Page 51 of The Hidden One

We’ve worked in silence for a few minutes when the barn door rolls open and Mahlon Barkman appears. I see him do a quick double take upon spotting me, and then he hobbles toward us.

“It’s good to see you, Kate Burkholder.” He offers his hand for a quick shake and settles in next to his wife. “How do you like our neck of the woods here in Big Valley?” he asks.

I pick up another bean. “It’s beautiful.”

“A beautiful valley full of good people.” He looks at the beans, like a card shark intent on choosing just the right one, and he begins to snap. “You’ve talked to Jonas?”

“Yes.”

“He made bail,” he informs me. “This morning.”

“I’m glad.” Though it would have been nice for someone to let me know.

“The Amish pulled together, the way we do,” Mahlon says. “Nathan took the money to the bondsman first thing this morning. Jonas was out in a couple of hours.”

I see him studying the bruises on my neck. His eyes are sober when they meet mine. “You’ve been hurt. Here in Big Valley?”

As if sensing the rise of tension, his wife stops snapping and gives me her full attention.

I give them a condensed version of the ambush. “He suggested I leave town.”

“That’s worrisome.” The old man picks up a bean, his expression troubled. “Does it have something to do with your looking into the death of Ananias Stoltzfus?”

“I think someone doesn’t want me poking around.”

Husband and wife exchange worried looks.

“I spoke to Pastor Zimmerman at the Lutheran church this morning.” I grab a handful of beans and set it on the table in front of me. “How well did you know Mia Stoltzfus?”

“Well enough to know she was a good woman,” Mahlon tells me.

“She was a quiet thing,” Laura adds. “Worked hard.”

“Do either of you have any idea why she committed suicide?” I ask.

The Amish woman shakes her head. “It was such a bad time. For all of us. Mia was part of our sewing circle for a while. A sweet lady.” She looks down as if remembering and smiles sadly. “Wasn’t much good at sewing for a woman her age. Of course, no one ever said so. It was just one of those odd things.”

Having grown up Amish—and being resistant to the expected skill of sewing myself—I’m well aware that it’s held in high esteem by the women.

“Was Mia depressed or unhappy?” I ask. “Was she having any problems?”

“The woman never spoke a negative word in her life,” Laura says. “Mia had a smile and a kind word for everyone. Enjoyed her baking.”

“Did she get along with her husband?” I ask.

“Never complained,” Laura tells me. “But then Amish women don’t, even when they have cause.”

“Ananias was a good husband, I think.” Mahlon scoops up a pile of snapped beans and drops them into the Dutch oven. “Strict with the congregation, but he always let her have her say. He made a good living. Provided well. Worked hard.”

“Did you ever hear any rumors about them?” I ask. “Maybe some problem between them or a family issue? Anything like that?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” The Amish man chuckles. “Ananias messed up his preaching service a time or two. Once, during ‘Es schwere Deel’ he forgot to close with a reading from the Bible.”

It’s not the kind of information I’m looking for; a preaching misstep certainly doesn’t rise to the level of offending someone enough for them to commit a violent act.

Laura stops snapping, sets her gaze on mine. “There was always something a little odd about the bishop. I don’t mean that in an unkind way. It’s just that he was different is all.”

“How so?” I ask.