Lamb to the Slaughter (Serenity's Plain Secrets Book 1) (22 page)

She had no appetite, but Naomi forced herself to keep shoveling forkfuls of food into her mouth. She’d need the energy for later that night when she planned to sneak away. The thought still sent spasms of fear through her, but as each hour had passed during the day, she’d become more resolved—especially when Will had brushed the side of her face with his hand and told her he loved her before she’d stepped out of the truck.

She waited anxiously for the sun to dip low in the sky and her family to go their separate ways, some going to the ball game at the Schrock’s, others heading to the school house for the meeting. Naomi wasn’t interested in either event. She knew that the ball game would be a bore, as usual, and the
decision of who was going to be the new school teacher would be a long, drawn out affair. The only part of the plan that Naomi worried about was whether her parents would buy her feigned illness when the time came, allowing her to remain home.

Nine year old Elmer’s voice boomed in Naomi’s ear, bringing her back to the kitchen. “Will ya help me, Naomi?”

Naomi blushed, having no idea what her little brother was jabbering about. “What do you need help with?” Naomi said, acting as interested as she could manage.

“The new pony—I want to ride her to the ball game, but she’s a stubborn girl. Maybe you could work her for a while first?” Elmer questioned. His eyes were wide with pleading.

“Why doesn’t Samuel…or Marcus do it?” I suggested, not in the mood or having the time for such nonsense this evening.

Samuel blurted, “I can’t do it. I done told the Schrock’s that I’d be over there early to help set the nets up.”

“I’m going with him,” Marcus said at the same time he stood up, gathering his plate and cup into his hands.

“You have not been excused yet, young man,” Mamma scolded with the usual scowl fixed on her face.

Avoiding Mother’s glare to stare at the table top, Marcus said, “May I be excused?”

“You may,” Mamma said. Once she stood, the rest of the children were able to move about and several of them bounded from their chairs, heading for the door.

Naomi watched Marcus grab his coat and hat quickly up, while Samuel, who was fifteen, worked at a more leisurely pace to get dressed for the chilly outdoors. She couldn’t help but sigh at the mess of dirty dishes left on the table. The one
Beiler boy willing to clean up after himself was Marcus, who she figured had so much of an abundance of energy that he couldn’t help himself.

The only people still sitting at the table were Da, Elmer, herself, and little Emma, who had abandoned her seat to climb onto Naomi’s lap.

“So will ya ride the mare?” Elmer begged.

Naomi hardened her heart, knowing that there wasn’t enough time. “No, I have too much to do in the kitchen before we have to leave.”

Mamma’s voice drifted across the room from where she was standing at the sink and Naomi nearly fainted at her words.

“You go on and help your brother. I’ll clean up here.”

Naomi glanced at Da, who nodded at her. “Well, okay, if you’re all right with it?” she said, hesitating.

Mamma rounded on her oldest daughter and said in a shrill voice, “I told you I’d do it. So you best get going, ‘fore I change my mind.”

Naomi quickly deposited Emma onto the floor and made her way to where the black coats were hung neatly on pegs in a row. Slipping her favorite corduroy jacket on, Naomi pulled tennis shoes of the same color onto her feet and left the kitchen, just one step behind Elmer.

The cold air pricked Naomi’s face and she dipped her head down to shield her cheeks. Elmer skipped along ahead of her and she couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago when Naomi herself would have been thrilled to ride a new pony. As her feet began to sink into the sticky mud in front of the barn, a shimmer of excitement went through her.

Naomi willed the thoughts of escape to disappear as she focused on the jet black, shaggy pony that Elmer was tugging out of the stall into the hallway. It was a big pony, and the small, dished face and flaring nostrils told Naomi that the animal would be a high strung ride indeed.

Silently, Naomi worked beside her brother, brushing the fluff until it shone brightly on the animal’s side facing the open doorway and the lowering sun. Once the pony’s hooves were picked out and the saddle secured, Naomi slid the bit into the mare’s mouth and pulled the headstall up over her ears.

“Now, you be careful, Naomi. Blackie gave Samuel quite a ride the other day,” Elmer said, concern pinching his face.

Naomi took up the challenge as easily as she would have picked up a broom. “Oh, did she now?” she said, gathering the reins into her hands and lightly stepping up into the saddle.

She felt the quivering movements of the mare’s powerful muscles beneath her, but Naomi relaxed her body and held the reins softly, telling the spunky little beast that she would ride it with respect and dignity. Ten minutes later, after taking the pony through the walk, trot and a bouncy canter in the back yard, Naomi felt confident that Elmer could take over the mare without getting killed.

When she stopped beside him, Elmer’s eyes were wide and his mouth round. “How’d you do that? She’s a different horse than she was the other day.”

Naomi stopped and slid off the saddle in an easy motion, handing the reins to Elmer. She fixed a serious look on her little brother and said, “You know that Samuel is too rough with the horses and most of them are afraid of him. If you want a horse to be your friend and work well for you, then you
have to be patient with them.” She paused patting the pony on its thick neck before continuing, “You have to be kind to them and give them some freedom.”

Elmer had straightened his back while he listened to Naomi’s advice. When he climbed into the saddle himself, he remembered her words and softly nudged the pony forward on a loose rein. When the pony began walking down the driveway leisurely, Elmer swiveled in the saddle and shouted out to Naomi, “Thanks, Naomi—you done a good job.”

Naomi waved back, smiling. Oh, how she’d miss her little brothers and sisters. She knew deep down that they all still needed her. The tightness of indecision began to grip her insides as she stood in the driveway, the cold breeze penetrating the jacket and flattening her dress hard against her legs.

Once she left, that would be it. Dat and Mamma would forever hate her, and they’d do everything in their power to keep her siblings away from her. But the alternative to not leaving was staying. The prospect of living her life in the Amish community was worse than all her anxieties and worries about running away put together.

Naomi sucked in a deep breath and made her way slowly to the house, her feet dragging on the hard ground.

All she had to do was convince Mamma that she was really sick—and then she would finally be free.

23

SERENITY

November 17

I
t was strange driving to the Amish community alone, I thought, as I carefully passed the buggy, admiring the shiny dark horse in the evening light. I had to admit that I was content with the solitude. Thoughts of the two young Amish women, Naomi and Rachel, and their early, tragic deaths had been peppering my mind all day. True, they had a lot in common, both being involved with English men, and leading secret lives, but their circumstances were also quite different. Naomi was running away to be with her boyfriend, while Rachel chose to lie and hide the relationship with hers.

The fact that Tony Manning was Rachel’s ill-fated lover still shocked the hell out of me. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t imagine Tony’s hard features softened with youth—and I certainly couldn’t picture him being interested in an Amish girl either. Maybe all the years in between had changed the man into the ruthless asshole he was now.

I slowed as I approached Rebecca Yoder’s farm. I guessed that Daniel’s sister’s house was the bigger one that sat further off the road, while the small, rectangular home near the road belonged to the older Bachman couple.

The sun was nearly down and I suddenly began sweating at the thought of what I was doing. Maybe the Bachman’s weren’t even home—or perhaps they were in the middle of dinner. The little, tiny reasonable voice in the back of my mind told me that I should back out of the driveway and forget the whole thing. Of course I couldn’t listen to it. The much louder voice of determined curiosity pushed me to put the car into park and shut the engine off. No, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t follow through and at least try to find out what happened that night, some thirty years ago, when the Amish had taken the job of policing the neighborhood into their own hands.

When I stepped out into the brisk air, I zipped up my leather jacket, thinking that it was time to put the lining back in. Again, the scent of wood smoke was in the air and I lifted my face to breathe the pleasant odor in deeply. The old Border Collie on the porch half-heartedly barked at me as I approached the house. There was a dim light emitting from the corner window. Someone was probably home after all.

The dog rose and greeted me at the door in a friendly manner and I reached down to stroke its head, glad for the distraction before I rapped on the wood. There were muddled voices speaking foreign words on the other side of the door before it opened a slit. I was met by Daniel’s father and his long grey beard.

“May I help you?” Mr. Bachman asked, opening the door further after a quick appraisal of his visitor. He definitely recognized me.

I swallowed the butterflies and said, “Yes, I hope so. I really hate to bother you on such short notice, but I wanted to talk you about some of the history of your community.” I paused, holding my hand out toward the opening in the doorway, “I’m Serenity Adams, the sheriff here in Blood Rock.”

Mr. Bachman hesitated only for a second before he opened the door wider and reached out to grasp my hand firmly. “Yes, of course. Come on in. It certainly is too nippy this night to have a conversation on the porch.”

I followed Mr. Bachman down a short hall and into the kitchen where the lingering smells of dinner wafted in the air. Mrs. Bachman, a petite woman, with dark, gray hair, was just finishing the wiping down of the counter when we entered. She turned to stare at me with an incredulous expression.

“Anna, the sheriff wants to talk to us. Why don’t you brew another pot of coffee?” Mr. Bachman said.

“Oh, don’t go to the trouble on my account. Really, I’m fine,” I said, with a wave of uneasiness as Anna continued to stare at me as if I had two heads.

After a few more uncomfortable seconds, Anna ignored my words and got to work on the coffee. Mr. Bachman pulled out a chair at the round table and motioned for me to take a seat, which I did quickly.

Once Mr. Bachman was seated I said, “Mr. Bachman…”

“Please, call me Mo—short for Moses. That’s what everyone calls me,” Mo interrupted.

I took the opportunity to really look at Daniel’s dad and I felt a slight chill at the close resemblance between the two men. There was no mistaking that they were father and son. Mo was a handsome man even in his elderly years and I could picture him with darker hair and his frame tall and strong with youth. But, unlike Daniel, Mo had shiny dark eyes that held pinpoint focus, giving me the impression of a man not to be messed with. I decided that Daniel’s father was indeed more intimidating than Bishop Esch was and I finally understood Daniel’s inability to reunite with his parents after all these years.

Clearing my throat and my thoughts, I said, “Mo, the reason I came out here tonight was to ask you some questions about an incident that happened here in the Amish community some thirty years ago.”

There was no mistaking the stiffening of Anna’s back as she poured the hot liquid into the cup, some of it sloshing onto the counter. Mo’s face didn’t change. He remained calm and cool, even settling back further in the chair as if he had no cares in the world. He was going to be a tough egg to crack—if not an impossible one.

“That was a very long time ago, Sheriff. I have a difficult time remembering the events of last week, but I’ll do my best to enlighten you.”

Yeah, right, I thought, before I plunged in. “I recently learned about a young woman named Rachel Yoder who died on the rail road tracks around that time. Do you remember the incident?”

Mo tilted his head, thinking, and then looked me square in the eyes and said, “Why yes, of course. Rachel was a niece
of mine. She committed the ultimate sin that day, taking her own life.”

“Don’t you think the ultimate sin would be to kill someone else?” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

The small smile that lifted on Mo’s face prickled the hair on my arms.

“Yes, murder is indeed a grievous act, but there would still be time to ask God for forgiveness, whereas, if a person takes their own life, they die a sinner.” Before I had the opportunity to respond, Mo went on to say, “Do you understand that our people would never use deadly force, even to protect ourselves or our families?”

When I shook my head, Mo said, “It is our belief, that each and every day, we are prepared to meet our heavenly father. But what about the man who breaks into a home and commits violent acts? Do you think he would be ready for salvation at that moment? Our people believe not. It would be a sin for us to put another person into the situation of being damned. Therefore, it’s better for our kind to allow violence to be done upon us, without attempting to defend ourselves.”

When Mo finished speaking, a cold silence fell on the kitchen. Anna had turned around. She stood as still as a statue. Her face was the same stony shade of one too. My mind tumbled the information around in my head, wondering what exactly it meant, and why the hell he’d said it to begin with.

With the narrow stares of the couple keeping me on edge, I said, “So the Amish would never act on a violent urge…such as in the punishment of someone they believed had done a very bad turn on one of their own—something like, maybe hurting a woman, perhaps?”

Mo didn’t lose the composed look as he leaned in closer across the table to me. I had no idea what Anna was doing at the instant. I was so mesmerized by her husband’s black eyes. “You missed the point entirely, Sheriff. Punishment is not the same thing as murder. Our God not only allows for punishment of sinners, he condones it.”