Page 112 of A Gathering of Secrets

I cut her off. “I know he was a monster. I know what he did. And I know Emma and her unborn child weren’t his only victims.” I can hear myself breathing. I stop speaking, rein in my emotions. “You can’t do what you did. You can’t do that. Even if he deserved it.”

My own damning words echo within the confines of the barn. For a full minute no one speaks. I’m aware that Neva is crying openly, choking back sobs. Ina is standing next to Neva; she’s shaking so violently, I see her dress quivering.

“Please don’t tell,” Viola whispers.

“I do not have a choice. It’s over.” I look at each of them. “You should have done the right thing. You should have gone to the police.”

Neva sobs hysterically, her entire body quaking. “Emma would have been shamed. She was ime familye weg.” Pregnant. “Everyone would have assumed she’d given in to Elam. The bishop would have put her under the bann.” Her voice is strangled, the words running together. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Daniel did that to her. He treated her like an animal. Made her want to die!” She screams the last sentence at the top of her lungs.

I struggle for calm, reach for it, grab it hard and snatch it back. “Which one of you lured Daniel to the barn that night?” When no one answers, I turn to Neva. “Was it you?” I turn my attention to Ina. “I know you used the guise of a meet-up to get him into the tack room. Then all you had to do was lock the door and set the fire.”

“I did it,” Neva cries, slanting a look at her friends. “It was me. Just me. They had no part.”

Viola shoots her a warning look. “I wrote the note. I gave it to him, told him I wanted to meet him in the barn. That I was … ready.”

“He was so stupid and predictable,” Ina hisses. “We knew he would come. He couldn’t stop himself. He deserved what he got!”

I divide my attention among them. “Who was in the barn with him the night he was killed?”

“All of us,” Ina says, her eyes flicking to Neva, her voice breathless and shaking.

“Who set the fire?” I ask.

“I bought the gas.” Viola looks from girl to girl.

“I closed the door, locked it.” This from Neva. “Then I poured from the can.”

“We piled some things against the door,” Ina adds. “All of us. The cinder blocks. That old wheelbarrow and hay.”

“I threw the matches,” Ina tells me.

Viola starts to cry. “He was pounding on the door.”

“We wanted to let him out.” Neva sobs the words. “But the fire got too big, too fast. And then we couldn’t.”

“So we just … ran,” Ina finishes.

I stare at them, feeling as if I should be pondering the question of how they could do something so monstrous. But I already know.

“What about Edna?” I ask. “How much did she know?”

Neva looks at me as if I just thrust a knife into her belly. She’s sobbing, her face red and tear-streaked. “My mamm was only trying to protect us.”

Ina puts her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Edna knew what he was.”

“We didn’t tell her,” Viola puts in. “She just sort of figured things out.”

“She was smart that way,” Ina adds.

“And the night she was killed?” I ask.

“She did it for us,” Neva tells me. “For Emma. For all of us.”

* * *

The Amish believe that every day is a gift from God. It’s the Amish way. Be thankful for what you have, even in the face of adversity. Especially in the face of adversity. It’s one of many Amish tenets I could never quite subscribe to. There are certain days I wish I could erase from my life. Today is one of them.

It’s dusk now, and I’m at the farm, sitting on the dock, looking out across the pond. Around me, the frogs are just getting warmed up. The blue jays in the woods are arguing about something of consequence. It’s a beautiful night, warm and humid with a barely discernible breeze from the south that carries with it the aromas of fresh-cut grass and Mr. Cline’s meat smoker from a quarter mile away. I’ve got my jeans rolled up to my knees, my feet in the water, and a cold bottle of Killian’s Red beside me.