Page 16 of Rage

The Amish man shakes his head. “I didn’t ask and he didn’t say.”

“How do you know Samuel was running around with him?” I ask.

“Well, the English fellow was there at the nursery when I picked up some of them red maple trees I planted out front here.”

“What did he look like?”

He turns thoughtful. “Only thing I recall is the fancy clothes. I thought it was odd that he was wearing them shiny shoes to the kind of place where you usually get your feet muddy.”

Frustration begins a slow boil in my gut. “Who else did Samuel spend time with?”

“Aaron Shetler’s his best friend.” Leona uses a wadded-up tissue to blot her nose. “They’ve been friends since their school days.”

“Doyle and Ellen’s boy?” I ask.

“He’s their youngest,” she tells me.

The Shetlers are a solid Amish family, well thought of. If memory serves me, Aaron Shetler works in the tire center of the local farm store.

I lower the notebook and pen. “Mr. and Mrs. Yutzy,” I begin, “is there anything else you’d like to tell me about your son?” When neither of them speaks up, I add, “I’m just trying to find out what happened to him. That’s all.”

After a moment, Orlah reaches over and sets his hand over his wife’s, then turns his attention to me. “You’ve been gone from the Amish for a long time, Kate Burkholder. I don’t know if you can understand.”

“Try me,” I say.

As if frustrated with himself, with the situation, Orlah shakes his head. “Samuel started his rumspringa when he was seventeen. The truth of the matter is, he got kind of wild for a time. He strayed. A little too far. Ran around with some shifty types. We didn’t approve of any of it.”

“Some of his Amish friends didn’t approve, either,” Leona adds. “Most of them stopped coming around. I think they just didn’t want anything to do with those sorts of things.”

“What sorts of things?” I ask.

“All the drinking,” Orlah says. “The loose English women. Staying out all night.” He shakes his head. “Most of these good Amish boys he grew up with wanted no part of it.”

“What about Aaron?”

“He’s the only one stuck with him,” he says.

I add the information to my notes.

“It’s important that you know, Chief Burkholder,” Leona says. “Samuel had come back to us in the last few months. He left all that other stuff behind. He started going to worship again. Went back to wearing the plain clothes. Even sold that car of his.”

“He planned to be baptized in the fall,” Orlah adds. “He asked me to talk to Bishop Troyer, which I did. He was going to start die Gemee nooch geh next month.”

Translated, die Gemee nooch geh means “to follow the church” and consists of nine or so instruction classes for those who are planning to be baptized.

“Mr. and Mrs. Yutzy, did your son have any enemies?” I ask. “Did he have any disagreements with anyone? Money problems? Anything like that?”

Orlah’s eyes narrow on mine. In their depths I see a flash of wariness. “Why are you asking all these questions about him?”

“Do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm your son,” I say.

The couple exchange another look, this one rife not only with grief, but with horror and disbelief. “Are you telling us someone … took his life?” Orlah asks. “Murdered him?”

“I believe so.”

Leona chokes out a sob, puts her hand over her mouth as if to keep an even larger cry from escaping. “He was such a good boy,” she whispers. “Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I tell her. “Please, if Samuel was having any problems. With his work. In his life. His relationships. I need to know.”