Page 107 of Shamed

The old man stares at me, impassive. “Es voah Gottes wille.” It was God’s will.

“How much did the Helmuths know?”

“I told them nothing.”

“Bishop Troyer, you can’t take a baby from someone and just give it to someone else.”

“She was taken to a family member. It was up to them to work things out.” His expression doesn’t alter. “What we did, Katie, it was the only way to save the life of the child.”

“You should have gone to the police. There are laws in place to protect children at risk.”

“And have the child taken by the social services people?” His voice clangs like steel against steel. “To be raised by strangers who do not understand the Amish way? I think not. It was an Amish matter to be handled by the Amish.”

I’ve heard the sentiment a hundred times over the years. Every time it grates on my sensibilities. This time, it’s particularly painful, because this man’s rigid adherence to Amish doctrine may have contributed to the deaths of four people.

“Had you gone to the police, Mary Yoder would still be here,” I whisper. “Sadie Stutzman. Noah Schwartz. That wasn’t God’s will.”

He stares at me, the steel gone from his eyes, his expression faltering. “It’s done, Katie. We can’t go back and change it.” Wincing, he leans forward and sets the book on the coffee table. “I prayed to God for the wisdom to do the right thing. I did the best I could. We had no way of knowing this would happen. Had we not acted, Elsie Helmuth might have died before she ever had the chance to live.”

The exchange drives home the myriad reasons I left my Amish faith behind. While I will always hold close a great deal of love for the people, the culture, and the religion, I’m once again reminded of how far I’ve strayed, and that I made the only decision I could have.

I hold his gaze for a moment longer, words best left unspoken passing between us. After a moment, I turn and leave the room.

CHAPTER 29

One of the most satisfying aspects of closing an investigation is that golden moment when the facts come together and you finally figure out the how and why. It’s not always a pleasant moment, but rewarding nonetheless.

I’m trying hard to believe that as I make the turn into the lane that will take me home. I pull up behind the house to find Tomasetti’s Tahoe parked in its usual spot. I sit there a moment, watching the snow fall, drinking in the simple beauty of my surroundings. The barn with its peeling paint. The farmhouse with its drafty windows and a porch that’s in dire need of a new railing. A dozen or so Buckeye hens peck around on the ground outside the Victorian chicken house Tomasetti built for me last month.

The snow is coming down hard when I get out and take the sidewalk to the back door. I find Tomasetti sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him, a cup of coffee at his side.

His eyes find mine. “How’s the bishop?”

“He’s going to be all right, I think.”

Rising, he crosses to me, relieves me of my laptop case, sets it on the floor next to the coatrack, and eases my coat from my shoulders. “How about you?”

I turn to him. “I’m glad this godforsaken case is over.”

He goes to the counter, pours coffee for me, and sets it on the table. “Have a seat.”

I take the chair across from him. “The Helmuths didn’t know,” I say.

“Bodes well for them.” He sips coffee, looking at me over the rim.

“The bishop chose them because they’re blood relatives,” I tell him. “Ostensibly, they could work out any custody issues among themselves. He knew they were a good, solid Amish family. Their home was a place where the baby would be safe, and grow up with traditional Amish values, surrounded by family and community.”

I think about the cemetery plot at the Mullet farm. “I don’t know what Rosanna did or didn’t do. Some of it may come out during trial. But I get the sense that, as an Amish woman, she felt a certain amount of pressure to conform to all those societal roles, to have children, raise a large family.”

“That can be a lot of pressure.”

“Especially for someone not equipped to handle it. Someone with no support system.”

“As twisted as all of that is, it fits.” Tomasetti sips coffee. “You’ve been dwelling in some dark places.”

“I knew the truth was in there somewhere.”

His gaze meets mine. In their depths I see comprehension and the insights of a man who has experienced the many facets of life, both good and bad. “You and I have been around long enough to know that Lady Justice doesn’t always get it exactly right.”