Shunning Sarah (30 page)

“Didn’t I exceed your expectation anywhere?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “But this will give you something to work toward.”

The only thing I wanted to work toward was finding a new job and a new boss. Unless Nicole could get rid of this one ASAP.

Luckily the weekend was only a few hours away. I had already decided to drive down to the farm and surprise my parents. At that moment, I had no idea of the surprise that awaited me.

T
he Amish schoolhouse looked empty from the road and even emptier through the window. The room’s accessories reminded me of my own early education years. Blackboard, American flag, and wall rack with hooks for hats and coats. The wooden lift-top desks looked exactly like the ones in my country school.

I’d hoped to catch up with Hannah near school, rather than at home. I wasn’t ready to confront Gideon concerning his dead sister’s last written words.

Eyeing the path Hannah was most likely to walk, I spotted a little white head bouncing through a harvested farm field so I parked where she’d likely exit.

“Hannah,” I called her name from my car when she became closer.

She looked at me dubiously, keeping her distance. Probably because she didn’t recognize my vehicle: I’d always driven a van before. But when I waved a laminated sketch of Sarah, she approached, reaching for the picture. She fingered the plastic coating uncertainly, checking the front and back.

“This way it will stay nice for you, Hannah. Even if you have to keep your sister’s picture hidden outside.”

“
Danke.
” She kissed her sister on her penciled lips.

“Do you have a minute to chat about Sarah?”

I opened the car door and patted the seat beside me, realizing she’d probably been instructed not to talk to English or get into cars with strangers. She glanced around up and down the road. No other vehicles, buggy or motorized, were in sight. So she climbed inside.

“My name’s Riley.” I wasn’t sure how to proceed. “I’ve been telling your sister’s story for the news.” Under some circumstances, I could be accused of child abduction. Best to just start talking and see if the child joined in. “Did Sarah and Gideon ever have problems?”

Hannah didn’t answer. She merely ran her finger over the outline of her sister’s sketch, as if committing the pieces of her face to memory.

“You and Sarah sure look like sisters,” I said. “And it sounds like you had fun with her. Tell me about Gideon.”

I didn’t want to be specific, because I didn’t want to plant ideas. The girl was nervous, that much was clear. But whether Hannah was uncomfortable about being in my car or talking about her brother, who could tell?

“Gideon is mean.”

If she mentioned the word “touch” along with her brother’s name, I was prepared to drive her and Sarah’s diary to the county child protection services.

“How is he mean?” I asked.

But Hannah merely fidgeted, without offering specifics.

“Have you told this to your mother?”

Soon, her mother might worry about her. And question her about why she was late. Hannah must have had the same fears. She rolled the picture inside her lunch pail, then opened the car door to leave.

“If there is anything I can do to help you, Hannah, I will.” I realized building up the kind of trust needed for this conversation might take time. “I’d like to talk more about this when you’re not in such a hurry. Is there any place we might see each other again?”

She stared straight at me, like she was judging me. Then she apparently made a decision. “Tonight, I’m going to the corn maze.” For the first time since we met, she sounded enthusiastic.

“The corn maze is a great time.” I saw potential for us to meet among the twists and turns. “Will all three of you be there?”

She nodded. “We went last year.” Then she paused. “Sarah, too.”

The corn maze was low-tech family entertainment for autumn. No devil’s tail or other technology afoot there. Just good old-fashioned family fun.

“As it turns out,” I said, “I’m also going to be at the corn maze tonight. Should our paths cross, maybe we can duck away to chat in the rows of corn. But if your mother or brother are around, act like you don’t know me.”

She nodded to show she understood. I was the kind of friend her family wouldn’t approve of.

I
could feel it in the air: a storm was coming. Distant shimmers of lightning flashed across the sky, out of season. But the climate had been unusual this autumn. As a child, during quiet weather, I remembered my grandpa teasing me about listening carefully to hear the corn grow.

But tonight, shrieks of delight came from the fields. Young and old visitors arrived to tour Maze of Mystery. Horses and buggies were hitched across from motor vehicles.

But no sign of the Yoder family.

The Amish were hard to distinguish from each other with their uniform garb, so I kept close watch for the trio. Finally, I saw them clutching their tickets, and followed them inside the corn maze.

I kept quiet and distant, surprised to see Miriam carrying a kerosene lantern from the buggy. A sign by the entrance the other day had cautioned No Open Flames, but technically her fire was enclosed by glass and steel.

As for me, I had a flashlight tucked in my purse.

Staying behind the Yoders proved easy for the next half hour. Then the three split up, apparently racing each other among the corn stalks for the exit.

Hannah disappeared with a pack of other children, so even though she was the one I most wanted to talk to, I decided to
stick with Miriam. I would confront her about what I found in Sarah’s diary. She moved slowly, like she was giving the rest of her family a head start. Using her lantern, she also paused to admire scarecrows holding scythes and pumpkin decorations displayed along the paths.

I didn’t want to stall too long before approaching her directly, in case she caught up with the other two. So I hid off the path, lurking in the corn, waiting for her to come my way.

“Hello, Miriam,” I called out a minute later.

She didn’t recognize me in the dark, so I shined the flashlight on my face. Then on hers. Seeing me, she looked upset.

“It’s me, Riley Spartz.”

“You?” Miriam swung the lantern back and forth, as if checking to see if anyone else might interrupt us and rescue her.

“Back with your devil’s tongue?” she whispered. “You said Sarah could rest. Your English questions would end. Yet here you are.”

That was the most I’d ever heard Miriam say in one stretch.

“Except I found this. So I had to return.” I showed her Sarah’s journal and flipped through the pages so she could place her handwriting. “I know now why you were shunning your daughter. She wrote down the evil things her brother did to her. Apparently you found it easier to forgive him than her.”

Miriam didn’t ask what I was talking about. She already knew.

She reached for the notebook. “Her words belong to me. I am her mother.”

“No.” I clutched the diary tight to my chest. “This is evidence. Sarah wrote what happened between her and Gideon. And you. How could you protect your son, and leave your daughter in such danger?”

I knew the answer even though she remained quiet. In the Amish culture, men were dominant and women submissive. This was proof.

“Even worse than his abuse, have you considered that he probably killed Sarah?”

“No.” She shook her head, and the lantern waved erratically. I moved to the center of the path, putting space between me, fire, and dry corn tassels.

“Have you ever asked him?” I said. “Or were you afraid of the answer?”

“She had no need,” said a voice from behind me. Gideon stood watching us. “She knows I didn’t commit murder.”

Gideon was armed with a weapon, a scythe, apparently stolen from one of the scarecrows.

With wooden shaft and curved metal blade, scythes were the preferred tool for mowing grass or reaping crops centuries ago. I had dismissed these as mere props, but just then Gideon swung the edge at a row of corn and with a whoosh sound, cut the stalks clean.

Suddenly, Gideon looked less like an Amish man and more like the Grim Reaper.

Medieval folklore always depicted Death holding a scythe as a harvester of souls. At that moment, I had no doubt Gideon had slain Sarah. Now Death was stalking me.

“I know you killed your sister, Gideon.”

“That I did not.”

By now, the maze seemed empty of other visitors. And we were farthest from the exit. The odds of an outsider intervening were slim. But I spoke loudly, just in case.

“I have read her journal, Gideon. I know what you did. And you wanted her to forgive your abuse. I would not have pardoned you either.”

“I did not kill her.”

He swung, and like a razor, the scythe came close to my arm.

“Yet you almost killed me now.”

He didn’t disagree.

“She was going to turn you in to the English law,” I said.
“That’s why you turned from molester to murderer. Did you confess that sin to your church?”

He screamed at me to stop, then took another plunge with the blade. I held my purse out for protection and he slit it, contents spilling onto the ground, including my cell phone.

I was afraid to turn and run, because the time I needed to pivot would be all the time he needed to kill. To survive, I needed to keep my eye on the scythe.

All I could do was back up. Slowly and carefully. But defense seldom saves lives. I needed to act. But how? I had no weapon. Fumbling in a side pocket of my purse, all I could find was the cursed rubber spatula. I flung it at him.

As he laughed, I noticed Gideon’s pacing becoming predictable. Swing. Pause. Swing.

Then I remembered Xiong’s glorious martial-arts kick in the alley behind the Hmong quilt house. If I kicked Gideon where it hurt men most, just as the blade finished its arc, I might escape the maze alive.

S
top blaming my son.” This time, Miriam’s voice came from behind me. I felt like the Yoders had me surrounded.

Miriam chose that moment to distract me from my counterattack on Gideon by claiming that she had killed Sarah. I had a hard time seeing this as a case of maternal filicide—child murder—but then I remembered Miriam tearing the head off my Amish doll. So I kept quiet to hear her story.

Gideon also appeared intent on listening to what his mother had to say because his scythe swing slowed. For safety, I kept my eye on him. For reparation, I kept my ears on her.

“I went to save her soul.” Miriam recounted an ill-fated visit to Everything Amish and how hopeful she felt seeing Sarah still garbed in apron and bonnet.

“The buggy is waiting outside, I told her. But she refused to follow. ‘No, Mamm,’ she told me, ‘I am staying here.’

“I assured her she would be welcomed back to the church when she knelt and confessed her error. All would be forgiven, and she would be able to teach school.” Miriam wiped her eyes. “Hannah missed her sister so much.”

But Sarah had apparently held fast to her decision to remain with the English. An argument ensued between them, Miriam calling her daughter “insolent.”

“No, Mamm. I am not the one damaging our family.”

Miriam explained that during the shunning, Sarah had seemed her most docile. She puzzled, how could her daughter have changed so much in so few days? And she panicked when she heard Sarah’s plan.

“I’m going to tell the English about Gideon,” Sarah had told her. “I have made up my mind. This will protect Hannah. They will remove him or they will remove her. Our family secret will be finished.”

“I told her she must keep quiet.” Reliving the scene was upsetting to Miriam, and she moved closer toward her son. “But Sarah would not listen. I told her she was also to blame.”

“Me? Blame?” Sarah had apparently reacted with shock in that appraisal from her mother. I also was stunned by Miriam’s attributing the guilt to her daughter.

“Bishop Stoltzfus and I have discussed this,” Miriam had said. “The trouble with you and Gideon has happened so many times for so many years, you must also be at fault.”

Gideon had stopped swinging the scythe. I wasn’t sure whether it was because he agreed or disagreed with his mother about the blame. Since he seemed momentarily catatonic, I stole a glance at Miriam. She was crying as she reiterated their final encounter, and how Sarah had suddenly accused her.

“Me? How about you, Mamm? Scolding me for the sins of my brother. You are to blame for him. You should have stopped this long ago.”

Miriam put her head in her hands, the kerosene lantern wobbling. I imagined her headache was also a heartache. Every night as she tried to sleep she probably heard Sarah’s words repeated.
You are to blame for him.

That’s when Miriam stopped talking. However the tale ended, it seemed too painful for her to continue. But news stories need closure and reporters need answers.

“What happened next?” I asked her.

Miriam didn’t answer.

“How did Sarah die?” I continued.

She looked at Gideon, even though I was the one with the persistent questions. He volunteered nothing to defend or accuse his mother. He seemed almost mesmerized by her narrative, like he was hearing some of the details for the first time.

“Miriam, you said you killed Sarah. So how did she die?” I repeated.

That appeared one question too many. Gideon jumped in to end the conversation. “When Sarah left the Amish, she was already dead to us. It makes no difference how she died.”

“I imagine it mattered to Sarah,” I said. “And I’d like to hear the truth, Miriam, if you’re ready to tell it.”

“Stop asking your English questions,” Gideon said. “My mother has been forgiven by the bishop, she does not have to talk to you.”

His talk of forgiveness was interesting. “What did your church forgive you for?” I asked her.

“Don’t answer,” Gideon said.

“No, I want to speak,” Miriam replied. “She fell. We quarreled and Sarah fell.”

It seemed a stretch for a young woman to die in a fall, then end up naked in a sinkhole. But Miriam insisted it was an accident, and described how she had grabbed her daughter’s arm, to take her home.