Plain Confession

by Emma Miller

  Mary Aaron shrugged. “He’s rumspringa. A friend of the Studers.”

  “But too young to be in Moses’s gang.” Her time in the English world always made her wince when she used the word gang in connection with Amish youth, but it was innocent enough, and the best translation of the word they used. Kids of the same age group in school tended to bond, and they stayed close friends as they married and raised families of their own. In many ways, Amish friendships were stronger than most Englishers’, almost as tightly knit as blood kin.

  “Ya, but Rosh’s steady, a good head on his shoulders. He told me he was going down the road when he saw the patrol cars in the barnyard. He thought I should know.” Mary Aaron braked to turn sharply onto a wooded lane, scaring up two pheasants that exploded into flight a hand span from the front bumper.

  “This had better be an emergency. This will be the third dress fitting I’ve missed.”

  “Rosh said there was trouble,” Mary Aaron repeated, hitting the gas hard and sending them both back in their seats. “He said to come.”

  Rachel grimaced. Mary Aaron was her dearest friend, but she wished she’d insisted on driving. She was definitely driving home. “So where was Rosh that he could see that there was already one police car there? Because I can’t see the house yet.” Branches were brushing the top of the Jeep as they pulled onto the dirt driveway. It was late fall, so the trees were leafless, but in the other seasons, this lane must have felt like driving through a shadowy tunnel.

  “He didn’t say.”

  The trees behind them, Rachel could see open pastureland and grazing cattle on either side. Ahead sprawled a two-story house built of gray fieldstone, a huge barn, and several outbuildings. She counted two marked police cars parked near the house. An Amish woman stood near the police cars, waving frantically toward a smaller structure between the house and stables.

  Mary Aaron brought the vehicle to a stop, and they both got out. Rachel saw that the woman in the blue dress was Daniel’s widow, Mary Rose. She had a black shawl thrown over her shoulders and was wearing a pair of men’s knee-high muck boots. Despite the oversized clothing and her frightened expression, Rachel was struck by how young and attractive Mary Rose was, far too young to be a widow.

  “Mary Aaron! Rachel!” Mary Rose gestured toward the open shed stacked with cords of wood. “Over there!” she shouted in Deitsch. “The woodpile. I’m afraid for Moses. You must do something.”

  A woman came around the shed. It was Lucy Mars, tall in her trooper’s uniform, boots, and hat. She stopped abruptly and gestured. “Rachel. Can you come and see if you can talk to this boy? I’m afraid we’ve got a situation here. I’m pretty certain he understands what we’re saying, but he’s not responding when we ask that he put the ax down.”

  “He’s got an ax?” Rachel asked incredulously.

  “Sounds to me like someone’s cutting wood,” Mary Aaron interjected.

  Rachel and Mary Aaron followed Lucy to the back of the building where Detective Sharpe and another trooper stood. Rachel didn’t know the second man well, but she thought his name was Lincoln.

  Mary Rose came behind them. “Moses, don’t be scared,” she said in Deitsch. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I’m going to ask you one last time to put that ax down and answer my questions,” Sharpe barked.

  Moses seemed not to have heard him, because he didn’t respond or even glance in the detective’s direction. The young man set another section of oak on top of a chopping block and brought the ax blade down to neatly divide the chunk in half. Without pause, he picked up another piece of wood, placed that on the block, and drove the ax head down with more power than Rachel would have thought he possessed.

  Rachel glanced over at Lucy. Her expression gave nothing away, but Rachel knew that she was concerned . . . and maybe even a little scared. Sharpe and the craggy-faced Lincoln were tense; the trooper’s right hand hovered above the butt of his holstered pistol. Lincoln’s face was pitted with scars, probably the result of a bad case of acne when he was a youth, Rachel supposed. But it made him appear fierce and threatening.

  Mary Rose tugged at Rachel’s arm. “Do something,” she begged in Deitsch. “They will hurt him.”

  Sharpe glanced at Rachel and Mary Aaron for the first time. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “This is a police matter.”

  “What’s the problem, Detective?” Rachel asked.

  Alma Studer hurried toward her. “I’ve told them to leave,” she said in Deitsch. “This is still my property. I don’t want them here upsetting my children, frightening Mary Rose.” She was wearing a man’s barn coat and muck boots similar to her daughter’s. She had a scarf tied over her head in place of a bonnet. She scowled at Sharpe. “Moses has nothing to say to them. He did nothing wrong. They should go.”

  “Calm down,” Rachel soothed in the same dialect. “The police are just doing their job. Don’t you want to know what happened to Daniel?”

  “What are you saying to her?” Sharpe asked. “Speak English.”

  “But they’ve upset Moses,” Alma said, ignoring the detective, “and Lemuel’s gone to get his hunting gun to run them off.”

  Mary Rose gave a little cry of alarm and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Rachel looked at Mary Aaron, who’d heard every word, and then back at Alma. “You have to stop Lemuel,” Rachel said. “If Lemuel comes out here with a gun, they’ll either shoot him or arrest him or both. You, too, Mary Rose. If you care for your brother’s safety, you have to keep him inside.”

  Alma hesitated for a few seconds and then turned and trotted toward the house. Mary Rose looked from Moses to her mother’s retreating back.

  “Go with her,” Rachel urged in Deitsch. “And don’t let Lemuel out of that house with a gun.”

  “Where’s she going?” the detective demanded as Mary Rose dashed away. “What did you say to her?”

  “I think her baby needs her,” Mary Aaron told him in English.

  Rachel glanced at her and Mary Aaron shrugged.

  Moses attacked another section of log with the ax and chunks flew. From the body language of the policemen, Rachel was afraid the situation was about to go from bad to worse.

  “Should I go with Alma and Mary Rose?” Mary Aaron asked, again switching to the Amish dialect.

  “Ne,” Rachel said. “Stay here with me. I need you here.” Adding Mary Aaron to the mix of agitated women and a frightened boy with a gun was more than she wanted to risk. “Can we all just take a breath, here?” Rachel then said in English.

  “What did you say to them?” Sharpe asked Rachel a second time. When she didn’t respond, he nodded toward Moses. “Tell him to put that ax down and answer my questions. Either that, or I’m going to place him in cuffs and he’s going to jail for interfering in the investigation of a murder.”

  Rachel stared at the detective. “So you’re definitely calling Daniel’s death a murder? What—”

  “We are,” Sharpe interrupted. “And Mr. Studer isn’t helping himself by this bizarre behavior. He acts as if he doesn’t hear us, but he does.”

  “Please,” Rachel said, holding up one hand to Sharpe. “Give me a minute.” She took a few steps toward Moses. “Could you put the ax down, Moses?” she said quietly in Deitsch. “You’re making the Englishers nervous.”

  He paused and lowered the ax. “Why? I don’t want to talk. I’m cutting wood for the stove.” His expression was strained, his lips taut and pale. He seemed totally baffled by the response by the police.

  “Moses.” She slowly moved closer to him and purposely put herself between him and the police. “You have to speak to them or they’ll think you had something to do with Daniel’s death. Your mother is upset. You don’t want her upset, do you?”

  “It’s them,” Moses replied tersely, not making eye contact with her. “They should go. We don’t need them Englishers here on Fader’s farm.”

  “But, Moses, it’s the law,” Rachel
explained. “We don’t get to choose. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I’m not afraid. Daniel is dead.” Moses suddenly swung the ax and sank it into the chopping block, no doubt startling the police.

  Rachel glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, Lincoln had released the leather strap from his sidearm. “It’s okay,” she called to the police. “Just give me a sec.” She turned back to Moses. “They just want to talk to you,” she told him in English.

  He switched to English. “No need for talk. Daniel is dead.” He looked at the detective. “I killed him.”

  She was so startled that it took her a moment to react. She threw up both hands. “Ne,” she said, speaking to the young man urgently in Deitsch. “Don’t say such a thing. The police think Daniel was murdered. You didn’t murder him. You aren’t a murderer.”

  “Yes,” Moses announced in accented English. “I am the one who shot Daniel.”

  Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. “Moses, listen to me. Don’t say anything more.” She glanced back at Sharpe. “Something’s wrong here. He doesn’t understand.”

  “I understand your English,” Moses said flatly. “I am the one you want.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I am Daniel’s killer.”

  “Read him his rights,” Sharpe ordered the male trooper. “Put the cuffs on him.” And then turning back to Moses, he said, “Moses Studer, you’re under arrest for the murder of Daniel Fisher. The officer will read you your rights.”

  * * *

  Evan found Rachel in the garage-turned-barn, a solid fieldstone structure now occupied by four goats. She hadn’t wanted goats, hadn’t planned to raise the animals. But she had acquired them in a crazy turn of events and had since become fond of them. She’d promised herself that she’d either build a real garage or put the goats in the old barn by the millpond, but there never seemed time to make it happen. Thus, winter was fast approaching, and her vehicle was parked in an open shed.

  “Rachel.”

  By Evan’s tone, she knew that he’d learned about what had happened at the Studer farm and about her part in it. He also knew where she hadn’t gone today.

  It was almost dark, and she’d just slipped outside to make certain there was water and enough bedding for the goats because the weather forecast was calling for low temperatures that night. She was forking hay into the manger when he entered the garage/barn. She kept at her task. It was easier to concentrate on feeding the animals than start an explanation of why she’d been forced to skip another wedding gown fitting.

  “Rachel, could you put down the pitchfork and talk to me?” he asked.

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Would you scoop out the goat chow? Three scoops. Level scoops.”

  Evan had changed out of his uniform and seemed much more approachable in his jeans, Timberlands, and old winter jacket. He wasn’t wearing a hat. Evan hated hats, and she always had to remind him to put one on when it got really cold and the wind whipped down off the mountain.

  “Why not four scoops?” he said. “I see four goats.”

  “Three scoops,” she repeated. She began to move some straw with the pitchfork. She wanted the goats to be warm and cozy tonight. A warm goat was a happy goat. And happy goats or any farm animal seldom got sick with the proper care. Her dat had taught her that.

  Evan measured out the goat food and poured it into the feed bin.

  “How did you know?” she asked him.

  “About your missed fitting or the fact that you were there when Moses was arrested?” He shrugged and his brow wrinkled. Evan had such an expressive face, open and youthful. He couldn’t hide anything from her, and she loved that about him. “Babs called me. From the dress shop. Sharpe talked to me end of shift. He wants me to get my woman under control.”

  Rachel was tempted to laugh; instead, she frowned. “I called and left a message at Babs’s. I didn’t just not show up. I’ll reschedule.” She hung her pitchfork back on the wall. That was another of her dat’s rules. Tools went back in their proper places. That way you can find them next time, and no one trips over them. “I don’t think it was necessary for her to call you,” she added.

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Of course. I didn’t get a chance. I tried to call you when we were on our way out to the Studers’.”

  He folded his arms over his broad chest. He was being so reasonable, so calm. It set Rachel’s teeth on edge. It would have been better if he just came out and said he was upset with her. She wondered if all weddings were this stressful.

  “I can’t believe how the whole thing went down with Moses.” She stole a glance at him. “Something’s definitely off. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. He’s an odd guy, but he’s no killer.” She pushed her navy scarf back. It was sliding down over her forehead, threating to fall over her eyes. “I wish you’d been there. Three policemen? Lucy was there. Lincoln and Detective Sharpe. And I’m beginning to be sorry you gave up the badge, because that man has no idea how to deal with people.”

  “Let’s talk about your fitting, first. Three times? You’ve missed three fittings? I’m beginning to wonder if . . .”

  “Don’t be silly. I had a perfectly good reason. Every time. Was I supposed to leave Hulda lying on the floor in pain? Let the house fill up with water?”

  “You’re sure you’re not getting cold feet again?” His voice was husky, deeper than normal, and she knew he was concerned.

  “Ne, Evan, I’m not. Of course not. I love you, and I want to be your wife. It’s just that stuff . . . well, my life is complicated.”

  He held out his arms, and she walked into them. She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest as his hug tightened. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “I love you so much, Rachel. I just don’t want anything to go wrong, this time.”

  Emotion made her stomach go all fluttery. “It won’t,” she assured. “And I’ll get the fitting. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  He tilted her face up with two fingers and tenderly brushed her lips with his. “I’m holding you to that,” he murmured.

  Rachel breathed in the scent of him. She was doing the right thing. She knew it. Before, they’d put a hold on the wedding because she didn’t know if she was ready to fully commit to him, but she didn’t feel that way now.

  She and Evan had been through so much together, and she could depend on him. He understood her, and best of all, he made her happy. “I had to go today,” she whispered. “It could have gone bad. I mean, it could have gone worse. He was just ignoring their orders, swinging an ax. I think he had them spooked.” She stepped back out of his embrace. “Evan, I’m not convinced that Moses is the one who killed Daniel. It doesn’t feel right.”

  Evan considered her statement. “How well do you know this young man?”

  “Not well, hardly at all. But Mary Aaron knows him. She’s pretty sure he has Asperger’s syndrome, which is why his behavior might have been . . . different today. But she doesn’t think he did it, either.”

  Evan shook his head. “Hardly evidence. The law is concerned with facts, not hunches. I’ll admit, you’ve had some good ones, but this time, I think it’s best if you let the system do its job.”

  “And if Moses is innocent?”

  “If he’s innocent, why did he confess?” Evan asked.

  “I don’t know.” She threw up her hands. “They wouldn’t let me talk to him after they arrested him.”

  He thought for a moment. “I’ll talk to Lucy. Get her take on this. If she was there, she must have thoughts on how the boy acted, if his confession seemed genuine. She’s a good cop.”

  “So are you,” Rachel said. “And you know that sometimes the truth isn’t what it first appears.” She pushed her sliding scarf up again. “And you’re the one who got me involved in this when you asked me to be there when Sharpe spoke to the family.”

  “That didn’t go too well, did it?” Evan grimaced. “I know how hard it i
s for you, but try. For my sake. Don’t push into official police business, unless you’re asked.” He gave her a half smile. “And if you’re so worried about Moses, make sure he gets a public defender now rather than later. Unless the community is willing to pitch in for a paid lawyer. A good defense attorney is expensive, and I wouldn’t guess that the Studer family has the money.”

  “I’ll make some calls first thing in the morning,” Rachel promised. She switched off the lights, said good night to her goats, and they were just closing and latching the door behind them when a big Chevy van pulled into the yard.

  Rachel recognized the driver, Tom Perkins. He was a postal worker who’d retired in Stone Mill with his wife a few years previously and earned extra money by driving the Amish. Sitting beside him in the front seat was a woman in an Amish bonnet and cape. “I wonder who this is,” she said to Evan.

  The passenger’s door opened and Alma Studer climbed down. “Rachel Mast,” she called in her usual abrupt manner. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Moses.”

  Chapter 4

  “Ya.” Rachel hurried across the driveway. “Of course. Won’t you come inside? I can make us a pot of tea.” If Alma objected to her jeans and work coat or even noticed her very un-Plain clothing, she gave no sign of it, but nodded. Rachel glanced at Evan.

  “Let me see if Tom would like to come in for coffee,” he suggested. “You and Alma can go into the small parlor where it’s private.”

  Rachel offered him a grateful smile. He understood that whatever Alma wanted to tell her about her son, there was little chance that she’d say anything in front of Evan or the driver. “Perfect,” she assured Evan. “There’s sweet potato pie in the pie safe in the kitchen. There may be some raisin left as well.”

  She hadn’t eaten supper yet, and she doubted that he had, either. There was corn chowder and ham in the refrigerator. Her amazing housekeeper always left something yummy. But, considering Evan’s appetite, she didn’t think it would hurt him to have dessert first and a meal later. Knowing him, he’d likely finish the evening off with another piece of pie.