Page 13 of The Burning

That stare again. Not blank, but … unmoved. I gaze back at her, trying to get a handle on it. Then she says, “You know he’s not my husband anymore.”

The records check done on Milan Swanz indicated he was married. “I’m confused,” I tell her. “You’re married to him, aren’t you?”

“Well, I was. We’re divorced, you see. I haven’t changed my name yet. It’s a legal thing, I guess.”

It’s rare for an Amish person to get divorced. There’s no provision for it. In fact, it’s taboo. In the rare instance an Amish couple does divorce, the spouse who initiated it is usually excommunicated.

“Sell is kshpassich.” That’s unusual. I say the words in Deitsch to remind her that I’m familiar with Amish customs and traditions.

“I remember you now. You’re the police used to be Amish.”

I nod. “The address on Milan Swanz’s ID card is this address.”

“He hasn’t lived here for a time.” She shrugs. “I reckon he hasn’t updated his card is all.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Almost five months now. He’s the one wanted it.”

I nod. “Was it amicable?”

“I wasn’t happy about it.” She lifts her shoulder, lets it drop. “You know how it is. When you’re Amish, you make your vows in the presence of God and you marry for life. Milan didn’t want to be married anymore. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Do you mind if I ask why you divorced?”

“I suppose it had something to do with all those loose girls he liked to run around with.”

“Do any of those girls have a name?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she says. “Just women he meets.”

“English girls?”

She hits me with a what-do-you-think frown.

“What about you?” I ask. “Is there a boyfriend involved?”

For a moment, I think she’s going to laugh, but she’s too well-mannered. “Lord no. I need a boyfriend like I need another no-gooder husband. I know that’s not a nice thing to say and the Amish sure wouldn’t approve, but there it is.”

I let my eyes stray to the staircase, but the children are gone. “You have children together?”

“Four,” she tells me. “Two boys and two girls.”

“How old are they?”

“Danny is thirteen. He’s my oldest. Lizzie’s the baby. Just turned seven.”

I write everything down. “When’s the last time you saw or talked to Milan?”

“He came over to the house a week or so ago.” The laugh that follows ends with a bitter note. “I figured he might want to see the kids. Or have some money for us. For groceries or whatnot. All he wanted was his tools. He took them and left and I haven’t seen him since.”

“How was your relationship with him?”

“Well, he was my husband for fourteen years. He sure wasn’t perfect, but … I guess we got on okay.” She sighs. “I know this doesn’t sound right, but I sure didn’t like what he did with the whole divorce thing. That just wasn’t right.”

Something askew, the little voice sitting on my shoulder whispers in my ear.

“Did you have disagreements?” I ask. “Or argue?”