by Emma Miller
“She told me to put a spoon in the refrigerator and get it cold and then let Baby chew on that. And she gave me a bit of coral to hang around her neck. Not as a fancy, but to help the pain,” Alma explained.
“Ride a pony, ride a pony, ride him to the mill,” Rachel sang to the baby. The teary eyes brightened and a smile stretched across her adorable face. God willing, Evan and I might have a child, Rachel thought. She did want one or two children, but the midwife had been right. She wasn’t getting any younger. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have a baby of her own. Sleepless nights, she thought, but oh, the reward of that precious smile.
“You know that I can’t go to that place to see my son,” Alma said, coming to sit across from her. “To that English jail.”
She was wearing a dark-green dress today with a starched white apron and a proper kapp. The green did nothing for her complexion. Alma looked bad, her skin color almost gray. Rachel wondered how old she was. If she’d married young and had Moses early, she might not be much older than Rachel herself, but she looked like a woman who had suffered greatly and worked hard. Many Amish women aged poorly, especially those from low-income households. And from what Rachel knew of her, Alma’s life had not been an easy one.
“I know I should go. He is my son,” Alma went on, “but I can’t bring myself to go in there with all those wicked people.”
“Not all so wicked,” Rachel reminded her. “Moses isn’t wicked.”
“Ne, he isn’t. But I’m afraid they will never let him leave that terrible place.” She reached for the now cooing baby. “You have a natural touch,” she said. “You will be a good mother.”
“I hope so,” Rachel said. She got to her feet. “I have to tell you, Alma, I’m afraid I failed you. You asked me to help your son and I’ve done my best, but—” She shook her head slowly.
Alma started to cry. The baby’s eyes widened and she started to sob as well.
“He didn’t do it,” Alma managed. “The police didn’t even investigate. They didn’t . . . didn’t ask so many questions . . . like you. They don’t care whether . . . whether my boy is guilty or not. I didn’t think it would be this way.”
Rachel walked over to stand beside her and put an arm around Alma’s bony shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” Rachel said. “So sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Mother?” Mary Rose came into the room. “Whatever is . . . Give me Baby.” She took the child from her mother. “Don’t, don’t cry. Tears will not help our Moses. Only prayer. God must help us.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel repeated. “I’ve gotten nowhere. And now, I’ve upset your mother terribly. Forgive me.” Still stammering apologies, she found her coat and let herself out of the house. She felt so awful. These women had depended on her and she’d let them down.
Sadly, she walked to her Jeep and got in. She was out of options, and two days from now she’d be married and on her way to her honeymoon. It was over and she’d failed. The taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue. Evan was right: She’d let Alma believe that she could do more than she’d delivered.
And instead of helping, she’d only made things worse.
Chapter 18
“Would you like another poppy seed muffin?” Rachel offered.
“Ya, and I definitely need more tea.” Mary Aaron carried the electric kettle to the bathroom and refilled it. Because she’d spent the night with her parents at the Hostetler home, she was wearing Amish clothing, minus her prayer kapp.
The two of them were having a late breakfast in Rachel’s apartment on the upper floor of the inn. Mary Aaron had been up before dawn to help with milking on her father’s farm. Rachel had risen at six, but neither had found time to eat.
“Earl Grey?” Mary Aaron asked as she padded back across the rug in her high black stockings. She’d left her shoes at the door. “Or would you rather have the Irish Blend?”
Outside, a blustery wind beat at the old stone house, but the sun had broken through the gray clouds and light poured through the multipaned windows, making the big room cheerful. Mary Aaron’s fair hair was pulled back into a bun, though tendrils escaped to spill over her ears and down her forehead. The cold weather had turned her cheeks and her freckled nose a glowing pink.
“Either. I don’t care. Just make it strong. I need the caffeine.” Rachel, in jeans, moccasins, and a flannel shirt, stood beside a window, trying not to feel overwhelmed.
The room, a combined seating area, bedchamber, and kitchenette, usually neat, was in chaos. The wedding rehearsal was at six that evening and Rachel was still trying to decide what to wear, plus she was in the midst of packing for her honeymoon and trying to pack for a place she’d never been. At least that was what she’d told Hulda she was doing when her neighbor came to take over management of Stone Mill House for the day. In reality, Rachel was contemplating running away to join a Buddhist monastery . . . or maybe a hippie commune . . . with Evan, of course. She wanted to go anywhere she wouldn’t be required to add more worries to the ones already troubling her.
The flowered dress that was in first place for the rehearsal hung over the bathroom door; the matching heels were under the bed. Rather, one was under the bed. Rachel couldn’t find the second one. Her wedding gown took up half of the closet. The shoes for the gown stood ready on the shelf above. A large suitcase was open on the bed, and Bishop had taken up residence there for the morning, settled contentedly amid the articles of clothing already consigned to the trip.
Evan was working again all day, which was for the best. Because, if she had spoken to him, they would probably quarrel so badly that they would have to back out of the wedding. Rachel’s nerves were on edge, so much so that she’d bitten her nails, something that she rarely did. Now she was trying to figure out when she could fit in a manicure.
“Won’t you at least come to the rehearsal dinner tonight?” Rachel begged. She’d wanted her cousin to be her maid of honor, but Mary Aaron had declined. She wasn’t comfortable taking part in an English wedding, and she certainly wasn’t allowing anyone to put her in a bridesmaid’s gown. “I’d feel better if I knew you were going to be there.”
Mary Aaron measured tea leaves into the teapot. “Ne, you’ll do fine without me. You’ll have Evan and his mother.” She made a face and added hot water from the electric kettle to the rose-patterned teapot. “Besides, I don’t think I’d like the food. It won’t be home-cooked, and it won’t be Deitsch.”
Rachel was afraid that her parents would feel exactly the same way. The rehearsal dinner for the wedding party was going to be at Magnolia, the new little restaurant in town. Evan’s mother had picked the place and the menu. Rachel’s dat was paying for it, despite Rachel’s protests, though she knew that he and her mother would not enjoy the evening. Her parents would be on their best behavior, though. Her father would smile and go along with it, but her mother would miss no opportunity to remember each unfamiliar custom and remark and remind Rachel repeatedly of the transgressions at a later time.
Rachel knew what was coming and hadn’t the slightest idea how to soften the disaster. She certainly wasn’t ashamed of her parents, but she could anticipate nothing but awkwardness for all involved. Evan’s mother would gush and Rachel’s mam would be polite but distant. And Evan, Evan who got along wonderfully with her parents and was adored by his mother, wouldn’t have a clue any of it was going on.
Rachel had been born into a conservative and isolated religious group in a house without electricity, a telephone, a radio, or TV. She hadn’t ridden on a public bus, in a cab, or on a plane until she was an adult. But sometimes she felt as if Evan was the innocent one, especially when it came to dealing with outward appearances and the undercurrent of emotions involved in the mixing of cultures. Marrying him meant that she was taking on a second mother, and her duties toward his remaining parent would be just as compelling as those she owed her own. It was no wonder that few Amish-born women ever left the faith or married outside it.
“You know, you’re supposed to be happy about this wedding,” Mary Aaron said, watching Rachel. She dropped her hands to her hips. “You don’t look happy.”
“I am happy. I want to marry Evan.” She groaned. “I just wish we didn’t have all this other stuff in the way.”
“Or your future mother-in-law.”
Rachel shook her head. “Ne, that’s not true. She has a lot of good points. In time, I’m sure we’ll become good friends.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Mary Aaron said in a singsong voice.
“My father says marriage is all about learning to put the other partner first. If I put Evan first, then I’ll always treat his mother with respect and kindness.”
“I suppose.” Mary Aaron made a face. “I’m just glad she’s not going to be my mother-in-law.”
Rachel took a bite of the muffin. It was good, and she found, after the first bite, that she really was hungry. “I spoke to Irene this morning,” she said, changing the subject.
“Moses’s attorney.” Mary Aaron looked up from spreading butter on her muffin. “Anything new? Is he doing all right?”
“Irene thinks he’s extremely depressed. He barely speaks, and it looks to her as if he’s lost weight. He won’t budge from his insistence that he killed Daniel. The hearing is set for next week and I’ll be out of the country. I can’t even be there to support him and his family.” Rachel went to the whiteboard and began to erase the names of the people she and Mary Aaron had talked to over the last two weeks. “I feel like such a failure.”
“We tried our best,” Mary Aaron said. “And maybe the police are right. Maybe Moses really did shoot him, and that’s why we couldn’t find any proof to clear his name.”
“Maybe.” Rachel sipped at the remaining liquid in her mug, then finished wiping the board clean. “All this running around, me angering Evan, and I found out nothing.”
“Not nothing,” Mary Aaron insisted. “You found out that Daniel wasn’t the man most people thought he was. Which might be a motive to kill him.” She lifted the lid of the teapot to peer in, then looked up. “Oh, I forgot. Jake Sweitzer was visiting for his mother’s birthday yesterday. I got him to drive me over to the police station to pick up that police report you wanted.”
“I almost forgot all about the report,” Rachel admitted. “Thanks for going for me.”
Mary Aaron retrieved Rachel’s mug from her and poured them both fresh tea. “You wanted to know who found Daniel’s body. Right?” She carried Rachel’s cup to her, then went to the denim coat hanging on a doorknob and rummaged in the deep pockets. “Here it is.” She held up a rumpled but unopened envelope.
Rachel raised both hands, palms out. “You open it. I’m done. It’s time for me to focus on Evan and our life together.”
Mary Aaron tore open the end and shook out the report. She carried it to the window and carefully read it. “Lemuel Studer, age fourteen, reported finding the body.”
“What did you say?” Rachel looked up.
“I said Lemuel Studer. According to the police report, he’s who discovered Daniel’s body. It’s right here.” Mary Aaron pointed at the paper. “Lemuel.”
Rachel shook her head slowly. “No, Lemuel said he didn’t know who found the body. That first day I talked to him after the funeral.”
Mary Aaron frowned, looking unconvinced. “Well, the police think he was the one.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, but . . .” Rachel exhaled loudly, then drew in a deep breath. She cradled the warm cup in her hands and drank slowly, not bothering to add honey or sugar. She welcomed the rich, strong flavor as she considered what she’d just heard. “Well, obviously someone made a mistake. You know how Englishers can be. One Amish man or boy in a black hat and denim coat looks like another.”
“Exactly.” Mary Aaron refolded the report and slid it back into the official-looking envelope. She dropped it on the table and wandered to the door where Rachel’s flowered dress for the rehearsal dinner hung. “This is so pretty,” Mary Aaron said, fingering the soft material. “I can’t believe you’re finally getting married. Even my mother didn’t think you’d ever do it. She kept saying that you were taking so long making up your mind because you weren’t sure you didn’t want to come back.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “She told me the same thing.”
Mary Aaron’s voice grew thick. “Tomorrow, you’ll be a married woman, and I’ll still be single.” She swallowed, and her beautiful eyes glistened with moisture as she turned back to Rachel. “It’s not that I’m not happy for you. I am, but somehow, I always thought I’d be the one to marry first.”
* * *
It snowed in the night, not enough to impede the wedding, but enough to lay a sparkling blanket of snow over the lawns and fields of Stone Mill. That morning, Rachel nibbled a piece of rye toast and sipped at her tea in her room while staring at her beautiful gown. The previous day’s rehearsal and the dinner afterward had gone pretty much as she had imagined they would, but there had been no fireworks. Evan’s mother and her mother had both pasted fake smiles on their faces and gritted their teeth as they went through the motions. But, on a high note, the food at Magnolia had been good and the waitresses pleasant and competent. And Evan had been wonderful: calm, charming, and so attentive that Rachel had felt as if it really was her special evening.
The day had arrived that so much work and planning had led to. And suddenly the craziness of the last few weeks didn’t seem so crazy. It was time that she married, and she could go into this marriage knowing that she’d found someone with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Evan was everything any woman could ask for. He’d been so sweet at the dinner and then he’d called her afterward and they’d talked on the phone until late into the night.
She missed him this morning. Following custom, and interestingly, on the advice of both mothers, they’d agreed not to speak to or see each other until they met that afternoon at the church altar. The idea made sense on several levels. If they didn’t talk to each other, there was no possibility of a disagreement before the wedding. And there was a certain excitement about the anticipation of seeing each other that afternoon. But a part of her wished she could hear Evan’s voice, share a few laughs and endearments, because the hours between now and the ceremony stretched out like an eternity.
Rachel had planned the morning carefully so she wouldn’t feel rushed and now she was almost wishing she’d saved some last-minute tasks for herself. But she hadn’t. Mary Aaron was picking up ice and a few final things for the wedding dinner, and she had taken complete charge of the house and the guests today. Everyone had agreed to leave Rachel to herself until it was time to get dressed. And even then, she wanted no fuss.
The reception would be there at the inn, and her mother, her Aunt Hannah, and Ada had the meal arranged down to the groom’s cake. They’d all soon be downstairs putting the day in motion. So, it was Rachel’s wedding day, and she had nothing to do until it was time to put on her gown.
Debbi from the hair salon had arrived promptly at seven that morning, and the stylist had done her hair there in her apartment so that she wouldn’t have to leave the house and chance being seen before the ceremony. Unconsciously, Rachel’s hand went to the pins at the back of her head and patted the elegant but traditional up-do Debbi had fashioned. It was fancier than she usually wore her hair, but she liked it and thought it would go nicely with her plain lace veil.
For what seemed like the one-hundredth time, Rachel glanced at her wedding gown hanging in the closet. She loved it, and she hoped Evan would, too. Feeling restless, she got up and went to the gown, brushed a few cat hairs off the protective plastic cover, and lined up her shoes under the dress. Then she wandered to a window and gazed out at the snowy ground below and the sparkling, bare treetops.
She couldn’t help wondering what was wrong with her. Mary Aaron was right. She should be more excited than she was, shouldn’t she? Were the town gos
sips right? Did she not really want to marry Evan?
No, that wasn’t it. She loved Evan and though it had taken her a few years to get to this point, she was ready to make her vows. That wasn’t what was troubling her.
It was Daniel’s murder.
No matter how hard she tried, no matter what Evan or Mary Aaron or the police said, she still couldn’t accept that Moses had killed him. Yet Moses was facing decades in prison. And she feared he’d never survive, not being the way he was mentally and emotionally. Not being an Amish man in an Englisher world.
Rachel had never been able to tolerate injustice, and that was the problem here. That was what was happening in the case of Daniel’s murder. Even with all the evidence, or lack thereof, her gut instinct still told her that Moses was taking the fall for someone else.
But for whom?
After talking with Mary Rose, the same gut instinct told Rachel it wasn’t her. She had been too honest with her emotions. . . and Rachel had seen it in her eyes. And the previous day, Mary Aaron had been able to confirm what Mary Rose had said about Rosh, that he and his family didn’t even own a gun. That really only left one person....
Could it be possible that Mary Rose’s little brother, Lemuel, had murdered her husband? To protect her? To protect himself? To just make the physical abuse stop?
George had pointed out that often the killer was the person who claimed to have discovered the body. Lemuel had told her that he hadn’t been the one to find Daniel, and yet that’s exactly what the police report indicated. Had a mistake been made in the police report? Because the mistake wasn’t hers. She knew what Lemuel had said; he told her he didn’t know who found Daniel. Had he lied to her? Had Daniel been murdered by a fourteen-year-old boy? Because if Lemuel had killed Daniel, it all made perfect sense, Moses lying to cover for the person who had actually committed the crime. Especially knowing that his sister and little brother had been abused. Maybe he even feared for his mother and niece.