The Amish Buggy Horse BOXED SET Books 1-3 (Amish Romance Book Bundle: Faith, Hope, Charity) (Boxed Set: The Amish Buggy Horse) (19 page)

Hebrews 4:.12.

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

Chapter 3
.

Isabel could not sleep. She could not sleep because she had just a few days ago seen her boss's body on the store floor. She had then had been subjected to a grueling questioning when she had given her statement to a woman police officer at the police station.

The scene was burned into her brain, and it had been replaying in her mind’s eye over and over as she lay in bed and watched the sky grow darker, and then lighter. Now it was Monday morning and she had to return to the Old Candle Store. The sun was almost clear of the horizon, and yellow light streamed into her room through the window next to the bed.

No one spoke to her at breakfast, but her parents shot her worried looks. She was glad they had not mentioned the murder to her over the weekend; she had no desire to talk to anyone about it, not just yet. Her
mudder
had been worried about her, and had checked in on her once or twice each night, but she had pretended to be asleep.

Isobel had been concerned about returning to the Old Candle Store. She had no idea if it would even be open today, but there had been no word to the contrary from Mrs. Harrison.

Isobel drove Blessing to the small lot beside the squat, red brick store that seemed crammed into the busy main street of downtown. She tied him well, and put his thick, winter blanket over him. She picked her way across little bits of yellow police tape lying outside the door, and unlocked the door with her old, silver key. When she went in, she shut the door behind her and flipped over the placard that sat in the small, square door window, changing it from
Closed
to
Open
.

Isobel moved to the checkout counter. She turned on the electronic till, and opened the drawer, only to see that there was no money in it. She would have to go to her boss’s office, in the back of the store. She had a key to that as well, but she had been dreading going there, and was hoping she wouldn’t have to do so that day.

She walked along the rows of candles, trailing a fingertip along a wooden shelf, and then she was at the small brown door that had a card stating,
Office
, in big, black, blocky letters. She slid the office key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open, and once again Isabel was crying.

The office was small, and had a long desk with a chair behind it, and two chairs sitting in front of it. Dear Mr. Harrison had been an avid reader, and his office showed that. He had several books strewn over his desk, with the one he had currently been reading sitting in front of his chair with a slip of white paper as a bookmark.

Isobel reached over to look at the cover of the book. It was a murder mystery. Isobel dropped it back on the desk in horror. It seemed like a cruel joke.

The shrill ringing of the phone made Isobel jump. She trembled, and held the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Her voice was shaky.

“Hello dear,” a woman’s voice said. It was Peggy, Mr. Harrison's wife. She had little to do with the day to day running of the Old Candle Store, but, as the Harrisons lived above the store, Isobel knew Peggy quite well.

Isobel was the only person who worked in the candle store, along with Mr. Harrison. When she was at lunch, he was there, and if he took a day off, she replaced him. Isobel vaguely wondered what would happen now.

"Hello, dear," the voice said again.

“How are you?” Isobel asked softly, a wave of pity and sadness washing over her.

“I'm not good, my dear,” Peggy said. "I'm in bed and staying with my sister, or I would’ve come over to see you."

Isobel had always liked Peggy Harrison. She was as short and skinny as a rail, with a mound of white hair upon her head. She was in her seventies now, much like her husband had been. It seemed crazy to Isobel that someone would murder a seventy something year old man, and she was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that someone had.

“I’m staying with my sister,” Peggy said again. “I can’t close the store though. I don’t know if my husband ever told you, but things are tight."

Isobel had, in fact, been aware of the situation. The store was the only thing the couple had, and sales had been falling steadily for a decade. It seemed that not many people wanted candles any more, and half those who did, purchased them online. Nevertheless, Isobel did not think it would be polite to tell Mrs. Harrison that she knew all about their money problems, so she stayed quiet and let her continue.

“I can’t run the store anyways," Peggy continued. "I never learned much about it.”

Isobel waited until Peggy's voice trailed off and then spoke. “I can keep it open for you.”

There was a pregnant pause from the other side of the phone, and when Peggy spoke again, her voice betrayed the fact that she was close to tears. Isobel figured that Peggy Harrison had been crying for most of the night.

“I'll come over and see you later, when I feel a little better. I just wanted to know if you can keep the store open until I sort things out. I'm going to stay with my sister until I feel better. Then I'll probably have to close the store, but I can't think straight at the moment. Would you be able to keep it open just another few days, please?”

“Yes, of course,” Isobel said. She had no idea what to say to Peggy, despite her urge to reassure her.

She walked around the desk, and then lowered herself into the ancient chair that Mr. Harrison had favored. She bent, and used the same key she had used on the door to unlock a drawer. There was a key there to a safe built into the wall behind her, and she opened it and pulled out a stack of money. She counted out the correct bill for an opening shift till, and then locked everything back up.

Isobel hurried out of the office, pulling it shut behind her, and locking it. She returned to the front, and was putting the money into the till when she heard the small silver bell above the front door ding as the door opened.

* * *

Detective Peter Stutzman sighed when he saw the Amish girl's startled face. He supposed she thought it might have been the murderer returning, and then what would she have done? Absolutely nothing, as he knew only too well. For some reason he had a strange urge to hug her, and tell her everything would be all right, but he quickly dismissed that as a peculiarity caused by the stress of his occupation.

"Hello, Miss Slabaugh." Before she could speak, he pressed on. "I just have a few more questions about the man's description."

"But I've told you already," Isobel said, "and I gave a statement at the police station, too."

Detective Stutzman sighed. Why did witnesses always complain? He was only doing his job. "Please describe the man to me again." He watched as a flash of annoyance passed across Isobel's face, followed by resignation.

"He was short and well built. I'd say he was around forty to fifty years of age. His hair was brown with a lot of gray though it. He had a hard face. One of his eyes was closed, almost closed anyway."

"Which eye was that?"

"His left eye."

"Are you sure?'

"Yes."

Detective Stutzman rubbed his chin. What was of interest was the fact that Isobel had described Clifton Raines perfectly. Raines had been a criminal with a long rap sheet, and, many years ago, it had been Mr. Harrison's testimony that had sent him to jail. Raines had been released on bail only two weeks before the murder.

Stutzman had found this out pretty quickly, but Raines had claimed to be with his lawyer, and not just any lawyer at that, but a well known criminal lawyer. The lawyer had corroborated Raines' claim, and had even produced a video, complete with time stamp, showing Raines entering his office before the murder, and leaving long after it. It was a pretty tight alibi, and so Stutzman could see no reason to concentrate on Raines.

"We'd like you come down to the station to do an Identi-Kit picture of the man you saw."

"What's that?" Isobel's forehead furrowed in confusion.

"You describe the man to, well, an artist of sorts, and he puts together a picture of the man. We use that picture to help us identify him."

"Oh." Isobel looked thoughtful. "Yes, I can go tomorrow morning, if Mrs. Harrison will give me the time off."

Stutzman was taken aback. Surely the girl didn't intend to keep the store open after a serious crime had been committed here? "I don’t think you understand," he said slowly. "This was an execution-style murder, and I don't think it’s advisable to be here at all. Mrs. Harrison is staying with her sister, so she's out of harm's way, and I suggest you go home and keep well away from here."

To his annoyance, the girl simply shrugged. "I'm sure I'm in no danger," she said.

"You witnessed a man fleeing from the scene of the murder," Stutzman said. He was rapidly losing patience. "You said the man saw you, so he knows you're an eye witness, and you’re the
only
eye witness. You could be in grave danger."

"
Gott
will protect me, if it is His will," she said.

Stutzman was furious. He turned on his heel and left, without another word.

Proverbs 26: 23 - 28.

Like the glaze covering an earthen vessel are fervent lips with an evil heart. Whoever hates disguises himself with his lips and harbors deceit in his heart; when he speaks graciously, believe him not, for there are seven abominations in his heart; though his hatred be covered with deception, his wickedness will be exposed in the assembly. Whoever digs a pit will fall into it, and a stone will come back on him who starts it rolling.

Chapter 4
.

When Isobel arrived home that afternoon, her parents were sitting at the big kitchen table. She joined them, and after the silent prayer, her
mudder
hopped up. "Isobel, I've made you Dutch Goose, your favorite." She hurried to the stove and soon returned, and then spooned two inch slices of piping hot Dutch Goose onto a plate, and then covered it with gravy made out of the drippings.

Isobel thanked her mother and then reached for a jug of water, but her
mudder
beat her to it, reaching across the table and snatching the jug. She poured Isobel a glass and handed it to her.

“
Denki
,” Isobel said, “but please don't feel you have to do everything for me. I'm fine, really."

“You are not fine,” her
mudder
said. “How could you say that? You saw something terrible.”

“If she says she’s fine, she’s fine,” her father said in a quiet voice. Isobel could tell he was thinking about something, and it piqued her interest.

“What are you thinking about,
Datt
?”

“I’m just reliving something,” he said. He stayed quiet for a moment, but his daughter knew him well, and knew he would presently launch into his story. It was a story her
mudder
must have known, because she leaned forward and spoke to her husband in a hushed tone.

“Do
not
tell her this.”

“It could help her,” Mr. Slabaugh said, waving off his
fraa
by swinging a hand in the air. He turned to Isobel. “When I was a younger
mann
, I had married your
mudder
, and you were just a
boppli
.”

Mrs. Slabaugh sighed and stood, took her empty plate to the sink, and dropped it inside with a bang.

“It was winter, and I was driving down a desolate stretch of road. I don’t know what made me look, but I just happened to glance out my window right at the perfect moment to see a red glow coming from down the side of an embankment. It was night, and dark as could be. It was snowing lightly then, but it had been coming down really good earlier that day. I pulled my horse to the side and stopped. By the time I had gotten the horse stopped, being careful in the snow and everything, I was a little distance away. I pulled my coat around me, and I walked back."

Mrs. Slabaugh walked back and sat down, and put her hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Sure enough there was a car down there," he continued. "There was a dip off the road, and it continued to a stand of trees. I made my way down the hill and got to the car. There was a
mann
in the car. Now, this was a time before cell phones or any of that, or perhaps it was the early days of them, I don’t know, but he did not have a cell phone that I could use to call for help. I took one look at the
mann
and I turned to go back to my buggy to rush for help, but in a small voice he asked me not to.”

Isabel’s father took a moment, sipped his meadow tea, and then continued.

"He knew no one would come in time, and I knew it as well. So I stayed. I stood next to him and I opened the door and reached in to hold his hand. He looked at me. He knew it was coming; he closed his eyes, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Our breaths were coming out in blasts of fog, until finally his wasn’t coming anymore. Then I went to the road, where a truck had stopped at the sight of my horse tied to a tree. He went on for help, and eventually the police came out there."

Isobel looked at her
vadder
for a long time. She did not know what to say. They sat quietly and then finally Isobel thought of something. When she spoke, her voice was wavering. “Did it keep you up at night?”

Her
vadder
looked to her. He took another sip, and then he nodded. “
Jah
,” he said. “It did.”

“Does it now?”

“
Nee
.”

“How did you start sleeping?”

The older man shrugged. “The
mann
asked me to pray with him. He left his physical body, and I hope he went to be with
Gott
. These physical bodies are just clothes, nothing but clothes that we shed when we go to be with
Gott
. Here, pass me the
Martyrs Mirror
.”

Isobel walked into the living room to fetch the
Martyrs Mirror
, a heavy, thousand page book owned by many Amish. It contained the story of over eight hundred Anabaptist martyrs who were imprisoned and then executed for their belief in adult baptism around four hundred years ago. In fact, at that time, many thousands of Christians were persecuted for their belief in adult baptism.

Isobel knew what was coming; her
vadder
had one particular story he always liked to read, that of the martyr Dirk Willems. As so Isobel sat at the kitchen table while her
vadder
once again read to her the story of Dirk Willems. In 1569, Willems escaped from his prison cell and fled across a frozen moat. No sooner had he made it safely across, than the guard who was chasing him, fell through the ice and sank into the icy water. Not wanting the man to die, Dirk Willems at once hurried back and pulled the guard to safety. Despite the fact that he had saved the guard's life, Dirk Willems was executed by being burned at the stake.

"And so," Mr. Slabaugh concluded, "Dirk Willems showed compassion for his enemy. He did not repay evil with evil."

Isobel expected her father to close the huge book, as he always did at this point, but he tapped the page and reread the first section:

"
In the year 1569 a pious, faithful brother and follower of Jesus Christ, named Dirk Willems, was apprehended at Asperen, in Holland, and had to endure severe tyranny  from the papists. But as he had founded his faith not upon the drifting sand of human  commandments, but upon the firm foundation stone, Christ Jesus, he, notwithstanding all evil winds of human doctrine, and heavy showers of tyrannical and severe persecution, remained immovable and steadfast unto the end; wherefore, when the chief Shepherd shall appear in the clouds of heaven and gather together His elect from all the ends of the earth, he shall also through grace hear the words, 'Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord
.'"

"Death is the will of
Gott
," her
vadder
continued. "Who are we to know the will of
Gott
? Death holds no fear for us. Remember Ecclesiastes chapter three, which says, '
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die
.'"

Isobel nodded. Her father got up and took his dishes to the sink. He came back to the table, stood beside his daughter, and put his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed her arm, and then he left the kitchen.