In the Land of Milk and Honey (9 page)

I meant every word. If this was a breakthrough, we'd know soon. Maybe working with the CDC wasn't a hardship after all.

Glen got a phone call just as he and I were getting into his car. He took it outside while I checked e-mail on my phone.

When he got into the driver's seat, he looked pleased. “The cows on the other two farms where Amber got milk look healthy, and there's no sign of sickness in the families. We'll still confiscate all their milk and test it, and the cows too. But so far it looks like we're in luck there. Do you have a preference which one we hit first for questioning?”

“Actually, if it doesn't look like those farms were affected, I'd like to follow up on the Hershbergers. You said you didn't have much luck questioning Samuel Hershberger?”

“Not really. It's probably a good idea to go back there with you.”

“The green plant your team just found in the trough—you didn't find anything like that over at the Hershbergers'?”

Glen gave me a worried frown. “No. But we did our investigation several weeks after the family first got ill. If there was something like that there, it might have been long gone.”

“Right. Well . . . yeah. It's worth going back there. If you need to be elsewhere, you can drop me at the station and I can take my own car.”

“Nope, I'm in,” Glen said firmly. “As you say, it doesn't look like the other two farms where Amber got her milk were affected. My team can follow up with them.” He gave me a smile that was a degree too warm. I gave a weak one in return and looked out the window.

I was distracted by thoughts of those few green leaves. There hadn't been enough left of the plant for the DCNR people to be able to identify it. And Levi hadn't recognized it as anything he fed the cows. His best guess was it was a weed the cows had picked up in the pasture that had gotten dislodged from a cow's mouth as it ate at the trough. His explanation made perfect sense, but I couldn't help feeling it was significant. Until the test results proved otherwise, I was suspicious of those green leaves.

As if reading my mind, Glen spoke up as he drove. “We should have the lab results soon.”

“Good.”

—

Leah Hershberger was working in the garden with two of her young daughters when we pulled into their driveway. She eyed me warily as I got out of the car. I took the bull by the horns and walked right up to her. I held out my hand. “Are you Leah? I'm Detective Elizabeth Harris. We have a friend in common—Hannah Yoder.”

Leah's face relaxed from worry to welcome. “Ja, Hannah told me about you, Elizabeth. You were the one to find out what happened to Hannah's Katie, and her English friend too.”

I was pleased. “That's right.”

Leah glanced at her own two girls, around seven to ten in age. “Such a terrible business. I know what was done to
you
too, and we were all so sorry about that.”

For a moment, I had a visceral memory of that night over a year ago. I'd come so close to death I'd felt its chill in my bones
along with the numbing cold of the water I'd nearly drowned in. I almost took a step back from Leah, but I caught myself in time. I pasted on a smile. “Thank you for saying so. I was hoping I could speak with you about your family's illness. I'm sorry I haven't been out earlier.”

“Your friend the doctor was here. Spoke to my husband.” Leah nodded at Glen, who was standing by the car trying to look like he wasn't watching us.

“I know. That's Dr. Turner. He's with the Centers for Disease Control. They investigate unusual illnesses in order to prevent widespread outbreaks. We're still trying to understand what's going on here in Lancaster County.”

“That Dr. Turner told my husband it was the cows eatin' somethin' and poisonin' the milk.” Leah looked doubtful. “But we ain't had any trouble since we all . . .” Her voice caught, and I knew she was thinking of her son who had died, William. “Since my husband and Aaron got out the hospital. No trouble since then. The cows are actin' normal, and no one's been sick again, thank the Lord.”

“You've been drinking the milk?”

“Sure.”

She admitted that in such a straightforward fashion, I had to hold in a visible cringe. “Oh. Well . . . I really wouldn't recommend that, Leah. We don't understand exactly where the plant's coming from, and next time, you might not be as lucky. It's possible your cows wouldn't show any obvious symptoms until after the milk was already poisoned. Do you understand?”

Leah looked at me for a moment, as if taking my measure one more time. Then she sighed in resignation and handed her hoe to one of her daughters. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I didn't think on it like so. Thank you for tellin' me. I will talk to Samuel about it. Now what can I do for youse?”

—

Glen walked me through the Hershbergers' barn showing me everything the CDC had checked and sampled. He was clearly hoping I might think of something they'd missed, but they'd been extremely thorough.

The Hershbergers were crop farmers, and they didn't have many animals. There was a lone Jersey cow they milked for the family and four horses used for farmwork and pulling the family buggy. They also had a few goats and a dozen or more chickens. Samuel Hershberger brought their cow, Ginny, in from the pasture on a rope lead and tied her to a beam in the barn. She was incredibly tame, chewing contentedly on some hay Samuel put into the feeding trough for her. She watched us with a placid expression.

We entered the stall, and Glen ran his hands over the cow's flanks, clucking his tongue softly.

“Know much about cows do you?” I asked with a trace of humor.

“Not a thing.” Glen waggled his eyebrows at me, causing a funny spot of warmth in my belly.

I shook it off and turned to Samuel Hershberger. He and Leah
were in their late thirties or early forties, I guessed. They were close in age to Hannah and Isaac Yoder. Samuel looked younger and certainly healthier than he had in the hospital. His skin no longer looked stretched over his skull, though he was still pale and thin. His beard was nearly to his breastbone, and its chocolate tones showed no hint of gray. His brown eyes were warm.

“Hannah Yoder mentioned to me that, just before your family got sick, you noticed the cow trembling when you milked her. You thought she might have been spooked by a fox in the pasture?” I asked.

Samuel stroked his beard. “Ja. 'Tis so. I remember.”

Glen, still petting the cow, raised his eyebrows with interest. “How many days did you notice the trembling?”

“That day at the evenin' milkin'.” He swallowed. “When I mentioned it at supper, Will—he was my oldest son that passed—he said he thought he noticed it a bit that mornin' too.”

Glen spoke up. “And the next day? Did you or Will take notice of the cow?”

“Can't say. Will milked both turns, and by then the little uns was sick and we didn't talk about the cow. It was Will's job to milk, and he didn't say nothin' about it, and then he . . .” Samuel swallowed again, his lips tight. “He was taken to our Lord. Leah can tell ya who done the milkin' while I was in the hospital.”

I looked Ginny over. Her big brown eyes were clear, her fawn-colored flank smooth and still. “She looks healthy now.”

“She might have gotten a small dose of the plant,” Glen said. “That could also explain why most of the family recovered.”

“Did you happen to notice anything unusual around the cow's feeding trough, Samuel?” I asked.

“What d'ya mean?”

“Something leafy and green, perhaps? Maybe you thought it might be a plant the cow brought in from the pasture.”

“Don't recall such like, no. Can't say as I've ever noticed somethin' like that.”

I was disappointed. If Will was the one who'd milked the cow more often before the family got ill, he would have been the person to ask. But Will was dead.

A face had been peeking around the side of a post in the opening to the pasture for the past few minutes. Children were always present at Amish farms, usually in energetic flocks. This one was a boy, maybe twelve, slim and lanky. Like all Amish boys, he wore black pants and suspenders over a long-sleeved shirt. He had a store-bought wool jacket over the top. His hair was very blond, and he had a narrow, curious face. He made me smile. He reminded me of what Ezra must have looked like when he was a boy.

“Maybe one of your younger sons milked Ginny while you were in the hospital?” I said, looking right at the boy.

“Maybe so,” Samuel agreed. “If they weren't too sick.”

“How about you?” I asked the boy directly. “Do you ever milk Ginny?”

The boy, knowing he'd been seen, stepped out from behind the post. He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket and looked at the cow with a thoughtful press of his lips, as if considering it.

Samuel spoke up. “Mark. Answer the question now.”

Mark nodded a yes at me.

“Did you do any milking while your dad and brother were in the hospital?”

Mark nodded again. “I done it all.”

“How was Ginny then?” Glen asked. “Did you notice her shaking at all? Any foam or mucus around her nose and mouth? Did she stumble or have a stiff walk?”

“Try to remember gut now,” Samuel added firmly but not unkindly.

Mark bit his lip and contemplated the question, his eyes rolling skyward. He tapped his chin, which made me fight back a smile at his drama. He probably wasn't used to holding the spotlight. “She was movin' kinda slow. Had to prod her gut to get her into the milkin' stall. She shook her head a lot. But I thought she was just missin' Will.” He pressed his lips tight, his eyes growing bright.

Damn. Will's death must have been hard on Mark.

“If she was shakin' her head, she might have been sick. They can also do that if they get stubborn or mad,” Samuel explained.

“You didn't notice any—” Glen began.

“Oh!” Mark said, as if he'd just remembered something.

“Don't interrupt your elders,” Samuel scolded.

“Sorry,” Mark muttered. Then, as if worried he hadn't been contrite enough to appease his father, he repeated it louder, looking at Glen. “I'm sorry I interrupted.”

“It's okay, Mark. What did you remember?” I asked.

Mark shrugged.

“Anything that occurred to you might be important, no matter how small, Mark. We'd like to hear it.”

Mark shrugged again. “All right. Well . . . I just remember. The way Ginny was actin', I thought maybe someone had been messin' with her agin and had made her mad. And she was takin' it out on me.”

I exchanged a confused look with Glen. “Messing with her?”

“It was just a dumb idea.”

“Who messes with Ginny? What do you mean?” I encouraged him, keeping my voice mild.

“Speak up,” Samuel said. He folded his arms and looked at Mark as if he didn't have a clue what the boy was talking about either.

“Well, people at the road.” He looked at his father, as if Samuel should know. “Ginny likes to eat the grass by the fence, and sometimes people stop their car and take her pitcher or pet her and stuff.”

Samuel's shoulders relaxed. “Ja. 'Tis so. No harm done.” He shook his head, his expression saying that he didn't understand the appeal of a stranger's cow, but then, English were crazy anyway.

“Hmm.” Glen looked thoughtful. “Mark, when Ginny was being stubborn and shaking her head, do you remember if she was shaking in her legs too? You might have noticed . . .” Glen went on, but I stopped listening.

Messing with her.

Messing with Ginny. At the road. Again.

This time it was I who rudely interrupted. “Mark? Was someone else messing with Ginny earlier that week? At the fence line?” My voice came out more worried than I'd intended.

Glen fell silent, obviously getting the gist of my question at once. Mark nodded, biting his lip.

“Who? Can you describe the car? The person? What were they doing exactly?”

Mark glanced at his father as if asking permission. Samuel nodded.

“I saw a man when I was muckin' out the barn.” Mark pointed to the wall, where thin slits of daylight shone through. “There's cracks and you can see outside. I noticed a car was stopped, and Ginny was at the fence. A man was pettin' her and givin' her somethin' to eat. I watched a minute, but he didn't seem like he was gonna hurt her or anythin', so I kept workin'.”

A warm gush of certainty filled my stomach. My body had a mind of its own, and it was usually right. “What did he look like, Mark?” I asked.

Mark puffed out his cheeks and gave a big sigh, thinking about it. “Didn't see him gut. He had a hood up. Like English boys do? It was black.”

A hooded sweatshirt maybe. I'd have to get some photos and show them to Mark for verification.

“And the car?” Glen asked.

Mark shrugged.

“Was it a car and not a truck? Do you remember the color?” I pressed.

Mark looked down at the barn floor as if uncomfortable with the questions. “I didn't look real gut at the car. Don't think it was a truck though.”

“And what was the man feeding Ginny?”

Mark glanced at his father. “We seen 'em givin' the cows and horses carrots and stuff, the people who stop. Or once a lady gave Ginny an apple. I didn't see it gut this time though. Dunno what it was. I remember thinkin' it was probably carrots, but . . .” He shrugged again.

A cartoon image of Bugs Bunny eating a carrot came to my mind. “Did you see the orange of a carrot? Or maybe it was the kind that had a leafy green top?”

Mark's face cleared and he smiled. “Yeah! I saw something green and bushy like. Like a carrot top.”

I looked at Glen. He was shaking his head, not at Mark or at me, but at whatever was going through his mind, as if he couldn't believe it. But he was CDC. I was a homicide detective, and I recognized the sick feeling in my veins.