A Perfect Square (26 page)

The next morning dawned so dark, Callie had trouble believing her alarm. She rose anyway, dressed for bad weather, and took Max outside for his morning romp. While he did his patrol of the little side yard, she studied the sky. What she saw didn’t look good.

Callie hadn’t experienced a really good Indiana rainstorm in November, but she’d heard about them. Temperatures were predicted to drop — not enough to freeze, but enough to make everyone miserable.

Snow she thought she could handle. She’d missed snow when she’d lived in Texas, which was why she’d taken up skiing. As a child, Callie had always fantasized about visiting her Aunt Daisy in the winter, dreamed about romps through snow-covered fields, sled rides, and choosing a Christmas tree from a snow-filled lot. It seemed as if this year she’d have her chance.

Today though, it looked as if the forecast should read: wet and wretched.

Callie went back inside and pulled a sweater on over her cotton blouse, changing her shoes for rain boots. Donning a yellow rain slicker over the entire outfit, she studied herself in the mirror and decided she looked like an ad for Outdoor World.

Max whined once as she headed down the stairs.

“Sorry, boy. This is one day you should be glad I’m leaving you behind.”

By the time Callie had picked up Deborah and headed back to Faith’s bed and breakfast, the rain was beating a pattern against her windshield. When they pulled in front of the Shipshe police station, Shane blinked his lights once as he pulled out in front of them.

“Does he know where we’re going?” Callie asked.

“
Ya
. He called me at the bed and breakfast last night and confirmed directions to Lapp’s place.”

“Wants to be in the lead,” Deborah said with a half smile on
her face as she pulled her knitting out of her bag and began working on what looked like a scarf.

To Callie, everything being knitted looked like a scarf. Then, when it was done, it looked remarkable and soft and like something she wanted to learn how to do.

“You look better this morning, Deborah. More …” Callie glanced at her friend, who was sitting beside her in the front seat, then back at the wet black road. “More at peace I guess.”

“I couldn’t have said it better. Jonas and I talked a long while after you dropped me off.” Deborah’s needles were a blur, much like the white lines painted down the middle of the road, which they were speeding past. “He helped me to see that none of this is a surprise to God, and God still does have Reuben’s best interests at heart.”

“He has a hope and a plan for him?” Callie reached for her travel mug full of coffee and took a big gulp.

“Exactly.”

“I’m not following you two very well.” Faith leaned forward, sticking her head between the front seats. “Reuben is wanted for the girl’s murder, right? No offense, Deborah. I know he’s your
freind
.”

“No offense taken.” Deborah slowed in her knitting to smile at the older woman. “Reuben is wanted for the murder of this girl, because she was found on his place.”

“And because he won’t testify as to how he knew her. He won’t explain how she came to be staying in his house,” Callie added.

Faith pulled herself up straighter, and when Callie glanced in the rearview mirror, she could see that her eyes had widened to big blue circles.

“She was staying in Reuben’s house?”

“Reuben’s abandoned house,” Deborah corrected. “Reuben and his cousin Tobias live in the barn on the property, which they’ve remodeled. No one has lived in the house since their
grossmammi
and
grossdaddi
moved out.”

“Oh. Well, maybe he didn’t know then.”

“There are other things though, that seem to indicate Reuben had spoken to her.” Callie went on to give her the quick version of the grand jury findings, including the fact that Reuben had been in the house. Traces of blood had been found on the bottom of Reuben’s shoes, which is how they tied him to the clean-up of the blood splatter.

“Splatter? So did she fall or did someone hit her on the back of the head?”

“That part the crime techs couldn’t determine, or they didn’t reveal to the grand jury.” Callie sighed. “I’m sure they’ll bring in experts to debate the point.”

Somehow talking about the case this way, explaining the facts as they traveled toward what felt like the conclusion of what started two weeks ago, helped. When Callie was done, she glanced again into the rearview mirror.

“So what do you think now?”

“I think I’d like to meet this Reuben. He sounds even more stubborn than my Adam, and I’ll tell you — before he died, he was known as one of the most stubborn plain folks in all of Goshen.”

Deborah glanced back at Faith. “I sometimes think we grow men that way here in Indiana.”

“Nope,” Callie said. “Same thing is going on in Texas. Rick was terribly stubborn, and he most certainly wasn’t Amish. Must be a nationwide trait.”

They all considered that for a moment, Deborah and Callie exchanging pointed glances as they pulled up behind Shane’s car, which was stopped at a red light.

“Speaking of hardheaded,” Callie muttered.

Faith sat forward again. “What you first said though, about God having a hope and a plan for Reuben — and yes, I recognize that Scripture from the book of Jeremiah — “

“It’s one of Deborah’s favorites. She throws it at me all the time.” Callie smiled to soften her words.

“You need some reminding is all.” Deborah didn’t slow in her knitting.

“But you believe it applies in this case?”

“I do.” Deborah set her knitting in her lap. “I’ll admit, yesterday I was worried. Reuben seemed more tired than usual, and staying inside, in the jail, has taken its toll on him. But Jonas reminded me that God is doing something special inside of Reuben and that maybe today will be the day of his freedom.”

“Deborah, I don’t want you to get your hopes too high.” Callie reached over and clasped her hand. “We don’t know what we’ll find in Goshen.”

“
Ya
. Jonas said that too.”

They drove the rest of the way south on the state road in silence, each considering the possibility of Callie’s last words.

Before Callie felt quite ready, she was slowing, turning onto Old Branch Road behind Shane’s car. The lane was long and not quite like the type Callie was accustomed to. This looked more like the driveways to the horse farms near northern Houston, and in fact, horse fences lined the rolling pastures to the right and left of the lane. They continued to drive for several minutes as Callie studied the tremendous trees that spotted the fields beyond the fences. Most had dropped their leaves, stripped by the recent winds.

The leaves lay piled on the ground.

Callie wondered what type of trees they were. She hadn’t lived in Indiana long enough to be able to recognize all the foliage, but when she glanced over at Deborah, she saw that her friend had stopped knitting and her eyes were focused completely on the scene in front of them.

Now that they’d finally reached the end of the lane, the home looked to Callie like any other Amish farm.

A medium-sized house sat beneath a stand of trees. Behind it, hills unfolded for miles, draped in the morning’s rain. Adjacent to
the house were the obligatory barn and grain silos. The barn, as usual in this area of the country, was painted gray and was much larger than the house. Callie noticed no electrical lines ran to the house or the barn.

What was different, what she studied as she pulled to a stop behind Shane and cut the engine to her car, were the silos. She’d never seen anything quite like them.

She’d never seen so many.

S
AMUEL STOOD AT THE WINDOW
looking out at the two
Englisch
cars, and he knew that today was his day of reckoning.

Somehow he’d known it when he woke before dawn. There’d been a pit viper curled between his work boots, and he’d nearly set his feet down next to it. Even after he’d seen the snake, he’d thought, “Perhaps this is an answered prayer. Perhaps this is an easier way.”

Now, watching the two cars pull into the Lapp’s drive, he found himself thinking again of the snake and wondering why he had reached for the hoe and killed it.

He had killed … again.

“We have company, Samuel?” Rachel placed a hand on his shoulder as she peered out the window, out past the rain.

It was all he could do not to flinch at her touch. She still treated him with kindness, but that would end soon.

“
Ya. Englischers.
”

Timothy looked up from reading the Scripture and scowled. The two of them had come in for
kaffi
and a bite to eat after working since five. Even on Sunday the animals had to be taken care of. The rest of this day would be spent studying Scripture and spending time with family.

Across the district, other families would be meeting together to share meals, but not the Lapps.

They’d always lived in isolation, but it had grown worse in the days since Samuel had returned, since he’d told them Katie had gone to the city.

Looking out the window at the man who walked toward the front steps, he knew that now Timothy and Rachel would learn the truth, and he thought to run. His heart began to beat so fast it sounded louder than the knocking of the man’s fist against the door.

He thought to escape, but his feet remained rooted to the floor, as if they no longer retained the power to move.

So this was how it would end.

He remembered the snake again, remembered the feel as he’d chopped off its head, as he’d killed it.

Should he run?

He’d been taught ever since he was a young child to be peaceful. He’d lived all his life in a community committed to peace and nonviolence. “If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.” Samuel knew the verse well. Until this season of his life, he believed he’d followed it.

What of the rest of the verse from Romans? “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” How was he to do that? He didn’t understand. Katie had been
gut.
What had happened to her was wrong, and now these people were here, intent on bringing more grief to Timothy and Rachel.

He couldn’t allow it.

He’d been responsible for enough harm.

Eyeing Timothy’s hunting rifle on the shelf, he steeled his mind against his doubts and vowed to himself that he would find a way to protect this family — even if it meant he must fight.

D
EBORAH HAD THE SENSE OF STEPPING
into a quilting pattern.

She was certain she’d seen a quilt top that was pieced together exactly like the scene in front of her. That was the first and most disconcerting thing, rather like stepping into an
Englisch
photograph.

The second thing that made her
naerfich
was the number of grain silos in front of her. She didn’t know why it would make her stomach flip and flop, but it seemed so unusual she could only gape through the car window and press her hand to her apron to calm her nerves.

“Did I not mention Mr. Lapp has quite a large place here?” Faith asked, once again leaning forward between them.

“Can’t remember that you did,” Callie murmured.

“It looks like several farms.” Deborah reached down to put her knitting in her bag, never taking her eyes off the sight outside the car window. “It looks like a picture rather than a real thing.”

“Timothy’s parents died, leaving quite a bit of land, then his
bruder
died, and finally his
onkel.
He kept consolidating, kept thinking he’d have sons. And each time he’d build another grain silo and work longer hours on the extra fields. Each year he’d have another
dochder
.”

“He must have a lot of fields.” Deborah opened her door.

“He must have a lot of daughters,” Callie added.

Five silos. Deborah counted five. Three to the east side of the barn, two to the southwest. The sheer number was surprising enough, but as they followed Shane to the front porch of the house, she caught sight of a type of catwalk between the silos in each group.

It wasn’t unusual for silos to have a ladder on the exterior that led to an opening at the top, but she’d never seen a catwalk between two. Perhaps Mr. Lapp had so much work, he had to devise ways to save time. Still, Deborah shivered at the thought of walking so high off the ground, between the silos, on the grated metal walk.

To be sure, it must be safe, but she’d rather never attempt it herself.

By the time they reached the porch, Mr. Lapp had opened the door, but he hadn’t stepped outside. Deborah couldn’t make out his expression through the screen, but she could see he was a big man. And she could tell he wasn’t happy to have visitors.

“Timothy Lapp?”

“
Ya
.”

“My name is Shane Black, and I’m here to speak to you about your daughter Katie.”

Deborah had noticed in the past that Shane didn’t usually give his official rank when he introduced himself to Amish folk. She’d asked him why when he was investigating the death of Esther’s husband, and he’d explained to her that Amish people were wary enough about
Englischers
in general. It wasn’t so much that he was worried about intimidating the people he was questioning. It was that he wanted to get as much information as possible — and sometimes if he started out casually, he achieved better results.

She could have told him that in Shipshewana the entire point was moot. Everyone knew who Shane Black was. Everyone certainly
recognized his vintage Buick. And she imagined the same was true for most of LaGrange County.

But Deborah didn’t bother correcting him. She guessed
Englisch
men preferred to do things their own way as Amish men did. So he proceeded in his customary manner — doling out information a little at a time, so as not to frighten people off immediately.

Mr. Lapp did not look like a man who startled easily. Then Deborah’s mind flashed back to the pictures of the girl, of Katie. Was she his daughter? She shivered in spite of herself, and Callie stepped closer.

They were standing on the steps under the roof of the Lapps’ porch, but the rain had increased. It continued to splash on them. In the distance, thunder crashed and rolled.

“Timothy, perhaps you should invite them inside. The storm is worsening.”

An Amish woman in her late forties hovered in the background. Deborah couldn’t make out much more than her white
kapp
and her gentle voice.

Timothy ignored the woman, most certainly his wife, to say, “My
dochder
is in the city. We haven’t heard from her in days. I have nothing to say to you on the matter.”

“Mr. Lapp, I’m an officer with the LaGrange County—”

Before Shane could finish his sentence, Timothy Lapp had pushed his way through the door. Deborah was right in assessing his size. He was a giant of a man, standing well over six-and-a-half feet tall. He had the body of a man who’d worked more than twenty years on a farm, hard and muscular. He had the expression of the Old Order Amish — closed to those who weren’t a known part of their community.

“I told you. My Katie is in the city. Now I’d thank you to leave my land.”

Shane had backed up to allow Mr. Lapp to open the door. When he’d backed up, Deborah, Callie, and Faith had been
forced to take one step back as well, placing them squarely in the rain.

Deborah felt the water falling on her, soaking through her overcoat, but she couldn’t take her eyes off what was happening in front of her. She wanted to run past these two men, run to the woman who still waited beyond the screen door and comfort her in some way.

Lowering his voice, Shane said, “I have information that is possibly related to Katie Lapp, and I have photos I need you to look at. We can do that at the police station in Goshen, or we can do that here. But we are going to do it.”

Mr. Lapp seemed to deflate, like a tire on a bicycle that
kinner
rode in the summer. He peered out into the rain, over at his silos, and then a tremor passed through him.

He finally met Shane’s gaze.

“My Katie’s in the city.” His voice was softer now.

“Then look at the pictures. Tell me it’s not her, and we’ll be out of your way.”

“Not here. In my office. In the barn.”

“Do you want the ladies to stay with your wife?” Shane asked.

Timothy’s voice fell to a whisper. “No. It would frighten her more.”

He turned and spoke to his wife through the screen door. Deborah could just make out the words, even as she saw the brief shadow of another man passing behind the woman.

“We’re going to the barn,” Mr. Lapp said. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course. You stay inside with the younger ones.” Then he pushed his way through their little group, and he trudged off through the rain, oblivious to the fact that it was now falling in sheets.

They walked four abreast — Deborah, Shane, Callie, and Faith.

They walked behind Mr. Lapp, carrying their pictures and their news of death.

Deborah prayed as she sloshed through the stream of water that was already running across this fertile land, carrying away sticks and leaves and tiny pieces of the crops that had been harvested and stored in the silos towering over them — carrying away the last evidence of fall.

She prayed that Shane would use the correct words, that the man in front of her and the woman in the house would find the strength to bear whatever awaited them in the moments ahead, and she prayed for the boy — she could now see it was a boy and not quite a man, though no doubt he was at the end of his
rumspringa
— who circumvented their little group and hurried toward the back of the barn.

Callie blinked twice, hoping her eyes would adjust to the dimness of the barn. She didn’t consider herself a city girl, not any longer, and even when she’d lived in Houston, she’d sometimes visited the outlying farms in Normangee. But southern farms were different from Amish farms, and Timothy Lapp’s farm was proving a bit different from the four or five Amish farms she regularly visited in Shipshewana.

There were the silos: both odd and numerous.

Then there was the barn. In a word: gigantic.

Callie stepped through the door and stared straight up. Would that be three stories? She’d lived in Shipshewana less than six months, but already she was used to smaller buildings. This reminded her of the Galleria Mall in Houston. Ladders on each side led to a loft that circled the building on three sides. Windows at the top would have let light in on most days, but today she could only see the darkness of the sky and rain pelting against the panes.

Callie might have stood staring, earning a crick in her neck, but Faith nudged her forward, nudged her closer to Deborah and Shane, closer to the event she was no longer sure she had the courage to witness.

They followed Mr. Lapp into his office area, located at the northeast corner of the building. Unlike the rest of the barn, it was the size of most Amish offices, meaning it was small and utilitarian. By the time they all crowded inside, it was obvious there wouldn’t be room enough for everyone to sit.

Mr. Lapp stepped to the far side of the work table and nodded at Shane. “Like I told you, my girl’s in the city.”

Shane held the man’s gaze for ten heartbeats, then pulled the folder of photos out of his bag and set it on the table. “Have you heard from Katie since she left, Mr. Lapp?”

The older man flinched at his daughter’s name, but didn’t reach for the folder. “No. I haven’t, but then we don’t have a phone here. Don’t even have one in the workshop, though our bishop would allow it if I wanted one. I don’t.”

Shane nodded as if that made sense.

When Lapp didn’t add anything else, Shane cleared his throat once and reached for the folder. Reaching out her hand to stop him from opening it, Faith spoke up.

“I don’t know that you remember me, Mr. Lapp.”

“ ‘Course I do, Faith.” He looked up at her, met her gaze. “There’s no need to be formal, just because you arrived with
Englischers.
”

“
Danki,
Timothy.” Faith ran her hand down the front of her dress, wiping at the wet material.

Callie realized anew what a tenuous thread had brought them all together — Mr. Bontrager, Faith, the Lapps. The search for family, and Deborah’s ability to notice the smallest details in any pattern, even the pattern of Faith’s dress.

“I saw Katie occasionally in town, though it had been a while,
what with everyone so busy during the harvest months and her being grown now.” Faith waited for Timothy to add something, but he only stared back down at the folder, which remained unopened, sitting on the table. “Did Katie write to you at all, since she’s been away?”

He didn’t answer, but when he finally raised his eyes, Callie saw the fear there, saw the hope behind the fear, and she found herself praying that they were wrong. She had the irrational urge to grab the folder and the pictures and run out of the barn, run back to her car, and take them away from this place.

Perhaps it would be better if they didn’t know.

Before she could act on that urge, Shane reached forward and opened the file. He set the pictures on the table, in front of Mr. Lapp for viewing, placed there like tablets of stone.

Timothy didn’t have to answer.

He shut his eyes, and his face lost all color.

He began speaking in German, softly at first, a painful anguished sound.

Deborah rushed around the table. “Sit down, Mr. Lapp. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Would you like me to go and get your wife?”

“No. Not yet. Please, no. Give me a minute.” His hand trembling, he reached forward, picked up the picture of Katie on the stretcher.

Callie didn’t realize he was crying until tears splashed onto the photo.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted salt on her lips.

“What happened to her? Can you tell me what happened to her?”

“No, sir. We don’t know exactly. Her body was found two weeks ago. There’s a trial going on in—”

“That’s not possible.” Timothy Lapp placed both hands flat on the table, as if to push up, as if to stand. He shook his head and repeated, “That can’t have happened.”

“What do you mean, sir? This is your daughter, Katie Lapp?”

“
Ya
, that’s her.” Timothy reached forward, touched one of the photos gingerly, pulled it toward him as if he were pulling a piece of his heart across the table, shredding it as he dragged it across the oak surface. “It’s her or it’s her twin.”

Callie wanted to look away from the agony on his face, but she hung on to his words, was mesmerized by the look of confusion that now played across his features.

“But you say her body was found two weeks ago, and all this time a trial has been going on in the
Englisch
courts?”

“Yes, sir. There’s a man, an Amish man, who’s been accused of your daughter’s murder.”

Timothy flinched at the word, but shook his head, and this time he did stand. “Well, it can’t be her then. I don’t understand how they can look the same, but it can’t be her.”

“Your daughter is missing?”

“
Ya
, and she left just over two weeks ago. Seventeen days to be exact. I’ve counted each and every one. Prayed each morning and night that God would see fit to guide her steps back to this home.”

“Mr. Lapp, I’m sorry, but if your daughter is missing, and this looks like your daughter, then chances are it is her. We could do a DNA test to confirm.”

Timothy pushed the offending picture away, continued shaking his head. “You don’t understand. It can’t be her. Samuel went down to the phone shack and spoke with her two nights ago.”

“You’re sure?”

“
Ya
, I am. He came back and told us that she’s still in the city. That she’s fine.”

“Sir, is it possible — “

Shane never had a chance to finish his sentence.

It was cut off by Mrs. Lapp, who rushed into the room, pushed past Callie and Faith, and threw herself at the photos on the table. When she saw the photos of the girl, saw the evidence of what she
must have feared every night since her daughter had left, a high-pitched scream escaped from her lips.

Faith had described Rachel Lapp as being in her late forties, energetic, and motherly. But the woman who now clutched the photos to her breast and wailed was no more than a shadow. Tendrils of brown and gray hair had escaped her
kapp
and hung in rivulets down her face. Her dress was soaked and clung to her thin frame, as if she’d been standing in the rain since they’d arrived.