Page 64 of The Hidden One

The old man’s mouth opens, his lips quivering. “I don’t want to talk to him. He’s not welcome here.”

I can’t tell if he’s hard of hearing or if his memory is muddled. I press forward. “I understand you and Bishop Stoltzfus had a disagreement. There was an incident between you. Can you tell me what happened?”

“He’s not my bishop. I ain’t Amish no more. Washed my hands of it.” The old man angles his head, his eyes seeking the call button, but it’s too far away for him to reach.

Sensing that I’m not getting through—that I’m about to lose him—I switch to Deitsch. “Can you tell me what happened when Ananias Stoltzfus came to your house to talk to you about your daughter?”

Schmucker opens his mouth, his lips slick with saliva. “See leekt.” She lied.

“You’re not in any trouble,” I assure him. “I just want to know what happened between you and the bishop.”

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything.”

… Word got around that Levi was acting improper with his oldest girl.

Looking at the old man, I bank a hard rise of disgust, and I have to remind myself the story could be gossip. I’m here about Stoltzfus, not to revisit an event that may or may not have taken place.

“The bishop came to you…” I let the sentence trail, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.

“Her mamm lied. Lied. The bishop came. Brought that big cane with him.”

“What did he do?” I ask.

The old man stares at me, his face contorted as if he’s watching some horror unfold right before his eyes, and he knows the monster is coming for him.

“I didn’t do the things she said,” he tells me.

“What did the bishop do to you?”

“He didn’t believe me.”

I’m aware of the old man’s hands shaking on the towel in his lap. His left foot starting to jiggle. “Tell me what he did.”

“He took me out to the barn. So we could talk man-to-man, he said. When we was alone, he … came after me. With that cane. Beat me with it. Busted my teeth.” He looks down, lifts his right hand. “Broke my arm. Laid open my head. That old man beat me silly for something I didn’t do.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He told me to pack a bag and leave. Said if I came back, he’d kill me.” His lips tremble. “I believed him.”

I stare hard at him. “Did you ever go back to Belleville?”

“No! I swear! I didn’t go back!”

“When’s the last time you were there?”

“That night.”

“Did the bishop hurt anyone else that you know of?” I ask.

The old man doesn’t answer. His eyes drift to the window, and he stares at something unseen.

“Mr. Schmucker, did you go to the police?” I ask.

No response.

“Did you tell anyone what happened? Your wife? A friend? Anyone?”

He looks at me, but his eyes are blank, his mind seeming to disconnect. It’s as if he doesn’t hear me.