Marta Perry - Murder in Plain Sight

She kept hearing that, and it was starting to exasperate her. “I appreciate the bishop’s influence, but in my experience, religion and the courtroom don’t mix well.”

“You can’t separate the Amish from their religion.” Trey’s expression was that of someone pushing a rock up a steep hill-the rock in this case being her ignorance of Amish culture, she supposed. “They are Amish because of what they believe.”

“Even so-”

“Look, I’m not saying this will come into the case.” His tone said exactly the opposite. “But you’d do well to accept any help the bishop offers.” He made the turn onto Dale Road. “Not far now.”

He’d be relieved to be out of her company-that much was clear from his voice. She was tempted to feel the same, except for one thing. Right at the moment she needed Trey.

He turned into a rough gravel lane leading between two fields. Brown-and-white cows looked up curiously as the vehicle passed then lowered their heads to continue munching.

Trey stopped the truck behind a gray Amish buggy. Maybe alerted by the dust they’d raised coming down the lane, a small group stood on the front porch. Motionless, their faces impassive, they waited.

Swallowing the qualms she felt, Jessica slid from the car. She hesitated at the edge of the grass until Trey took her arm and propelled her forward.

“Jessica, you remember Aaron Esch, Thomas’s father, and Molly, his mother. This is Bishop Amos Long. That’s Elizabeth, Thomas’s sister. Everyone, this is Jessica Langdon.”

Thomas’s mother nodded, her face as pale and strained as it had been in the courtroom. His father stood as if carved out of stone. The sister, who must have been about fifteen or so, gave her a tentative smile.

Only the bishop, his face widening into a smile, came forward, extending his hand.

Jessica shook hands, surprised by the strength of his grip. The bishop had to be well up in years, with a weathered, lined face and an impressively long white beard, but the lively curiosity in his eyes belied his age.

“Wilcom, Jessica. Wilcom. You are the lawyer who is going to help our Thomas.”

“I’m trying my best, sir.” She wasn’t sure how one addressed an Amish bishop, but that seemed a safe choice. Obviously, he didn’t share the minister’s opinion of her involvement.

“Bishop Amos,” Trey murmured in her ear.

“Komm, komm.” The bishop waved them into the house as if he were the host. “We must talk. Molly has the rest of the young ones busy so they will not hear.”

Jessica had already glimpsed a small face peering at them from the barn behind the farmhouse, and another popped up from the vegetable garden momentarily and disappeared again. She had a feeling if she looked hard enough, she’d spot a few more, but already she and Trey were being ushered into the living room.

She took a quick glance around, hoping she didn’t appear too curious. It looked like any farmhouse living room, she supposed, with bright braided rugs on polished wood floors and a tall bookcase next to a couch. No television, though, and the only ornament on the walls was a large, framed family tree.

She took the chair Bishop Amos pulled out for her, and Trey sat down next to her. Trey looked solemn, which befitted the occasion, but relaxed and at ease.

No butterflies danced in his stomach, obviously. Now that she was here, how was she going to communicate with the family? The father sat like a statue, and both the females stared down at their hands, folded in their laps, their prayer caps like white birds on their heads.

“Now.” Bishop Amos settled himself in a highbacked rocking chair. “You must tell us how we can help you with Thomas’s defense.”

The father stirred slightly at that. “It is not fitting. Amish do not hire lawyers.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Bishop Amos beat her to it. “You did not hire the lawyer. The Morgan family did, and we should be thankful.”

“The Ordnung says…”

Bishop Amos leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The Ordnung is meant to show us how to live separate from the world. It is not meant to allow one of our young ones to go to jail for a wrong he didn’t do. When we are forced into the English courts, we must accept the help of those who understand.”

The weight and pace of the words, combined with the bishop’s grave stare, would have convinced her, had she been the target. Aaron stared back for a moment. Then he bowed his head in apparent agreement.

Her tension eased, but… “I appreciate your cooperation. When I met Ezra Burkhalter at the county jail, he led me to believe that my help wasn’t welcome.”

The lines in Bishop Amos’s face seemed to deepen. “Amish are not all alike,” he said, in an echo of Trey’s words. “Brother Ezra and I do not agree on this matter.”

“And the rest of your congregation?”

“Each has his own opinion,” he said. “That is only right. I trust that Aaron and Molly will be guided by me in this trouble.”

She hoped so, but she didn’t miss the tightening of Aaron’s lips at the words.

The bishop looked at her as if to say that they were ready for her questions. She took a small notebook from her bag.

“Why don’t you start by telling me a little about Thomas? I’ve only seen him in the jail setting, and it would help to know how he is in his ordinary life.”

“He is a gut boy.” Aaron took control. “He works the farm with me. He is a gut worker.” He looked at Trey, as if for confirmation.

Trey nodded. “Yes, he’s certainly a hard worker. My mother thinks a lot of him.”

The mother glanced up, as if she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure she should. Jessica nodded at her encouragingly.

“Thomas likes to work for Geneva,” she said softly. “She was always kind to him. Talked to him while they worked.”

He was a good boy. Everyone loved him. Except that the community, to say nothing of the D.A., was sure he’d committed an ugly crime.

“What about this…running around time that Trey told me about? Did Thomas give you any reason to worry about what he was doing?”

“No.” Aaron snapped off the word. “He did what young people always do, but soon he would settle down. He wouldn’t be gettin’ involved with an English girl. He knew better.”

The mother nodded. But the sister-there was a quick, unguarded flash in Elizabeth’s blue eyes. Then she lowered her face again, studying her hands, clasped on her apron.

“Elizabeth, do you know anything about who Thomas ran around with?”

Before the girl could answer, Aaron answered for her. “Elizabeth knows nothing.”

“I know which Amish young people Thomas ran around with. I have made a list for you.” The bishop took a piece of yellow lined paper from his pocket and passed it to Trey. “Trey can take you to see them. I will tell them to talk with you.”

Trey nodded, scanning the list. “Do you know where they’re likely to be getting together? They might speak more freely if their parents aren’t around.” He pocketed the list instead of handing it to her.

She suppressed a flare of irritation. “That’s probably true.”

“Ja, I suppose it is.” Bishop Amos’s voice was heavy with regret for that fact. “They will be at Miller’s barn on Friday night.”

“Fine. We’ll be there,” Trey said, not bothering to consult her.

He was right. That just annoyed her even more. “Do any of you know what time Thomas left here on Saturday night? Or where he intended to go?”

“He went after the milking and the evening chores were done.” Aaron looked surprised that she needed to ask such a thing. “He said he was meeting Jacob Stoltzfus and some other boys.”

“What time would it be when the evening chores were finished?” she asked, trying for patience.