What the Bishop Saw Read online

  BOOKS BY VANNETTA CHAPMAN

  THE AMISH BISHOP MYSTERIES

  What the Bishop Saw

  PLAIN AND SIMPLE MIRACLES

  Brian’s Choice

  (ebook-only novella prequel)

  Anna’s Healing

  Joshua’s Mission

  Sarah’s Orphans

  THE PEBBLE CREEK AMISH SERIES

  A Promise for Miriam

  A Home for Lydia

  A Wedding for Julia

  “Home to Pebble Creek”

  (free short story e-romance)

  “Christmas at Pebble Creek”

  (free short story e-romance)

  THE REMNANT

  Overshadowed (free ebook short story)

  Deep Shadows

  Raging Storm

  Light of Dawn

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Scripture quotations are taken from

  The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  The New Life Version, © Christian Literature International.

  Cover by Bryce Williamson

  Cover photos © Brian Brown, ulimi. Oleg Saenko / iStock

  Published in association with the literary agency of The Steve Laube Agency, LLC, 5025 N. Central Ave., #635, Phoenix, Arizona, 85012.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WHAT THE BISHOP SAW

  Copyright © 2017 by Vannetta Chapman

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  ISBN 978-0-7369-6647-4 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-6648-1 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Chapman, Vannetta, author.

  Title: What the bishop saw / Vannetta Chapman.

  Description: Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, 2017. | Series: The Amish bishop mysteries; 1

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016041355 (print) | LCCN 2016048106 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736966474 (softcover) | ISBN 9780736966481 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Amish—Fiction. | Clergy—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Suspense. | FICTION / Christian / Romance. | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.H3744 W48 2017 (print) | LCC PS3603.H3744 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041355

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Dedication

  For My Friday Morning Prayer Breakfast Group

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book is dedicated to my Friday Morning Prayer Breakfast Group. Ladies, you cannot possibly know how much I look forward to that weekly hour together—high-carb food, good friends, plenty of laughter, and the sweet offering of prayer.

  I’d like to thank the awesome staff at Harvest House. You all make the sometimes perilous job of writing a real pleasure. Gratitude to my agent, Steve Laube, who answers emails promptly and succinctly. As usual, I owe a giant debt of gratitude to my pre-readers Kristy Kreymer and Janet Murphy. You two ladies have eagle-sharp eyes and a good ear for how a sentence should sound. I also appreciate Patti Gallagher’s input and her patience in answering my many questions about the Monte Vista, Colorado, area.

  My family continues to support me through this journey. I wouldn’t even attempt to do such a thing as write a novel without them. I love you guys.

  I also would like to express my appreciation to my readers, who impatiently wait for the next book, devour it in a single day, and then email me asking when the next one will be available. You all are awesome!

  And finally, “Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).

  Contents

  Books by Vannetta Chapman

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Glossary


  Recipes

  Green Bean Casserole

  Das Dutchman Essenhaus Raspberry Cream Pie

  Apple Cinnamon French Toast

  Amish Cheesy Casserole

  Carrot Cake

  Amish Coffee Cake

  Peanut Butter Spread

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Find New Friends in the Women of Pebble Creek

  Discover Stories of God’s Unexpected Grace and Provision

  All It Takes Is One Night to Plunge the World into Darkness

  Ready to Discover More?

  About the Publisher

  Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.

  1 PETER 4:10

  Of all the senses, sight must be the most delightful.

  HELEN KELLER

  Prologue

  Goshen, Indiana

  Henry Lapp needed an escape.

  He sat at the kitchen table, his chin propped on his hands, staring out the window at his brothers and sister. That was where he should be, in the field, playing ball. One glance at his mother told him that was not going to happen, which didn’t stop him from arguing about it. At twelve years old, he’d learned parents could sometimes be persuaded if one nagged with determination.

  “I promise not to bat.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I’ll stand in the outfield. No one ever gets a ball to the outfield.”

  “It’s not going to happen. And baseball. I never want to see you playing baseball again. It’s not up for discussion, Henry.”

  “And yet we are discussing it, ya? So maybe there’s a possibility.” He offered his crooked smile, the one that always made her laugh, but it did nothing to diminish the worry lines around his mother’s eyes.

  “You’ve been home three days, Henry. Only three days after… what? Three weeks in the hospital?”

  He gingerly touched the side of his head. The stitches were gone. As for the three weeks, he remembered very little of that time since he’d spent much of it in a medically induced coma.

  His mother sat down beside him and waited until he turned his gaze from the window to look at her. “You almost died, Henry. Your dat and I sat by your hospital bed, not knowing if you would wake up.”

  “I’m better now.”

  “And we praise Gotte for that every night, but you will follow the doctor’s orders. She said for you to take it easy for a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?”

  “Getting sick is easy. Getting well is the trick.”

  “Not a gut time for proverbs, Mamm.”

  “The best time for a proverb is when you think you don’t need one.”

  “But I’m bored.”

  “How about you write your mammi?”

  “I did that yesterday. Besides, writing feels like school, and it’s summertime.”

  “I’ll have dinner ready in an hour. Until then, you can draw her a picture.” She stood and turned back to the stove, and he knew the discussion was over.

  At least he’d given it his best try. He fetched a large sheet of construction paper and a pencil from the supply his mother kept near the table for school projects. He paused to consider what he should draw. Mammi was always asking about their church dinners. She missed the folks in Goshen since moving to Illinois to help one of his onkels. He would draw the picnic they’d had the day before. He bent over the sheet of paper and set to work.

  And then his father was coming in the back door asking about dinner, and his brothers were trooping in the front talking about the baseball game, and his little sister was standing beside him.

  “Look what Henry drew, Mamm. I can see me! And I can see my doll too.”

  “That’s great, honey. Now wash your hands.”

  Henry pushed the sheet of paper away and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly he felt tired, as if he’d been clutching the pencil for hours. How long had he been drawing? Before he could work out the answer to that question, his three brothers stepped behind his chair.

  “Whoa.”

  “That’s a little spooky.”

  “Mamm, you’d better come look at this.”

  Henry wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about, but then his father reached over him and pulled the sheet of paper closer. Henry glanced down to see what looked like a photograph. Every person, every facial expression, every leaf looked real down to the smallest detail.

  “Boys, take your sister outside.” Henry’s siblings left, and his father sat down next to him as his mother joined them. Her face paled when she looked at the drawing.

  “You did this?” His father was still staring at what he’d drawn.

  “Ya. I guess.”

  “How—”

  “I don’t know. Mamm told me to draw, so I did.”

  “But this… you shouldn’t be able to do this.”

  Henry touched the paper, and that was when he noticed that perhaps he’d been a little too detailed. A husband was berating his wife about something, his face wreathed in a mask of anger. Two boys were fighting over a volleyball. Henry could imagine the unkind words they were saying by the expressions on their faces. A teenage boy stood next to a tree with a girl, no doubt thinking they couldn’t be seen. In the drawing he was kissing her, one hand touching her face and the other hand resting on her hip. The look on their faces was one of complete happiness.

  Anger and sadness and love. They weren’t merely words. They were played out over every inch of the sheet of paper.

  “I didn’t mean to draw those things.” Henry picked up his pencil, flipped it over, and frantically began erasing.

  His father slipped his drawing off the table as his mamm pulled the pencil out of his grasp. “Perhaps you should go rest,” she murmured.

  Henry had made it to the sitting room when he noticed his shoes were untied. He squatted to tie them, not intending to eavesdrop.

  “This is from the brain injury,” his father said. “It has to be.”

  “I don’t understand. How could being hit in the head by a baseball cause… cause this?”

  “Remember? The doctor said he could lose things—abilities, balance, whatever. And that he could gain things too.”

  “This? He gained this?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And he drew it from his memory?”

  “How else?”

  “What do we do about it?” his mother asked.

  “We’ll speak to the bishop, and we’ll pray.”

  “It will frighten people if they see this. No one wants their actions, their every emotion recorded.” She paused, and Henry knew she was looking at the angry expressions, not the joyful ones.

  “It’s a gift,” his father said, though his voice sounded anything but certain.

  “It could be,” his mother agreed. “Or perhaps it’s a curse.”

  One

  Fifty-two years later

  San Luis Valley, Colorado

  May 1

  The smell of fire woke Henry Lapp from a sound sleep.

  He stumbled out of his bed and hurried toward the window he’d left cracked open. A red glow on the horizon confirmed he wasn’t dreaming. Throwing on his clothes and shoes, heavy black coat, and Plain hat, he made it out the front door in less than five minutes.

  Should he take the time to hitch up Oreo? Or would it be quicker to walk?

  Before he could decide, he heard the distant clatter of hooves. Jogging to the street, he raised a hand as Abe Graber’s mare trotted around the bend in the road. Abe pulled to a stop and Henry hopped into the buggy.

  “Where’s the fire?”

  “Vernon’s house.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  Abe yanked off his hat, pushed the hair out of his eyes and plopped the hat back on again. “Ya, probably so. Word is Vernon was home. It doesn’t look gut.”

  Henry didn’t bother asking Abe more questions. He was surprised the man knew a
s much as he did, but then the Amish grapevine was efficient and reliable. If they said Vernon had been home at the time of the fire, then more than likely he had been.

  Henry spent the remainder of the ride praying for Vernon’s soul and staring out at the darkness of the Colorado night, offset only by the glow of the half moon. The weather had warmed recently, but temperatures were still quite chilly at night. Perhaps a fire in the stove had sparked, igniting something lying close by.

  “Talk to him lately?” Abe asked.

  “Yesterday. I went by to see him after church. He didn’t stay for luncheon.”

  “Not unusual—for Vernon.”

  “True, but I was concerned.”

  “So did everything seem okay… when you visited him?”

  “As much as it could with Vernon.” Henry didn’t explain.

  He knew he didn’t have to.

  Two

  Henry could hear the crackle of the flames from where they tied the mare, next to several other buggies and well away from Vernon’s house. The horse snorted and stomped her foot, and then she began to crop at the grass. Henry and Abe hurried toward the side of the house, where the bulk of the activity was taking place. It wasn’t easy going. They had to skirt around a dilapidated chicken coop, weave their way through rusted farm equipment, dodge several chickens, and then pick a path through piles of broken garden pots.

  Emergency personnel hadn’t taken such a careful route. The fire truck had crushed a pile of bicycle parts and what looked to Henry like a motor scooter.

  The house itself was ablaze, a sight that stirred an ache deep in Henry’s heart.

  Firefighters, risking their lives, were trying to keep the fire from spreading to either of the barns.

  A homestead—gone.

  A life—abruptly ended.

  Because he didn’t see Vernon anywhere, he feared that was the truth. But then every life was complete. Isn’t that what Abe had preached recently? Every life was complete. Henry believed it to be so. The Bible said as much in the book of Job. A man’s days are numbered. You know the number of his months. He cannot live longer than the time You have set.