Since she was going to her aunt and uncle’s home in search of Mary Aaron, Rachel took pains to make herself presentable. She changed into the long skirt, modest blouse, and head scarf that she wore when visiting any of the Old Order Amish, left Hulda in charge of the phone, and hurried out to the Jeep.
She was just pulling out of the driveway when her cell rang. She braked and answered it.
“Rachel?”
“Evan?” She sat up straighter in her seat.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. What we talked about last night. You know I’d do anything for you, but . . . I just don’t want there to be any hard feelings.”
“I understand.” She sighed, trying not to be disappointed. She knew Evan. She knew he didn’t break rules, and she knew she couldn’t pick and choose a friend’s traits. The fact that he didn’t break rules was something she loved about him. Most of the time. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s fine.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, you sound unhappy. You’re not good at hiding your feelings.”
She closed her eyes for a second. “I’m not mad. Just . . . preoccupied. I was just pulling out of my driveway. On my way to Uncle Aaron’s to see Mary Aaron. Hannah was her friend. I have to tell her about the call.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Did you hear anything I said last night?”
“Every word. I just want to see what Mary Aaron thinks. Talk about our options.”
Evan’s voice grew terse. “No options, Rachel. We’re . . .
You’re
doing nothing.”
Her own voice grew terse now. “I don’t work for you, Evan.”
“Please don’t do anything stupid.”
“Somebody called me in the middle of the night and asked for help. How can I turn my back on that?”
“Look, I know the call spooked you, but that doesn’t mean you have to do anything crazy. You aren’t Pennsylvania’s answer to Sherlock Holmes.”
“I never thought I was.”
“Good. Just let the whole thing drop. We’ll find the guy who killed Beth. Your part will be to testify if called to. Nothing more.”
“Right.”
“Right,” he repeated. “I’m about to head in for my shift. Breakfast in the morning? Ten thirty? My place? Bacon and eggs?”
“Sure. Probably. Call me. Be careful out there.” It was what she always said to him before a shift.
“Back at you.”
Rachel eased to the end of the driveway and waited for two cars to crawl past. As she waited, she glanced over to see Hulda standing on the front steps of the B&B with her grandson Saul. Hulda’s arms were folded over her chest, and she looked like nothing so much as a small, angry bluebird, feathers ruffled, eyes fixed on the object of her disapproval. Rachel heard her voice but not what she was saying. Saul’s face was red, and he took several steps back. Clearly, Saul was in trouble again, and Rachel had little sympathy for him. Saul was forty, give or take a year, and he’d proved himself again and again to be undependable. How such a shrewd businesswoman as Hulda Schenfeld had produced such shallow sons and grandsons, Rachel couldn’t imagine. Fortunately, the girls in her family were made of stronger stuff.
Hulda glanced her way. Rachel offered an embarrassed smile and drove on down the street. She couldn’t help but wonder what Saul had done now that had infuriated his grandmother. She supposed that even considering the possibilities made her a nosy neighbor, but she was all too human when it came to being curious about the affairs of her friends and neighbors. She genuinely cared about Hulda and hated to see her taken advantage of by Saul and his cousins. At ninety-something, she didn’t need the worry. But Hulda carried on, seemingly indestructible, a blessing for Russell’s Hardware and Emporium and those who loved her.
Rachel had gone hardly a mile out of town when she saw two people in Amish garb walking along the edge of the road. One was a child, a small girl, and the other had a familiar tilt to her head. Rachel slowed the Jeep and pulled up alongside. “Mary Aaron! Hi! I was just on my way to your house, looking for you.”
“Goot,”
her cousin replied with a grin. “Now you can give us a ride home.” She caught the child by the hand. “This is Joab Rust’s granddaughter Aggie.”
Rachel tried to place the child. She knew Joab and his family pretty well, but she couldn’t remember Aggie. Joab was a skilled mason whom she’d hired to rebuild a crumbling stone wall in the old gristmill on her property. She’d had an idea that it might make a charming vacation rental, but like all her other schemes it was taking longer and costing more than she’d expected. She smiled at the little girl. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said.
“Aggie and her mother are visiting from Lancaster,” Mary Aaron explained. “She’s Joab’s oldest stepdaughter’s child. She walked over to Bishop Abner’s with me.” Mary Aaron helped Aggie up into the backseat. “It’s all right,” she said to the child. “Your
grossmama
won’t mind if you ride with me and Rachel.”
“Seat belt,” Rachel reminded. There were no seat belts in buggies, and even with Mary Aaron, she had to be vigilant to make certain that she buckled up when she rode with her. Regardless of the laws, most Amish put their trust in the Lord rather than safety apparatuses.
Mary Aaron chuckled. “Seat belt.
Ya.
” She snapped Aggie in and climbed into the front passenger seat. “We can drop her off at Joab’s, if you don’t mind.
Mam
’s waiting dinner for me. We picked our first limas this morning.”
“Mmm,” Rachel said. “Lima beans and dumplings?” Her aunt made the best slippery dumplings.
“And fried chicken. She’ll be hurt if you don’t sit down to table with us.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel replied. She wasn’t really all that hungry, but she couldn’t hurt her aunt’s feelings by saying so. If she wanted to discuss the phone call with Mary Aaron, she would have to wait until after the midday meal.
“
Mam
had some itch cream she wanted me to take to Naamah,” Mary Aaron explained. “Bishop Abner got into some poison ivy. You know how allergic he is. Anyway, that cream she sends away for really dries up the rash.” She sat back in the seat and wiped the sweat off her face. “It’s warm out there for walking.”
“You couldn’t take the buggy?” Rachel asked.
Mary Aaron chuckled again. “You know
Dat
. When it’s this hot, he doesn’t like us to use the horses if we don’t have to. And it wasn’t all that far, was it, Aggie?”
“Ne,”
came the small voice from the backseat. Aggie was an adorable little girl. Dark curly hair, bright blue eyes, and red cheeks. Today, someone had dressed her carefully in a blue dress the exact color of her eyes, a black apron, and a starched white
kapp
. Over her
kapp,
she wore a tiny black bonnet. She looked like one of the angelic paintings of Amish children that adorned every gift shop in Lancaster, down to the dusty bare feet.
Five minutes later, Rachel pulled into the Rust farmyard and delivered Aggie to her adoring grandmother. Joab, barefooted and drinking water from a Mason jar at the hand pump, nodded in their direction. He was a big man, square and stocky, with large hands. He didn’t talk much, unlike his brother Eli, but Rachel was pleased with the stonework he was doing for her. “Joab,” she said. He grunted in reply.
“Grosspapa,”
Aggie shouted. “I rode in the red car. Did you see me? We went fast.”
“Too fast, I think,” Joab replied. And then to Rachel he said, “I should be back at your place next week. As soon as I finish up at the Peacheys’.”
“Whatever suits you,” Rachel said. In any case, the mill house was a long way from being ready for use. Joab had warned her that it would probably need an entire new roof, which had not been in her budget when she’d started making plans for the restoration. As her father always said, “You can have a job done fast or you can have it done right, but not both.” In any case, it was too late to change her mind about the restoration project. She certainly didn’t have enough nerve to tell the dour Joab that his services were no longer needed.
Mary Aaron waved at Aggie and her grandmother. Rachel turned the Jeep around, being careful not to run over any of the geese or the cats in the yard, and pulled out of the Rusts’ driveway. A few hundred yards from the mailbox, she turned onto the old dirt logging lane that ran across the fields to her aunt and uncle’s place. The distance from one house to the other was barely half a mile, and Rachel had time only to give Mary Aaron the briefest rundown of the previous night’s phone call.
“Hannah
called
you?” Mary Aaron stared straight ahead, in obvious shock. “It was her for sure?”
“I don’t know for sure. Evan thinks it was a prank.”
“Who would make such a joke, to ask for your help and tell you not to call the police?” Mary Aaron looked at Rachel. “What would Hannah be doing there? And who is she afraid of? Maybe the man who killed Beth? What are you going to do?” she added quickly.
“I don’t know.” Rachel pulled the Jeep up to her uncle’s barn and put it in park. “That’s why I needed to talk to you.”
“What’s there to talk about? If Hannah is in danger, you have to help her.”
“I know.”
“So, my Englisher cousin. How do we go about it?”
Chapter 11
“We?” Rachel said. “
We
aren’t doing anything. You—” She broke off abruptly as she saw her aunt come out onto the back step. “Don’t say anything to your mother about Hannah’s call.”
Mary Aaron nodded. “
Ya,
it would not go so well with her, I think. Hannah being in such a place as New Orleans. She will think Hannah has truly been lost to us.”
Hannah Hostetler’s thoughts and opinions were very important to Mary Aaron. While she might strain at the restrictions a young woman in an Amish household was expected to live by, she would never go against the wishes of her parents or the elders of her church. Until she married, she was expected to be guided by them. Bonds of love and tradition surrounded them. For Rachel, the constraints had been too great, and the call to independence impossible to resist, but sometimes she wondered what her life would have been had she stayed, given her vows to the faith, and married a Plain man.
She swallowed against the constriction in her throat. For better or worse, she’d chosen her path, and she must take each day as it came. And today, what was important was deciding what to do about Hannah’s plea for help.
Her aunt waved. “Rachel! Come in! We’re just sitting down to dinner. Hurry, hurry, girls. The children grow hungry.”
Rachel glanced at Mary Aaron, who shrugged. Neither had to say that it was probably Uncle Aaron who was put out that his midday meal had been delayed. Like most farmers, he rose early, worked hard, and was ready for his dinner once the sun was high. And he wasn’t alone. Rachel’s own
dat
grew grumpy when his stomach was empty. Both Mary Aaron and Rachel got out of the Jeep and walked quickly to the house.
“Is wonderful to have you here,” her aunt said as she held open the kitchen door for them. “Wash up. We’re just sitting down to table.” Mary Aaron’s mother was easygoing and usually smiling, though she was shy around Englishers. She was a perfect foil for Uncle Aaron, who had a short temper and took a more dour view of the world.
“Magdalena, set a place for Rachel. She’ll be joining us for dinner,” Aunt Hannah said. “Look, Aaron.” She beamed. “Our Rachel is here to break bread with us.”
Uncle Aaron folded his copy of
The Budget,
a publication that catered to Plain folk around the country, and nodded to her. His grunt and half-smile were as warm a welcome as she was likely to get. Still, Rachel thought, he’d come a long way since his avowed disapproval of her when she first returned to Stone Mill. Uncle Aaron was her mother’s brother. No one could deny that the two were faithful members of the Amish church, unselfish parents, and hard workers, but they were true Hostetlers, a family known to be both serious-natured and stubborn. Honest to a fault, none of them could be said to accept change easily, but if a neighbor was in trouble, you could count on a Hostetler to be the first to offer a helping hand. Uncle Aaron was not well liked in the community, but he was respected.
“I expected you to be back sooner from your errand,” Uncle Aaron grumbled to Mary Aaron.
Fortunate I came along when I did,
Rachel thought, because if Mary Aaron and Aggie had walked the whole way, dinner would have been at least twenty minutes later. Mary Aaron made no comment. Respect for parents and elders had been instilled in them all since early childhood, and Mary Aaron’s being in her twenties was no excuse for sassiness to her father. Instead, she washed her hands, exchanged her visiting apron for a faded and patched work apron, and joined her sisters in carrying hot food to the table.
“Call the children,” Aunt Hannah waved to John Hannah. He did as he was asked, but it wasn’t really necessary. His brother Alan and his twin sister, Elsie, were already in the kitchen. The remaining Hostetler siblings had seen the arrival of the Jeep and—faces scrubbed and hands washed—came pouring in the doors and took their assigned seats at the long kitchen table, with a minimum of fuss. There were twelve in all, ranging from Mary Aaron, who was the eldest, down to bubbly seven-year-old Gracie, a strawberry blonde with innocent blue-green eyes and freckles.
Rachel had found another apron hanging near the stove, tied it around her, and used the hem to protect her hand as she pulled a pan of yeast rolls from the oven. “Another minute and these would have burned, Aunt Hannah,” she observed. She slid the rolls into a cloth-lined wicker basket and carried them to the table before taking a seat on the bench beside Mary Aaron.
“Mother?” Uncle Aaron said, looking at Aunt Hannah.
“
Ya,
Aaron, we are ready.” She took the chair at the opposite end of the table from her husband, and together everyone bowed their heads for a moment of silent grace.
Long seconds passed without a sound except for the ticking of a large schoolhouse clock until Uncle Aaron signaled an end to the prayer by intoning, “And thank your mother and older sisters for this good food that their hands have prepared.”
As one, the younger Hostetlers murmured,
“Danke, Mam,”
before placing their cloth napkins in their laps and beginning to pass around dishes and bowls of all manner of delicious food: fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, the famous lima beans and slippery dumplings, creamed celery, pickled beets, mashed potatoes, and sliced tomatoes fresh from the garden. There was little conversation. Dinner was for feeding the body as the unspoken grace had fed the soul, but the atmosphere was loving and genial. As much as she loved her own parents and brothers and sisters, Rachel sometimes enjoyed eating at her aunt’s table more, because Aunt Hannah, at least, had accepted her as she was. Rachel might not be Amish anymore, but her aunt considered her a respected part of the family. And she knew that although he might not show it, her uncle was pleased to have her here as well.
Rachel would have enjoyed the wonderful meal even more had she been hungry, but her mind was still on Hannah’s phone call. Was she going to act on Hannah’s plea for help? Should she go to New Orleans and search for her? If she did, how would she go about it? She couldn’t help thinking that her task would have been a little easier if she had a photograph of Hannah Verkler to show, but naturally, as Hannah had been raised Amish, there were no photographs.
Maybe Evan was right. The idea that she could just go and find Hannah was unrealistic.
“Rachel, you’re not eating,” her aunt admonished. “Aaron, pass Rachel the lima beans and dumplings. You’re too thin,
madel
. You need to eat more so that your cheeks are fat. How else will you get a husband?”
Two of Mary Aaron’s sisters exchanged glances and giggled.
“Listen to your aunt,” Uncle Aaron said. “Good advice, she gives. What man wants a beanpole of a wife? Better a sturdy helpmate, someone who will work beside him and fill his house with children.”
Mary Aaron pinched Rachel’s leg under the table, and it was all Rachel could do to keep a straight face. This was familiar territory. Amish couples welcomed as many children to their families as God would send. The notion that she might give birth to nine children, as her mother had, or equal Aunt Hannah’s twelve, was daunting to Rachel. She hoped to marry someday and have a baby or two, but she was not the stuff of her mother or her aunt. Out of respect for her uncle, she only nodded, wisely keeping her radical Englisher opinions on family size to herself. Instead of arguing, she busied herself by buttering a yeast roll so light that it was all she could do to keep it from floating out of her hand up to the ceiling, and making a show of devouring it.
Dinner at the Hostetlers’ was a leisurely meal, and if conversation was sparse through the main portion, it picked up as the girls cleared away the meat, potatoes, and vegetables, and carried gingerbread, rhubarb-pear pie, bowls of sugared, sliced peaches, and lemon pound cake to the table for dessert. Mary Aaron went to the propane-powered refrigerator for another pitcher of honey-water, which she poured into waiting glasses, and her uncle called upon the children, one by one, to tell what they had accomplished in the morning.
“I put a halter on Dick today,” Jesse volunteered.
“Jesse did good with the colt,” one of his older brothers said. “Jesse’s got a gentle touch with horses. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have it in him to make a blacksmith.”
Uncle Aaron nodded. “
Ya,
I saw you working that foal. By the time you have him broke to drive, we’ll have to look for a two-wheeled cart for you. Soon enough, you’ll be leaving school and need a way to get to work.”
School for Old Order Amish children ended with eighth grade. Then, the girls stayed home to learn sewing, cooking, and managing a house from their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers, while the boys either apprenticed in their father’s trade or went out to work for someone else. As Jesse was the youngest son, he might remain at home to care for his parents in their old age and inherit the farm someday. Or he might choose to be placed with a blacksmith until he reached twenty-one. In any case, he would have to decide his future far sooner than any English youth. For that, Rachel was sorry, because if she knew her uncle, it would be more of Jesse’s father’s decision than his own.
As eager as she was to get Mary Aaron alone, there was no hurrying dinner. This was family time, and each member of the household looked forward to being together, sharing successes and failures, and being encouraged by parents and siblings. Unlike the English, Amish families ate breakfast, dinner, and supper together. It was a major part of the fabric of Plain life. Rachel knew that she might as well curb her impatience, relax, and try to enjoy the companionship, the friendly teasing, and the genuine affection.
As she had feared, nearly two hours passed before she and Mary Aaron were able to retreat to the stone-walled cellar and talk in private. The farmhouse was built into the side of a hill, and the lower level remained cool, even in August heat. It was a favorite spot to hide out when they wanted to get away. Here, seated on the stone steps, Rachel was able to tell Mary Aaron everything about the phone call and her conversations with Evan.
“Lucy wouldn’t do that. It had to be Hannah,” Mary Aaron declared. “And she must be in great trouble to call you.” She thought for a minute. “I wonder what made her think to call you?”
“I have no idea. She left around the time I bought Stone Mill House, right? Maybe she just remembered that your Englisher cousin was moving to town.”
Mary Aaron looked to Rachel. “I guess why she called you doesn’t really matter, does it? There’s no question what we have to do. Hannah is one of our people. You and I have to go and bring her home.”
“You want to go to
Louisiana
with me?” Rachel was a little surprised, but she probably shouldn’t have been. “You know we’d have to fly there. Driving would take too long.”
“So?” Her cousin shrugged. “I’ll fly.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel hedged. “Me going is one thing, but I doubt your family would agree to let you accompany me. It’s probably going to be a wild-goose chase. And it might be dangerous. I don’t know what we’ll discover down there.”
“You think I am too backward to deal with them English?”
“Of course not,” Rachel replied. “But you’ve never been on a plane. You have no idea what a city is like.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mary Aaron folded her arms, and for an instant, Rachel saw the steel of Hostetler stubbornness staring back at her out of her cousin’s eyes. “How are you going to find Hannah on your own? You don’t know what she looks like. You could pass her on the street and not recognize her.” She grimaced. “Unless she is still wearing her
kapp
. An Amish girl wearing a
kapp
in the French Quarter, now that—”
A sound behind Mary Aaron made Rachel turn. Standing at the top of the stairs was her aunt. Frantically, she patted Mary Aaron on her knee, trying to get her to stop talking, but it was already too late.
“Vas is?”
Aunt Hannah demanded. “You have talked to Hannah Verkler and said nothing to us? And her mother worried half to death that she is floating in a pond somewhere?”
Rachel flushed and looked up. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know that the two of you plan to go to hunt for her. Would you tell us that you leave? Or just I should wake up and find my daughter and niece gone, like all the others?”
“Mam.”
Mary Aaron rose and started up the steps toward her. “We were just talking, just trying to think what we should do. Hannah called Rachel and asked her—”
“I heard.” Aunt Hannah’s normally jovial voice was stern. “I was not snooping on you. I just came down to bring these jars of peaches.” She held up two Mason jars. “And is best I did overhear. We must tell your father. He is the head of the house. It will be for him to decide.”
“I think we know what Uncle Aaron will say,” Rachel interjected. She could imagine her uncle’s outburst. They’d be lucky if he didn’t call for her mother and father to try and talk sense into her. At the least, he’d probably order her out of his house and forbid Mary Aaron to see her again.
“
Mam
is right,” her cousin said. “We should ask
Dat
. It was wrong of me not to.”
And so it was with a sinking heart that minutes later Rachel sat dejectedly in her aunt’s parlor as Mary Aaron repeated the story to her father. She told it simply, neither adding nor taking away from all that Rachel had told her.
“So you see, Uncle Aaron—” Rachel began.
“Hist.” Her uncle held up a broad hand. “I have questions.”
She swallowed, waiting for the explosion, wishing she were anywhere else.
“You believe this to be true, what Mary Aaron says?”
“I do,” Rachel answered.
Uncle Aaron glanced at his wife. Aunt Hannah’s face was pale, her hands clenched in her lap. “You have prayed on this, Rachel?” he asked.