Among the Wicked: A Kate Burkholder Novel (28 page)

“I was going to make it right today,” Lena says.

I didn’t know Rebecca well, having only met her once. But whether I knew her or not, she deserved the chance to live her life. And as the grief pours off these women, I feel that same sadness welling inside me.

Naomi goes to the coffee pot and returns with two cups, shoves one of them at Lena. “Rebecca thought of you as her own daughter.”

“She enjoyed a lively spar, too,” Laura says.

“Never had to wonder where you stood with her,” Ada adds. “Just look at how she talked about the bishop.”

Seeing an opening, I pick up my own cup of coffee and casually ask, “Speaking of the bishop, I’m surprised Levi didn’t reach out to him. Especially if he was distraught.…”

Naomi nods. “I wish he had.”

Lena pulls away from Laura and takes her cup. “Bishop Schrock would have guided them through the darkness.”

“Did Rebecca and Levi have family?” I ask. When Laura shoots me a warning look, I add. “Sometimes if you’re going through a rough spot, it’s your family who pull you out.”

The women exchange glances and suddenly it dawns on me that Laura isn’t the only one who knows Rebecca’s family is gone. Either Rebecca confided in someone else, or people simply noticed they were gone.

“I heard her son and daughter-in-law left,” Naomi says in a low voice.

All eyes sweep to Naomi. “Took the two girls with them,” she says. “That’s all I know.”

“Why did they leave?” I ask.

“I suppose no one rightly knows,” Naomi replies.

Laura motions toward the sewing table where the quilt they’d been working on waits. We take our chairs. Rebecca’s is conspicuously empty.

Lena lowers herself into the chair, scooting it away from the table to make room for her belly. “What about her grandson?”

Ada picks up her needle, threads it and begins to stitch. “Rebecca told me Bishop Schrock sent her grandson away to help an elderly couple who’d lost their family in a buggy accident. Never understood why he did that.”

“I knew about it,” Laura admits. “She told me last summer. Evidently, the couple was in their eighties. They lost their family in a buggy accident and had no one to take care of them. Andy was on
Rumspringa
and had gotten into trouble a few times. The bishop saw it as a way to help that old couple—and help Andy at the same time.”

Ada lifts her chin. “Didn’t help Rebecca or Levi much, did it?”

It’s a heavy topic for a sewing circle, but sometimes tragedy has a way of loosening tongues. I take advantage of the opportunity to try to find out what else they know. “What kind of trouble did her grandson get into?” I ask.

“The bishop caught him with a radio in his buggy,” Ada tells me.

“He was sent away for
that
?” I keep my eyes on my sewing.

“The bishop took Andy in for counsel,” Ada says. “Next thing I know he’s gone.”

“What exactly does the bishop’s counseling entail?” I’m feigning interest in my stitching, but it’s not easy and in my peripheral vision, I see the other women look my way.

“Just a good talking to, I imagine,” Lena says. “Bishop Schrock is good with the young folks that way.”

Ada pulls her thread through the fabric with a little too much force. “Nothing good came of any of it, if you ask me.”

“Sometimes you make sacrifices to help others,” Lena says gently.

I steer the subject back to Rebecca’s missing family. “Did Rebecca hear from her grandson after he was sent away?”

“Rebecca wrote him, of course,” Ada says. “Don’t think she heard back, though.”

Naomi huffs. “He should have, but you know how those young men are sometimes.”

Lena offers a sad smile. “Maybe he’s courting a pretty Amish girl about now.”

The smiles that follow are subdued and thoughtful.

“Rebecca would have liked that idea.” Ada sighs. “I’m sure going to miss her.”

*   *   *

The afternoon at the quilt shop was a bust, at least in terms of garnering new information about the fate of Rebecca’s family. Ada is particularly displeased with Schrock and the only one willing to speak out against him. The others are either too frightened—or devoted. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get Ada alone and see what else she has to say about the bishop.

I stow the scooter bike in the shed, watching the windows and keeping an eye on the ground for tracks. I let myself into the trailer and without removing my coat, I call Suggs. “I’m going over to Schrock’s farm.”

“Shit, Kate.” The sheriff doesn’t sound pleased to hear from me.”You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

I tell him about my conversation with Marie Weaver last night. “She told me Rachel Esh lived at Schrock’s place for three weeks.”

“First I’ve heard of that.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Is this Weaver girl credible?”

“I think so,” I tell him. “She’s scared. Probably on Schrock’s radar.”

“That’s not good. At this point she may be the closest thing we have to a witness,” he says.

“She sneaks out at night and runs around all hours. Doesn’t have much in the way of supervision. Maybe you could give CPS a heads up and have them pick her up.”

“Sounds like the right thing to do,” he says. “We can sort it out later with the parents.”

The solution isn’t ideal; Marie sure as hell isn’t going to like it, but there’s no other way for us to guarantee her safety.

“About Schrock,” I say. “I just want to go out to his farm and take a look around.”

“Yeah, and I want to lose sixty pounds.”

“He won’t know I’m there, Dan. Just a quick in and out, and no one will be the wiser.” I pause, getting my words in order, formulating my argument. “It’s a huge property with several buildings. I want to know what he does out there when he thinks no one’s looking.”

“You know if you see something, we won’t be able to use it against him. There’s this little glitch called a warrant.”

“I’m aware—”

“What the hell are you going to do if someone catches you on the property?”

“It’s dark,” I say firmly. “There’s a lot of cover. If something unexpected happens, I’ll play innocent. Tell them I took a wrong turn. Got off the trail. Got lost.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Dan, there’s a young woman with a new baby out there.”

He falls silent for a moment and then says, “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Not when I’m right.”

“You going to go right now?”

“Yep.”

“All right.” He heaves an unhappy sigh. “You got one hour. If you don’t call, I’m going to drive out there, hunt you down and drag you out myself.”

I’m about to pop off a smartass reply, but he hangs up on me.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later I’m out the door and walking west on Swamp Creek Road. The snow has stopped, but it’s brutally cold. The sky is overcast, but the clouds are thin enough for a hazy moon to light my way.

An hour isn’t much time when I’ve half a mile to travel on foot just to get there, so I take advantage of the absence of traffic and jog. If a car or buggy happens by, I’ll duck into the woods until it passes.

By the time I reach the turnoff for Schrock’s farm, I’m out of breath. Keeping in mind that he has at least one dog, I start down the lane, staying alert, keeping an eye on my surroundings. But the place is seemingly deserted. I pass by the barn where worship was held. On Sunday, it was a pleasant place filled with Amish families, singing, and frolicking children. Tonight, the darkened windows watch me like menacing eyes as I pass.

A few hundred yards in and Schrock’s house looms into view. The downstairs windows glow yellow with lantern light. The upstairs windows are dark. The scent of wood smoke laces the air, and I wonder if he’s inside, sitting next to the fire, reading
Martyrs Mirror
. I wonder if Esther and her new baby are with him. I wonder if they’re safe.

The sound of a horse’s snort jerks my attention to the two buggies parked outside the barn. I hadn’t noticed them upon my approach. Slinking into the cover of the trees, I skirt the house and move closer to the barn. The sliding door is open. A yellow slash of lantern light bleeds out. Evidently, Schrock has visitors and they’re in the barn.

It’s a two-story bank barn with a stone foundation and a dirt ramp that leads to the sliding door. The second-level windows are dark, the loft door closed.

A sound resembling the pop of a BB gun startles me. I look over my shoulder, but quickly realize it’s coming from inside the barn. My feet are silent against the snow as I wind through the trees. I’m close enough to hear voices now. Men speaking Pennsylvania Dutch and engaged in an animated conversation. I’m about twenty feet from the barn with my back against a tree when I realize the exchange is not a friendly one. Another
pop!
snaps through the air. This time it’s followed by a yelp. Not a BB gun, I realize. Something else …

I stand there for a moment, listening, wondering if I can get close enough to see what’s going on without being seen. I’ll have to traverse ten or twelve yards of open ground with no cover. No trees. Not even a fence.

I work my way through the trees to the rear of the barn. Thankfully, there are no cattle or horses. Out of the line of sight of the front door, I leave the cover of the trees and cross to the barn. Upon reaching it, I press my back against the foundation and sidle toward the front of the building. I struggle to control my breathing, but my heart is pounding. If someone walks out of the barn and comes around to the side, I’ll have some explaining to do.

I reach the front of the barn and peer around the corner. There’s no one there. Nothing has changed. To my left the two horses and buggies still stand idle. The sliding door is open, light slanting out. The men are still arguing. I can’t be sure, but it sounds as if someone is crying—or in distress.

An instant of hesitation and then I’m around the corner. My back scrapes against the siding as I edge toward the door. I duck beneath a window, light spilling onto the snow-covered ground to my left. I reach the door and pause to listen. For the first time I recognize Schrock’s voice. He’s berating someone for some serious offense involving a woman
ime familye weg.
Pregnant.

Pressing myself hard against the wood, I peek around the jamb. Jacob Yoder and Jonas Smucker stand with their backs to me. Eli Schrock stands a few feet away from them, his back to me as well. A fourth man whose face I can’t see stands with his back to them, his hands braced against the wall. At first glance, I think he’s wearing a white T-shirt mottled with rust-colored paint, then I realize his back is bare, his flesh striped with welts.

Abruptly, Schrock draws back. For the first time I notice the buggy whip in his hand. He brings it down hard on the man’s bare back. “
Gottlos!
” Ungodly.

A scream tears from the man’s throat. His body goes rigid. His hands clench like claws against the wood. For an instant, I think he’s bound. Shock rattles through me when I realize he’s not.

“Oftentimes pain is the only way to cast out the devil.” Schrock slams the whip against the man’s lower back. Leather pops sickeningly against flesh.

Yoder watches dispassionately, unfazed by the scene playing out before him. But I don’t miss the signs of discomfort in Smucker’s body language. He flinches each time the leather smacks against the man’s skin, averting his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Still, he does nothing to stop it.

The whip falls again. The man’s body jolts, his hands scrabbling against the wood. A terrible groan bubbles up from his throat.

“
Aybrechah!
” Schrock shouts. Adulterer. “What would you do if Jesus came to your house today?”

The man begins to cry. “
Bekeahra
.” Repent.

Shrock swings the whip, brings it down hard. “Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord!”

The man’s legs buckle. He goes to his knees, his nails scraping the wall all the way to the floor. He bends at the waist. At some point he’s wet his pants, the stain spreading nearly down to his knees. Dear God …

Schrock steps back, shakes himself as if waking from a nightmare. The buggy whip falls to the ground. Abruptly, he turns. I lurch back. For a horrifying instant, I think he spotted me. But his voice is level and calm as he addresses Smucker and Yoder.

“Take our brother to the house. Clean his wounds. Send him home to his wife.”

I don’t wait to hear more. Quickly, I back away, ducking to avoid being seen through the window. I glance down at my tracks.
Shit.
No way to cover them, and I curse my carelessness. I reach the corner of the barn, turn and run as fast as I can across the open area. Relief surges when I reach the cover of the trees. Only when I’m deeply ensconced in the shadows do I stop and look back.

Yoder and Smucker are on either side of the man, helping him toward the house. Eli Schrock stands outside the barn door, looking in my direction. There’s no way he can see me. It’s fully dark; I’m twenty yards away, tucked into the shadows of a thousand trees. Still, a chill passes through me at the sight of him.

I can just make out his face and in the instant before he turns and starts toward the house, I think I see him smile.

*   *   *

I’m breathless when I arrive back at the trailer. I’m midway up the steps, anxious to tell Suggs what I just witnessed, when I spot the note taped to the door. My first thought is that my landlord Mrs. Bowman stopped by, tried to let herself inside only to realize I’d changed the locks. I pluck the note from the door and read.

Wer visa voahret fer in busch an mitt-nacht.

If you want to know the truth, go to the woods at midnight.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Turning, I scan the area in front of the property, but there’s no one there. No fresh tracks. Someone must have put it on my door shortly after I left for Schrock’s place.…

I look down at the note. It’s a plain white piece of paper about four inches square, torn on two sides. No identifiable markings or print.