Page 46 of A Gathering of Secrets

“I used to be Amish.”

Her eyes shift to Mona. “You, too?”

“Oh no, ma’am. Not me.” Mona raises both hands as if to fend off an attack. “I’m an Englischer through and through.”

The three of us look down at the infant.

“What’s his name?” I ask.

Smiling, she raises the baby’s face to hers and rubs her nose against his. “William.”

“How old is he?” Mona asks.

It’s an innocent question, but Petersheim stiffens slightly. “Almost a year now.”

The baby chooses that moment to spit up. Clabbered milk dribbles onto the front of his plain little onesie.

The Amish woman clucks her mouth. “Well, that’s what I get for not burping you, isn’t it?” she coos.

“Can I help?” I ask.

She sends me a grateful smile, but shakes her head. “I’ve had lots of practice. Happens every time he drinks too much milk and I don’t burp him right away. Midwife says he’ll grow out of it soon.”

Little William is wearing a onesie with Amish-like suspenders over a white T-shirt. Mona and I watch as Petersheim deftly folds down the bib and slips the soiled T-shirt over his head.

“It’s just a little bit of schmierkees,” she mutters in a baby voice, referring to the Amish version of cottage cheese. She turns her attention back to the baby, covers his fat cheeks with a dozen smacking kisses. “Isn’t that right, mei lamm?”

She leaves him for a moment to grab a fresh shirt from a drawer beneath the changing table. That’s when I notice the dark brown spot on the right side of the baby’s tummy. It’s large for such a little guy—about four inches in length and an inch wide. A birthmark, I realize, and I get the odd sense that I’ve seen it before.…

Petersheim returns and with deft hands, slips the fresh shirt over the baby’s head, carefully pulling his little arms through the holes and then smoothing down his hair.

I wait until the baby is dressed before addressing her. “Ruth, can you tell me where you were Monday night?”

Her gaze jerks to mine, her eyes widen. “What? Why do you need to know that?”

“I have to ask everyone who knew or came in contact with Daniel Gingerich. You understand?” I offer a smile I hope will reassure her. “Just to eliminate you from the equation.”

“I was here,” she tells me. “Mothers with new babies can’t just run off in the evening.”

“Can your husband vouch for you?”

“Of course he can,” she snaps. “He was here, too. Please, if you could just go now … I need to feed him.”

“Of course.” But I hesitate. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Daniel Gingerich that might help me with the investigation?” I ask.

“Like I said, I barely knew him.” She motions toward the door. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”

* * *

A minute later Mona and I are back in the Explorer.

“That’s got to be the most uptight Amish woman I’ve ever met,” Mona says.

“No doubt.” I pull away from the curb. “The question is why.”

“You think she knows something about Daniel Gingerich?”

“I think she knows something she doesn’t want to share.”