Shunning Sarah (29 page)

But since I was snooping and this online translation was so simple, I decided to keep typing because the whole process made me feel like a foreign agent.

1. Oktober

Die Arbeit im Geschäft ist nicht, was ich erwartet habe. Aber nächste Woche habe ich genug Geld, um mein neues Leben anzufangen.

“The store work is not what I expected. But next week I will have money to start my new life.”

Translating was addictive. Instant gratification.

September 30—Sarah wrote about a man preparing to leave for war—presumably Brian Kueppers—and shopping for a gift for his wife. He promised to come back with her to pick out a table.

Er fragte, ob ich wirklich amisch sei. Ich wusste nicht, was ich sagen sollte. Bin ich amisch?

“He asked if I was real Amish. I didn’t know how to answer. Am I?”

Instead of continuing backward. I turned to the front of the diary to begin fresh with Sarah’s life in chronological order. Then I might better understand the context of her remarks.

24. September

Ach Gott, Ich muss hier weg. Ich habe versucht zu verzeihen, aber ich kann nicht …

“Oh God, I must leave. I have tried to forgive, but cannot. And living among them, yet isolated from their company, is hardship. They have put the bann on me. So I will make my plans to flee. Apology is not enough. I worry for Hannah and will work to come back for her.”

The next entry seemed to show an attempt at humor.

25. September

Es macht mir nichts aus, dass mein Bruder …

“I don’t mind my brother not speaking to me, or sharing food at my plate. The good thing of the bann means he must avoid me.”

Sarah wrote of struggling with her decision to join the Amish church by baptism. I regretted never getting to know her personally. Of all the murder victims I covered, she still remained the most mysterious.

But diaries were traditionally a place to hide secrets. Maybe Sarah wanted to share one with me.

Ich liess mich taufen, damit ich unterrichten kann …

“I chose baptism so I could teach. Now with the bann I am disallowed. Shunning by the church is more pain than my family. And I fear for Hannah. At school I could protect her.”

The next entry was more emotional—even creepier—than the previous ones.

Ich dachte, der Bann war vorbei, als Mamm in mein Zimmer kam …

“I thought Mamm was ending the bann when she came into my room. But no. She opened the Bible and made me read aloud the Matthew verse: Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, ‘Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?’ Jesus answered, ‘I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.’

“Then she shut the book and left me. In the morning darkness, it was the same. No one greeted me. Or made room at the table. I peeled potatoes but they would not eat them.”

Sarah’s writing was making me squirm. Was Miriam focused on the issue of forgiveness in the broadest sense? Or did she mean “brother” literally? I felt shivers as I continued to type the German.

27. September

Gestern Abend, als der Mond schien und alle schliefen, bin ich weg …

“Last night when the moon shone and my family slept I fled.
First I had practiced silence on the steps and doors. I walked miles to an old house in town. I had heard talk she would house Amish who leave the church. I did not want to wake anyone. So I waited hours on the steps outside until I saw a light. When I knocked she gave me a room.”

28. September

Die Frau hat mich nichts gefragt …

“The lady at the house didn’t ask questions. She helped me find work at a large Amish store outside town. The owner didn’t mind I dressed Amish. He said it was good for business. When I earn money I will buy new English clothes.”

The next entry wrote of being torn about keeping quiet or going to the law. And it wasn’t reporting counterfeit Amish goods that had her divided.

Verzeihen oder beschuldigen? Was ist härter?

“Forgive or accuse? Which is harder?”

And as I continued to type Sarah’s words, the translation horrified me.

Gideon had been raping Sarah. For years.

In der Scheune hat er mich überwältigt.

“In the barn, he held me down.”

And Miriam knew.

Kämpfe mehr. Bete mehr …

“‘Fight harder. Pray harder.’ That’s how Mamm told me to stop him.”

She related how Bishop Stoltzfus made Gideon apologize for his acts. Just like the other Amish church leaders in Ohio and Iowa. And Sarah was ordered to forgive him. Just like all the other times.

Aber dieses Mal habe ich mich geweigert …

“But this time I refused.”

And that’s why they were shunning Sarah.

S
arah’s tale of abuse and cover-up made me wonder how people who profess to be so God-fearing can be so god-awful. Did Gideon kill his sister to keep her quiet?

Hovering over the English translation, I printed each page of the diary, and reread each line. Garnett was right about victimology coming alive in words by the deceased.

Gideon soll meine Schreie in seinen Albträumen hören …

“May Gideon hear my screams in his nightmares.”

I had no firsthand knowledge of the abuse and this evidence alone could not convict, but I owed it to Sarah to investigate further.

Yes, her written words might be admitted at trial, but Sarah could not be cross-examined. Gideon could not be forced to incriminate himself. Same story with Miriam, unless the state offered her a deal. I’d hate to see that, but there might be no choice. Without corroborating evidence, the sexual assault case against Gideon would be weak.

Unless another witness could be found.

And I was convinced I knew one. Hannah.

The child seemed fearful. And in her writing, Sarah seemed to allude to a reason for her apprehension. Did Hannah miss her sister, distrust her mother, or dread her brother?

Each time I’d seen the little girl, I’d concentrated on the obvious,
first question. Next time we met, I’d push her deeper for answers to the more intrusive queries.

As for her other two family members and their objections to the drawing of Sarah, did they really not like seeing her face because of their Amish aversion to pride, or did staring at her make them feel guilty?

Just then Garnett rang to see how the diary translation was going. “As a former homicide cop, I’m still curious about our victim.”

“It’s real bad.” I told him our murder victim appeared to also be a victim of incest. I read him the last entry of the diary: ‘I have decided tomorrow I will go to the English law.’ Who was she prepared to turn in? Her boss for fraud or her brother for rape?”

“What does your gut tell you?”

“I’ve never liked the brother. He creeped me out from the start.”

That’s when I revealed to Garnett that I had been fond enough of Ike Hochstetler to kiss him. “So I was quite surprised when he turned out to be her killer, and almost mine.”

Kissing and telling proved to be a bad idea. Garnett was angry, I could tell, even from a thousand miles away.

“So you kissed the first guy who leered at you? Did his Amish past seem exotic?”

“You and I were broken up, Nick.”

“Not totally,” he responded. “We’d started talking again. And I’d offered to fly back and make up. Was he why you turned me down?”

“Maybe I kissed Ike as a test. Just to see if anyone else had the same spark we do.”

“And did he? Riley?”

Garnett thought my pause meant yes, but I was actually trying to recall Ike’s lips. I did remember enjoying him enough that we almost went all the way in his sports car. But I also recalled
being repulsed by his final touch. I thought best not to share either nuance with Garnett.

“Did you sleep with him?” he said.

“No.” That answer came without pause. But even immediately was too late. Garnett was furious he’d had to ask.

“Well, just for your information, Ms. Spartz, I’ve got someone in Washington who I kiss.”

“Who?” I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, or trying to hurt me because I’d hurt him.

“None of your business,” he said.

“Of course it’s my business, Nick. We slept together just the other night. If you’ve kissed someone since then, you’ll never kiss me again.”

That night I slept poorly. Nick probably did, too. At least, that’s what I told myself as I stared alone at the stars. Our affair could not end this unhappily-ever-after. Or could it?

This was another one of those times a loyal dog curled next to me would have made the hours go by faster. Instead, a parade of star-crossed literary lovers kept me awake. Romeo and Juliet. Catherine and Heathcliff. Adam and Eve. By the time I got to Jack and Ennis from
Brokeback Mountain
I was convinced Nick Garnett and I were history.

I hoped Husky was happy down at the farm.

M
y cell phone buzzed the next morning at work, but it wasn’t Garnett. He hadn’t called me and I hadn’t called him. I was working up how best to tell Bryce about Sarah’s diary when Nicole texted. Her message read :) instead of *.

Curious, I texted back: Meet in basement. I didn’t want too many people to look back and recall us hanging around together in case the Bryce situation got ugly.

The Channel 3 lower level featured dark and lonely hallways with storage rooms tucked in undesirable corners. The photo lounge, just off the elevator, was the only habitable spot. I put my finger against my lip to signal Nicole to follow me silently to a large space with cement floors and high ceilings. Boxes with dates and story slugs scrawled on the sides were stacked everywhere, covered with dust.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It’s the old news graveyard.”

Channel 3 preserved investigative files and tapes five years against possible litigation. Some stations were moving toward purging all video immediately so they wouldn’t have to deal with subpoenas. But I always felt that if I ever got sued, my work was my best defense.

We each sat on a box behind a wall of other boxes in dim light.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“Riley, it worked just like you predicted. Watch.”

Nicole held out her cell-phone screen toward me. A bouncy shot through the newsroom made up the opening scene. Then Bryce greeted her and instructed her to close the door. The bag camera was off center, but adequate. When he sat, his face was visible.

“I’ve been thinking, Nicole.” He reached across his desk and tapped his finger against her nose like she was a small child.

“Yes, Bryce?” It must have taken a lot of willpower for her not to try rubbing the germs off. But she stayed still and let him talk.

“Even though you’re still technically on probation, maybe I should rotate you behind the anchor desk for a day. I’d love to see how you do as a lead anchor.”

“Really? Me?” Dangling the anchor job in front of her wasn’t what she was expecting Bryce to do. Her voice sounded more thrilled than I liked, but she was at that stage of her career where lead anchor sounded seductive.

“I don’t see why not?” he answered. “I sense you might have that special camera magic that lights up a TV screen.”

But then she remembered her mission. “Speaking of cameras, Bryce, is that really you in those pictures you keep sending me?”

“Do you like?” he asked.

“To be honest, not really. Women aren’t into photos of male nudity.”

“You prefer the real thing?” He stood behind his desk and while his face was no longer in view, his fingers undid the top button on his pants.

“No, no,” she said. “Please, don’t.”

“Oh, not here. I understand. You don’t like mixing business with pleasure.” He started moving in her direction and she grabbed her handbag.

“I just remembered, Bryce, I have an interview at city hall. I need to run.”

Her voice lost that marvelous broadcast quality and turned shrill. Her last words blurred together in a panic, and the video kept rolling chaotically as she dashed out of his office and into the elevator.

I wasn’t sure what to say to Nicole. All I could think was that we were definitely working for a pig.

“On a whole lot of levels, you handled that well, Nicole. And for hidden camera work, the quality was amazing. You’d make a fabulous one-man band.”

She smiled coyly, like she was weighing my compliment, but she was really fishing for something else. “Do you think I’d make a fabulous anchor?”

“You’re not thinking—”

“Well, somebody’s going to get the job, Riley. Why not me? He might not have a choice.” She waved her cell phone, craftily.

“Blackmail is wrong. Instead of punishing him, you’d be part of the problem.”

“So what should I do?” she asked.

I suggested she march up to the GM’s office and show him the video and the sexts and get Bryce his pink slip. She told me she’d think about it. If the video were mine, I might be tempted to switch it with a newscast tape so it would roll on the air for all to see—a little personal revenge mixed with public ridicule.

Back in the elevator, I got a text from Bryce. I didn’t want to look at it, so Nicole peeked and read that he wanted me to come to his office.

“You’re not going to mention me to him, are you?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” I assured her.

•   •   •

Minutes later, I was sitting across from Bryce, skimming a handful of papers he referred to as my “job review.”

“Have you actually supervised me long enough to evaluate me?” I asked.

“I think I have, and I believe in giving timely employee feedback.”

He had ranked me as Meets Expectations in three areas and Needs to Improve in four others including teamwork, news judgment, technical skill, and on-air appearance.

This was the first employment review I’d had in years. Noreen had thought all that paperwork was a waste of time. I figured Bryce was laying a paper trail so that my contract wouldn’t be renewed.