Shadows of Lancaster County (36 page)

I had just broken the law.

Considering files were tucked in my pants and pinching me at the waist, it wasn’t easy to appear poised for the reporters who were still waiting by my car when I stepped out of the church. Trying to act natural, I simply walked toward my car and acknowledged the three of them with a slight nod.

As soon as they saw me, the questions started up again. Listening as they fired away, I finally responded to the man who asked how it felt to be back in Dreiheit after all these years.

“It feels a lot like coming home,” I said to him, surprised to realize I meant it. After that, I got in my car and drove away, smiling at the sight of the entourage that quickly fell into place behind me. Reed was right. Finding security through my own private papparazzi had been a good idea.

When I was sure they couldn’t see me, I slipped the files out from under my clothes and set them on the seat. I was dying to flip through and read them, but I didn’t dare until I was somewhere much more private than this.

Turning on my phone, I saw that the battery had only two bars left. Prioritizing the calls I needed to make, I started with information, where I requested the number for the Wong family in Holtwood, Pennsylvania.

Mrs. Wong answered the phone, and once I explained who I was, I told her that it had come to my attention that a family heirloom might be
hidden inside the structure of the house they had bought from my parents. I said I had an expert who wanted to wander through and take a look for possible hiding places. When I finished explaining, Mrs. Wong said she was sorry, but that would not be possible.

“I’d let you if I could,” she added, “but we had the house dismantled five years ago.”

“Dismantled?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes, can you believe that, after all the trouble we went through to have it moved here? My husband’s an architect, you know, and he always has to be changing, evolving, improving. We kept some of it, like the paneling from the downstairs study and the marble bathtub. But everything else was disposed of or sold off and taken elsewhere five years ago.”

I thanked her for her trouble and hung up the phone, disappointed but not devastated. I felt sure that if a secret hiding place had been built into that house, Bobby and I would have found it as children. Considering all the games of hide-and-seek we played, all the cupboards and cabinets and closets we had hidden in, if there had been some sort of secret latch or door, I just
knew
we would have run across it. The house that was no more had been a lovely home in its day, but I didn’t think it had held the Beauharnais Rubies in my lifetime.

Back on the road, I called Remy and left a message with the bad news on his voice mail. As I finished, my phone sounded a little warning jingle and then it died. I tucked it into my purse, hoping I could find somewhere to charge it again soon.

Except for the reporters who once again lined up at the end of the driveway, things were quiet at the farm when I returned, as Grete and her family still had not returned from church. I spotted Lydia and Isaac and the ever-present bodyguard out in the field, Isaac sitting comfortably atop a horse as Lydia led it around the path. I gave them a wave and went inside, my heart beating quickly as I carried the pilfered files up to my bedroom.

There was no lock on the door, so I rolled up the window shade and kept one eye on Lydia and Isaac outside as I took a look at what I had
managed to acquire. Saving the Jensen folder for last, I first flipped through the ones labeled “Schumann.”

Two of those files were for Schumanns I didn’t know with addresses I didn’t recognize. The third file, however, was the one I had been hoping to find: that of Katherine Beiler Schumann, Lydia’s mother. My hope was that the file would contain her full medical record without anything blacked out as it had been in the version Doug faxed to Reed.

Flipping through several pages, I was disappointed to see that the typed office visit notes weren’t there at all. Instead, the folder only held lab test results and signed legal consent forms. I was no doctor, but even I could tell that this information showed nothing of importance, as if someone had stripped out the good stuff and left only filler.

Bracing myself for more disappointment with the next folder, I tossed this one aside, but as it hit the bed, something slid forward and poked out from the edge. Picking up the file again, I realized a photograph must have popped loose from inside the folder’s front pocket.

I picked up the picture and studied it, not quite sure what I was looking at. I heard a loud squeal outside, and I glanced up to see that Isaac was much closer to the house now. Turning my attention again to the photo, I decided that it was a close-up of someone’s skin—someone’s very diseased skin. There was a gray pallor to it, and the surface was dotted with puffy, pustule-like globs.

Bile burning at my throat, I held the photo out at arm’s length, trying to make sure that was what I was seeing. The scene reminded me of something familiar, some Third World documentary I had seen about smallpox.

“I fed the horse an apple!” Isaac cried suddenly from the doorway of the bedroom, startling me so thoroughly that I dropped the photo and knocked the file folders on the floor.

As Isaac proceeded into the room without invitation, jabbering about the horse, I scrambled around to pick up the papers and the photo, tuck everything together, and shove it into a nearby tote bag.

“What do you need, Isaac?” I asked, my voice a little too sharp.

“My mom is making potato soup and wants to know if you’ll be here for dinner.”

“Well, why don’t you run down and tell your mom I’ll be right there and we can talk about it?” I replied in a nicer tone.

“Okay.”

Just as quickly as he had appeared, Isaac turned and left. To the sound of his feet clunking down the stairs, I pulled the papers from the tote bag, neatened them into a pile, and slid them between the mattress and box spring. After smoothing out the covers, I grabbed my purse and slipped the photo into an inside, zippered pocket.

“Are you coming, Aunt Anna?” Isaac called.

“Just a second.”

Leaving things as they were for now, I forced myself to head downstairs. From the sound of a male voice and the excited exchange of greetings between old friends, I realized that Reed was here.

Spotting him as I neared the bottom of the stairs, I couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked in black slacks and a maroon sweater. As he caught me looking at him and returned my gaze, I felt heat suddenly flushing my face. The moment was not lost on Lydia, who smiled shyly and averted her eyes.

Now that he was there, what I most wanted to do was fly into his arms, show him the photo and the files, and tell him about the illegal thing I had done. Resisting the urge, I simply gave him a hug so that I could softly ask if he would take Isaac out to the barn for a few minutes while I explained to Lydia what was going on.

“No problem,” he replied, and soon the two fellows were bundled up and out the door. At my urging, the bodyguard followed along behind as well.

Lydia was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes, so I joined her there, trying to think how to say all I needed to say. Before I could even put together the words, she spoke.

“You have news of some kind,” she said, more of a weary statement than a question.

“Yes, I do.”

As gently as possible, I explained to Lydia the medical portion of what I had learned at dinner last night, that apparently two generations of Jensen ancestors had been married to Amish women. Before I went any further, Lydia held up a hand to stop me, fully aware of what I was getting at.

“For what it’s worth,” I added, “Reed is very optimistic about Isaac’s health. He just wants to run some blood tests to rule things out, if you’re willing. Right now in fact, if you don’t mind.”

“Reed can do this here? Today?”

I nodded, saying that was why he had come.

Lydia set her peeler and potato down on the table and walked to the window. There, she stood for a long time, hands on her hips, looking outside, silently thinking or maybe praying. I gave her some space, not speaking, picking up a potato and slowly peeling it myself.

Finally, she turned to look at me, her eyes filled with tears.

“Had I known Bobby carried these genes, I would have done nothing differently. I would still have married him. I would still have had children with him. The women in this community know the risks of having children, but this does not stop them. God’s will always prevails. Who are we to say exactly how a child should be? Who am I to think I have a right to a perfect child and a perfect life? What is perfect, anyway? In the eyes of God, all of us are. Even the children with disorders. Maybe especially the children with disorders.”

As she returned to the table, I couldn’t help thinking what a wise, wise woman my brother had married. As she had said the day before, she might be naive, but she certainly was not stupid.

I decided to tell her a little bit more about what I knew.

“When you and I spoke on the phone yesterday, Lydia, I asked you if you had ever been seen at the WIRE by Dr. Updike. Are you aware that both your sister and your mother also went there during their pregnancies?”

“
Yah,
of course. That was how I first reconnected with Bobby. I went with my mother to the WIRE for her testing, and I recognized him as the boy I used to play with. Of course, I hadn’t seen him since we were children and your grandparents sold their house, but I would have known that face and smile anywhere.”

“What kind of testing did your mother have done there? Blood work?”

“More than blood work. I think it was an amniocentesis. Whatever involves sticking a long needle through the abdomen.”

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, Lydia. She wasn’t having an amniocentesis. By what we can tell from the lab’s records, gene therapy was being done to the fetus.”

Lydia shook her head firmly.

“She would not have done that, trust me. You did not know my mother like I did.”

“Then it’s quite possible that she was lied to by the doctor. After all, you probably were.”

Lydia’s eyes widened as she took in what I had said. I had a feeling she was right, that her mother had not known what was really going on. Kate had gone to the WIRE at the urging of her daughter Grete, and though she had agreed to an amniocentesis—or at least what she had thought was an amniocentesis—Dr. Updike obviously had had other plans in mind.

Clearly disturbed, Lydia gathered up the potatoes and carried them to the sink. Trying to be a comfort, I joined her there, and as I rinsed and she sliced, Reed and Isaac came out of the stable and started walking toward the house. I couldn’t help but be warmed by the site of the two of them together, the handsome man and the lanky little boy.

“You still love him, don’t you?” Lydia asked, startling me.

I was going to deny it, but she had been so honest with me I felt I owed her the same.

“It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend and a whole life separate from mine.”

“That may be, but I wonder if he looks at her the way he looks at you.”

Reed and Isaac came in the back door at that point and our conversation ended. After they took their coats off and Isaac chattered on excitedly about the horse, Reed looked at me over his head and I nodded. He turned his attention to Lydia, who also nodded, and then he said he had to get some things from the car but he’d be back in a minute. While he was out
there, Lydia sat down with Isaac and explained to him that Reed needed to take a blood sample from his arm. She explained how that was done, saying that it was just like what Daddy did all day at work, taking people’s blood. Isaac didn’t look too happy about it, but he didn’t bolt from the room, either. I excused myself, saying I needed to take a little walk and I’d be back in a while. I was just putting on my coat when Reed came in the door, a white shopping bag in one hand and small black satchel in the other. We shared grave looks, and then he came on into the house as I went outside.