Nine
Sam was in one of his fields, clearing chico brush that had managed to pop up during the winter. He pulled the team to the side and climbed down from his wagon when he saw Henry’s buggy.
“Gut timing. I could use a break.”
They settled onto two lawn chairs next to an old tree stump, where a jug of water and two cups had been placed. Sam filled one of the cups with water and offered it to Henry.
“Nein. I had enough coffee this morning to float me away. How’s the clearing going?”
“Well enough, I suppose. I was only sixteen when we moved here, but I can still remember Indiana dirt. It was rich and black, and I’d never seen chico brush.”
“Thinking of moving back?”
“Not on your life. Mom and Pop love it here, and so do I.”
Sam’s parents were good people. Abigail and Daniel had tried a community in Texas years before, and then they had moved back to Goshen when the Texas land proved too hard to farm without the benefit of tractors and irrigation. Probably that was why young Sam referred to them as Mom and Pop rather than the traditional Mamm and Dat.
“Except for the chico bush.”
“Except for that.”
Henry studied the mountains on the horizon, the occasional white cloud that spotted the vast blue sky, and the forty acres Sam was attempting to farm. The horses seemed content to crop on weeds, but Henry knew Sam needed to finish his clearing.
“Heard a woman talking at the dry goods store this morning,” he said.
“About me?”
“And the fire.”
Sam drained his cup and set it back on top of the water jug. “Sheriff Grayson and Meg Allen came to see me last night.”
“They came to my house as well.”
“I doubt they interviewed the other volunteers on the fire crew, but for some reason she was interested in me.”
“How did it go?”
“She struck me as overbearing, but I suppose you might need to be if you dealt with arsonists every day.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine enough of those incidents to constitute a full-time job.”
“Seven people a day die in the United States because of home fires.”
“I suppose each of those has to be investigated.”
“Sure they do.” Sam leaned forward, stretching the muscles in his back. He was a man in the prime of his life, nearly six feet tall, healthy, with unkempt brown hair in need of a cut, and a farmer’s tan where his shirtsleeves were rolled up. “Most are caused by cooking equipment, smoking, or heating apparatus.”
“But some are arson.”
“Ya. Eleven percent of residential fires. And that number goes up to twenty-seven percent in commercial fires.”
“What did Grayson and Allen want? Why did they single you out for questioning?”
“They’d heard I’d been to Vernon’s place the night before. I’d driven my parents’ buggy over, and I suppose some neighbor noticed it. You know how the Englischers to the south disliked him. They watched the place with binoculars, if you were to believe Vernon.”
“Visiting a man isn’t a crime.”
“True enough, but we argued—loudly enough that I imagine they heard.” Sam shook his head, as if the memory still puzzled him. “I went over to talk to him about a plow he’d sold me. The first time I used it, the thing broke. It had been welded, but the job was shoddy and didn’t last through the first row.”
“And what did Vernon say?”
“Not much. Pointed to that old sign he had.”
“ ‘All Merchandise Sold As Is.’ ”
“Exactly.”
“More than once I talked to him about that,” Henry admitted. “I reminded him honesty is an important aspect of our life, and that leaving out information is the same as lying.”
“He never told me the plow was welded. I wouldn’t have bought it if I’d known. I thought I’d looked over it closely, but I was in a hurry that day. When I went to see him about it, I was willing to take a portion of the blame.”
“You wanted your money back.”
“Some of it. I was willing to return his broken plow. Maybe he could have fixed it properly.”
“So you argued.”
“We did. I’m not proud that I lost my temper. You know how hard it is to make a living here, Henry. It’s difficult enough with the short growing season and lack of rain, and then there are the Englischers who think we’re trying to steal their jobs.”
“You don’t sound happy here.”
Sam laughed ruefully and resettled his straw hat on his head. “I am. It’s only that any conversation that centers around Vernon gets my suspenders twisted. Not that I would have wished the man dead.”
“Is that what Allen accused you of?”
“Not exactly, but she didn’t give me a T-shirt proclaiming my innocence either. She said they’d look into my story and be back if they had more questions.”
“I’m on your side, Sam. My job as bishop is to help and guide you. If there’s anything you need, you let me know.”
“I will.”
Henry had nearly reached his buggy when he turned back toward Sam. He hadn’t moved from the lawn chair. He was sitting there, staring out at the scrubby forty acres he’d purchased the year before. He still lived with his parents, but he had high hopes of making the acreage productive and then maybe building his own place. He’d shared those dreams with Henry.
“The funeral will be on Thursday,” he called out.
Sam raised a hand to indicate he’d heard, and then he went back to staring out at his fields.
Ten
Henry’s church leadership consisted of three men. Abe Graber was a minister and therefore preacher. Clyde Fisher, Emma’s son, shared those same responsibilities with Abe. Leroy Kauffmann was their deacon, and he handled the collection of offerings as well as disbursements to missions and benevolence funds. In many communities, the deacon was sent to remind wayward members of their transgressions and explain any confusion about the Ordnung, their daily rules for living. But Henry preferred to take that last task upon himself.
Henry was the bishop. As such, he oversaw the other three and shared preaching duties with Abe and Clyde. He visited families after births, presided over funerals, and called any necessary meetings. He shepherded his flock, and though he had served as a minister for many years in Goshen, he found the role of bishop to be particularly to his liking. The truth of the matter was that he liked people. He enjoyed visiting with elders in the communities, such as Rebecca. He liked talking with young men like Sam, guiding them through the difficult early years of adulthood. He found a special satisfaction in welcoming new members into the faith, baptizing them into a life of Christian servitude, and preparing them through classes for what lay ahead.
Abe arrived after dinner with the bench wagon. He and Clyde unloaded the benches, stacked them on the front porch, and then set to pulling out Henry’s furniture and placing it in the barn. While they were attending to that, Leroy Kauffman drove down the lane. Leroy was a small man, slight in build and short with a ring of hair around his head and a shiny bald spot across the top. Everyone had been pleased when he’d been selected as their deacon. Leroy would have been an accountant if he was an Englischer. He was good with figures and had no problem asking people to donate when there was a need. A practical man, he had managed to be prosperous even in the valley, where farming was a trial.
Once they had everything situated, Henry motioned toward the kitchen. All three of the men had put in a long day in the field, and Henry himself had been up and running about since before daylight.
“I’ll keep this meeting as brief as possible. Vernon’s body will be delivered first thing Thursday morning. We’ll have the visitation here beginning at ten, accompany the casket to the cemetery at noon, and finally return here for a meal.” It was the standard way they did such things, and when he’d stopped by to see Clyde and Emma after visiting Sam, they bot
h had agreed that the time schedule was do-able.
“My oldest boy can help with the horses and buggies,” Clyde said.
“And so can mine.” Abe pushed up his glasses and looked around the room. “The women have contacted all the families in our congregation.”
“My mother will come early to help lay out the body,” Clyde added. “Are you sure the county examiner will release it in time?”
“He said he could release it earlier, but I thought we needed an extra day to prepare. It’ll be a closed casket. Leroy, can you arrange to have the grave dug?”
“’Course.”
“Clyde, I’d like you to speak with Elmer Bontrager. Make sure he can have the grave marker ready in time.”
“I stopped by earlier today, and he’d already started working on it. Thursday will be no problem.”
Henry cleared his throat, hesitating, but if he couldn’t trust his own elders, they had bigger problems than a murder. “I realize Vernon wasn’t well liked, but he was a member of our community. I would like for everyone to show up. It’s a sign of respect. It’s the right thing to do.”
“The congregation is aware of your feelings, Henry,” Leroy said. “We have a gut group here. Folks will turn out.”
Abe sat back and crossed his arms. He was only forty-five, which made him almost twenty years younger than his bishop. He had dark hair, wore glasses, and had bushy eyebrows. With seven children at home plus the burden of his sister-in-law, Franey, he struggled as much as any of them to make ends meet. He’d been worried about that when the lot had fallen on him to be one of their preachers. Henry had counseled with him several times, and it seemed that Abe had found a good balance between his calling and his work. He was committed to their community and had said often enough that he planned to stay in Colorado.
Henry thought that might have something to do with his love of fly-fishing, which he did anytime he had a chance. Abe was a good preacher and a good addition to their community.
Now he cleared his throat and asked what was on his mind. “Is it true what they’re saying? That it was arson? And is that what we’re meeting about tonight?”
“Ya to both of your questions.”
“So someone wanted Vernon dead.”
“Apparently.”
“How could anyone do such a thing?”
“We both know evil exists in this world.” When Abe nodded, Henry added, “And men who are misguided. It’s not for us to judge which this might be.”
“But it is our duty to keep our community safe,” Clyde said.
“Gotte keeps our community safe.”
Clyde didn’t respond to that. He was the youngest of them. He’d been raised with a deep and abiding faith, but he was fairly new to the position of minister and church elder. Perhaps in part because his father had been an elder, he felt the responsibility keenly, and sometimes he questioned whether he would be able to rise to the occasion. He stared at the table now, reminding Henry of a younger man, perhaps reminding him of himself.
“Times like this are hard,” Henry admitted. “It’s difficult to understand how Gotte can allow such things to happen.”
Abe spread his hands out on the table, palms down. “A man can die many ways. Fire has to be one of the worst.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “But this life is brief, Abe. And our death? It happens in a mere blink of time. Read Revelation 21, John 14, and the fifth chapter of Second Corinthians. We have these promises and more. They all remind us of the next life, which is eternal.”
“I’ve read them before.”
“At times we need to be reminded.” Henry thought of that bleak time back in Goshen, of the missing young girl and her parents’ wailing, and he prayed that such a time was not upon them again. “We can all stand to be reminded.”
They spoke for a few more minutes about the funeral, finally deciding Abe would speak for a few moments after the time of viewing and Clyde would lead them in prayer before the lunch. Henry would speak at the gravesite, and Leroy would write letters to Vernon’s family in Indiana.
It wasn’t until they were walking out to the buggies that they returned to the subject of Vernon’s killer.
“Should we be worried about protecting our families?” Abe stood with one hand on the side of his buggy. “What I’m asking is, in your opinion, Henry, do you think this killer had a vendetta against Vernon? Or is he angry with our community?”
“Nein. You shouldn’t be worried. Be anxious for nothing.” Henry smiled and patted Abe on the back. “That said, there’s been no indication that this person had any animosity toward our community in general. No one else has been threatened or approached in any way, as far as I know.”
Abe, Clyde, and Leroy all nodded their heads.
“Of course, we should be vigilant until the person is caught.”
“You think he will be?” Always the practical man, Leroy. “I suspect there was little evidence. Could be that he gets away with… well, with murder.”
“Every man will be judged by Gotte, but the Englischers seem intent on catching the guilty person.”
“Mamm told me about your list,” Clyde said.
Henry explained to the others what he’d done. No one seemed surprised or offended.
“Ya, Vernon was a difficult man to like,” Abe said.
Leroy stared out into the darkness that had fallen while they met. “I would still be surprised if it was an Amish person.”
“As would I.” Henry stood in the yard, raising a hand in goodbye as each of his elders drove off into the night. Long after the sound of the horses’ clip-clop faded away, he stood there, staring up at the Milky Way, searching for the words to pray for his congregation. But God already understood what was in his heart. Wasn’t that what Scripture promised? Perhaps it was enough for him to stand there, empty his mind of the troubles of this world, and fill his heart with the wonders of God’s grace and provision.
Word spread easily among the families of their community, and the women arrived at Henry’s late the next afternoon—Emma and Katie Ann, the three widows, and Abe’s wife, Susan. They scrubbed the floors, washed the windows until they shone, and placed the dining room table in the middle of the sitting room with the leaves put in it. Finally, they fetched the benches and set them around the perimeter of the front hall, sitting room, and dining room. The remainder were lined up across the front porch. Henry’s one-story house was small by Amish family standards, but it was still large enough for such a gathering.
Ruth was packing up her cleaning supplies and talking to Franey about what food they would bring. Emma, Katie Ann, and Susan walked to the front door, but Nancy held back. “Do you need anything, Henry?”
“Only help getting word out about the funeral. I realize we’re doing this rather quickly, but I think it’s better this way.”
“We can do that,” Nancy assured him. “Anything else?”
“Nein, but danki for asking.”
Henry could tell Emma saw Nancy looking for an excuse to stay longer. She glanced away, trying to hide a smile, and suddenly Henry found himself fighting the urge to laugh himself. Even in the midst of tragedy, there were things to smile about. Though technically widowed, he was like a crusty old bachelor and had done nothing to deserve the women’s attention. Yet life was full of little surprises, and people had to embrace joy whenever and however they could.
As the women drove their buggies back down his lane, he thought of how life insisted on moving forward, even in the midst of tragedy. Youngies continued to court. Grown men worked toward a better future. And widows? Well, they adjusted to their new life and sometimes sought companionship. It was the natural way of things, as Solomon reminded them in Ecclesiastes. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.
Ecclesiastes might be a good place to find something to say at the gravesite.
Henry walked inside, found his Bible, and made his way to the back porch t
o study and pray.
Eleven
Cloudy, damp, dismal days were rare in the San Luis Valley, but the day of Vernon Frey’s funeral was exactly that. Silas hitched up the buggy and drove his grandmother and sister to the bishop’s house. Clyde was busy attending to the morning chores, and Rachel was frosting a cake.
“You won’t be in trouble for taking off from the job site?” Emma asked her grandson.
“Nein. The boss says I always get there early and stay late. He’s also hired Plain folk before, so he knows funerals are important to us.”
“I wish I had a boss,” Katie Ann said to no one in particular. She was sitting in the backseat and unhappy that she’d be spending the day at the funeral rather than working outside caring for the horses.
“You sort of have a job with me,” Emma reminded her. “And you’re a real help.”
“But I’d like a real boss.”
“Mammi seems bossy enough to me,” Silas said, laughing, and soon Emma and even Katie Ann joined in. Maybe it was the stress of the day, but it felt good to have a moment of lightheartedness before they stepped into the bishop’s house.
Silas dropped them off at the door.
“Remember to help your mother with your brothers.”
Silas promised to make sure Stephen and Thomas were dressed properly. They’d been known to get dirty between the house and the buggy, or wear their straw hats instead of their black ones, or carry marbles in their pockets, which they always managed to click together at the most inopportune time.
“Don’t worry, Mammi. I know all of their tricks.”
Emma and Katie Ann started up the front steps, the teen carrying a box holding plates of sliced meat and cheese to be added to the luncheon table.
“Maybe I can help park buggies,” Katie Ann said. “I’d be more use outside than I would in the kitchen.”
What the Bishop Saw Page 5