Page 51 of Shamed

“Just the bishop and me. The midwife. Miriam and Ivan. That is all.”

“What about Mary Yoder?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I think she knew. Noah mentioned speaking to her, but he didn’t go into detail. In all these years, Mary and I have never spoken of it.”

I close the notebook and give him a hard stare. “Is it possible someone else knows about what happened?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“What about the parents of the baby? Do they know what happened? Do they know where the baby was taken? Who took her in?”

“I do not know.”

“Does your wife know?”

“She was here that night, of course. As the wife of a bishop, she does not question.”

“Bishop, I believe Elsie Helmuth may have been taken by someone who knew about or found out about what happened all those years ago. Her birth parents. A relative. An older sibling. Someone who wanted her back.”

“I don’t see how, Katie. Bringing that baby here to Painters Mill, it was a solemn and private thing. Done in the night, under cover of darkness. We were careful. It was never spoken of again.”

“Someone spoke of it.”

He stares at me, silent.

I set my hands on my hips and sigh. “Bishop, you can’t just take a baby from one family and give it to another one. Even if your intentions were honorable and you think it’s the right thing to do.”

“You come here tonight to question our ways? You of all people?”

I don’t respond to the jab, but I feel it in a place I thought was immune. “This isn’t about me. It’s about finding that girl.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

I shake my head and sigh. “You likely broke the law. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It was done in the eyes of the Lord. His law is above man’s law. You know this, Katie. Or have you strayed so far from your roots that you no longer believe?” He says the words in a voice like iron. “If what we did is against some English law then so be it.”

… the child had no one. She needed a family. Parents. A safe place.

We took her to Miriam and Ivan late in the night. We prayed. And it was done.

If I hadn’t heard the words directly from Bishop Troyer, I never would believe he was capable of something so outrageous and reckless.

I drive back to the station in a state of shock, my conversations with Miriam Helmuth and Bishop Troyer replaying in my head like some tragic song. By the time I park and head inside, I’ve come up with a loose plan.

I find Mona, still in uniform, sitting at the reception desk, listening to the radio, surfing the internet.

“Oh, hey, Chief.”

“Dig up everything you can find on Noah Schwartz. I think he lived in Crooked Creek, Ohio. Scioto County. No middle. He was an Amish bishop. I believe he’s deceased.”

She’s already reaching for a legal pad, jotting everything down. “Got it.”

I slide messages from my slot and head toward my office. “Run him through LEADS. Check for warrants,” I say over my shoulder. “Get me a list of midwives in Crooked Creek and Scioto County. I think there are some registries out there.” Even as I bark out the requests, I realize that because we’re dealing with the Amish—many of whom stay off the governmental grid—the information may be hit-or-miss.

“Chief, you still interested in Marlene Byler?” she calls out.

I turn and go back to her station to find her holding out a purple folder. “There’s not much out there. I mean, with her being Amish and all. Just a newspaper story and an obituary,” she tells me. “That’s how I found her. Mary Yoder is listed in the obit.”