Harmless as Doves (7 page)

“I just need to catch this taxi.”

“Where are you going?”

“Sarasota.”

“Pinecraft?”

“Yes. Pinecraft.”

“I didn’t know a bus was leaving today.”

Miller set his suitcase on the drive and took a handkerchief out of the side pocket of his britches. Despite the autumn coolness, his blue shirt was stained with sweat under his arms. He wiped his beaded brow, pushed the handkerchief back into his side pocket, and picked his suitcase up again, saying, “I’m not really taking a bus, Bischoff.”

“You’d hire a taxi to go to Florida?”

Uneasy, Miller answered, “No, Bischoff, I am taking an airplane.”

“We use vans and buses, Jacob. Not airplanes.”

“It has to be a quick trip, Bischoff. The corn needs to come in next week, and I should be here for that, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” the bishop intoned. “You need to be here, with your family.”

“I’ll be back in a few days, Bischoff. We can talk then, if you wish.”

Shetler looked down to the Miller house at the end of the long drive. A daughter was cutting grass with an old, smoky gasoline mower. Another daughter was hanging laundry out to dry on a line at the side of the house. The oldest son, Andy, stepped down from the front porch, waved to the bishop, and went into the barn to the right of the house. From the chimney of the grandparents’ Daadihaus to the left, a thin line of gray smoke rose into the sky and blew away on a high breeze. The pinging of a hammer on metal came from an outbuilding beyond the barn, and at the front parlor window, the bishop could see a young girl gazing out between the long purple curtains.

No longer surprised by anything new he discovered about Jacob Miller, the bishop still considered it a revelation that Miller would be leaving town while his family was, from all reports, in such obvious crisis, and with his daughter Vesta struck numb by heartache and despair over Crist Burkholder. So he focused his stern attentions back on Miller and said, “Jacob, we are commanded to be ‘as wise as serpents and
as harmless as doves.’ Do you still know what that means? I have preached about it many times at Sunday meetings.”

Surprised and very much chastened by the bishop’s tone, Miller nodded.

“Because, Jacob, I’m not sure, anymore, that you do understand this scripture.”

Miller stared back in silent shock.

“Which of these two injunctions is written, Jacob, for the well-being of wolves?”

“What?”

“The verse begins, ‘Behold I send you out as sheep among wolves. Wherefore be ye as wise as serpents and as harmless as doves.’ So, I ask you, which of these two injunctions is written for the benefit of the wolves?”

After a long pause, Miller replied, “Bischoff, if you don’t mind, I really do need to catch a ride. Can we talk when I get back?”

“The answer is ‘Neither,’ Jacob.”

“What?”

“The answer to my question is ‘Neither.’”

“What?”

Weary to the core, the bishop sighed out the full weight of his years, disinclined to explain his point further. “Then go along, Jacob,” he said. “But when you fly home, come first to my house, not here to yours.”

“Why, Bischoff?”

“I’ve got a decision to make about you, Jacob, but first I need to minister to your family.”

“A decision?”

“Yes. Do you understand? Come first to my house, not to yours.”

“I really don’t understand, Bischoff.”

“I know you don’t, Jacob. Believe me, I know.”

Miller shook his head as if he were perplexed by a great mystery, and Shetler stared back at him with calm certainty.

“Do you pray for your wife, Jacob?”

“Yes, Bischoff.”

“What do you pray, Jacob?”

“That she will be steadfast, diligent, industrious.”

“These are qualities in a wife that would please you, Jacob?”

“Yes.”

Gazing sternly into Miller’s eyes, the bishop asked, “What blessings do you pray for your wife, Jacob?”

Again Miller answered, “Steadfastness, diligence, industry, Bischoff. Are these not the qualities of a good wife?”

Shetler sighed with weariness and shame. He looked to his feet and said humbly and meekly, as if he were handing a jewel of great worth to a man who could not appreciate its value, “When she falls asleep in my arms, Jacob, in my prayers, I take Katie’s name into the throne room of God, and I weep at His feet to thank Him for the joy she has brought to me. I weep at His feet to praise Him for His gift of her to me.”

“Bischoff?” Miller asked, dumbfounded by the man’s self-effacing sincerity.

Shetler let a long, disquieting moment pass while Miller grew ever more uncomfortable, and then he said, “Jacob, I am not going to let you go home to your family, until you have learned to pray for your wife.”

9

Wednesday, October 7

10:45
A.M.

WHILE BRUCE and Missy were finishing their work in the barn, Cal knocked at Darba’s back door. Katie Shetler opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the screened porch to let Cal in. Darba was still seated at the kitchen table, nursing her first cup of coffee. She did not make an effort to greet Cal, other than to toe a chair out for him and nod that he should take a seat opposite her. Before she reclaimed her seat next to Darba, Katie poured Cal a cup of coffee and set it in front of him.

Once seated, Katie said to Cal, “Billy is in Florida.”

“Won’t answer his phone,” Darba said to her coffee cup. “He doesn’t know his friend is dead.”

“Have you left messages?” Cal asked.

“About a hundred,” Darba said. She looked over to encourage Katie to explain.

Katie said, “Billy doesn’t like to leave his phone on. So, at the end of the day, he switches on only long enough to check his messages. Then, if he needs to call Darba, he uses a land line.”

“He conserves his minutes?” Cal asked.

“No,” Darba laughed. “He doesn’t want the government to be able to track him.”

“Does he take the battery out?” Cal asked. “Because they can still tell where the phone is, if he doesn’t do that.”

Darba smiled as if the question were sophomoric. “Of course, Cal. Billy likes to be thorough.”

“He doesn’t like the government?” Cal asked.

“Ha!” shot Darba.

“That’d be an understatement,” Katie answered.

Cal smiled and tasted the coffee. Burnt, he thought. Need to make another pot.

“Darba,” Katie asked, “have you ever told Cal what Billy does after he makes his deliveries?”

Cal shook his head as Darba told Katie, “No.”

Then to Cal, Darba said, “He parks at Bradenton Beach to watch the sunsets. He won’t switch on to check his messages until it’s dark.”

“But you said you left him messages this morning,” Cal said. “Why would you do that, if you know he doesn’t use his phone until after dark?”

“Got worried,” Darba explained. “Maybe he’ll check early, for once.”

The doorbell rang, and Katie got up and started toward the living room to answer it. But before she reached the living room, Evelyn Carson pushed in and entered at the front door. She started through the living room, calling out to Katie, “Is she OK?”

“I can hear you, Dr. Carson,” Darba sang out. “I’m fine.”

Silently, Katie shook her head for Carson, who came through the living room and into the kitchen ahead of Katie. Taking the fourth chair, opposite Katie’s cup of coffee, Carson sat down and studied Darba’s eyes.

“Have you taken all of your medicine?” she asked Darba, and accepted a cup of coffee from Katie. Ignoring the coffee in front of her, Carson held her gaze on Darba and reached for her wrist to take her pulse. Familiar with the routine, Darba held her wrist out and said, “I’m much better, Dr. Carson. Finding the body threw me off. Forgot my morning meds.”

Carson released Darba’s wrist and nodded satisfaction. “I want you to tell me about your mood, Darba.”

Darba glanced with embarrassment at Cal and then Katie, and Cal stood up, saying, “I’ll clear out, so you two can talk.”

Still standing, Katie said, “I’ll check on the bishop. He said he’d need help at the Jacob Millers.”

* * *

When they had left, Dr. Carson moved Darba into the living room and asked her to lie back in an easy chair and close her eyes. When Darba was positioned, Carson said, “First words, Darba. What are they?”

“Billy. Heartache. Spiegle. Beaten. Burkholder. Vesta. Vesta.” She opened her eyes. “What will become of Crist and Vesta?”

That’s rational, Carson thought, a good sign. “
Billy
was your first word, Darba. Why?”

Darba shrugged. “Glenn Spiegle was his best friend. They’ve known each other since they were kids. They grew up together, in Bradenton.”

“I know Billy was trying to help him,” Carson led.

“He did. He helped him start new, up here. After Glenn got out of prison.”

“Why here, Darba? Why’d Spiegle come up to Ohio?”

“Billy was here, and they had a secret, Dr. Carson. He and Billy had a big secret.”

“How long was Spiegle in prison?”

“I don’t know for sure. Twenty years?”

“Darba, I want you to think about this. Why did you say ‘Billy’ first?”

Darba’s eyes danced with anxiety, and she blurted out, “He has to run!”

“Because of something they did?”

Darba nodded. “It was Glenn Spiegle. It’s why he went to prison.”

“Billy was there, when Spiegle did something?”

Another nod, and Darba said, “They drank a lot back then.”

“Billy’s been sober for a long time,” Carson said, intending encouragement. “He has you to thank for that.”

“I know. He dried Glenn out, too. While Glenn was still in prison.”

“How could he drink in prison?”

“Oh, you can get a lot of things in prison, Dr. Carson. And alcohol isn’t the only thing that will get you high.”

“Spiegle was using drugs?”

Darba nodded. “But he quit. Billy helped him, like I helped Billy.”

“Again, Darba, why did you say
Billy
first, when I asked you for your first words?”

“Because he doesn’t know Glenn is dead, Dr. Carson. He doesn’t know to run.”

10

Wednesday, October 7

11:55
A.M.

DR. CARSON asked Darba to lie down in her bedroom and gave her a sleeping aid, hoping that Darba could rest for a few hours. She promised Darba that when she woke up, they would talk some more about how to reach Billy before nightfall. She also promised that she would stay in the house while Darba slept.

While cleaning up coffee cups at the kitchen sink, Carson heard a knock at the back screened porch, and she went, towel in hand, to answer it.

Bruce Robertson was standing at the back door, peering in through the screen. Carson went out to him, opened the porch door, and stepped back to admit him. Down at the barn, she could see Deputy Pat Lance and Coroner Missy Taggert-Robertson fixing yellow crime scene tape over the big barn doors, which had been pulled closed and bolted in place.

Evelyn Carson was a short, round woman with blond hair clipped to an easy, wash-and-go style. Her features were continental—middle European, Robertson had always thought, with perhaps a hint of stubborn peasant stock in her attitude. She always stood her ground in front of the sheriff, as if she were defending the innocent against marauders, and today she blocked Robertson’s way into Darba’s house by standing in front of the sliding doors into the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest, saying, “She’s sleeping, Bruce. I don’t want to wake her up.”

Robertson shook his head. “I need to ask her again about this morning—when she says she found the body.”

“What do you mean, ‘says she found the body’?”

“So far, Evie, we’ve got only a partial account from Crist Burkholder. I need to hear what Darba found when she first went down to the barn.”

“I can’t let you do that, Sheriff. She needs to rest. You’re just going to have to wait.”

“I need to know if she saw the fight, Evie.”

“More likely, you don’t believe everything Crist Burkholder has told you, and you’re just fishing.”

Robertson complained, “I just need to know if she saw the fight.”

“What makes you think she did?”

“Something she said when she called us.”

“What?” Carson asked, impatiently.

Sighing, the sheriff said, “She
said
she didn’t think an Amish kid could throw a punch like that.”

“Maybe she got that from seeing Spiegle. You know, seeing the condition of the body.”

“What do you know about that?”

Exasperated, Carson answered, “Nothing, Bruce.”

“Sounds like you do.”

“Well, I don’t,” Carson said, planting herself more firmly in the doorway.

“Did she tell you something?”

“No.”

“Did she move the body?”

“I don’t know.”

“I need to ask her about these types of things, Evie.”

“She’s taken some medication. Might sleep for a couple of hours, if she’s lucky.”

Robertson studied Carson, thought, and said, “Is there something wrong with her? You know, aside from the usual?”

“Like what, Bruce?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Evie. Maybe she saw the fight, and she’s flipped out about it. That’s why I need to talk with her.”

Carson cracked a knowing smile. “I know how you operate, Bruce. You’ve handled some of my patients before.”

Robertson studied the back windows of the house. “What’s wrong, Doctor? Where’s Billy?”

“He delivers cheese every week to Florida. He’s down at the Pinecraft community.”

Robertson took a step forward. “I want you to wake her up, Evie. Let me ask her some questions. Right here, today.”

“I’m not going to do that, Sheriff. Now, stop wasting my time.”

Pulling a grin for show, Robertson said, “Then I want you to bring her down to my office. When you think she can talk.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Carson offered.

Robertson nodded and backed up to the porch door. “And I want to see Billy, too. As soon as he gets back.”

“You can find Billy yourself, Sheriff. I’m not his doctor.”

“But you’ll bring Darba in?”

“When it’s in her best interests.”

“Of course, Evie, whatever.”