He picked up the binoculars he’d bought years ago to watch the spring migration of the sandhill cranes. Raising them to his eyes, he stared through them toward the youngies who were beginning to arrive in buggies, carts, and on bicycles.
Meg was fiddling with her police radio. “Group one, status report.”
“Nothing here but Amish kids,” the officer responded.
Group one was stationed on the opposite side of the field. They had a different vantage point and were so well hidden that Henry couldn’t see them even with his binoculars.
“Group two.”
“Other than the original wino we stumbled on, we’ve only seen the teens in our charge.”
The man drinking in the dilapidated barn on the far corner of the property had been arrested and taken to the town jail, in case he wasn’t who he appeared to be.
Meg clicked off her radio. “It’s going to happen, Henry. I’m sure of it.”
“Ya?”
“We can’t be spotted from the highway, but we’re close enough that anyone driving home would see the blaze, and that’s a fairly busy road on Friday evening.” She paused and added, “If there’s one thing an arsonist loves, it’s an audience.”
“So all we have to do is sit and wait.”
“Yeah. Both are things I’m not very good at if you haven’t noticed.”
Henry again picked up his binoculars and was focusing them on the Amish teens, who were unloading coolers, baskets of food, and blankets. Meg had made it very clear that they were to stay a safe distance from the site of the bonfire.
“Won’t that look suspicious?” Silas had asked.
“No. It won’t,” she’d told him. “And it’s nonnegotiable.”
Of course they wanted the youth meeting to look authentic. The teens actually seemed to be having a good time. Either they were good actors, or they’d decided to take advantage of the fine weather. Maybe it was the fact that they were actually helping in the investigation.
He was thinking of the way Meg had taken complete control of the situation and ensured their children’s safety when the wood stacked for the bonfire exploded.
Flames shot into the sky. Smoke drifted toward them.
Some of the lumber was thrown several yards out from the pile, and the rest was instantly consumed.
Meg was talking into her radio as she ran toward the fire. “Keep those kids back. Lock down both exits. Stop anyone who attempts to leave.”
Henry stood there, wondering if he should go after Meg or check on the youth. One look told him the youngies were unharmed. They were standing close together and gesturing toward the fire. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Plainly they were fine. Meg’s plan had worked. But he had to check on them personally. He’d promised each of their parents he would. So he hurried over to the group.
They were quite animated.
“It worked, Henry! He took the bait.” Silas high-fived Nathan.
Katie Ann and Naomi stood close together, ignoring the boys and staring across at the fire.
He walked through the entire group, reversed directions, and made a second round. Though everyone was safe and uninjured, Henry stayed with them, talking to anyone who looked as if they needed a word of encouragement and making sure no one attempted to go out toward the fire. He was also scanning the group, confirming that each person there was in fact a member of their congregation. After another ten minutes, he was absolutely certain there wasn’t a single person who didn’t belong. Whoever the arsonist was, he wasn’t hiding within the group of young people.
Perhaps the officers on the road had caught him.
He hurried toward Meg. She stood three feet from the smoldering pile of logs, fatigue and anger pulling at her shoulders.
“Did you catch him?”
“No.”
“But… he set off the fire. Didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Meg scrubbed a hand over her face and turned to look him in the eye. “He must have used a timer.”
“So he knew this was a trap?”
Meg shrugged. “He couldn’t resist the target, but he didn’t want to risk being caught.”
“So we’re no better off than we were.”
“I don’t know, Henry. What I do know is that this is a very resourceful person, but he’s also smug. He thinks he’s smarter than we are.” She turned, her eyes filled with a steely resolve. “Smug people make mistakes. We will catch him, and we’re going to do it soon.”
Sixty-Eight
It should have worked, Henry. You can’t possibly blame yourself.”
Families were pouring down Henry’s lane. Jesse and Nathan were moving the buggies to the east field. Clyde stood at the building site for Henry’s new workshop, directing people and supplies. The weather was beautiful, but a storm was coming. Emma knew it as surely as she knew they would have Henry’s workshop finished by dark. The pressure in her head was an accurate barometer. If she could only make it through the day before the migraine took hold, she would be grateful.
“But I do blame myself. I convinced Clyde and Leroy and Abe to go along with the idea.”
“We couldn’t have known the arsonist would be so resourceful.”
By now everyone knew the bonfire had been triggered remotely. The blaze was seen for miles, stopping cars in both directions along the highway. Fortunately, no one was hurt.
But neither had it produced additional clues or a single suspect.
“Meg says we’re no further from catching the arsonist than we were before, but we’re certainly no closer.”
“We did our best.” Emma reached out and touched his arm. “No one expects more.”
The worry lines around Henry’s eyes relaxed for a moment, but then he was called over to the workshop. He started that direction and then turned back toward Emma.
“I heard Clyde’s workhorse was injured.”
“Stepped into a hole.”
“How is he?”
“He’ll be fine. Now go. They’re calling you.”
Henry hurried away, Lexi trailing behind him, ears flopping, tail wagging.
“Is Henry going to be all right?” Rachel asked. “He seems to be taking the bonfire failure personally.”
“Henry wants to protect everyone. But he needs to rest and let the Englischers solve this.”
“It’s sweet how you worry about him.”
Emma glanced up in time to see a smile tugging at the corner of Rachel’s mouth.
“What are you saying, doschder?”
“Why, nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, I’m positive…” She glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Only I do think you’d make a cute couple.”
“Cute couple?”
“Ya. You’re perfect for each other.”
“Perfect?”
“Why are you repeating what I say?”
“Because I think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you’ve read too many of those romance books.”
“They’re Christian romance.”
“Well, I don’t know what they are, but they’re causing you to imagine things.”
“The lady doth protest too much,” Rachel murmured.
“What does that mean?”
“Oh. Well, it’s from Shakespeare. See, in Hamlet, Queen Gertrude believes her husband to be dead, and so she has her eye on—”
“They need me at the food table.” Emma hurried away before Rachel had a chance to say anything else, but she could have sworn she heard laughter behind her.
What had come over her daughter-in-law?
Emma pushed the question from her mind. She needed to focus on feeding the workers breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When all of the meals had been served she could go home, close the shades, and put a cool cloth across her forehead. Until then, she’d have to find a way to endure.
The morning passed quickly, with families arriving, more supplies delivered, and an unlimited stream of children underfoot.
When news crews arrived before lunch, Emma wanted to throw up her hands.
“Why are they here?” Katie Ann asked.
Susan put three more jars of peanut butter spread on the table. “I heard they’re doing a follow-up story about the Monte Vista Arsonist.” She put virtual quote marks around the last three words.
“I’m tired of that creep getting so much attention,” Katie Ann announced quite seriously, but something about her tone and frustration caused Susan to break into laughter.
“Aren’t we all, child. Aren’t we all.”
Naomi tucked a stray lock of hair into Katie Ann’s kapp. The two had been as thick as ticks on a hound dog ever since the night in the Klines’ barn. “Whenever we had a barn raising in Seymour, the Englisch would pull off the road for miles to watch and take pictures.”
“This is hardly a barn,” Susan reminded her. “It’ll only take all day because they want to extend Henry’s porch around the west side of his house as well while they’re here. It will help cool the rooms inside and provide him a nice place to sit in the evening.”
“It’s gut for us to take care of our bishop,” Ruth declared, marching past their table holding a pie in one hand and a cake in the other.
For some reason that started the girls to giggling again.
Emma fanned herself and glanced over at the shade on the front porch.
“Why don’t you go up there and rest,” Susan suggested.
“Nein. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. We’ll call you if things get too busy. For now, rest a little.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Katie Ann asked as Emma walked away.
“She has one of her migraines.”
“Why didn’t she say something to me about it?”
“I’m sure she didn’t want to worry you.”
Emma wanted to turn around and assure Katie Ann she was okay, but that would take too much energy. Instead, she sought the shade and quiet of the porch. Once there, she watched the commotion taking place out toward the road as the news vehicles set up their cameras and microphones.
Meg drove into the lane, stopped, and stepped out of her car to make a statement. It must have been a short one, because after only a moment she climbed back in the car and drove toward the worksite. Emma closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them Henry was walking Meg back to her car. She could tell, watching Henry, that Meg hadn’t brought good news.
Henry told her that, after the bonfire, she’d promised to stop by and update them. She’d also cautioned Henry and said they needed to be patient. That eventually the forensics team would find something. The arsonist would make a mistake. He was only human, and eventually he’d slip up. When he did, they’d catch him. All of those things should have reassured Emma, but they didn’t. There was no telling what this person would do next.
“Rough week?” Abigail sat down in the chair beside her, allowing her cheater glasses to fall on their chain and hang against the front of her dress.
“Ya. I suppose so.”
“We’ll get through this, Emma. Never doubt.”
They sat for a while, rocking and listening to the hammering of nails against lumber.
Making an effort to open her eyes, Emma said, “Your niece is a sweet thing. Katie Ann’s quite taken with her.”
“From what I’ve been able to see, so is Silas.”
“Ya. I noticed that too.”
“It’s gut Naomi is here. Her family was in a… difficult situation.” She didn’t offer more, and Emma didn’t push.
“I heard about Clyde’s horse stepping into a hole. How is he doing?”
“Fair. Doc Berry says he sprained the tendons in his ankle joint and also scraped it up quite a bit. Clyde bought Duncan when we first moved here. He’s become more of a pet than a workhorse.”
“I know how that goes.”
“Katie Ann wanted to stay home with him because the vet said we should apply ointment to the wound three times a day.” Emma glanced over at her friend. “I convinced her that missing one application won’t hurt Duncan.”
“I’m more worried about you than the horse. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Ya. It’s only a migraine.”
“Only a migraine? I knew a woman in Goshen who would take to her bed for two or three days, refusing to come out of the room at all. No doubt they were very painful. She couldn’t function one bit when she had one.”
“The dark helps,” Emma admitted. “But the truth is that my head will ache whether I’m home in bed or here… and I’d rather be here.”
“And we’re glad to have you.” Abigail sighed and stood, smoothing down her apron. “They’re gathering for lunch.”
“I’ll come help—”
“Nein. You won’t. I might not be able to force you home, but I can at least make sure you sit here in the cool of the porch and out of the sun.”
“You’re a gut friend, Abigail.”
Instead of answering, Abigail patted her on the shoulder and scurried off to help serve the workers their luncheon.
Emma closed her eyes, prayed that the workshop would go up with no problems, and that the arsonist would stay far, far away.
Sixty-Nine
Emma’s migraine only worsened as the day progressed. Susan walked up as she was holding her head firmly between her palms.
“Go home.”
“We haven’t begun laying out the dinner spread.”
“We have many hands to help with that, Emma. Your face is as pale as the white of your apron, and I can tell from the way you’re wincing that this is a bad one.”
“I thought it might pass.”
“And yet it hasn’t. Now, let Clyde take you home.”
“He’s on the roof. I hate to call him down. It can wait if only I can—”
“I’ll be happy to take you home.”
Emma turned to see Henry had walked up and was studying them, a look of compassion covering his face. He was wearing his jacket, and that was when she realized the day had cooled. Though June had brought daytime temperatures to near seventy, the evenings could still drop into the thirties.
She didn’t quite understand the way he looked at her. There was something in his gaze, something more than concern over her migraine. She felt she should have understood, but the pulsing in her head once again claimed her attention and the thought was pushed aside.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Because you had your eyes squeezed shut.”
“She needs to go home,” Susan said. “Clyde is helping with the roofing.”
“It’s settled, then. I promised I would go by and check on Rebecca. I can drop Emma off at home, visit Rebecca, and still be back for the evening meal.”
“If you’re not, Abe or Clyde or Leroy will take care of the evening prayer.”
“All right. I’ll do my best, but if I haven’t returned by then, don’t worry about me.”
Emma pulled her kapp tighter on her head, as if it might shield her face from the cruel brightness of the sun.
“Let me help you.”
His arm encircled her waist, and Emma allowed herself to be led toward his buggy.
Henry whistled once, and Lexi made a beeline toward them, trotting happily behind her master. When they reached the buggy, she sat and waited for Henry to lift her up onto the seat. The little dog scooted toward the middle of the front seat and sat waiting for the ride to commence.
“You’ve trained your dog.”
“Indeed. Though now she thinks it’s time for her to take a ride whenever I harness Oreo to the buggy.”
Emma nodded, but she didn’t respond. Talking hurt. Everything hurt. She was accustomed to the headaches, having endured them since she was ten years old. There was nothing to be done for them except wait them out and, during the worst ones, seek out a dark, cool place.
Once they were on the road, Henry asked, “Have you spoken to Doc Wilson about this?”
�
��Ya.” Emma leaned forward, propped her elbows on her knees, and used her hands to shield out the bright afternoon light. She focused on breathing slowly and deeply. She told herself that in a few minutes she’d be in bed, in a darkened room, and then the rolling in her stomach would settle.
“Perhaps it’s time to speak to him again.”
“There’s medicine, but I’d rather not take it.”
“Rebecca would rather not have rheumatoid arthritis, but she does. Doc’s medicine has helped.”
“Lecturing a sick woman?” Emma peeked at him before again covering her eyes. “Not fair, Henry.”
“As your bishop, and your friend, I rather feel it’s my duty.”
He reached over and patted her arm. In that moment something deep inside Emma shifted, something she hadn’t felt in quite a while, some stirrings of a younger, more innocent self. She recognized her loneliness for what it was. Amazing how one could be lonely even in a crowd, even while in pain.
Her thoughts, or rather her emotions, had jumped the track all from a touch of the bishop’s hand.
Foolishness. That’s what it was. Perhaps because her defenses were down. During the worst of her migraines, it seemed every aspect of her body and soul became more sensitive. The smallest sounds grated on her nerves. Any scents, even those she usually loved, such as coffee or baking or flowers, were overpowering. She could actually feel the clothes against her skin, and what she normally considered soft fabric became rough and difficult to endure. And possibly the worst aspect was that her emotions became overly tender. She would cry about something she might have laughed about the day before.
Now she had interpreted her bishop’s compassionate attitude as something more. She clamped her teeth together and prayed that God would strengthen her until they reached her home.
Henry seemed to understand. There was no idle chatter or attempt to convince her to go to the doctor. He didn’t even call out to the horse, but gently guided her with the reins instead.
What the Bishop Saw Page 26