Girls In White Dresses: A Detective London McKenna Novel

by Alex Gates

  I bit back my surprise. “Jonah?”

  “Oh, Lord no.” Doris huffed an uncomfortable breath. “Poor thing. I’ve never heard anything so terrible before. To think what that boy did…but no. I knew Jonah’s grandfather. Adam. He’s the one who made the bulk of their money. Had a whole slew of kids, they had their own broods, and that farm took off. Richest in the county. Probably the center of the state.”

  Yeah, that’d eventually cause its own problems in lawyers and trial delays, but I had to prove the truth first. “Did Adam start the runaway shelter?”

  “Officially, I think. But that farm’s always been a safe haven. Adam’s sons—Jacob, Simon, Matthew, and…” She snapped her fingers at Debbie. “Who’s the last boy?”

  “Mark.”

  “Mark. That’s right. When they were boys, they helped their father run that farm. Adam always had people coming to stay. Friends and family. Mostly from out of state. They opened it up to the public about twenty years ago. Said the Lord had a plan for them.”

  A plan, divine retribution. Who was I to argue with the Goodman’s delusions? “So they’ve helped a lot of people?”

  Debbie clucked from behind the counter. “Oh, it’s a wonderful charity. Taking in all those troubled girls.”

  Doris agreed, sipping her coffee. “Not a lot of places would waste their money on trouble goods like them.”

  “Oh, Doris, for Heaven’s sake.” Debbie wrapped the cupcakes in a pretty box, binding it with a glittery ribbon. “They’re hardly damaged if they repent.”

  “And they repent at the farm?” I asked.

  “Well, sure. Children like that need structure. Discipline. They certainly didn’t receive it before, or they wouldn’t have been in their…way.”

  “Pregnant, you mean?”

  Debbie busied herself with the box. “It’s a cryin’ shame that those girls ended up that way, but the farm is a haven for them. No one judges them, no one harasses them. And they learn the value of clean, wholesome living in the name of the Lord out there. Straightens them right out.”

  “And those boys of theirs?” Doris gestured with her coffee. “Just pure gentlemen. Never saw a harder worker in my life. When they come into town, they’ll drop everything they have to help a woman carry groceries or cross a street, bless them.”

  “How many boys?” I asked.

  “That family? Who knows! The new generation seems to spring up right out of the ground.”

  Nothing that innocent. I pulled Anna’s photo from my jacket and showed the women. “I’m looking for a woman. She’s older now, about thirty. Maybe you know her?”

  Debbie shook her head. “I doubt that. They’re usually kept on the farm.”

  My stomach tightened. “Kept?”

  “Well, there’s so much to do.” Doris raised an eyebrow. “Ever milked a cow? Collected chicken eggs? Worked in a greenhouse?”

  “No…I bounced from college right into the police academy. Can’t say I know much about farm life.”

  “Well, the Goodmans keep it…traditional up there,” Debbie said.

  “How so?”

  Doris studied the photo. “The women are doing the household chores and taking care of the babies. That’s part of the shelter. Someone’s gotta teach those young ones how to raise their babies so they don’t end up in the same way.”

  “Oh, hush, Doris,” Debbie rolled her eyes at me. “The way she talks, you’d think she kept an aspirin between her knees until she was twenty-five and married. Well, I got two words for you, Doris—Fred Mueller.”

  “Lord as my witness, I’ll pack my things up right now, Debbie, so help me.” She wagged a finger at her friend. “I’m just saying, at the Goodman farm, the men and boys work in the fields, and the women and girls tend to the children. It’s worked for thousands of years everywhere on this green earth, and it’s keeping those girls out of trouble now.” She handed the picture to Debbie. “My goodness. Do you know who this is?”

  Debbie glanced at the picture and tutted. “Oh, that poor thing.”

  The cupcake threatened to rise back up. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, this one…that’s Eve Goodman.”

  Goodman? I didn’t like them sharing a last name. “She’s not one of their daughters?”

  Debbie gave a shrug. “No. It’s a little unorthodox, but they just got along so well.”

  “Who?”

  “Why, Eve and Jacob.”

  Oh, God.

  No…

  “This girl is married to Jacob?”

  “Well, yes, honey. Been married for…oh, twelve or thirteen years now.”

  Just enough time for her to hit eighteen before Jacob took his kidnapped bride and made it official.

  “She’s so much younger than him,” I said.

  “Jacob was married before. His first wife died…” Doris counted on her fingers before giving up. “Oh, years and years ago. Cancer. Very sad. When he married again, it was no surprise. Even the devout like them young and pretty.”

  “It was noble, what he did.” Debbie interrupted her with a wave of her hand. “Especially after what happened.”

  “Did something bad happen to Eve?”

  “Ages ago. When she first came to the farm. She was this little thing. Pregnant. Big as a house.” Debbie lowered her voice, checking the corners to contain the gossip. “She had some complications.”

  “She was just too young to have a baby,” Doris said. “Plain as day. Whoever did that to her nearly took her life. Her body couldn’t handle a pregnancy, and that’s the God’s honest truth. Look at what happened.”

  Debbie shook her head. “It’s not really polite to talk about.”

  I feigned general curiosity instead of back-biting panic. “I had no idea what became of the girls after they were sent to the farm. I thought they were safe.”

  “Oh, safe as can be, but every pregnancy is different.” Debbie sighed. “That girl nearly bled to death right here in the middle of the street. Jacob had rushed her down to the doctor, but our little medical clinic isn’t prepared for things like…that. The nearest hospital is almost twenty miles away. She was lucky she made it.”

  Doris frowned. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “She lived.”

  “But the baby…”

  I swallowed. “She lost the baby?”

  This particular gossip was too heavy to speak in more than a whisper. Debbie leaned close. “Yes. Lost the baby. Nearly lost her life, and those complications…Eve can’t have other children.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Word spreads,” Doris said. “Especially with something that…terrible. Jacob married her so young, but nothing has come from it.”

  Debbie agreed. “And not for lack of trying. Jacob had seven children with his first wife—that poor woman probably died of exhaustion. Eve and Jacob ordered fertility drug after fertility drug to the local pharmacy—Dr. Caldwell had all sorts of crazy stories. But nothing took. But Jacob kept his vows to Eve, just the same, even knowing she couldn’t give him any more children. That takes a good man.”

  Or an evil one.

  He wasn’t some heroic man saving troubled girls. He was a rapist. A child abuser.

  A man who had impregnated a girl too young and small to have a baby. His lust nearly murdered Anna Prescott.

  “I’m surprised you know this much about the Goodmans…” I arched my eyebrows. “I thought they were more private.”

  “It’s a small community,” Debbie said. “Word passes easier than a cold around here.”

  “And the Goodmans used to come down every Sunday,” Doris explained.

  “Church?” I asked.

  “The United Methodist right on the main street. They used to attend the services with Pastor Kerst.”

  That didn’t make sense, not when they shielded themselves in scripture. “Why did they stop attending?”

  “Well….because of Jacob’s oldest son, John.”

  “Did he con
vert the family?”

  Both women laughed. Debbie shook her head. “Oh no. They’ve always been…devout. John went to the seminary. Took his vows a few years ago. They have their own services now.”

  Doris grumbled her relief. “A blessing in disguise with that many kids packed into that church. Didn’t matter how many girls they had wrangling them. Now we can have our pews back, and Pastor Kerst can run the church how he sees fit.”

  “Oh, hush. They were harmless.”

  “The Goodmans didn’t agree with the pastor?” I asked.

  “Who does anymore?” Doris gave a snort. “In my day, we listened to our reverends. Didn’t question them.”

  “The Goodmans questioned the Bible?”

  “No. They questioned Pastor Kerst. His faith. And no one should stand for that. Not at all.”

  So the church wasn’t orthodox enough for the Goodmans. Made sense. Not many people could find the right passage in the Bible that allowed men to capture children for their pleasure.

  A few cars rumbled passed, and Doris called to a parking truck, giving a wave to the occupant. My cue to split before I’d get tangled in invitations to dinner and tales of the more innocent parts of Tionesta. I took my box of pastries and smiled.

  “Well, I should get moving. Find my girls and give them the news about their case.”

  Debbie grinned. “Farm is just up the road. You can’t miss it. It’s the only thing out there in the forest.”

  “Thank you.” I sipped the rest of the coffee, but Doris hopped up, offering me a second cup for free.

  She practically forced the cup into my hands. “It’s a cold day.”

  Not to me. The flames of hell practically licked at my feet.

  The Goodmans might have had the town fooled with their piety, but I saw the truth.

  They used the gospel to justify abuse, captivity, and rape.

  And I bet good old Pastor Kerst would have all the information I needed to put them in jail for the rest of their mortal lives.

  And once I had my justice for the girls?

  The devil could do as he wished with his prized sinners.

  16

  Never was a good Catholic.

  You’d think I’d like the blood and body.

  -Him

  I’d ordered cupcakes to bribe the women into talking, but I’d never buy what the preacher was selling.

  Been there. Done that.

  I’d lived through hell once, but my tormentor hadn’t given me the privilege of dying. If he was what waited at the end of the tunnel, I wanted my money back. That mystery of the afterlife had already been spoiled for me.

  The door squealed as it opened. I edged inside, immediately regretting the heavy coat, gloves and hat. Did every Methodist church contain one broken ceiling fan? Too hot in the summer, even hotter in the winter. I stripped off the coat, picking a path along the weather-worn runner protecting the floor from salt-caked shoes.

  No one prayed in the sanctuary, but a phone rang somewhere down the hall. It didn’t take a parishioner to know their way around. I still had scars on my knees from when I was eleven and fell on the cement path leading down to St. Thomas More’s fellowship hall. Most churches were the same.

  Same incense smell. Same administrative layout. Same gossip shared more than hymnals.

  It still felt dirty to flash a badge to a minister, and even worse to question one. I had a feeling Pastor Kerst had never been asked anything about his congregation before.

  “Can I help you…?” He had that thin and lanky demeanor of a man who spent most of his time indoors but still attempted an evening job once the guilt of one-too-many church bake sales tightened his vestments. “Officer…”

  “Detective,” I corrected. “McKenna. I’m from the Pittsburgh Police Department.”

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  So were too many of the girls trapped on the Goodman’s farm. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  Pastor Kerst gestured to the seat opposite his desk. Not much of an office. He shared his space with two bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books and a dozen folding chairs precariously stacked against the wall. I edged into a seat, waiting for the office to collapse upon itself. Pastor Kerst didn’t share my unease. He pitched an empty Diet Pepsi into a garbage can and shoved a few papers into a briefcase to make room.

  “I have to visit an elderly parishioner in a few minutes,” he warned.

  “This won’t take long.” I laid the photo of Anna on his desk. “Do you know this woman?”

  His glance was quick, but he gave a fond smile. “Yes. That’s Eve Goodman.”

  “What do you know about Eve?”

  The smile faded. “Is she in trouble?”

  Only for the last fifteen years. “I’m investigating a Missing Persons report. Eve might have some information for me.”

  “Eve? But she’s…” He shrugged, his palms folding. “You’ll forgive me, but I doubt she can help with anything from Pittsburgh. The Goodmans rarely leave their farm.”

  “Do you know them well?”

  “I’m not sure anyone knows them well. They’re very insulated. Very private.”

  “Hiding something?”

  He stiffened. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “What would you say?” I kept my voice light. “The only Goodman I know is Jonah.”

  “Don’t judge a family by the one who strayed, Detective. Jonah was a good man. He simply…lost his path.”

  And made one hell of a detour. “Has anyone else in the family lost their way?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Kerst shifted, his words bred of caution, the only way a man of the cloth could hedge. “What exactly are you looking for?”

  Nothing worked better than the truth. “What sort of man is Jacob Goodman?”

  Apparently, this truth was more difficult to share. Kerst hesitated and gave a bob of his head. This necessitated a second can of pop. He cracked open the Diet Pepsi, offering me a bit. I declined.

  “Jacob is a very pious man.” He took a big swig. “Serious. Devoted to the Lord and his family.”

  “And his charity?”

  He lowered the Pepsi. “The shelter? Well, of course. He’s taken in so many girls.”

  “How many?”

  “Oh…probably a dozen or more.”

  A dozen.

  And those were the ones the minister could remember.

  God only knew how many others Jacob hid on the farm, and only the devil saw the sins he committed with them.

  “Did you see these girls?” I asked.

  “Occasionally, if they came to any services.”

  “Have you ever been to their farm?”

  His voice turned somber. “Not as often.”

  “Why?

  “They weren’t happy occasions. I was only called to the farm for funerals. They had a family plot on the land, buried their own.”

  The chill strummed my spine. “Did you do many funerals?”

  “No, thank the Lord for that. Adam Goodman died, but he was old, and it was his time. Jacob Goodman’s first wife died of cancer—a blow to the farm. And then…” He looked at the photo. “There was Eve’s child.”

  “The miscarriage?”

  “He only lived for a few minutes. They tried to save him, but it wasn’t God’s will. The miscarriage nearly took Eve too, but, she fought. Hard. She’s strong. Very strong.”

  She’d have to be strong to survive what she’d gone through. “Do you remember when this happened?”

  He puffed his breath out. “A couple years now, I’d wager. She was a very young mother.”

  “Can you give me an approximation?”

  “Well…I guess I could check the records.”

  Hallelujah! Records with no warrant? How lucky could one girl get?

  “Did you keep them?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. I keep the programs for my baptisms, and I have the accountin
g for my funeral services.”

  “Do you have any for the Goodmans?”

  He gave a laugh and gestured over his office. “Well, yes, but see how cluttered this place is? The basement is ten-times worse. I try to stay organized, but once I go to store them…this church is a one-man operation, Detective. I have a part-time volunteer from the parish who helps, but it would take me time to sort through the records.”

  I leapt at the chance, nearly diving over the desk for the opportunity. “I’ll do it. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

  “I can’t guarantee it’ll be easy to find it, but we are a small community. Not many events per year.” He tapped a pen against his desk calendar. He wasn’t lying. Most of the days were blank. “But, Detective…the information will be old. The Goodmans haven’t joined us in worship for a few years now.”

  “You said they were devout.”

  “Very. But they often had their own interpretations of the Bible. Some which ran counter to current cultural ideals.”

  The understatement of the year. “Such as?”

  “The place of a woman in the home. The importance of child-rearing. How man was destined to seed his world.”

  “So, they kept their women barefoot and pregnant?”

  He chuckled, but his nod was solemn. “They’re free to interpret the Bible as they wish.”

  “Did any of the women complain?”

  “The Goodman farm is a sanctuary for runaways—children scared and alone. They were given warm beds and food. There’s not much for them to complain about.”

  Except for the abuse.

  I dropped the small-town charm and planted my feet on the floor. The closer I leaned in, the further he pushed away.

  I forced him to look me in the eyes, meeting a grey-brown stare that had seen far more than he’d revealed.

  “Did they ever come to you, Pastor?”

  “What are you asking me?”

  “Are these women being abused?”

  “No! No, nothing like that. The farm is traditional. They follow some very core fundamentals, but they are not a danger to those who seek their help in the shelter. In fact, Jacob’s oldest boy is a minister himself. They believe every word of what they preach, Detective. The Lord comes first, and through Him, they care for those in need as much as they protect their own family.”