

  “Are you sure you got your facts straight?” he asked, sitting up straighter and turning toward her for the first time. “I mean, it was a while ago, and their tragic a
ccident and all...”

  “But—”

  “The thing is, I think you got the adoption thing confused. It’s been years, but I remember my mother—she passed nearly ten years ago—saying you were adopted all right, but by David and Lena.”

  “No, I was adopted by the Brands, Solomon and Susan.”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “Sure, well, I know Lena and David would have been good parents had they lived. Growing up, Lena took care of her younger siblings, loved kids. That’s why I remember my mother saying she’d been sick somehow—Lena—and couldn’t have kids, but then got one.”

  Lydia wanted to burst into tears, to tell him he was wrong. But what really scared her was that this man’s comments more or less matched what old, blind Mr. Raber had told her. She recalled he had said of Lena Brand that she did not look pregnant, that They had no child—and then they did. Could two people who had known her parents—although not well—be so confused?

  She was going to ask him for more, for anything to prove to herself he was wrong. It had been years ago. His mother could have been ill when she told him about Lena and David’s child. But could it be—no, no way—that the Hostetlers had adopted her and, when they were killed, she was adopted a second time? No, she just knew Lena and David were her birth parents!

  “Mr. Hostetler, is there someone else who might know even more about the Brands, so that—”

  It was all she got out before Ray-Lynn appeared, out of breath. At first Lydia feared Melly had acted up again, but Ray-Lynn blurted, “Your parents are here—drove in the parking lot for a closer view. Your Dad stayed in the buggy, but your mother... I mean, she was talking to Josh, but I told her I’d find you so they didn’t have to look for y—”

  But Mamm was hurrying their way. She must have followed Ray-Lynn.

  “Oh, and who is this?” Mamm asked, looking at Mr. Hostetler.

  Ray-Lynn answered as he and Lydia stood. “This is Nathan, our church custodian. They’re both just taking a little break.”

  “Oh, so I see. I’m sure you both worked hard to put this lovely Christmas scene together,” Mamm said with a smile, but Lydia could tell she was upset. Maybe because her daughter was sitting alone with a strange man, one not Amish. Hopefully, she didn’t know he was a Hostetler.

  “I thank you again for all the hard work you and the church men did to set things up here,” Lydia told him, and tried to move Mamm away. But she wasn’t budging.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brand,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’m Nathan Hostetler, and my wife sure loves your family’s furniture.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Mamm said, finally turning to leave with Lydia at her side.

  “Hostetler, but not an Amish one,” Mamm said, her voice as chilly as the air. “So I find my daughter talking to a stranger in private.”

  “If you call the brightly lighted church steps private,” Lydia said as they made their way toward the manger scene. “I assure you, Mamm,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “I’m not going to run off with a Mennonite or a married man.”

  “I know,” she said, obviously not wanting to pursue the topic when Lydia figured she would. “Just you be sure you don’t run off with an Amish man who left the faith to live in the world, who wants to marry a girl with enough money to keep his petting zoo going.”

  Lydia’s nostrils flared and she gritted her teeth as they headed toward the buggy where Daad was waiting. Sadly, it sounded as if her undeclared truce with Mamm was over, and was it only because she was panicked that Lydia was chatting with a Hostetler? Why did Mamm—Daad, too—have to be so secretive about her past? Did they fear she might reject them or were they just overly protective since they’d lost Sammy?

  “A nice manger scene!” Daad called to her from the buggy. “The biblical animals add a lot, but I really like the angels.”

  “They’re my favorites, too,” Lydia said, and smiled at him. She wondered if, like her, he was thinking of her snow globe and the angelic figures on the quilt that would soon be hers.

  And she vowed that this wonderful man, in every way a father to her, would know, even when she told him she was seeking news about her birth parents, that he, Solomon Brand, would always be the father of her heart.

  23

  Although her parents wanted her to go home with them in their buggy, Lydia stayed to help Josh take the animals to his barn and get them bedded down.

  “Bedded down?” Mamm said. “Then how do you plan to get home?”

  “Mamm, Josh lives barely a quarter mile from us,” she said, trying to keep her annoyance in check. “His buggy will still be hitched, and he can easily run me home.”

  “Your mother just means,” Daad put in, “don’t you be walking the road or through the woodlot alone that late.”

  “I won’t. Josh wouldn’t let me.”

  “I’ll wait up, ya, I will,” Mamm said as she took the reins from Daad. She must have decided it would be too much for him to drive home. And they were gone.

  Josh came over. “Did Mr. Hostetler tell you anything useful?”

  Lydia shook her head. “He thought I was adopted by the Hostetlers as well as by the Brands. The thing is, that’s what Mr. Raber from Amity said, too, but I thought he was just senile. I’m going to have to find another Hostetler who knows what really happened. What if it’s true? About two adoptions?”

  “That can’t be. It was a long time ago and followed a tragedy. They’re confused. Are you sure you can’t just ask your father?”

  “I’m afraid to so much as tell him or Mamm I’m looking into my past. It’s a miracle they haven’t figured it out so far. They’re so different from each other but both fragile. Come on, let’s get these animals home.”

  Holding the envelope with Josh’s payment from the church on her lap, sitting beside him in his buggy, Lydia treasured every minute of their slow journey. She could tell he was nervous, probably since Hank wasn’t driving the truck behind them. It was a friend of Hank’s who didn’t work much with animals. But all went well, and the Beiler boys came out to help them unload.

  “Everything all right?” Josh asked them. “No problems?”

  “Just that the east side old milking door blew open a little bit ago,” Micah said. “I mean, the wind wasn’t much tonight, but we heard it bang, so we went down there. That old lock was broken.”

  “Ya, we had to nail it closed with a couple of boards,” Andy added. “And somehow the sheep you keep down there in the old cow milking area got loose in the barn—broke the latch on their pen, I guess. Musta been an accident, but we finally caught them all. Just got the last one back in the pen.”

  Lydia saw Josh stiffen. His facial muscles tightened to a grimace.

  “We don’t need more accidents,” he muttered, “not even something minor. That’s the wing I’m going to have remodeled soon, so it sounds like I’ll need a new door, too. Lydia,” he said in a louder voice, “you take Melly in. Andy and Micah, get the donkey penned up and fed, then you can head home. I’ll take the sheep and check things out down by the old cow stanchions. Oh, and your week’s salary’s in an envelope on my desk.”

  “Danki, Josh,” they said, almost in chorus.

  Lydia led Melly to the camel pen where they were greeted with welcoming snorts and gurgles. She made sure the water and feed pans were full, but the boys had done a good job. She walked with the two of them to the front barn door and watched them leave in Andy’s small courting buggy. Realizing she was still holding Josh’s payment envelope from the church, she headed back yet again to his office area. She wondered how the mother cat and her kittens were doing in the loft and glanced up at it. And screamed.

  It was hard to see from here, but—but... She tried to shout for Josh, but no sound came out.

  “Lydia! What is it?” Running feet. Josh’s voice, still distant. “What—”

  He skidded to a halt next to her. She pointed upward. He squinted into the lantern-lit dimness of the barn and g
asped. Painted in crimson on the side of the loft, one on each side of the ladder, were two crudely drawn angels. They both had their haloes pierced by devil’s horns, and the larger angel held a pitchfork as if guarding the very gates of Hell.

  And under that angel, in heavy, freshly dripping paint—or blood—the ladder leaned against the huge word KILLER!

  * * *

  “Oh, no. Look,” Ray-Lynn said to Jack after they parked side by side in their garage that night. “Lydia left her purse in my car for safekeeping and evidently forgot it. She was so harried at the end, she won’t even remember where she put it.”

  “Do Amish women put as much stuff in those as non-Amish?” he asked, looking at the plain black bag Ray-Lynn was holding out.

  “Are women women? Ding-dang, I’m tired, but I’ve got to get it to her tonight.”

  “Get back in, and I’ll drive. I swear, honey, you just ought to adopt one of these Amish girls you’re always sticking your neck out for. Okay, I know,” he said, snatching her car keys from her. “With Lydia, that adoption joke came out way bad.”

  * * *

  “Let’s get the boys back in here,” Josh said. “Can you catch them?”

  “They’re gone. Should I take your buggy and go after them? But you know they didn’t do this.”

  “No, I don’t want you out on the road alone at night. I know they didn’t do this or even see it, or they’d have said so. The broken door and the sheep made a diversion to get them away while someone came in the back. I hate to start locking barn doors. And that mess better not be blood, but it seems like it’s turning black, maybe clotting. I didn’t count the sheep. If someone’s killed one of them...but it’s obviously a reference to Sandra’s death.”

  They clung together, still staring aghast at the message and pictures.

  Finally, Lydia whispered, “But why the word killer? Is it accusing you or is that the signature of Sandra’s killer? Or is it meant to keep me from trusting you? Who could hate you that much?”