Danger In Amish Country. Marta Perry
Rachel’s bedroom that evening, listening to the sounds coming from within. So far all had gone as they’d planned. Sara had arrived in time for supper, bringing with her an apple-crumb pie.
It had been the liveliest meal they’d had around the kitchen table since he and Rachel had come to Onkel Josiah’s farm. Josiah had been on his best behavior, joking with Sara and even teasing a smile from Rachel.
Afterward, Sara had insisted she and Rachel would help with the washing up. Onkel Josiah retired to his rocking chair in the living room, and Sara kept the chatter going while they washed and dried.
Now Sara was putting Rachel to bed, something Rachel had greeted with enthusiasm. He was the one who’d suggested this, so it was ferhoodled to feel left out and maybe even a little resentful of all the giggles coming from the room. But it had been a long time since he’d been able to make his daughter laugh.
By moving slightly, he could peer through the crack in the door and see them. Rachel was tucked in her bed, with Sara leaning against the headboard, arm around his daughter. She was reading a fanciful story about a piglet, and they both giggled over the pictures.
The story came to its happy ending, with the piglet home in its pen. His hands clenched on his knees. Now Sara would move toward the purpose of her visit.
“I like made-up stories about animals, don’t you?” Sara smoothed Rachel’s hair back with a gentle hand.
“Me, too.” Rachel looked confidingly up at her. “Peter Rabbit especially. Daed reads it to me.”
He’d read it so many times Rachel had it memorized, but she still wanted to hear it.
“True stories are fun, too,” Sara said. “My daadi tells stories about when he was a boy and all the mischief he got into. You know the difference between a made-up story and a true one, don’t you?”
Rachel wore a tiny frown, but she nodded.
“Like the story of Der Alte,” Sara said, her tone casual. “The kinner made that up, but he’s not real. It’s just that the rocks look like a face, that’s all.”
He could see Rachel stiffen at the mention, and it took all his strength to keep from rushing in and snatching her up in his arms.
“But he is real, Teacher Sara.” Rachel’s voice trembled. “I saw the Old Man make the other man fall.”
The words reverberated in Caleb’s mind. It was what he’d suspected all along, but it was still a blow. He should have protected his little girl, but how?
Sara held Rachel snugly against her body. “Do you mean the rocks made him fall?” Her voice expressed none of the tension she must feel.
Rachel shook her head.
“Then what?” Sara stroked her hair again. “You can tell me.”
For an instant he thought Rachel would clam up. Then she took a firm hold of Sara’s apron. “The Old Man came to life,” she whispered. “He pointed something at the other man, and the man fell over the edge.” The words came out in a rush, and she buried her face in Sara’s sleeve.
“Did the Old Man push the other man over the edge?”
Rachel shook her head, and relief took his breath away. At least she hadn’t seen a murder. This was bad enough.
“What did the Old Man look like?” Sara asked.
Rachel seemed puzzled. “I don’t know. Just like the Old Man.”
“I’ll tell you something I know for certain sure,” Sara said. “I know it was just another person up there, not Der Alte. Maybe the two of them were friends, taking a walk. Or maybe they were arguing, and the poor man just tripped and fell. But it doesn’t have anything to do with the face in the rocks.”
She said it with such confidence that Rachel looked impressed. Maybe she could accept from her teacher what she couldn’t from him.
“Are you sure?”
Sara nodded. “And I’ll tell you why I’m sure about it. Because when my brother was younger, he climbed right up those rocks one day, clear to the top. And he didn’t see anything else. Just rocks, because that’s all they are. All right?”
“If you say so, Teacher Sara.”
At first Caleb feared his daughter was just trying to say what she knew her teacher wanted to hear, but as Rachel leaned back on the pillow, he could see the relaxation in her face.
“Now I’m going to tell you a real story about the time I went to pick blackberries with my brother,” Sara said. “And you’re going to close your eyes and try to see all the things I tell you.”
Sara began a story, her voice soft, the words repetitious. The tale grew slower, her tone more gentle as Rachel slid into sleep. Finally Sara eased herself off the bed. She tucked the quilt over Rachel and bent to kiss her forehead.
The simple gesture seemed to seize his heart. He got to his feet as Sara slipped from the room.
“You heard?” she whispered.
He nodded. “We’d best go downstairs and talk about it.”
To say nothing of deciding what exactly they would tell Chief O’Brian.
* * *
Sara followed Caleb downstairs, her mind busy fitting the pieces together. He paused at the bottom, nodding to where his uncle slept in the rocking chair, newspaper draped across his lap.
In silent agreement, they moved into the kitchen. It was better to talk about what they’d learned from Rachel without an audience.
The kitchen was utilitarian, with no flowers blooming on the windowsills or colorful calendars on the walls. Even though the Amish didn’t believe in useless ornamentation, a woman usually made her kitchen a warm, cozy place through a dozen little touches. Josiah’s wife had been gone a long time now, and he wasn’t one to bother with what his house looked like.
Caleb pulled out a chair for Sara at the kitchen table and sat down opposite her. She studied his face, looking for a clue to his feelings.
“At least now we know what Rachel saw.” His voice was heavy with regret. “For my child to see a person fall to his death... No wonder she’s been having nightmares.”
“And no wonder she didn’t want to say anything. I suppose trying to talk about it made it too real. But bad as it is, it sounds as if Kovatch fell accidentally, don’t you think?” Sara tried to cling to the one bright spot in the whole business.
Caleb frowned. “That’s not what Rachel thinks. She said the other man pointed at him and made him fall.”
“Ya, but...” Sara struggled to make it fit. “We know he wasn’t shot. It might have been coincidental, his pointing just when Kovatch tripped.”
Caleb shifted restlessly in his chair, as if possessed of the need to do something, anything, to resolve this tangle. “If that’s so, why hasn’t the other man come forward?”
“I can’t imagine.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “To see someone fall and not try to get help for him—that’s incredible.”
“If the two of them were up to no good, I suppose that might account for it,” Caleb said. “At least that’s for the police to figure out.”
She nodded. This was one situation she’d be happy to leave to the authorities. “Chief O’Brian said he’d stop by my daed’s tonight to hear what I learned.” She hesitated, not sure he was going to like what else she had to say. “Daed also insisted we must inform the bishop, before he hears about my being involved from someone else.”
Caleb’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “I can understand his wanting to explain the police being at his house. It’s not what we’re used to.”
Nothing