Murder Tightly Knit Page 5

  “You were a friend to Owen.” Gordon sat back and studied her.

  She nodded as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

  “When was the last time you spoke with him?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “He was already back. He could have stopped by the shop instead of calling.”

  “Ya, and sometimes he did. By this time we’d become freinden, and we enjoyed talking to each other. Owen still had the cell phone he purchased while he was away. He would sometimes call me before work.”

  “Why was he calling when you talked to him two days ago, on Tuesday?”

  “He was excited.”

  “About?”

  Mary again closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. When she opened them, Amber had the sensation that she’d made a decision, though what it was she couldn’t imagine.

  “About a group. He’d been trying to get in with this group, and he said things had gone well the night before, when he visited with one of the members. It was important to him for some reason. He was invited to go to the next meeting.”

  “When was the meeting supposed to be?”

  “Last night.”

  “What was the name of the group, Mary?”

  “It didn’t have a name. At least he didn’t tell me one. He did mention some letters.”

  Gordon waited, his pen poised above the pad of paper.

  “I-S-G.” Tears splashed down Mary’s cheeks. “I don’t even know what that means. Are they the ones who killed Owen? And who are they?”

  But Gordon wasn’t listening anymore. He turned off the recorder, stood up, walked over to the door, and opened it. Without another word to them, he strode across the floor to where Walter Hopkins continued to monitor anyone coming into the building. Amber and Mary turned in their seats to watch him. He bent down and said something to Walter, which caused him to jerk upright and grab the phone.

  Gordon walked resolutely back toward his office. He didn’t sit down or even enter the room. Standing in the doorway, he said, “Thank you, Mary. I may stop by the shop or your home if I have any further questions.”

  Then he turned and was gone.

  Six

  Though his stomach tumbled and turned over what had happened, he went about his daily chores in a normal fashion, walking in and out of the barn as he did so. Each time he entered the structure, he peered over at the crossbow hanging on the wall. Each time he walked out, he replayed the scene from earlier that morning.

  He hadn’t wanted to kill the young man and took no joy in the memory. Killing was a sin, and he understood that well.

  But people were depending on him. If he didn’t care for them, that would be a sin as well. He had worked too hard for too long to see his life shattered.

  Nein.

  He’d done the right thing. The young man’s life had been complete before he followed him, before he raised the bow and took aim.

  Hopefully there would be no others.

  Killing was not something he cared to do again.

  But if he had to, he would.

  Seven

  Jesse was grateful for the work he had to do. The grounds crew was working on three large projects simultaneously. As an assistant manager, his job was to make sure things were progressing as they should.

  Painting the covered bridge was nearly done. White trim needed to be added to the edging, but the men had finished with the coat of a rich red color on the bulk of the bridge. The project would be completed by the weekend, which had been their goal.

  Patching the barn roof wasn’t going so well. The workers had come across wood rot, so the boards needed to be replaced before they could continue. Jesse walked back to the grounds crew office and called the wood shop in town. If his schedule permitted, the owner would sometimes come out and help them on projects. He said he couldn’t do it before the next week since he was trying to find someone to replace Owen. Jesse made a note on the work order form and left one copy for his boss and another for Amber. Then he instructed the workers to cover the roof with a heavy tarp. Rain wasn’t in the forecast, but it was better to be prepared.

  The third and last major project was replacing all the summer flowers with fall plants. That was nearly done. The problem was it should have been done before the first of October, but the local nursery had run out of bedding plants. He moved some of the barn workers to helping with the flowers. With the extra hands, they would finish before dark.

  As he went to each project site, he lent a hand where he could and made notes of things the manager, Harvey, would need to handle.

  The work kept him busy and helped ease his worries, but occasionally thoughts of his brother’s return rumbled through his mind, punctuated every few minutes by the awful realization of Owen’s death.

  By the time he left the Village, the sun was setting and he was exhausted. Physically, that felt like a good thing. Emotionally, it didn’t.

  The walk home took him directly by Hannah’s place. He turned up the path to her home without even thinking. Some days were like that. Some days he needed to see her.

  “We can sit inside if you like.” Hannah stood on the front porch, as if she had been expecting him.

  As usual, she looked beautiful to Jesse. The gas lights from inside the house cast a halo around her hair, which was still covered with her kapp. It made him think of angels and God’s provision. It reminded him how blessed he was to have Hannah in his life. Surely God had placed the two of them together for a reason.

  From where he stood, Jesse could see Hannah’s three brothers, little sister, mother, and father all gathered around the kitchen table, working on various tasks. He could hear them from where he stood at the bottom of the porch steps.

  “Could we stay out here? If it’s not too cold—”

  “The porch is fine.” Hannah ducked inside and returned with a sweater to ward off the evening’s chill.

  They sat on the old wooden swing and watched the last of the sunset’s orange, red, and pink colors fade to dark. Bit by bit, Jesse’s tension melted away.

  “Terrible thing about Owen.” He reached over and laced his fingers with hers.

  “Ya. Mamm and I spoke a little of it as we prepared dinner. She says we have to trust Gotte’s wille.”

  “Difficult to do in this instance.”

  “That’s what I said. Who would kill him? And in such a terrible way? I can’t imagine it having been an accident. You have to get so close for a bow shot. And why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think Owen was in some kind of trouble?”

  “Maybe, but there’s nothing I’ve heard about.”

  “His sister told my mamm that he was planning to join the church. She said that since he came back he was a different person—more mature and thoughtful. Naomi insisted that he was ready to put his rumspringa behind him.”

  Jesse said the next words before he had time to think them through. “Sometimes the things we think we’ve left behind pop up in the middle of our road again.”

  Hannah didn’t answer at first.

  As silence surrounded them, Jesse realized what he’d said could apply to Owen, or it could apply to him and Andrew.

  “I know his childhood was difficult.” Hannah pulled away and pressed her back into the corner of the swing.

  He could feel her studying him in the darkness.

  “Owen never spoke much to me,” she continued. “And his sister was out of school by the time we started. She must be thirty-five now.”

  Jesse had been pushing against the wooden floor of the porch with his right foot, gently rocking the swing. He stopped it suddenly, his thoughts focused on the last time he’d spoken to Owen.

  “What did you remember?”

  “Something Owen said last Sunday.”

  “After church?”

  “Ya. I was waiting for you to finish up with the dessert table so we could go for a walk.”

  “You were wai
ting for me to bring you some of the walnut brownies.”

  “That too.”

  “And Owen said?”

  Jesse shook his head. “I’m trying to remember. We were talking about crops and how the long-range forecasts are predicting drought for next spring.”

  “How can anyone predict weather for six months from now?”

  “Beats me. Not sure I even believe it.”

  “So you were talking about farming and weather. There’s a huge surprise.”

  “It’s that or fishing.”

  Jesse snagged Hannah’s hand when she reached out to push him. “Owen said that he didn’t want to wait to see how bad spring would be.”

  Hannah scooted across the swing, erasing the space between them.

  “He said we should spend our time preparing for it instead.”

  “Preparing for drought?”

  “Nein. I had a feeling he was talking about something else. I sort of laughed and said that Gotte would send the rain we need. That Gotte would provide as he always has.”

  “And?”

  “And he said rain wasn’t the only thing we should be worried about.”

  Jesse again pushed his foot against the floor of the porch, causing the swing to begin rocking once more. Hannah was now sitting so close they were shoulder to shoulder, and her hand was nestled in his. For that moment, he had no doubt at all that he should ask her to marry him. Perhaps he should do it before she went inside. Perhaps that would settle the nervousness in his stomach.

  “Tell me about Andrew,” Hannah whispered.

  So he did. He told her about lunch, about the pineapple cake, about his parents’ unmitigated joy, and about his doubts. He told her everything.

  When he’d finished, she squeezed his hand. They sat there, listening to the sounds from her siblings floating through the window and watching the dazzling appearance of a million stars.

  By the time Hannah went inside, her father, brothers, and even her little sister, Mattie, were already upstairs. Her mother was alone in the family room, sitting in her rocker and knitting.

  “I’m surprised you aren’t in bed too.”

  “It’s nice to sit here, in the quiet, and relax a bit.”

  “So you weren’t waiting up for me?” Hannah smiled as she plopped down on the couch.

  “Nein. You’re old enough you don’t need that sort of looking after, Hannah.”

  “Good to hear.”

  As Eunice continued knitting, Hannah studied her in the light of the single gas lamp. She thought her mother was beautiful. She was short, like Hannah, with blond hair that was turning gray in places. She had beautiful, kind blue eyes—unless her brothers had been up to mischief, and then those eyes could grow quite stern. Eunice was not one to put up with trouble if it could be avoided, and she didn’t hesitate to discipline her children if they needed it.

  What she did not do was hold a grudge. Once you were punished, all was forgiven. “Forget your mistakes but remember what they taught you” was a favorite saying heard often in their home.

  What would her life have been like without her mamm, without her dat as well?

  “You’re thinking deep thoughts over there.”

  “Do you remember when Owen’s parents died?”

  “Ya. You should too. You were five. You attended the funeral.”

  “I can’t remember anything from that age. I’m lucky to remember what I had for lunch yesterday.”

  “It was a sad affair, as such funerals are.”

  Hannah waited. Usually her mother only spoke of Gotte’s wille. Seldom did she dive further into such tragedies, at least not with Hannah.

  “Owen was maybe seven or eight. His schweschder must have been ten years older. I remember she was beginning to be interested in boys. She worked at the old quilt shop in town, but she quit after the accident. Stayed home and became a mother to Owen. They looked like two little orphans, though they were never completely alone. The community pitched in and helped with whatever needed to be done.”

  “What of their family? Their parents must have had schweschders, bruders, and parents.”

  “Owen’s mother had family in Kentucky, but Naomi wouldn’t even consider moving, at least not right after the accident, and soon after that she married.”

  “How did their parents die?”

  “Buggy accident, during a storm. Crossing the bridge over near their place. You know the one.”

  “But it’s a small creek!”

  “Now it is. That year we’d had terrible rains, and the creek was like a roaring river. They tried to cross it and were swept away.”

  Hannah watched her mother knit. The yarn she was using had been dyed a soft lavender, so the item was probably for Mattie. Her little sister dearly loved any item in any shade of purple.

  “How could that be Gotte’s wille, Mamm? For two children to lose both of their parents.”

  “I can’t be speaking Gotte’s mind, since I don’t know it.” Eunice smiled over her knitting needles. “But I can remind you of his promise—to never leave us or forsake us.”

  When Hannah didn’t respond, she added, “It’s a hard thing, to be sure, but this world is a difficult place, Hannah. It’s the next life we’re to look to. No more buggy accidents or death there.”

  Hannah remained in the sitting room for another half hour, listening to the quiet sounds of her mother’s knitting and staring out the window into the darkness.

  Eight

  Amber woke the next morning refreshed.

  The day before had been like a nightmare, like something from her past had come to haunt her. She kept wishing to wake up and have imagined Owen’s death and Mary’s questioning. She arrived home exhausted and out of sorts. Then she had walked into Tate’s arms, and the day fell away from her like an old cloak dropped to the ground.

  They’d spoken some about Owen and Mary and the investigation over dinner, but then they’d gone to the back porch with mugs of decaffeinated coffee and a single piece of strawberry-rhubarb pie, which they shared. The back porch looked out over Tate’s fields. The warmth of the coffee, the sweetness of the pie, and a view that reminded her of all God had created worked together to calm Amber’s nerves. Then Tate scooted closer to her on the swing. When he began rubbing her shoulders, she practically purred. Her cat, Leo, looked on from his perch on the old oak rocker, with his feet tucked underneath him and his eyes blinking his approval.

  Amber sighed and snuggled even closer to her husband. “Moving here was a smart move.”

  “You think so? What about marrying me?”

  “Another smart move. I seem to be full of them.”

  Tate murmured in agreement as he nudged her neck with tiny kisses.

  She reached up and ran her hand over his close-cropped hair.

  “You know I’ll grow it out if you want me to.”

  “What?”

  “Sure. I’ll sacrifice the convenience of a closely shaved head for my woman.”

  “This is your look.” She settled back into his arms. “I’m rather used to it.”

  “Well, you know it works for me.”

  “Yes. Less shampoo. I remember. Should I shave my head?”

  “Shampoo isn’t that expensive.”

  The evening had been calm, quiet, and exactly what she needed.

  Waking this morning to the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen, she paused to thank God for her blessings. It was sometimes difficult to believe that she’d found a man she loved, and one who loved her, at her age. Forty-five! Somehow she felt younger than she had in years. Love could do that to you, she supposed.

  But would she always feel so cherished?

  She’d seen plenty of couples who acted as if they could barely tolerate each other. “Kissing wears out. Cooking doesn’t.” That was the advice Hannah had given her at the wedding. Hannah had laughed and wrapped her in a hug as she quoted the proverb, but maybe there was something to those sage words. She made a mental note to pick u
p more pie from the Village bakery. Tate did most of their cooking, but she took care of dessert—if purchasing from the bakery could be called “taking care” of something.

  Entering the kitchen, she wasn’t surprised to see her husband sitting at the table, having already finished his breakfast. He wore a tan work shirt, old blue jeans, and scuffed leather work boots. Taller, bigger, and a little older than she, he seemed to her to be in the prime of his life. It was hard to tell if he had any gray in his black hair since he kept it shaved, but his skin had the healthy look of someone who worked outdoors. His warm, brown eyes and quick smile reflected that he’d managed to hold on to an appreciation for life’s blessings, despite having lost his first wife to cancer.

  The clock’s hands had barely crept past six thirty, but Tate was a farmer at heart and still rose early. He’d reduced the size of his crops, leasing half of the place to a local Amish man. He’d also sold most of the animals, leaving only the two donkeys, two mares, and a few cattle to tend.

  “Morning.” He lowered his newspaper and gave her an approving smile. Yes, he still read a newspaper each day, though she was trying to convert him to the logic of reading online.

  “You look beautiful this morning, Mrs. Bowman.”

  “You say that every morning.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  She paused to give him a short kiss, then headed for the coffeepot. Pulling her favorite mug from his cabinet—their cabinet—she marveled again that they were able to combine their households so easily. Tate wasn’t one to hoard things, though, and there had been plenty of room. The biggest change for him had been the addition of her cat.

  Leo stretched and padded across the floor to rub against her legs.

  “Does he still go over to the dawdy haus every day?” She reached down and scratched between Leo’s ears.

  “Usually in the afternoon, after his nap. That is one spoiled feline.”

  “I suppose there’s no harm in him visiting the place since it’s usually empty. Preston is at work more than he should be.”

  “It was good of you to offer him the place free of charge.”