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  Seth saw not only the pine boards of Lena’s coffin, but, within a plastic sheet or bag, a withered hand and half-rotted arm attached to a corpse lying almost on top of Lena’s coffin, which he’d built with his own hands and thought he’d never see again.

  When Naomi pulled up in front of the B and B, Hannah popped her head in the kitchen to say goodbye to Amanda and get the sausages from the refrigerator to take home. “See you tomorrow, Amanda, and tell Harlan thanks again!”

  “I’ll bet everyone’s at the graveyard, including Harlan. Listen, I’ll save you a veggie pizza for lunch tomorrow.”

  But as Hannah let herself out and headed down the brick walk, she saw Amanda was wrong about everyone being at the graveyard. A petite, pretty Asian woman with long, straight black hair, wearing a belted, red wool jacket over tight jeans tucked into fancy boots was coming up the walk. “Are you Hannah Esh?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Uh-oh, she thought. The reporter.

  “I’m Marcy Shin, East Coast Cable News. I was so pleased to hear you worked here. I didn’t want to get your side of the story secondhand from Mrs. Stutzman or anyone else. Could we talk for a few minutes? I’m so sorry about your friends and you being shot by some lunatic. But now, with the exhumations, perhaps we’ll all get answers.”

  “They’ve exhumed bodies?”

  “They’re still working at it, but they’ve dug up one at least. I’ve got some video of it to file a story, if you’d like to see it.”

  “I—I can’t. I need to go with my sister now.”

  “I understand your reluctance to talk. I certainly would not show your face on my report, and there’s nothing gross on the video—really. If you can just give me a brief statement…”

  “My statement is that I really need to go right now.”

  “Let me show you an example, then,” she said, blocking her way and pulling a device that looked just a little larger than a cell phone out of her big purse. “Here, I just shot this footage of Lily Freeman at the cemetery. Lily, as I’m sure you know, is staying here at the Plain and Fancy, too.”

  Still curious about Lily, Hannah stayed put. Naomi had wrapped the reins around the hitching rail and came to stand by Hannah as Marcy Shin touched the small screen a couple of times. Lily Freeman’s face appeared on it with a crowd of people behind her, some English, some Amish.

  “I used to live here several years ago,” Lily said. Ms. Shin turned the volume up. “But with these terrible shootings, I fear big-city crime has come to the Home Valley. We have a great sheriff here in town who is now working with the FBI, but I’m going to learn how to protect myself just in case. I’m going to take lessons from Elaine Carson, here at the Rod ’n’ Gun shooting range....”

  “Well,” Ms. Shin said, “that comes off as a bit of a promo for the sheriff and the Rod ’n’ Gun, but you see what I mean about how easy it is to give a statement? Of course, I’d just shoot from the side—get your bonnet brim or even from the back if you wish—or just use your comments as a voice-over for the crime scene.”

  Hannah was tempted to sprint for the buggy, but she stood her ground when Elaine Carson’s face appeared next on the small screen. “I’ll ID them at the bottom of the video when I edit,” Ms. Shin explained.

  “The ironic thing,” Elaine Carson was saying on the tiny screen, “is that the Amish are under attack, yet they’re pacifists. Sadly, that means they refuse to protect themselves physically or serve in the armed forces of our country. They do like to hunt, though, and can be very skilled at shooting. I just hope this danger in their backyard makes them realize they need to not only arm themselves against a criminal element, but reconsider serving the country that allows them to have their own opinions and religious freedom. I’m a former officer in the armed—”

  Marcy muted the sound and said, “See, you just talk, although, as I said, I won’t film your face and you can respond to leading questions instead of just talking, if you’d rather. Also, I can edit out anything you’re not comfortable with after your statem—”

  “Excuse us, please. I’ve given my statement in detail to both the sheriff and the FBI special agent, so feel free to check with them. As for being comfortable with this, I’m not.” Hannah headed for the buggy with Naomi right behind.

  “I know what you mean about not being comfortable,” Naomi said, frowning. “Sometimes the wealth and…well, the power of my new family sort of scares me.”

  The senior Troyers, Levi and Rachel, were influential people with their large holdings northwest of town. Their extensive acreage covered more than a mile in a crescent shape, with the nearest point touching the far side of the graveyard hill. The land housed their historical grist mill on Killibuck Creek, their tall grain elevator, which straddled the railroad tracks, their large home, their four sons’ houses and the Troyer cornfields.

  They were always ready to support others in the church, but Naomi had mentioned that Josh had said that his family had recently taken financial hits from all sides: the mill needed to be renovated; property taxes were high; their father had set up four sons—soon to be five when Josh wed—with houses, barns and fields of their own; and the Troyers had loaned money to several of the brethren who could not repay right now.

  “I vow,” Naomi broke into Hannah’s thoughts, “if that reporter or her buddies show up for my wedding, I’ll just die!” She untied the reins and they climbed quickly in.

  “Don’t talk about dying, even that way. Let’s head home. Nothing else worse can possibly happen today.”

  But as they pulled into their driveway—at least the media vehicles were at the graveyard now—a small propeller plane zooming low overhead nearly collided with a helicopter that was heading the other way. Nettie, who was never spooked by so much as a semitruck, shied and reared at the roar, pawing the air and whinnying wildly. The taut reins almost yanked Naomi out of the buggy.

  Despite not having the use of both arms, Hannah jumped down and grabbed Nettie’s traces and then her bridle to quiet her before she reared again. But her heart was pounding. Someone around here—someone who knew when Amish burials occurred—had hidden their victims there. But what victims and why were they killed? Sadly, the trail had to start nearby, close to home.

  “Hannah, thank goodness!” Naomi cried as she got the horse and buggy back under control. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Sure, everything’s fine.”

  But it wasn’t. Seth was determined to keep an eye on John Arrowroot because he wanted Amish land. Hannah could hardly keep a close eye on a man, but with Elaine Carson, who was skilled with guns and held a grudge against the Amish, as well, she had a place to start.

  14

  HANNAH SAW SETH’S buggy coming up the Esh driveway shortly after she and Naomi returned home. She’d been watching out her bedroom window for their father, but he’d not returned from the graveyard yet. She dashed downstairs and ran outside to greet Seth.

  Looking pale and shaken, he climbed quickly down. Before she could stop herself, she hugged him. His arms closed hard around her, but only for a moment before she pulled back, amazed and upset that she’d lost her head. “It must have been terrible for you,” she told him.

  “It was—is. Let’s go inside. Your father sent me to tell all of you, and I still don’t want you out in the open like this.”

  They hurried inside. Nervous at his nearness and how she’d greeted him, she talked more than she’d meant to. “I think you worry for that more than I do. I’ll be careful tomorrow, going into Wooster for my first physical therapy session and to see Sarah and Nate.”

  She didn’t tell him that she also planned to have her driver stop at Elaine Carson’s Rod ’n’ Gun on the way back.

  While he used their small bathroom off the back entryway, Hannah rushed upstairs to get Mamm and Naomi. She found them packing Naomi’s hope chest full of quilts and linens. “Come quick,” she told them. “Seth’s here!”

  “Seth, welcome!” Mamm said as the three o
f them came downstairs. “Sit, sit, and we will fix you something to eat. You look tired. Tell us. Is the bishop coming, too?”

  “He thought he should stay. The sheriff’s ex-wife and Elaine Carson brought them some food, so don’t worry about that. It’s a nightmare there, but after we opened Lena’s grave, he said I should come home. I didn’t want to because they haven’t refilled it yet. The forensic people just arrived and they’re going to sift through the soil. Agent Armstrong called them back in on the case.”

  “But you found what?” Mamm asked. They all stood like statues, staring at Seth.

  He pressed his mouth tight, screwed his eyes shut once, then blurted out, “Almost on top of Lena’s coffin, a man’s decaying corpse in a heavy, clear plastic sack. They don’t know yet how he died or why, let alone who he is—was. All that will be discovered by the forensic team and may take a long time. They’re digging up Miriam Kauffman’s grave now, then will do the Zook grave. I expect they will find something similar.”

  “At least,” Naomi put in, “the media won’t be parked out on our road on Thursday. Daad said the wedding won’t be canceled. I mean, with relatives and friends coming in even from Indiana and Pennsylvania, it won’t, will it, Seth?”

  “I’m not the one to say, but we all need to be together for a good event. Your wedding is just what we need to lift our spirits.”

  Everyone breathed and moved again. Hannah hugged Naomi one-handed, and the three women worked together to put grilled cheese sandwiches on the table with applesauce and milk. They all sat down to eat, though Hannah wasn’t hungry—Seth wasn’t either, she could tell, though he thanked Mamm.

  “Danki,” Seth whispered to Hannah for the slice of pumpkin pie she’d put in front of him. It was laden with whipped cream, just the way she recalled he liked it.

  Hannah peeked at him during the silent prayer. All their heads were bowed, and Seth, as big and strong as he was, fingered away tears from the corner of each eye. How she longed to lean forward to take his hand under the table the way she used to, but she had to hold back, had to keep from just climbing onto his lap and hugging him hard, not only to comfort him but herself. Yet she refused to just cower in this house and wait for Linc and his associates to find who shot her friends and her and maybe dumped several strange people bagged and thrown away like trash in someone else’s grave.

  Hannah felt a bit guilty to be spending the next day, just two days before Naomi’s wedding, away from the house, but she had doctor’s orders about her first physical therapy session in Wooster. She’d promised Naomi she’d give full attention to the wedding preparations after that. Hannah was grateful to have hired Nelson Sterling, a retired mailman, for taxi service, because he didn’t talk much. At least Marcy Shin hadn’t tried again to get her to “make a statement.”

  Her appointment didn’t take long, and she liked her therapist, Verna. She left after a half-hour session, where she’d squeezed a rubber ball, which she took with her, picked quarters out of something like clay and worked with huge rubber bands. All of that hurt, but physical pain took her mind off her emotional upheaval.

  Then, heart beating hard, she had Mr. Sterling drive her to the large house on a quiet street that her dear friend Sarah and Nate MacKenzie had bought to start their life together. A sold sign was in the yard, and a car was in the driveway, so she had hopes she’d caught them and would not have to just leave a note and stop next time.

  When she saw Sarah look out the curtainless window, she told Mr. Sterling in a rush, “I will be at least a half an hour, so if you’d like to leave and come back…”

  He said something about going to get something to eat, but she rushed out of the car and hugged Sarah hard on the front porch. It was really strange to see her dressed like a modern, with her honey-hued hair cut to shoulder length. She seemed to glow with happiness.

  “It’s been so long, and I’ve missed you!” Sarah said as they both blinked back tears. “Thank the Lord, you weren’t seriously hurt in that shooting, and it’s brought you home!”

  “And look at you!” Hannah said with a sniff. “So Englische! And so in love, right? I knew it!”

  Nate MacKenzie, handsome as ever with his dark hair and blue eyes, came out and put his arms around both of their shoulders. “It means so much to us that you’re here,” he told her. “I sure hope you’ll forgive me for what happened before.”

  “Of course I do, as long as you take good care of Sarah.”

  “Hannah,” Sarah said, “is there any way you can come to the wedding? I know no one else will but Ray-Lynn can bring you, and—”

  “Yes! I’m coming, and I think Ella’s going to send you a gift. I’ll ask her to come bu—”

  “But we know Ella!” Sarah said with a roll of her amber eyes that took Hannah right back to the old days, at least for a moment.

  A silver-haired older woman appeared in the front screened door, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders in the brisk breeze they were letting in the house. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a visitor, Sarah,” the woman said. “Ask her in right now!”

  “M.E.,” Nate said, “this is one of Sarah’s best friends from Homestead.”

  “I would guess this is Hannah and not Ella,” M.E. said. “You see, my dear, not only has Sarah painted you in many of her works, but she’s talked about you, too, about your lovely voice.”

  “Which reminds me,” Sarah said as she linked arms with Hannah, and Nate swept the door open for them, “I’d love it if you could sing a song or two at the wedding. We can hire an organist, but you’ve always sounded like an angel a cappella.”

  “And, Hannah,” Nate put in, “I’d like you to meet my mother, Mary Ellen Bosley, but we call her by her initials M.E.”

  “I’m his foster mother, really,” M.E. said, but for some reason Hannah couldn’t figure, she had tears in her eyes. Was it just because Nate had introduced her as his mother?

  Sarah showed her around the house, which was nearly empty, but for a large sunporch out back that already held two easels and about ten paintings of Home Valley Amish life leaning against the wall, perhaps ready to be hung or sold. Hannah recognized most of the places and people in them.

  “They’re wonderful,” she told Sarah, “faces and all. I see me in almost every one, and there’s Naomi! And Seth, too, astride the barn being rebuilt! And Ella—wouldn’t she get in a snit if she knew? Oh, Sarah, you’ve brought it all to life to save the precious times, even if things change or—or go bad in real life.”

  “The arsons were bad,” Sarah said as they walked toward the kitchen, “but I know things are frightening for you now. And I know you well enough to be certain you’re going to do something about it, but be careful. Like you, I could have been killed.”

  Over cups of tea, while Nate made a cell phone call about a moving van, the three women chatted until Hannah saw Mr. Sterling sitting in the driveway. She promised to be at the wedding with several songs to sing. But, despite the last-minute questions about how everyone was—especially Sarah’s family—the words that had snagged in Hannah’s mind were Be careful… Like you, I could have been killed.

  At John Arrowroot’s place, Seth tied Blaze’s reins to a tree near the garage. As he surveyed the plastic-shrouded stack of shingles that had been delivered from the lumberyard, he shuddered. They were covered with the same kind of heavy polyethylene that had encased the corpse atop Lena’s coffin, but that was hardly a clue to the killer. Hundreds of stores used or sold such material, so he forced his thoughts back to the business at hand. These weren’t shake shingles but the asphalt ones he liked to use, and the lumberyard was the closest place to order large amounts of them.

  “I never thought you’d show up today!” John Arrowroot called from his front porch door.

  “I’m already late on my promise to start this roof project,” Seth said as Arrowroot walked out to join him.

  “Despite our differences, I’m sorry your wife’s grave was disturbed,” he told Seth. “Maybe
you can grasp the feeling I live with about my people’s burial places—their very birthright—being stolen and defiled. The tribal nations have kept quiet too long, because we had no power to fight back. So I don’t suppose you’ve seen any of the TV coverage? I know word gets around in town between the non-Amish and your people.”

  “I haven’t seen it and don’t want to. Do I have your permission to go in and out of your garage to get the ladder and store my things until I’m done?” he asked, starting away.

  “Sure. The thing is, I’ve managed to get a reporter from a national paper and another from a cable TV station to listen to me. That’s really what I was hoping for, not that I was reveling in seeing your pain when I sat there yesterday.”

  Seth turned to face him again and walked back. From about three feet apart, their eyes locked and held. “I was reading,” Seth said, “that a mound or hill sacred to your people, which you claim the hill with our graveyard used to be, was especially important at its highest points—the hilltop.”

  “Sure. Closer to the Great Spirit. I’m sure you can understand that. So you’ve been reading about my people just so you could understand me more? How nice,” he said, his tone goading.

  Seth decided to ignore that. “True about hilltops, then?”

  “So the sacred lore says.”

  “Then I would assume you are familiar with the top of that hill and with the trees from which the killer shot at Hannah Esh and the goths Halloween night. I’m only asking because I’ll bet you’ve been clear up that hill since, and I’m wondering if you spotted anything there on the ground the sheriff or investigators might have missed, something you might even have picked up on your own.”

  Seth watched as Arrowroot clenched his jaw. A bluish vein in his forehead stood out for a moment, though the man remained outwardly calm.

  “I’ll take that at face value and assume you’re not accusing me of anything,” Arrowroot said. “I thought for a second, since you’ve been hanging out with our illustrious sheriff and the G-man, their investigation and accusation paranoia might be rubbing off on you.”