Harmless as Doves (6 page)

To the bishop, Cal said, “Leon, I think you’ve got some mending to do in Jacob Miller’s family.”

“I didn’t know it was so bad,” Shetler said.

“Can you find Jacob Miller?” Cal asked. “Take him aside?”

Shetler shook his head sadly. “I’ll want to speak with his wife, Cal. I should do that first. Besides, I just spoke with Jacob.”

“OK,” Cal said, eyeing the picture window at the front of the Winters house. Darba stood there gazing out at them with the transfixed expression of someone asleep on her feet. “Maybe someone needs to check on Darba, too,” Cal remarked.

Katie and the bishop turned to look back at Darba, and Katie said, “I can do that.”

“She might not let you in,” said Cal.

“Maybe if I asked to use her bathroom,” Katie said. “That sometimes gets me in. She doesn’t feel so much like I’m just checking on her.”

Cal agreed. “I was out here last week, and she wouldn’t let me through the door. She would barely talk through the screen.”

“It’s worse when Billy’s gone,” Katie observed. “He should be down in Pinecraft today, so that’s going to be a problem for her.”

“Maybe we should call Evie Carson,” Cal said.

“Maybe Darba already has done that,” Leon suggested.

“But you’ll try?” Cal asked Katie. “Try to check on her?”

“Of course.”

“She might be into her ‘negativities.’”

“I can try,” Katie said. “Can’t hurt.”

“OK,” Cal said. “I’ll be up in a bit. First, I want to talk to the sheriff, down at the barn.”

The bishop touched Cal’s arm. “Who else, Cal? Who else do we need to worry about?”

Cal thought through the list. Darba, Vesta, Crist, the Burkholders, the family of Jacob Miller. Then he asked, “Was anyone particularly close to Glenn Spiegle?”

“Billy Winters was his closest friend. They knew each other in Florida, before Billy moved up here.”

“But is there anyone in your district, Leon?”

“None more than another,” Leon replied. “The people were slow to accept him.”

Cal asked, “But was anyone helping him? Or spending time at his place?”

“I guess that’d be me,” Shetler replied.

“And are you OK, Leon?” Cal asked.

Shetler thought, looked to Katie and back to Cal. “I think I’m numb, Cal. You know, shocked.”

“Can you find a phone from time to time?”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t get back out here, you could call. We could talk.”

Shetler tilted his head, thinking ruefully of the irony built into Cal’s suggestion. Thinking of the first time he had used
a phone—that morning in Mony Detweiler’s maple grove. “I guess I could find a phone from time to time.”

* * *

The coroner’s wagon was parked at the bottom of the drive, backed up to the large barn doors, and as Cal came down the slope, two of Missy’s assistants were pulling a gurney out of the back. Cal stepped around them and entered the barn.

Missy’s floodlights had been switched off and packed into their canvas cases, but the murder scene was now well lit by sunlight coming through the large openings of the barn doors. The back of the barn was in shadow, but a light was on in the Rumspringe Room, and Bruce Robertson stood just inside the room’s single door, talking with Missy. Cal stepped past the body of Glenn Spiegle, which was still covered with a tarp, and went back to talk with the sheriff and the coroner.

When he entered the Rumspringe Room, Missy was saying to her husband, “Bruce, he told Ricky that he didn’t move the body.”

Robertson turned his attention to Cal and, sweeping his arm around the room, he asked, “What do you make of this?”

Not bothering to inspect the room, Cal said, “It’s a Rum Room, Bruce. Darba lets the Amish teenagers use it.”

“You’re not surprised?” Robertson asked.

“I’ve spent some time with Darba,” Cal said. “Her intentions are good.”

Missy argued, “But Cal, she’s got a whole apartment here. Everything except a bed.”

Cal glanced around and shrugged, “It’s a safe place for the kids.”

Robertson asked, “Does the bishop know about this?”

“I’m sure he does.”

“You don’t think this is strange?” Missy asked.

Considerably taller than Troyer, Missy was almost her husband’s height. But unlike the heavy sheriff, Missy was not overweight. Neither was she thin or frail. She had taken
her examiner’s cap off, and the waves of her brown hair were tied back in a long ponytail. Her white lab coat was folded on her arm. Again she asked, “Not even a little bit strange, Cal?”

Cal shrugged. “Darba’s got a heart for the kids. She used to be a teacher.”

Coarsely, Robertson remarked, “Yeah, Cal, and they kicked her out of that job.”

“She has some problems,” Cal allowed. “But Darba was one of the best teachers we ever had out here.”

Robertson snorted. “Cal! She’s letting Amish kids run wild in her barn!”

“Kids are kids,” Cal said. “They need a safe place to go, and Darba’s generosity is well intentioned. She does good here.”

“That’s just great!” Robertson shot. “She’s giving them an excuse to run loose.”

“You want them running loose in town?”

“I don’t want them running loose at all,” Robertson said.

“Yeah, well, that’s not likely.”

Robertson gave up, said, “I’ve got to get going,” and walked out into the open barn. Cal followed and said to the sheriff’s back, “The Burkholders are going to want to talk to Crist. Vesta Miller, too.”

The sheriff kept going and talked back over his shoulder. “He’s got to be processed first. You know that.”

Cal advanced and pulled at the sheriff’s arm to turn him back around. “But this afternoon, Bruce, I’ll bring Vesta down.”

“Whatever.”

“Bruce, this needs to be handled gently. The Amish don’t know anything about criminal matters.”

Robertson considered the pastor’s intensity and softened. “I’ll let them talk to him as soon as his lawyer says it’s OK.”

7

Wednesday, October 7

MORNING

FEELING STIFF and mechanical, but trusting that Dr. Carson had been right on the phone, Darba went slowly about the business of the normal, getting herself out of her bathrobe and into something “comfortable and happy,” as Carson had put it—a loose-fitting sundress with a purple and green trillium pattern. She pulled the dress over a white cotton blouse and slipped into a pair of summer sandals, starting to remember some of the details about finding the body and calling 911.

In jerky, awkward sequences, as if it were an old, silent movie in her mind, she saw herself walking up to the body of Glenn Spiegle, sprawled out prone on the concrete, beside the blue Chevy.

A sad
Oh, Billy!
sparked in her thoughts.
Your best friend. Murdered while you are in Florida.

An Amish lad had admitted doing it? Was that possible? But she had seen him running up her drive. It was his car she had found running in the barn.

Then the bullish sheriff had come—crawling through her barn. Nosing into her Rum Room, no doubt. And Oh! How much they would judge her for keeping that room! “Crazy Darba” is what they’d all say, Amish and English alike.

But her medicine was starting to help now, and instead of nursing her “negativities” as she sometimes was inclined to do, Darba knew to stand at the picture window and wait for Dr. Carson. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Carson had promised.

So, just stand here quietly, Darba told herself. Let the medicine work. Watch the people.

Bishop Shetler, out front. Katie, too.

Cal Troyer, up and down the drive.

Oh, Billy!
her thoughts cried anew, as she swung back into a memory of the morning.
Do you know your friend is dead? Did you feel him go?

Glenn Spiegle had tried so hard. He had tried so hard for a new life. Who will stand up for him now, Billy? You did everything you could, but who will stand up for him now?

Not the bullish sheriff, Billy. He never liked you, anyway. He doesn’t know how much you did to help Glenn Spiegle. He doesn’t know the real you. So, he won’t stand up for Glenn. Not like you would.

How did Spiegle’s troubles find him, all the way up here? He had made such a good start here with the Amish. But that’s all gone now, Darba girl. That’s all gone like your job.

Sadly shaking her head, and aware only intermittently of her thoughts, Darba found herself gazing out at her Amish neighbors and friends, gathered on her front lawn.

She knew them all, young and old. Children, parents, and grandparents. The younger parents had been students in her last sixth-grade classroom. Not so long ago, Darba girl. Grown now, with children of their own.

There’s Ricky Niell, putting young Burkholder in the back of that cruiser. The cruiser driving away. People heading home.

Cal Troyer, with Leon, and Katie Shetler, watching her from her front lawn. Talking. Probably talking about you, Darba girl.

People out here won’t let me teach anymore.

After a black spell, Darba thought again of the barn.
I didn’t go to the barn right away. They’ll never understand that. How my brain is slow to focus when I’m off my medicine. They don’t understand how the smoke can drift into my mind. They never get the “tickle knees.” Never get the “crinklies” inside their ears. So, they won’t understand why I waited to go down to the barn.

Never mind. Doesn’t matter.

Glenn Spiegle tried so hard.

Oh, Billy! Billy.
Your friend is dead. Why can’t you answer your phone? Just switch it on for once. Just check your messages. The government can’t always want to track you.

* * *

When Katie Shetler knocked on her front door, the smoke had been drifting again through Darba Winters’s mind. She opened her eyes and stepped woodenly to the door. When she opened it, Katie spoke through the screen. “Darba, are you OK?”

Darba gave a halfhearted smile, and Katie pulled the screened door open. “Darba, can I use your bathroom?”

Darba nodded and stepped back. Katie stepped inside and said, “Can we make some coffee?”

To clear her thoughts, Darba stretched her eyes open wide and rolled her head from side to side.

“Make some coffee?” Katie asked again.

Darba studied Katie in the vestibule and settled her sight on Katie’s Amish attire.
You have always rather liked it, Darba girl.

An ankle-length dark plum dress, with four pleats in front, and four matching pleats in back. Tied at the waist with a plain and thin dark plum string. Plain, round neckline with a thin, stitched border. Covered in front with a white day apron. The fabric of Katie’s sleeves gathered over the rounds of her shoulders. Over her hair bun, a white prayer cap, cloth ties hanging down over the back of her shoulders. On her feet, Katie wore plain black Rockport walkers, with about an inch of black hose showing at her ankles. Yes, Darba rather liked Amish attire.

Seeing Darba’s thoughts drift away, Katie tried again. “Darba, let’s put up some coffee. We can talk.”

“Is someone looking after Vesta Miller?” Darba asked, turning slowly for the kitchen.

“Yes, Darba.”

Darba stopped in the living room and turned back to Katie. “Her father is a monster.”

“We can talk in the kitchen,” Katie said, waving Darba on.

Darba started again toward the kitchen, and then she stopped again. “Who is helping Vesta?”

“She’s next door, Darba,” Katie said and led into the kitchen. “She’s with Emma Peachey. I think Anna Mast is there, too.”

In the kitchen, Katie took out Darba’s coffee carafe and filled it with water at the sink. Darba stood haplessly in the doorway, watching Katie make the coffee. When the coffeemaker was chirping, Katie took a seat at Darba’s kitchen table and waved for Darba to join her. Darba sat down and stared at the red Formica tabletop. After another slow roll of her head, she asked, “Are they upset with me for not going down to the barn right away?”

“I don’t think so,” Katie said. “I don’t see why they would be.”

Darba closed her eyes on a memory. “Glenn Spiegle didn’t deserve to be beaten like that.”

Katie glanced over at the coffeemaker and said, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Darba.”

Eyes open again, Darba asked, “Did young Burkholder really say he did it?”

“He wouldn’t lie, Darba.”

“No, I suppose not.”

When the pot had finished brewing, Katie got up, poured two cups, and brought them back to the table, saying, “Drink some coffee, Darba. It’ll help if we talk.”

“OK,” Darba said and stared at the cup in front of her.

“Is Evie coming out?” Katie asked.

“I called her.”

“Is she coming out this morning?”

“As soon as she can get here.”

“We can talk while we wait.”

“OK.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Smoke in my thoughts.”

“Anything else?”

Darba shrugged. “It’s a shame about Vesta. Her father is such a know-it-all.”

8

Wednesday, October 7

10:30
A.M.

AS HE came up the Millers’ long dirt drive in his buggy, Bishop Shetler met Jacob Miller walking out toward the blacktopped road, Township Lane 569, which makes a T-intersection with 601 about a mile north of the bishop’s farm. Miller was carrying an old brown hard-shell suitcase, and he seemed to be in a hurry.

Shetler stopped his buggy on the drive and waited for Miller to come forward. Stopping beside Shetler’s rig, Miller glanced anxiously down the drive to 569, and began to offer an explanation, saying, “Bischoff, I’ve got to take a short trip. I need to catch a taxi.”

“You have a taxi coming to your house?”

“Well, one of the travel vans, really. I need to catch it at the end of the drive, there.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“A few days. Maybe three or four.”

“And your family?”

“They know their chores.”

“Aren’t you going to check on Vesta? She’s still at the Peacheys’ house.”

“My Annie can check, Bischoff. I told her to check.”

“You seem anxious, Jacob.”