Plain Murder (15 page)

“I suppose,” Rachel said. “It was pretty awful.” The picture of Teresa being hustled away from the graveside surfaced in her mind. She never had caught up with Teresa that day. She'd been meaning to look for her at the church hall, but then Evan had arrested her uncle, and everything else had gone out of her head. “I had no idea that Teresa was so fond of Willy,” she said. “Carrying on so at the grave.”

Hulda chuckled. “Well, you know why.”

Rachel shook her head.

“Why, those two were an item for a few months, once upon a time. You didn't know?”

“Willy and Ell's mom?”

“None other. Opposites attract and all that.” Hulda lowered her voice. “Of course, it wasn't common knowledge. Her being a teacher and a single lady, and Willy being, well, Willy. People used to expect teachers to behave in a certain way. It would have caused talk, so they kept it quiet.”

“But you knew about it?”

Hulda's lips curved into the hint of a smile. “If I ever told all I know about this town, the earth would open up and swallow it.” She gave a wave. “And that's old, old news about Teresa and Willy. He threw her over for a lawyer's wife, and Teresa quit her job at the high school and ran off to South Carolina. She didn't come back for five or six years, and when she did, she had Ell with her. She told everyone she'd adopted the baby, but no one believed it. Of course, there was a lot of counting going on, but Ell couldn't have been Willy's child because she wasn't born for a year and a half after Teresa left Stone Mill.”

She tilted her head and peered over the rim of her gold-rimmed glasses. “Whoever the daddy was, he must have soured Teresa on men. She's been a good enough mother to Ell, but so far as I know, she's never been so much as out to dinner with another man.”

Rachel glanced away, thinking.

“I see that look in your eyes. You don't think all that could have anything to do with Willy and his private grave, do you?”

Rachel cut her eyes at Hulda but didn't say anything.

“You needn't do that with me. Don't think I don't know you're playing amateur detective—trying to clear your uncle's name.” She reached for a butter cookie. “If I were your age, I'd probably be doing the same thing.”

“He's innocent.”

“I hope so, for your sake. And for your family's. That's what's important in this world, you know, family . . . and friends. You've been like a daughter to me since you came back to Stone Mill. And I'd hate to see anything or anyone break your heart.”

 

Unable to stay away any longer, Rachel decided it was time to head to the Hostetler farm; if her uncle wasn't home yet, he soon would be. She hadn't seen him since he was arrested, except for a brief moment when he'd been released. And they hadn't spoken then; Uncle Aaron had only nodded to her and she back.

When Rachel and George had gone to bail him out, George had offered to give Aaron a ride back to the farm. Neither her parents nor any of her aunts or uncles had ever ridden in her Jeep. Apparently, the red color had offended the bishop of their church, and although he hadn't forbidden any of his flock to set foot in it, most would not. Thankfully, Mary Aaron had no such compunction.

Rachel parked the offending vehicle on a logging road at the foot of Uncle Aaron's driveway, covered her pinned-up hair with her kerchief, and stepped into the calf-length denim skirt. She didn't know if her uncle would talk with her, but if he wouldn't, she had some questions for Aunt Hannah. Her strange behavior at the farmer's market on Saturday bothered Rachel. What had she and Eli Rust been arguing about? Did Eli believe that Uncle Aaron was guilty, or was it something else?

There were few secrets in an Amish farming community. Everyone knew that there was no love lost between Uncle Aaron and his closest Amish neighbor. He and Eli grated on each other's nerves and bumped along, sharing a church community yet clearly disliking each other. Most people, including her own father, believed that the fault was Uncle Aaron's, and that he resented Eli because Eli had courted Aunt Hannah first.

The fact that one of the two, either Aunt Hannah or Eli, had broken off the romance didn't seem to matter. So many years had passed, and yet her
dat
said that Uncle Aaron was still jealous. He hadn't said it in front of the children, but Rachel had heard her parents discussing an incident. And she'd distinctly heard her
dat
tell her
mam
that Uncle Aaron's heart was still full of jealousy, and that it sometimes made for awkward moments for others in the church.
Mam
had told him that he'd best tend to the log in his own eye rather than the speck of dust in someone else's, but she hadn't denied it. And as quick as
Mam
was to defend her own family, her absence of argument spoke louder than words.

It was hard to picture either Eli Rust or Aunt Hannah as a young couple walking out together. No one had ever hinted at what had caused the breakup between them or why Aunt Hannah would choose the rigid and sometimes morose Aaron Hostetler instead. It was as much a mystery as what Rachel had just learned from Hulda about Willy O'Day and Ell's mother.

Rachel took a moment to try and reach Evan on the phone, but again, all she got was voicemail. Was he avoiding her? Or was he just busy? She really needed to apologize to him, but after that she wasn't sure what she was going to say because . . . the thing was, she
really
needed to know what was in that notebook.

“Hey, Rachel!”

Rachel looked up to see her cousin Jesse coming out of the woods with a fishing pole over one shoulder. Two trout hung from a string at his waist, and he was grinning from ear to ear. “See my fish?” he said.

Rachel switched her cell phone to vibrate and thrust it into her skirt pocket. “Only two,” she teased. Jesse was nine, towheaded, bucktoothed, and one of her favorites of Uncle Aaron's children. “Not enough for supper. Maybe you should sell them to me.”

“Ne.”
He laughed. “John Hannah already promised me a dollar for every trout I catch. He's going to have a bonfire tonight, him and some of his pals. I'm saving for a scooter-bike.”

Rachel fell in step alongside Jesse. “Is your
dat
at home?”

He shrugged. “Don't know, maybe. They let him out of the jail. But I think he went to State College today. Appointment.”

“I know.” She rested a hand on Jesse's shoulder. “You know, it's all going to be all right,” she promised. “They'll find out who did it, and everyone will know that your
dat
is innocent.”

“Ya,”
he agreed. “That's what Mary Aaron says.”

They walked up the lane in silence, past the field where John Hannah was plowing with a four-horse team and past the sheep pen where Elsie, John Hannah's twin sister, was combing the burrs out of a ewe's fleece. Both waved, and Rachel waved back. A wave of nostalgia made her throat constrict. Sometimes, the smells and colors of the farm swept her back to her childhood, and for just a minute or two . . . she wished that things could have been different . . . that she could be different.

You can take the Amish girl off the farm,
she thought,
but can you ever get the farm out of . . .
Rachel sighed. She'd made her choice, and as far as she was concerned, there was no going back. The trouble was, she seemed to have a rough time going forward.

A flock of geese honked and spread their wings and made small rushes at her as Rachel entered the farmyard. Knowing it was all bluff, she paid them no mind.

“Get!” Jesse waved his fish at the gander, then laughed.

“See you. And don't forget. Next time,
I
want your fish.” Rachel went to the back door. With family, there was no such thing as knocking, so she pushed open the screen door and walked into the kitchen.

“Rachel!” Her aunt turned toward her with a surprised look on her face.

It was all Rachel could do not to stare. The man sitting in her uncle's high-backed chair at the head of the table and drinking coffee wasn't Uncle Aaron. It was his neighbor Eli Rust.

Eli's face darkened. His gaze met Hannah's, then Rachel's. “It's better if I go,” he said.

The air inside the kitchen felt charged with electricity.

“Finish your coffee, at least,” Hannah murmured.

“I should go anyway. He'll be home shortly. It's best if I not be here.” He looked down at his mug. “I shouldn't have come.”

“
Ne,
I'm glad you did.” Her aunt's eyes grew misty. “Don't worry, Eli. She won't say anything to Aaron.” But her brow furrowed with worry. “Rachel's a good girl. She wouldn't want to make trouble for us.”

Looking at Rachel, he raised a thick finger. “Hold your tongue, Rachel Mast. If harm comes to my family or Hannah because of this, it will be on your conscience.”

“Eli, please,” Hannah said softly. “Say no more.”

“I'm not afraid. You know that. What I did . . . I had to do.”

“But the
Ordnung
, Eli. I worry for your soul.”

Eli shook his head. “
Ne.
I do not.” He drained the last of the coffee. “I'd do it again.”

Aunt Hannah brought her finger to her lips, then pointed in the direction of an open window. “Do you want the children to hear—”

“Hear what?” Uncle Aaron threw open the screen door on the back porch so hard that wood splintered. “What business do you have here in my house alone with my wife?” he demanded, walking into the kitchen. “When I'm away from the farm?”

“Aaron, please . . .” Aunt Hannah began, but Uncle Aaron was not to be silenced.

He eyed Eli. “What did you not understand when I told you not to set foot on this farm again unless you've come for Sunday worship?” Uncle Aaron looked back at the sagging door. “Forgive me, Hannah. I was careless. I will fix it as soon as our . . .
guest
leaves.”

Rachel moved back against the blue cupboard, wishing that she could shrink to the size of a mouse and hide. Raised voices were rarely heard on Amish farms in the valley. First Eli, and now her uncle. What was going on between Aunt Hannah and her neighbor when she walked in? What had Eli done? What did he and Aunt Hannah know that they were fearful of Rachel or Aaron finding out?

Rachel felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She ignored it, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But Uncle Aaron must have heard the sound. He turned toward her.

“Rachel?” He looked startled. Then embarrassed. “I didn't know you were here. I thought . . .” He tugged at his beard, clearly aware of how rudely he'd spoken to his neighbor in front of her. “I was hasty. I—” Red-faced, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen.

“I'm sorry.” Eli started for the door, ignoring Rachel, still directing his words to Hannah. “I didn't want to make trouble for you.”

“Trouble follows you, Eli,” she said. “It always has.” She grabbed a broom from where it stood in a corner and began sweeping the dirt Aaron had tracked in. She swept furiously, as if, with a broom, she could clear her kitchen of the harsh words still hanging in the air.

Eli hurried out the back door. He made an effort to pull the broken screen door shut behind him, but it wouldn't close.

“Leave it,” her aunt called after him. “I will pray for you and yours.”

The cell phone vibrated again in Rachel's pocket. Rachel turned her back to her aunt and pulled the phone out. She saw that it was Evan and shut it off. She'd have to call him back.

“Best you go, as well.” Aunt Hannah clutched her broom against her bosom. “I am not angry with you, but this is a bad time for visiting.” Her lower lip quivered and moisture flooded her eyes.

Rachel nodded. She wanted to say something to comfort her aunt, but sensed it would be better if she just left her alone right now. She walked out of the house and into the barnyard.

She looked around. The Dutch door on the barn, which should have been closed, stood open. Not a cousin or even a goose was in sight. Even the dogs had made themselves scarce. She knew that she should do the same, but against her better judgment, she entered the barn. It smelled of hay and livestock. At the far end, she spotted her uncle, standing at a tool bench.

“Uncle Aaron?” she ventured. “Are you all right?”

“Rachel?” He squinted; bright light poured into the barn from behind her.

“Come in. I need to speak with you.” The anger had drained from his voice, making him sound weary and older than his years.

Cautiously, she approached. This corner of the barn was shadowy, but she could see that Uncle Aaron held a screwdriver in his hand.

“Why can a man never find the right size screws when he needs them?”

“
Dat
has the same trouble. No matter how many he buys, the ones he wants . . .” She trailed off. Her uncle hadn't invited her in to talk about screws.

“I have to fix the screen door.” He held out the screwdriver. “I'm a wooden head, but . . . I must fix the door before the children see. People will say I have lost my mind—that maybe I
am
a man who could take the life of another through my willful temper.”

“I know that's not true.” She took a step closer. Her eyes were adjusting to the dim interior of the barn.

He nodded. “Always, you have believed in me.” He didn't look at her. “I would have sat there. In that jail, but . . . it was good of you to make them let me out. The money.”

“I told you at the courthouse. It wasn't mine. George, Willy's brother, put up your bail.”

“Still,” he said thoughtfully. “It was you. I know you did the arranging. For all your English ways, you're like your mother. Loyal to your family.”

Rachel got the feeling he just needed to talk for a moment, so she let him go on.

“She was always my favorite sister. Did you know that? My father said that we shouldn't have favorites, that we should love all of our brothers and sisters equally, as the Lord God loves us. But Esther is special. She was always patient with me, and she knew what to say to lift my spirits.”

Rachel pressed her lips together, feeling a little uncomfortable. Amish, especially Amish men, didn't talk about such things. She was touched by his candor. “I know she has a high regard of you. She says your heart is good.”

“I've made a fool of myself in front of Eli.” He touched his hand to his forehead. “Always, he brings out the worst in me.” He exhaled loudly. “Your Aunt Hannah was supposed to marry him. Did you know that? The first of their banns had already been read.” He dropped to one knee and began to dig through a big cardboard box full of small, plastic boxes. “Why they broke up, she never said, and I never asked her. I thought, in time, she would tell me, but . . .” He shook one of the boxes and the contents rattled. “These are too long. I need shorter ones.”

“But she
did
pick you. She loves you, Uncle Aaron.”

“First comes marriage. Then respect. Love follows sometimes, but men and women . . .” He shrugged. “I always wonder, am I second-best? Will I always be?”

“You're not.” Rachel sat down on a bale of hay near him. “She married because she wanted to marry you. She loves you, Uncle Aaron.”

His cheeks colored at the mention of love. It wasn't a subject often spoken of in the Hostetler family, but Rachel knew that didn't mean it wasn't felt.

“She is impatient with me these days. More than usual,” he mused.

“Your arrest has been hard on you both. But they'll find out who did this, Uncle.” She hesitated “I know you don't want to, but it would be better if you'd work with the court-appointed counsel—the lawyer.”

Uncle Aaron didn't look up. “An honest man—especially an Amish man—should have no need of a lawyer.”

Rachel sat there quietly for a moment. She knew he had said repeatedly that he wouldn't talk about the case, but she had to try. “Uncle Aaron, they found a journal on Willy. Did you know that? A notebook he jotted things in. He kept records.”

He didn't answer.

“Apparently, before he died, he wrote something about you,” she went on. “Did you see him that day?”

“I did not.”

She thought about the initials A.T.B.R. “Did . . . did you owe him money?” she dared.

He looked up at her then began to rummage in the box. “I did not. I would not. ‘The borrower is the slave of the lender,' ” he quoted from Proverbs.

“Well, whatever he wrote, it made the police decide to arrest you. Do you have any idea what it could be?”

“
Ne.
I know nothing. What does it say, this notebook that tells the English that I am the one who killed him?”

“I don't know. I do know that Willy wrote in code.”

“ ‘Code'? What is that?”

“It means that he didn't spell out the words, that he used abbreviations, or letters that only he would understand.”

“Why would the police think they know what it says, then?” Uncle Aaron snorted. “Crazy.”

“Was Willy meeting with you that day?”

He exhaled slowly, as if debating what to say . . . or how to say it. “I have told you, Rachel,” he said finally. “I have nothing to say on this matter.”

“But you have to. You've got to help us prove your innocence.”

“
Ne,
that is up to the Lord. His will be done.”

She was the one who sighed this time; she should have known better than to think she could persuade him. Aaron Hostetler was one stubborn man. “Promise me that you'll at least tell them that you didn't do it.”

“I cannot do that. The bishop tells me that the judge will ask me to swear in his court . . . to put my hand on the Holy Book and swear an oath. You know we are not permitted to do that. On my life, I could never do such a thing.”

“You won't have to swear. If you explain to your lawyer . . . I'll tell them that it's against our—against
your
religion to swear an oath. You can just affirm that you'll tell the truth.”

“It's wrong that they try to force their worldly ways on me. Unjust.”

“And it's unjust that Willy O'Day ended up dead in your pasture.”

“He was a mean man. Greedy. He killed my sheepdog. Willy wanted a piece of my land. He tried to buy it. Our true disagreement was about land, not cows. I don't sell my land. I've worked too hard for this farm.” He stood and set two little plastic boxes on his workbench. “But what you say is true. No man should be left that way.”

He dumped one of the boxes of screws out on the workbench, taking his time before he spoke again. “I know you mean well,” he said. “And you know that I do not approve of what you have done. You abandoned your family and your faith.” When he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion. “But you have taught me a lesson, Niece. You did not abandon
me
. When I needed help most, you were there. I've given you nothing but grief when I owe you thanks.”

“You don't owe me anything,” she said, putting her hands together on her lap.

He turned to her, his gaze meeting hers. “Come back, Rachel. To the church. Turn your back on the English world and return to us. It would bring your mother joy.”

“You know I can't,” she said, fighting tears that suddenly burned behind her eyelids.

“And you know I cannot stop asking.” He turned away from her again. “Ah, there. I have them.” He held the screws out for her to see.

“Good.” She forced a smile.

“
Ya,
good. Hannah hates flies in her kitchen.” He took the screws and the screwdriver and headed for the yard. Clearly, he had said all he intended to about Willy and his arrest.

Rachel followed him out into the barnyard. He went to the house, and she stood in the driveway for a moment, debating whether or not to go back inside to try to talk to her aunt.

Out of the corner of her eye, at the sheep shed, she saw Jesse crouching against the side of the building. He waved to her.

“Why are you hiding back there?” she asked when he approached her.

“Where's
Dat?
”

“He just went into the house.”

“I don't want him to see me.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Have you done something wrong?”

“Ne.”
Jesse shook his head. “But you know how he is. After he got home from the dentist, John Hannah told him about the shovel and he got really mad.”

“What shovel?” Goose bumps rose on the back of her neck.