Plain Killing (18 page)

“I’m glad. I was so afraid for you,” Rachel admitted. “Afraid maybe you’d been coerced into this marriage.”

“I am a practical woman,” Hannah said. “It is better for me and those I love if I am far from Stone Mill. Our faith will sustain me . . . sustain my new family.”

Two young Amish women were making their way to a table where the desserts were being put out. Each carried a huge tray covered with paper plates with slices of pies and cakes. The girl with the glasses flashed a quick, shy smile at Hannah as they passed.

“My sister Lorna,” Hannah explained. “And our cousin Vi.”

Rachel remembered Vi from the young people’s singing she and Mary Aaron had attended. She was cute and plump, with freckles on her turned-up nose and bright blue eyes. The sister, Lorna, Rachel didn’t recognize. She was a thin girl in her late teens with acne and glasses. In contrast to Vi’s laughing countenance, Lorna seemed timid, even sullen.

Rachel waited to speak again until the girls were busy unloading their trays. “Hannah, I’m sorry to keep harping on this, but it’s really, really important that you tell me who gave you a ride out of Stone Mill the night you left.”

Hannah put her hands together, threading her fingers. She gazed at the grass at her feet.

“If you tell me who it was, maybe I can figure out how what happened to you happened. How you got there,” she said, trying to be cryptic because, as the sister and cousin set out desserts, people were coming to get them.

“Please, Hannah,” she whispered desperately. “I ask only because of what happened to Beth.”

“I pray for her soul every day,” Hannah answered. “I can do no more.”

Rachel wanted to grab the young woman by the shoulders and shake her, but the sister glanced over her shoulder at them. Rachel took a step closer. “Is there nothing else you can tell me, Hannah?” she whispered.

“None of that matters now because I have closed that door. Nothing can make me open it again.” She lifted her gaze to meet Rachel’s. “No one can make me speak of it again.” She reached out and squeezed Rachel’s hand. “Thank you for being my friend. For helping me when I needed it. I won’t forget you.” She let go of Rachel then and walked away, calling to someone.

Rachel stared after Hannah, a little shocked that she’d not been able to get any more information out of her, certain this had been her last chance. She was surprised by the tears that stung her eyes. She turned away from the festivities, seeking some quiet spot to be alone, suddenly afraid that the horror of Beth Glick’s death would fade into legend and no one would ever find out who killed her or why.

“Rachel!”

Rachel turned to see her sister Annie standing with hands on her ample hips and staring at her. “Mary Aaron said she saw you walking this way.” Smiling, she came forward to give her a hug. “Didn’t you bring that handsome young man with you?”

Annie liked Evan. She never mentioned that he wasn’t Amish, and she never ceased trying to find out if their relationship was going to lead to marriage. Happily married herself, Annie was determined to find a husband for her older sister and all of her unmarried girlfriends.

Rachel returned the affectionate embrace. “He’s working. I was hoping to see you. Is Ben here? I haven’t seen him.”

“I’ve been on kitchen duty.” Annie hooked her thumb in the direction of the house. “Ben went to the wedding with me this morning, but we’ve got a mare in labor. You know my husband and his livestock.” Annie rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, I think he loves them horses more than me.”

“I doubt that.” Rachel was genuinely pleased to see her. No matter how down in spirits anyone might be, Annie could always lift them. She was the most like their
dat
in her easygoing personality. Rachel patted her sister’s belly. “You’re starting to show.”

“
Ya,
I am.” Annie grinned. After two years of marriage, she and Ben were expecting their first child in January. “
Grossmama
says, carried high like this, it’s bound to be a little woodcutter.”

Rachel couldn’t suppress a smile. “
Grossmama
says
every
pregnant woman’s having a boy. And she’s right half the time. It’s what most parents want to hear, isn’t it?”

“Not my Ben. He says he’d welcome a girl just as much as a boy. You know he hopes for a big family. His mother had fourteen. She says she never would have managed if her first two hadn’t been girls. They’re so much help with the younger children.”

“That would be your practical Ben.” She squeezed Annie’s hand. “Better you than me. I can’t imagine having fourteen children.”

“Whatever God sends us.
Mam
had nine. Can you imagine not having Levi or Sally? He has a plan for us, Rachel, and we only find true happiness if we can accept His plan.”

Rachel smiled but didn’t respond. This belief in God’s plan was the Amish way, a way that they had lived by for hundreds of years. So why hadn’t she bought into it the way everyone else had? Did she lack faith? She wondered if Annie ever had doubts, but that was too personal a question to ask, even of a beloved sister. Annie certainly seemed content with her life.

“I miss you,” Rachel said instead. “We never seem to find time to visit.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” Annie wiped her hands on her apron, though they weren’t wet. “I was busy
before
Ben’s grandfather had the stroke. Now, I’m trying to help Ben’s mother and sisters care for him
and
keep up with my housework and quilting. I can’t believe you sold another quilt off that website. What you’re doing for us, for the whole community, you can’t know how much it means to us.”

“Your work is so beautiful,” Rachel told her, uncomfortable with the praise. “All I have to do is put up the pictures, and the customers find me. How’s Ben’s grandfather doing?”

Annie shrugged her broad shoulders. “He wanders sometimes, but he’s such a sweet person, always laughing. He still weaves willow market baskets on his good days. You’d never know he’s ninety.”

It was like Annie to make light of caring for the elderly man. Among the Amish, seniors were venerated and never placed in nursing homes, no matter how severe their health problems or dementia. Joe Lapp’s escapades were legendary. Evan had told her that a state trooper had once picked him up rolling down the highway in his wheelchair, more than five miles from his daughter’s farm.

“I came out for a breath of air, but I should get back inside. We could use your help in the kitchen. It’s almost time for the women’s sitting. Unless you’re hungry . . .”

Rachel tucked her arm into her sister’s. “I’ll wash if you’ll dry.”

“Deal.”

Arm in arm, they walked together toward the house. “You know,
Mam
’s worried about you,” Annie confided.

“Anything in particular this week? Or just general concern for my soul?”

“She’s worried that you’ll never marry and give her grandchildren.” Annie paused. “She knows you and Evan have been seeing each other almost a year.”

Rachel hesitated, not sure if she wanted to talk about this. “He wants to court me.”

“But you don’t want him to?”

Rachel glanced at her sister. “I don’t know what I want.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He is, and he’s a dear friend. I don’t know if I’m ready for more than that, though. If what I feel for Evan is love.”

“
Mam
says first comes respect, then marriage. Love will follow.” Annie beamed, and when she smiled like that, she was beautiful, in Rachel’s eyes. “But with Ben, I knew. Even before he knew. I set my
kapp
for him, and he never had a chance.” Annie patted the place over her heart. “In here, I felt it, like I couldn’t breathe when he was near me.”

“Sounds painful,” Rachel teased, and they laughed together. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t make up her mind? Was it what she’d told Evan—that her worry about finding Beth’s killer didn’t leave room for anything else? Or was it something more? She cared more about Evan than any other man she’d ever met . . . but did she want to
marry
him?

Amanda, her fifteen-year-old sister, came out the back door, a basket of rolls in her arms. “
Mam
wanted to know where you were,” she warned Annie. “Dirty dishes piling up.”

“We’re on our way,” Rachel said.

They met with their mother as they walked into the kitchen. She handed an apron to Annie. “Tell your sister she will ruin her fancy clothes.”

Trying to keep a straight face, Annie repeated what their mother had said.

Rachel took the apron from Annie.
“Danke.”

“Tell her that we are glad of her help.” Their
mam
’s voice grew tender. “And we’re thankful that she is safe here with her family this night.” Picking up a bowl of macaroni salad nearly the size of a wagon wheel, she balanced the weight on one hip and carried it past them and out the kitchen door.

“The dishes.” Annie gestured toward the overflowing sink. They exchanged meaningful glances and chuckled, sharing the bittersweet humor of their mother’s expression of her love. “I think
Mam
’s softening,” Annie teased.

“Ya,”
Rachel agreed. “Another fifteen years and she’ll be referring to me as ‘that foolish Rachel’ instead of just ‘she.’ ”

The other women laughed. Rachel tied the apron around her waist and began to wash dishes. Soon, caught up in the laughter and friendly talk of a half dozen other young women, she found herself not just content but happy to join in the work. Odd as she might be, she was still one of them.

Later, other women who’d already eaten came into the kitchen to take their turn at the sink, and Rachel and Annie followed the cleanup crew out to the long table. The food was every bit as good as she’d thought it would be. She stuffed herself, then agonized over the choice of dessert. Hannah’s mother’s Moravian hickory nut cake or a wedge of
apfelstrudel
with whipped cream? She’d just opted for the cake and sat down again when Mary Aaron’s Timothy came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She glanced up at him.

“She wants you to come,” he said under his breath. “Around the back of the house. There’s a cellar-way door.”

“Mary Aaron?”

Rachel stood, handed Timothy her slice of nut cake, and threaded her way through the milling women and children. It was fully dark, and although the eating area was well lit by lanterns, she had to rely on moonlight to make her way around the house. The dwelling wasn’t large, so it was easy to find the open cellar door and the cement steps leading down to the basement. As Rachel put her hand on the railing, a shadowy figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin. “Mary Aaron?”

“You scared me.”

“Watch the steps,” she warned. “They’re steep.”

As Rachel joined Mary Aaron in the cool cellar, she became instantly aware of the sound of someone crying. “Hannah?” she whispered.

“
Ne,
her sister Lorna.” Mary Aaron caught Rachel’s hand and led her deeper into the cellar. “She’s really upset, but she said I could bring you. Tread carefully. Let me ask the questions.”

“What’s going on?”

“Shh.” Mary Aaron raised her voice. “Lorna. I’m back . . . with Rachel.”

Mary Aaron led her across the packed dirt floor. Ahead, Rachel saw a gleam of yellow light through the cracks of a black barrier. They rounded a corner, and Rachel saw Lorna standing in the middle of a pantry, weeping. A kerosene lantern hung from a peg in a ceiling beam. The yellow light illuminated tall wooden shelves stacked with jars of home-canned peaches, green beans, corn, and tomatoes. Along one wall hung slabs of smoked bacon and strings of dried onions. The low-ceilinged room was heavy with the smells of curing sauerkraut and dust.

Mary Aaron went to Lorna and put her arms around the girl. Lorna buried her face in Mary Aaron’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Mary Aaron soothed, patting Lorna’s back. “It will be all right. Tell Rachel what you told me. It’s important, Lorna.”

“I’m afraid.” Lorna’s voice was muffled by Mary Aaron’s hug.

“That’s okay. It’s okay to be afraid.”

Lorna sniffed loudly, and turned her teary face in Rachel’s direction. Rachel wished that she could see her more clearly, but the darkness in the cellar seemed to suck up the flickering light from the lantern.

“Tell Rachel why you’re so upset,” Mary Aaron urged, taking a step away from the girl.

Lorna shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come to you. It was wrong.”

“No,” Mary Aaron insisted. “It was the right thing to do. And very brave.”

Rachel waited.

“My cousin,” Lorna whispered, taking off her glasses to wipe beneath her eyes.

Rachel’s gaze went to Mary Aaron, then back to the girl.

“I don’t know what . . . what exactly happened to my sister when she was gone,” Lorna said in a thin, hesitant voice. “I know it was bad.
Mam
and
Dat,
they kept whispering, and
Mam
cried and cried. She never cries, my mother, but she cried more than I saw her all the time Hannah was lost to us. Three times the bishop came, and once all the elders were with him. Every time, they would shut themselves into the small parlor. They told me to take the children up to bed, even though it was too early for them to sleep.” She slid her glasses back on. “Maybe I shouldn’t say any more. I don’t want anyone to get into any trouble.”

“Ne.”
Mary Aaron shook her head. “You coming to me could keep her safe.” She glanced at Rachel. “Lorna overheard you talking to Hannah a little while ago and got scared.” She looked at Lorna again. “Tell her about your cousin.”

“I think I should go back. My aunt sent me for peaches, but I . . .” Tears began to run down her cheeks again. “I’m so worried about Vi.”

“Tell her why you’re worried,” Mary Aaron prompted.

Lorna clasped her hands and began to wring them. “She’s leaving. Vi. She’s going away like Hannah did.”

Rachel had to bite down on her lip to keep from peppering Lorna with questions. But the girl was already skittish. She didn’t want to scare her.

“Whatever it is that happened to Hannah,” Lorna went on, “it must have been bad or
Dat
wouldn’t have found her a husband so fast. She wouldn’t be leaving for Wisconsin. You wouldn’t have spoken to her the way you did.” She looked at Rachel, then down at her feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been listening in, but . . . Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t want anything bad to happen to Vi.”

“You’re right to be worried,” Mary Aaron said gently. “Hannah came back to us. Beth Glick didn’t.”

“I don’t know anything about Beth.” The girl opened her arms and let them fall to her sides. “I don’t even know what happened to my sister. I just . . .” She exhaled a shaky breath. “Vi has always been my special friend,” Lorna explained. “I couldn’t bear it if something awful happened to Vi, too. I tried to talk to her before Hannah came back. Now—” There were more tears. “I don’t know what to do. Vi’s already talked to someone. Vi’s already made plans to go.”

“Talked to whom?” Rachel asked.

“Rachel,” Mary Aaron warned softly.

But Rachel couldn’t keep quiet any longer. She stepped directly in front of Lorna. “Do you know who it is? Is it a stranger or someone Vi knows? Is it the same person who helped your sister?”

“I think . . . maybe it is.”

Rachel grasped Lorna by the shoulders. “You have to tell me who.”

Lorna hung her head. “A man,” she murmured. “I don’t know who. Vi wouldn’t say.” She looked up at Rachel, her eyes tearing up again. “But I think . . . I think it is someone from here. Somebody who helps kids get away.” Her last words were only a whisper.

Rachel looked at Mary Aaron. “We’ve got to talk to Vi. Tonight. Now. She could lead us to Beth’s killer.” She turned eagerly to Lorna. “Could you get Vi to come down here?”

“Ne!”
Lorna shrank back. “She wouldn’t talk to you. She’d think I betrayed her trust. She’d be so angry with me for telling that she won’t listen to me either.”

“She’s right, Rachel,” Mary Aaron said, grabbing Rachel’s arm. “If we confront Vi, she might tell the person who’s helping the kids get away. And he might be right here at this wedding supper tonight.”