The Preacher's Daughter (18 page)

Chapter 18

J
esse was mighty glad for a morning without a single wisp of a cloud, and this being wash day, his wife would be, too. As for his own work, he had offered to help one of the older farmers, Al Fisher, extend a field by digging up a section of pastureland. Luke and Omar were going to lend a hand to yet another farmer— finishing the plowing—so the three of them would leave for the day soon after breakfast. Once Omar cut their hair, that is. Jesse was glad not to bother Barbara with the chore.
Anything to ease her duties. . . .

Luke's and Omar's absence later today might benefit Barbara and Annie in that they could forget about cooking up a big meal at noon. Of course, with Louisa there they still might make themselves a nice hot meal, with plenty of leftovers for the evening meal, he hoped.

While Barbara cleared the table and put away the leftovers, Jesse sat mighty still as Omar snipped away at his hair. ‘‘Keep it just below my ears,'' he advised.

‘‘Jah, Daed, I will,'' Omar said. ‘‘It got awful long this time. Your bangs, too. Nearly in your eyes they are!''

Luke sat in the corner drinking coffee while he waited his turn. Jesse let his mind wander back to his sons' toddler days . . . how the three of them had come all in a row. Annie, too, being the only daughter—sandwiched between three brothers on either side. Barbara had been overly protective of Jesse Jr., Christian, and Abner. For all good reason, he supposed. There had been no more kidnappings in the area, and for this Jesse was most grateful. But he had never stopped thinking that if Daniel Hochstetler had not exerted his own will against that of the Lord God's, they all would be waiting for Isaac to make his baptismal vow and join church about now.
Just as someone else ought to be doing,
he thought.

When Omar was finished with him, Jesse hurried outdoors and quickly brushed the hair snippets off his neck and shirt. He could hear Luke grumbling about being next, the typical protests that occurred every six weeks or so, when haircuts were in order.

Later, while making his way south toward the far edge of Paradise Township—to a field near the Strasburg railroad station— Jesse contemplated the contents of his sack lunch. Annie and Louisa had made a fine one for him, and he'd overheard them whispering as they buttered bread enough for two sandwiches, then spread the dressing nice and thick, sliced the liverwurst and dill pickles and topped both sandwiches with lettuce. A hefty helping of potato salad awaited him, along with a fruity Jell-O salad and four oatmeal raisin cookies, his favorite. He'd taken note of Annie's exceptional cheerfulness—a distinct shift from her attitude prior to Louisa's arrival. Just why that would be, he had no idea.

He had much back-breaking work ahead of him today, so he must save his energy and let the women fuss over lost love and whatnot all.

Halting the field mules, Jesse set down the handheld single-bottom plow to pause a moment, mopping his brow. The sun was exceedingly warm for a November day, its rays bouncing off the silo in the distance. With more work to be done to smooth out this section of the former pasture, he was relieved to see one of Al's daughters, Becky, running across the field toward him, carrying a Thermos.

Something to wet my whistle
.

At the edge of the field, Al was trudging along, working another handheld plow, and moving at a slow but steady pace. By midafternoon, Jesse figured they'd have this section of land plowed and fertilized with plenty of manure, ready for planting come spring.

‘‘Would ya care for a drink, Preacher?'' Becky asked shyly, her cheeks bright pink.

‘‘Denki,'' he said. ‘‘ 'Tis good of you.''

She opened the lid with clean hands and poured the ice water, offering him the red plastic cup. He drank the water straight down, then another cup, and at last, a third.

‘‘Be sure 'n' take some over to your pop. He looks all in.'' Jesse wiped his mouth, and Becky turned to leave, Thermos in hand.

Refreshed some, he resumed the mind-numbing work and eyed the double hitch, as well as the four hard-working mules ahead, making well-defined furrows in the soil.

He pondered yesterday's sermon as he steadied the plow. All day Sunday he hadn't been himself, although not physically ill; he knew that much. Too much of his time was spent in wonderment, pondering his daughter's standoffish attitude toward church membership. Preacher Moses and Bishop Andy had both urged him to give the long sermon, but had they known of his malaise, they would not have pressed him to stand for the two hours necessary to give the biblical account of Adam's fall to Abraham's faith, followed by an even longer retelling of the life of John the Baptist to the close of the apostle Paul's numerous missionary journeys. Jesse had known something was terribly out of kilter that morning. Then, of all things, Louisa's feisty gray cat had appeared, ready to pounce on his shoes, which further added to his distress, even though he thought he'd concealed it well.

Inhaling more slowly now, he was aware of the sun beating hard on his back, but he would not let the unseasonably warm afternoon deter him. He kept his gaze on the ground, watching the grassy chunks of sod turn over as the plow loosed and aerated the soil.

In the middle of the row, a flash of something light caught his eye in the dark soil.
Bone colored
.

Halting the mules, he let go of the plow and leaned down to look, thinking this must be a decomposed animal, nothing more. But as he moved away the dirt, he drew in a quick breath.

There before him was a partial section of what appeared to be a skeleton sticking out of the earth, which did not resemble that of an animal. Suddenly, he was compelled to dig deeper, using his gloved hands to burrow out the buried remains.

A human child. Small, yet complete, the frame was perfectly undamaged.

He recoiled at the sight, unable to speak.
O Lord God and heavenly Father,
he prayed silently.

He opened his mouth to holler at Al, but on second thought stifled the urge to call the man over. Indecisive, he wondered if he should leave the remains as they were and hurry to the bishop or attempt to bury the bones even deeper and simply keep mum. Never to speak a word of this.

But if his assumptions were correct, he would like to have more to go on than simply the size of the skeleton, which prompted his thoughts toward the small boy who'd disappeared years before. Emboldened now, he searched further, on his hands and knees beneath the plow.

Lo and behold, his right hand bumped something small and round. Scraping it out of the earth, he saw the lump to be mud-caked with hints of gold shining through. He removed an old work handkerchief from his pants pocket and warily wiped the face of a pocket watch, searching for a set of initials, unaware he was whispering to himself, heart pumping hard. ‘‘Anything . . .
anything
to go on.''

But look as he might, there were no recognizable decorations or markings to point definitively to the missing child. Even so, a dozen thoughts flooded his mind, not the least of which was ‘‘Ichabod,'' and he knew beyond any doubt he must pay a visit to the bishop immediately.

Esther sighed, leaning against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the sitting room. Fondly she observed Laura, who was sitting on the kitchen floor, entertaining her brothers. She was building with a combination of wooden blocks and checkers, creating what looked to be a small village, while Zach and John watched.

Remarkably, little John had not swung his dimpled fist to knock down the creation as of yet, but he
was
wide-eyed and intent on Laura's placement of the final red checker.

‘‘There we go,'' said Laura. ‘‘See? This is Dat's big barn and there's the woodshed.''

‘‘Big barn.'' John echoed, his babyish voice so cute.

‘‘
Two
-story barn,'' Zach added, pointing to the second level.

Laura smiled, nodding broadly. ‘‘That's right. Dat's barn has two big stories.''

‘‘Wanna story.'' Zach got up right quick and hurried to her. ‘‘Story now, Mamma?''

Jah, she wished she might sit and rest alone. But with Zeke over chewing the fat and having coffee with their neighbor, now was as good a time as any, she guessed. Soon it would be bedtime, and she was all done in from the long day of washing and hanging out clothes. Tomorrow she would iron every single piece.

She thought of asking Laura to make up a soothing tale for the boys. But, no, Laura had spent quite a lot of time with her brothers already while Esther redd up the supper dishes. Young Laura needn't have so much responsibility thrust on her just yet, even though it was inevitable what with another baby brother or sister on the way.

Tonight Esther would do her best to recite a Bible story, hoping she wouldn't leave out anything important like last time. ‘‘I'll tell you a true story, 'bout baby Moses,'' she said, which got both Laura's and Zach's attention. ‘‘Come, let's sit together.''

Going to her husband's rocking chair near the wood stove, she took John onto her lap, while Zach and Laura sat at her knee.

Laura's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and once again Esther was reminded of her daughter's sweetness. The Amish midwife who'd helped deliver her had declared the little bundle a ‘‘perfect baby . . . with nary a single flaw.'' And now as Laura reached over and placed a protective arm around Zach, Esther's heart was filled anew with appreciation for this wee angel of a daughter. The fact that Laura could endure a whipping one day and display such a lovely disposition in spite of it the next was truly a marvel. Esther's own childhood experience with occasional thrashings served not to soften her spirit at all, but rather had borne resentment in her, although she had long since forgiven her father for his quick temper.
As I must Zeke,
she thought suddenly, but there was not an ounce of mercy left in her for her husband.

‘‘Once upon a time, long, long ago, a baby boy was born to a devout and humble woman named Jochebed, wife of Amram . . . daughter of Levi.'' Esther began the story for her attentive threesome, but this one was especially for Laura, who loved it above all others.

Jesse stood, legs locked, in the most concealed corner of the bishop's barn. ‘‘Well, sure, if you think we must keep this in-house, then so be it.''

Bishop Stoltzfus folded his knobby arthritic hands and bowed his white head momentarily, exhibiting a well-known determined pose. ‘‘I will speak with our neighboring bishop on this, but I'm sure the decision not to call in the authorities will be made. The Hochstetler kidnapping was never reported, as you recall. And that's how it should be.''

Jesse remembered, all right. He'd never forgotten the panic of the nighttime search, the days of waiting for news, the family's eventual moving from the area, and the silence lapsing into the stupor of years . . . the yearning to put the reprehensible incident behind them, needing to move on with life, which they all had done to some degree, he supposed. Some more than others. Till now.

No question, the abduction had altered their lives. His own wife's jovial nature and carefree approach to mothering changed overnight. And when Jesse Jr. married and his Sarah Mae began bearing children, Barbara began to fret and hover over each newborn grandchild, as well.

‘‘ 'Tis best we keep the police out of this, as we always have,'' the bishop said.

Jesse had never questioned the ordained man. Bishop Andy's way was best, prompted wisely by the Lord God, he knew. But it was the other minister, Preacher Moses Hochstetler, whose decision-making processes concerned Jesse. That and the fact he was related to Zeke Hochstetler and poor dead Isaac. Besides, Moses was as frail as any of their elderly church members. ‘‘Will you be sharin' any of this with Moses?'' asked Jesse.

The bishop paused, clearly contemplating what to do. ‘‘I'll have to think on that,'' he said at last. ‘‘The cat is so easily let out of the bag, you know.''

Jah, which means the womenfolk need not hear of this,
thought Jesse.

‘‘Mum's the word, I daresay,'' Bishop Andy stated. The two men locked eyes, considering the seriousness of the situation.

They continued talking quietly for a while longer in the solitude of the barn, bringing up the need for a suitable burial.

‘‘You covered the bones up adequately, you say?''

‘‘For the time being, at least.'' Jesse lowered his voice. ‘‘I marked the spot by countin' the paces to the cemetery. I can easily return to the location.''

‘‘By all means, get over there later on tonight. I'll meet you behind the stone wall . . . somewhere safe, where no one will ever notice a freshly dug hole.''

Agreeing with the bishop's plan, Jesse contemplated what must have happened that fateful night. ‘‘The little fella surely put up a fuss—a feisty one, he always was, remember?—and the kidnapper must've dumped his body in that pasture at the time, on his way out of town.''

‘‘Just can't figure why a killer would seek out our farmland for such a burial,'' the bishop said, his brow crinkly now.

‘‘In some circles, Amish land is considered to be hallowed ground . . . 'least by the English,'' Jesse said. ‘‘And this isn't the first time, either.'' He cited several cases where, over a period of years, Amish soil had been chosen as burial plots for victims of serial killers.

The bishop's eyes were suddenly bright with tears. ‘‘The pitiable family . . . what they surely have suffered all these years since. Ichabod included, poor fellow, not knowing what happened . . . aside from God's sovereign judgment.'' He sighed audibly. ‘‘But, then, we still don't know, do we?''

‘‘Has anyone kept in touch with the family?'' asked Jesse.

‘‘As I understand it, not even the eldest son knows their whereabouts, sad to say.''