Marta Perry - Danger In Amish Country

He nodded to the child, who had a pert, lively face and hair a shade darker than Sara’s. Becky grinned at him and grabbed Rachel’s hand.

“Komm, schnell, Rachel. Aunt Sara said she’d get me a treat but I must look at everything before I decide. You can help me.”

Rachel clung to his hand a moment longer, but at an encouraging nod from her teacher, she let go. The two girls started off together.

“Don’t get too far away from us, ya?” Sara cautioned.

Becky nodded, already chattering away to Rachel about the relative merits of a funnel cake or an ice-cream cone.

“Danki,” he said softly. “It’s kind of you to think of helping Rachel get to know your niece.”

“I thought Rachel might feel more at home with a friend,” Sara said. “She already knows Becky a little from school. And our Becky is such a chatterbox. She talks enough to charm a turtle out of its shell.”

“Rachel isn’t a turtle, but she does have a shell,” he admitted, impelled by a need to explain something he didn’t quite understand himself. “Her mother was sick so long—” His voice seemed to stick there. “She passed not quite a year ago. Rachel hasn’t had much of a childhood.”

“That must have been so hard on both of you.” Sara’s eyes were warm with sympathy.

“Ya.” He struggled to find words. “I hoped a fresh start, away from all the reminders of her mamm, would help her forget about the past.”

“But she can’t—” Sara began. Then she paused, seeming to censor what she was about to say. “I’m sorry it’s been a difficult beginning for her here.”

A burst of laughter came from the auction tent. Sara glanced in that direction, smiling at the sound. “Josh Davis is a fine auctioneer. He always gets the crowd into a buying mood.” She turned back to him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Ya?” They were as isolated in the noisy crowd as anywhere, he supposed. “Has something happened?”

“The chief came to our house last night. They know the man’s name now.” She shot a look at the girls and lowered her voice. “Jase Kovatch. The chief said he’d been in trouble with the police before.”

Caleb nodded, frowning. The death of an unknown Englischer was sad, but nothing to do with them, surely.

“The worrisome thing is that the police could find no reason for him to be up there on the cliff.” She took a breath, as if she didn’t want to say more. “The chief says there’s nothing much up there. Nothing but a good view of the school.”

She didn’t say any more. She didn’t need to. There wasn’t an Amish person alive who didn’t know about the Amish schoolchildren who’d died at the hands of an Englischer.

“That’s bad, that is.” He fought to speak through the tightness in his throat. “But since the man is dead, there’s no call to worry, ya?”

Sara’s expression said she wasn’t convinced of that. “Maybe. But we don’t know for sure. If there’s any danger to the kinner— Caleb, don’t you see you must speak to the police about Rachel’s fears?”

“No.” His response was instantaneous. “I won’t have my child involved in this.”

“But—”

He cut off her protest by grabbing her wrist. He felt her pulse thunder against his palm and released her just as quickly.

“She is my child. It is for me to say. And I say no.”

They stood so for a moment, their eyes challenging each other, and the noise surrounding them seemed to fade away. He felt... He wasn’t sure what he felt.

Before he could decide, a voice called Sara’s name. They turned away from each other, and he wondered if Sara was as relieved as he was.

“Teacher Sara.” The speaker was Silas Weaver, leader of the school board. Behind him stood another man, an older Englischer who seemed vaguely familiar.

Silas nodded to Caleb in greeting before turning to Sara. “I need a word.” He made it sound like an order.

“I will keep an eye on Becky,” Caleb said. “Take your time.”

He moved off after the girls, just as glad to have this uncomfortable conversation interrupted. Teacher Sara seemed to have a knack for eliciting all sorts of feelings in him, and he didn’t have room in his life for that.

* * *

Sara had to push down her instinctive reluctance to talk to Silas Weaver. She didn’t have a choice. He was president of her school board. Unfortunately, he also possessed a stern, disapproving temperament that didn’t make him easy to deal with.

She tried to manage a smile as she joined the man. “The auction is going well, ain’t so?”

He grunted, casting a disapproving gaze at the tent. “We’ll be lucky to end up with enough to cover our costs for a few more months. Folks don’t realize how expensive it is to run a school.”

Sara was well aware of Silas’s reluctance to spend money on the school other than necessary repairs. She’d had more than one clash with him and come off the loser. The other two board members seemed as cowed by Silas as his own kinner were.

“Well, we must hope we’ll realize more than expected,” she said, not eager to get into another disagreement with the man.

A grunt was his only answer. He gestured to the Englischer who stood nearby. “Mr. Foster has come to me with a proposition.”

Sara nodded, answering Mr. Foster’s smile with one of her own and thinking she detected a bit of sympathy in his eyes.

“Mitch, please. We don’t need to be formal, and I know Teacher Sara.” Foster was lean and graying, with a tanned face and a ready smile. The owner of the local hardware and sporting-goods store, he was well-known for sponsoring all the local sports teams. Not that the Amish participated in those, but a person could hardly not know about it. People in a small community talked, that was certain sure.

“See, it’s this way, Teacher Sara. I heard about the trouble you folks had with finding that body and all.”

Silas’s look turned more disapproving, if possible. “It’s not proper, an Amish teacher going about finding bodies.”

She could hardly expect him to approve, but Sara wasn’t sure what she could have done about it. A little edge of apprehension pricked her. Silas might well seize any excuse to replace her with someone younger and more malleable.

“I’m sorry that what happened brought attention to the school,” she said.

“Nonsense,” Foster said bracingly. “You couldn’t help what happened. You could hardly leave the poor fellow lying there. Anyway, it made me think about your school.”

She nodded, not sure where this was going.

“So the long and short of it is that I noticed the playground equipment is getting a bit dilapidated. I figured I’d like to donate the materials you need for an overhaul. Maybe add a few new pieces, as well.”

Sara managed to restrain herself from jumping up and down in excitement. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Foster.” She slid a look at Silas, expecting a negative reaction, and realized he was actually nodding.

“Generous,” Silas echoed. “Though I’m not sure the kinner need all these newfangled things to play with when they should be attending to their studies.”

Silas’s philosophy was always that what had been good enough for him was good enough for everyone.

“Scholars seem to do better with their studies when they’re able to run about and play in the middle of the day,” she said. Please, she prayed silently.

“Sure thing,” Foster said. “Everyone knows that’s true. They’ve got to run off some of their energy. So what do you say?”

Silas gave a short nod, as if to do more would be unbecoming. “Well, if you insist, we accept. We can set up a work frolic to get the repairs done. I think Teacher Sara already has a list of what’s needed, ain’t so?”