Page 66 of The Hidden One

A victim should never be blamed for their demise. When it comes to murder, there’s one individual responsible: the killer. Even so, victims can unwittingly play a role. They put themselves at the wrong place at the wrong time. They associate with dangerous or unstable individuals. They partake in risky behavior. They use poor judgment. Or any combination of the above.

Initially, I believed Ananias Stoltzfus was a kindly old man. An Amish bishop who, in the eyes of a few, was too strict. The more I learn about him, the more I’ve come to believe he was not benevolent. The bishop was judgmental, vindictive, and possibly violent.

It’s afternoon when I pull in to the gravel lane of the Hershberger farm. I’m not quite sure how to approach Mary Elizabeth; I spent most of the drive trying to come up with some angle that will compel her to open up to me about her parents. The truth of the matter is she’s not going to like the questions I want answered.

I park in the gravel near the picket fence and go through the gate. I’ve just knocked on the door when it swings open.

Mary Elizabeth Hershberger isn’t happy to see me standing on her front porch. She’s too well-mannered to say it, but I see the displeasure in her eyes. “Thought that was you.”

“I may have some new information about your father. Your mamm, too. If you have a few minutes, I’d like to ask you some questions. It won’t take too long.”

I hear dishes clanging in the kitchen behind her. The Amish woman looks like she’s thinking about slamming the door in my face. Instead, she nods and steps onto the porch.

“It’s not often that husband of mine offers to help with the dishes, so this is probably a good time.” She gives me a tired smile. “Let’s just keep this short.”

She brushes past. I follow her down the steps and along a narrow flagstone path where a bed of purple phlox blooms wildly. She stops and turns to me. “What is it you think you know about my parents?”

“I didn’t realize your mamm was from Germany,” I say.

“Germany?” She laughs. “Where’d you get that nonsense?”

“I spoke to your mamm’s best friend. Amanda Garber.”

She gives me a knowing look, crosses her arms over her bosom. “There’s a piece of work for you. She’s narrisch, you know.” Insane. “Mamm and Datt were from Minnesota,” she tells me.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I was told she was born in Bavaria—”

“Of course I’m sure. Why on earth would my parents lie about where they’re from?”

“Amanda seemed to think your mamm was troubled by something that had happened in the past.”

“My mamm was just fine. She was happy with her life. Her family. And her husband.”

“Mary Elizabeth.” I say her name gently. “I talked to Pastor Zimmerman at the Lutheran church.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes narrowing. “Well, now, it looks like you found yourself some juicy gossip, doesn’t it? But then that’s what your kind does. Dig up all that dirty laundry. Make up lies. Start rumors.”

“I’m trying to find out what happened to your father.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she hisses. “You’re trying to get Jonas Bowman off the hook for what he did.”

“Mia ended her life in a Lutheran church, Mary Elizabeth. She asked the pastor for absolution. I don’t believe an Amish woman would do either of those things.”

“Are you saying she wasn’t Amisch?” She chokes out a sound that’s part laugh, part outrage. “My mamm had the melancholy, is all. Like her grohs-mammi before her. That’s all it was and now you’re trying to twist it around. I won’t have it. My parents were good, decent Amish folk. I won’t have you trying to ruin their good name for that no-gooder of yours.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” I ask.

Anger flashes in her eyes. I see her mouth working, as if she’s chewing something that’s stuck in her teeth. “I know what happened. My father was shot to death by an evil person. A criminal.” She says the words brutally, her voice shuddering with the final word. “It was awful. And here you are, trying to blame it on him. On my mamm of all people. Anyone except the person who did it.”

“Pastor Zimmerman said your mamm had a diary with her the day she died. Do you have any idea what happened to it?”

“Mamm didn’t keep a diary. If she did, I didn’t know about it.”

I nod, not sure I believe her, press on. “Do you know a man by the name of Levi Schmucker?”

“Never heard of him.”

“What about the letter Jonas wrote to your father?”