Fall from Pride (14 page)

“You can arrest him for assault, but I won't accuse him or testify against him. We don't do that. The government courts are not for us. We settle things our own way, in the church, among ourselves.”

“Sarah! You say you want to help but you won't testify to the fact he even roughed you up?” Then to her amazement he lowered his voice. “Okay, okay,” he said. “We'll get him for speeding and an illegal license plate, then. Anything to hold him for a while, until he can at least be questioned. You
don't want to accuse him of assault, I get that, but the barn burnings are an assault on your people. I'm going to nail whoever's guilty, and I'm betting on Jacob, though I now have another lead I haven't had time to check out.”

“Another possible arsonist besides Mike Getz? What happened? You're not thinking it's Hannah again, are you? You said most arsonists are men.”

“Let it go for now. It's nothing you need to be concerned with.”

“Of course I do, and you can't stop me. Or were
you
planning to abduct me and lock me up somewhere?”

“To keep you safe—I'd do it. I'm thinking maybe you shouldn't even paint that new quilt square on your own barn.”

“My new painting is agreed on. I'm honoring my father's faith in me by doing it. He knows the risk. The decorated barns draw more tourists in, and the people need that to survive and prosper right now. The Lord will help us through all of this, and you should rely on Him, too.”

“But that doesn't mean we should put ourselves in harm's way. The world can be an evil place, Sarah, obviously even your sheltered Amish world.”

Of course, stubborn outsider that he still was, Nate was right about that. She had never actually argued with a man, the give-and-take like this, and it was strangely exciting. But if Nate MacKenzie thought she was some shy, sweet Amish woman he could question, kiss and then command to keep quiet, he was dead wrong. She wasn't saying so right now, but she was in this arson investigation with both feet.

Nate brought VERA to a stop in front of the small sheriff's office on the only cross street of the main one through town. Sarah had heard the building had only one cell. She
hoped Jacob Yoder would soon be in it and tell them who the arsonist was. At least, if it was him, it would stop the fires, the ones in the barns, though not the ones in her body and heart for this stubborn
Englische
man.

 

After the sheriff heard what they both reported and headed out to arrest Jacob, Nate took Sarah home to dry off and change clothes before he formally deposed her in her kitchen. Sarah wore her hair in a damp, thick braid down her back. After Mrs. Kauffman fed them both, she hovered in the background, putting pastries into boxes and sacks. The sacks started crinkling a whole lot louder while Sarah told him about Mike Getz confronting her. It just proved to Nate again that however much he needed Sarah, he had to keep her out of the loop of the investigation.

“So,” Mrs. Kauffman said after he took Sarah's statement, “somehow that modern, two-way phone didn't work for her. Sarah shouldn't get too involved with all your things, Nate.”

The woman's words rang in his ears: Sarah shouldn't get too involved…. Was it obvious, especially to a watchful mother, that he and Sarah were getting too close to each other?

As if to emphasize her mentioning a modern phone, his cell buzzed.

“Good info on Yoder's location,” Jack reported. “We're getting to be a good tag team. I'm bringing him in. You can have first crack at him, then he's mine.”

“I appreciate that. The only eyewitness won't testify against him, and he probably knows that. But I've got some other ideas.”

“Bet you do. See you there.”

“He arrested Jacob?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, but we won't have to hold him for assaulting you, so don't worry about not testifying.”

Still hovering, Mrs. Kauffman said, “The sheriff helped Jacob once, but even our shunning did not bring him back. He has been taken over by
hochmut,
puffing himself up, putting himself first.”

“Like the old saying ‘Pride goeth before a fall'?” Nate asked.

“
Ya.
Exactly,” Mrs. Kauffman said with a firm nod. “In his heart, Jacob is no longer Amish.
Hochmut
—pride—is what some of our people thought had misled Sarah when she began to paint the big quilt squares, until Bishop Esh spoke up for her. Now we have decided she should paint one on our barn to stand up for her, too. But Jacob may be a lost soul.”

“I feel bad for his parents,” Nate told her. Even in the dim light that always seemed to characterize an Amish home, he could see where Sarah got her looks. Mrs. Kauffman's face seemed a faded, plumper portrait of Sarah's, and both women moved with a purposeful grace. “I don't have a wife or children to worry about,” Nate went on, “but I can grasp how it is to agonize over someone you love who has gone astray, like the Yoders for their only son.” He almost said something about his father, but he had things to do. Knowing Sarah, though, she knew what he meant.

“You take care of yourself, Nate,” Mrs. Kauffman said. “Sarah will be right here with me or taking care of her
grossmamm.
She and Martha can both sleep in the
grossdaadi haus
tonight.”

Looking into the woman's clear blue eyes, Nate nodded. “I value Sarah's help in this and yours, too,” he told her. “Everyone here has been very kind. Thank you for your
hospitality and support.” He almost added,
And for keeping an eye on Sarah.

Nate fought to keep from meeting Sarah's stare as he made a hasty exit. But as he pulled away from the Kauffman house, he noted the big, bold lines with which she'd sketched her quilt square. The rain had erased some of it, but he had no doubt she would draw it right back there again. And though he was going to try to steer clear of her for both their sakes, he felt her drawing him in again, closer and closer.

“I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE LOCAL BARN burnings. That's all I have to say, Mr. Fire Marshal MacKenzie!”

“Why don't you just call me Mack?” Nate countered. “Make that
M-A-C-K
and paint it on the side of a barn and line up a bunch of beheaded little voles pointing to it. You're in serious trouble here, Jacob.”

Jacob shrugged and shook his head to get his bangs out of his eyes—he still sported an Amish haircut—but refused to meet Nate's glare. At least Jacob didn't deny knowing what he meant. He must have been following Sarah around and figured out that she was helping him with the arson investigation. Had Jacob hoped that barn burnings targeting her paintings would force her to go to him for help, but Nate got in the way?

Jacob cleared his throat and said, “It's Sarah's paintings on the barns that got her in trouble, not me.”

“Got her in trouble how?”

“Whoever's starting the fires must be angry with her for
being prideful, no matter what the bishop says. It's got to be someone Amish, but I'm not part of that anymore.”

“Being prideful.
Hochmut,
you mean?” Nate asked, using what he'd learned from Sarah's mother. Jacob looked surprised. “It's sad,” Nate went on, “but I don't think Sarah can be proud of her former fiancé, running with thieves and being shunned. Then he knocks her buggy off the road, threatens and roughs her up.”

They sat facing each other across a small, bare table in the only cell in the Eden County sheriff's office. Nate tried to read the young man's body language as he stayed slumped in his chair, hands thrust in his jeans pockets, one foot tapping against the table leg so it vibrated in a regular beat.

The sheriff had wanted to book Jacob for stalking, aggravated assault and attempted kidnapping, but he knew those charges wouldn't stick without Sarah's cooperation. He'd been through that before with the Amish, he'd told Nate. But charges for speeding, for DUI—Jacob had failed a Breathalyzer test when he drove in with the sheriff waiting at his place—and for driving with an illegal license plate would hold him for a while. The sheriff had read him his Miranda rights, but Jacob had still been eager to talk to Nate. If Jacob had really harmed Sarah, Nate wasn't sure he could have kept control, but he was trying to set a certain tone here—tough but fair.

“I know I shouldn't have got caught up by that car theft ring,” Jacob said, frowning at the table. “But they don't give a guy a chance.”

“They?”

“The Amish, especially the church leaders. Sarah and her family, either.”

“I have the understanding that they'll take a penitent back.”

He looked up, then away again. “A penitent?”

“Someone who's truly sorry and wants to mend his or her ways.”

“They should stick with the person, not throw him to the dogs in the first place.”

“What dogs have they thrown you to?”

“I never would have been taken in by car thieves if I'd been treated right, even before I was shunned. Sarah broke off our engagement and everyone supported her, not me.”

“So none of this is really your fault. It's hers, right? I can tell you're angry about it.”

“Not really, but it just isn't fair.”

“Let's go over your statement again, then. The night of the first fire in Bishop Esh's barn, even though you were not angry with the unfair Amish, you just happened to be in the area and decided to visit some of them, specifically Sarah's family.”

“This is America, freedom of choice and all that!”

“I've got to agree with you there. Maybe because the Amish give their young people freedom of choice to become Amish or not, you wanted to hang out with Gabe Kauffman and his friends.”

“Those
rumspringa
gatherings—you know, our…their…so-called running-around time—have outsiders dropping in. I just thought I could see some people I used to know. But when Sarah spotted the fire, I was able to call it in, then ran over there with the rest, that's all.”

“So before you showed up at the Kauffmans' that night, you were doing what and where?”

“Just driving around. Thinking about how I missed some
of my old friends, trying to decide to see my parents or not. The others might not talk to me or eat with me, but my mother would. To tell the truth, I knew some of the kids at that party might not shun me, and I guess I needed that. But what I don't need,” he said, sitting up straight but still looking down, “is some worldly fire cop coming in here and conning Sarah into helping him, overstepping with her.”

Nate decided to ignore that. Jacob hadn't gone for his challenge about “Call me Mack,” and he wasn't going to react to the overstepping with Sarah accusation. Instead, he said, “So you decided to follow her until you could get her alone, even painted a message on at least one barn for me to stay away from her.” Using the same calm conversational voice, he added, “Was the Miller barn third on your burn list, Jacob?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “N-no, but I'll admit something. Yeah, I painted that message to you there, but I didn't burn any barns.”

“I've done your case study and you fit the profile of an arsonist. Look, Jacob, this is going to go a lot easier on you and your poor parents, especially your mother—yes, I've met her—if you just confess, come clean and get this all over with. Your mother, Sarah and her family, let alone the entire ‘unfair' Amish community, will think more of you if you tell the truth and ask for forgiveness than if you keep up your lies.”

Jacob's hands came out of his pockets, fists clenched. He banged them once on the table. “I can't afford a lawyer, but I want one.”

“Sure, we'll get you a lawyer in here for free,” Nate said, leaning closer to him. Man, it was difficult to deal with someone who wouldn't look you in the eye. He had to be
lying. “And I won't question you anymore without him or her being present. Only, to your former people, who don't trust lawyers much more than they like government officials—”

“You're government and seem to be doing just fine with Sarah!”

“Lawyering up, as we say, won't win you much support with the Plain People you've already let down and hurt. And in your head and heart, they are still your people, Jacob—you know they are,” Nate said, rising and going to the door, even lifting his fist as if to knock for the sheriff or the deputy he'd called in from Wooster to spend the night here at the jail.

“Think about it carefully, Jacob,” he said. “The arsonist has been clever and careful with the two fires. Frankly, I'm in awe of him and Sarah is, too. No one hurt, probably not even a barn owl, so the arsonist's prison time would not be as long as it would be if he kept telling lies or lit a fire where someone got more than just financially and emotionally hurt. I'll get that lawyer for you now.”

“Wait! I—I'll plead to harassing and stalking Sarah, to painting that warning to you on the Millers' barn and Hostetlers' in case you went there, but I am not a barn burner. I told Sarah I knew who it was but I don't—honest!”

The man looked distraught, but he finally met Nate's stare when he'd seemed so shifty and scared before. Naw, Nate thought. He'd bet the farm—if he had one—that this was the arsonist, but that didn't mean he wouldn't keep looking. Mike Getz still needed to be questioned, as did Hannah Esh and even his new possibility, Ray-Lynn Logan.

“You want that lawyer now?” Nate asked.

“Changed my mind. Don't need one, 'cause I didn't burn those barns.”

 

Late that afternoon, Sarah helped her mother place stacks of boxed half-moon pies in the big family buggy, then helped her father load the wagon with birdhouses he was donating to be sold at the alms auction the next day. She liked the flourishes and designs she'd done on these so-called condo birdhouses for purple martins with their multiple entry holes. She wondered if those beautiful birds lived like the Amish with the generations together. Would one of these holes be a sort of
grossdaadi haus?

She wished she had her buggy here and, for her donation, a collection of paintings of Amish life on stretched canvas, maybe framed, or even small quilt squares painted on wooden plaques, but that would really set everyone to talking about her painting pretty—her
hochmut.
But was it so prideful to wish she had painted birds or flowers, all parts of God's grandeur, on those birdhouses instead of circles and swirls? And to yearn to create on canvas or wood the scenes that paraded through her head and heart that would portray the Plain People in all their simple yet busy lives?

But she didn't have paintings or her buggy. At first Nate had said he'd take her to pick it and Sally up at Mr. Schrock's, but he'd later set it up with her mother, while she was drying off and changing clothes, that
Daad
and Gabe would go get Sally and the buggy after they packed these things for the auction tomorrow.

Her stomach twisted tighter. What if Nate really meant it that he would work on this arson investigation without her now? She sighed and went to the barn to stare up at the spot where she would paint her new quilt square, Ocean Waves. She and Sally and the buggy had made waves in that water
filled ditch today. If Jacob was the arsonist, at least they had him confined now.

She walked to the
grossdaadi haus
where both she and Martha would spend the nights together because of safety in numbers. Pretty soon
Daad
might even say Gabe should sleep out here, too, with his hunting rifle. Or he might put Gabe in the barn the way Mr. Miller had said his son, Noah, was guarding their ramshackle one. Tonight, hopefully, there would be no more notes with terrifying Bible verses tacked to the door, no more gravel thrown against the window, though that would be worth it if Hannah would only come back, even just to talk the way she did the night after the first fire.

As Sarah went into the living room, she could hear Martha reading to
Grossmamm
from the
Budget
in the bedroom before her late-afternoon nap. They'd had a family conference and decided that the
Home Valley News
was all right to read to her, too, but not the extensive coverage dedicated to the fires, because that might set the old woman off again, just as the tales of burning Amish from the
Martyrs Mirror
had.

In his most recent editorial, Peter Clawson said the arsons could be hate crimes against the peaceful Amish and that the state fire marshal's office must find out who was guilty and root out the perpetrators. She'd heard the newspapers were selling like half-moon pies around here lately.

Sarah shook her head and shoved back her dirty hair. She had to wash it tonight, get the ditch water out of it. A mirror. She wished she had a mirror out here, even the small one they had in the house. No need for mirrors among her people since beauty was all on the inside of a person, but with Nate around, she sometimes wondered how she really looked to him. She sighed again.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, she slumped on the couch, not even taking time to open the hideaway bed she or Martha would use tonight, while the other took a turn in a sleeping bag on the floor. Nate liked to sleep outside in a sleeping bag. She'd left him a note there about Mike Getz and had stroked the deep marine-blue of the soft flannel lining of his outdoor bed….

She forced herself to think about the hues of blue paint she would use for the triangles of her ocean waves. Tomorrow was the auction and then Sunday was a church day—the Hostetlers' turn to be hosts. But on Monday, after she took the pastries to Ray-Lynn in town, she would set up the ladders and scaffolding and begin to paint. She would use Nate's ladder and his scaffolding, not shaky, but firm. No fear of being tipped off…tipped off into the fires…falling from pride into the fires…

They pressed her against the wooden ladder on the ground, ripped off her bonnet and prayer kapp. The crowd was screaming for blood, those who insisted on plain ways, who would not bow to the rules of the government's church. The flames grew higher, hotter, close, so close….

“For wickedness burns as the fire!” someone shouted as she was tied to the ladder. “The people shall be as fuel for the fires of hell! Burn them! Burn them for the fires of hell!”

The screams of others being burned—her friends, her family, her people—shredded her courage. She wanted to beg for her life. She wanted to struggle, but it was not their way. Accept. Forgive. Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do. Much better to drown in the pond or the dirty ditch, ducked to death like a witch than this terror.

More men with angry faces came closer, bent over her, lifted her high on the ladder, tied her hands and waist and feet. If she could
only fly up to heaven, not have to face the fire! The heat seared her already, burned her with desire for an outsider, an Englische ausländer, a man she could never have. Her precious paintings flamed to pain and ashes as the fires lit her skirts, her skin and…

Sarah heard someone scream, someone close. Was it
Grossmamm
afraid again?

“Sarah. Sarah! Wake up!”

Martha was kneeling by the sofa, shaking her shoulder. “You had a bad dream. You screamed.
Grossmamm
nearly jumped out of her skin and asked if the beast was outside again.”

“The beast? Oh, sorry. Get back to her.”

“We're just all on edge. It's all right,” Martha soothed with a squeeze of her shoulder before she hurried back into the bedroom.

But it wasn't all right, Sarah thought as she hugged herself hard, then staggered to her feet and went into the kitchen to wash her hair. She leaned over the sink, her hands on the counter, propping herself up. Nothing had been right since that first barn went up in a blaze, taking her painting and her Amish turn-the-other-cheek beliefs with it.