A Churn for the Worse Read online

  “Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry. Was he sick?”

  Annie sniffled and shook her head. “No. He was hit by a shovel.”

  Claire drew back. “A shovel?”

  “Yah. Henry found it near his dat’s body. In the barn. There was much blood. Much sadness.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Dat woke me in the middle of the night to tell me he was going to Henry’s farm. When he told me why, I asked to go, too. I did not know what I could do, but I knew I wanted to help. When we got there, Dat spoke to Henry’s mamm, Henry’s brothers and sisters, and to Henry, too. Henry’s mamm cried many tears.” Annie took another breath and then stepped down off her stool, her legs displaying much of the same shake Claire heard in the girl’s words. “It is when Henry left to get air, that I followed him onto the porch. I tried to find the words that comfort, the words my dat is so good at speaking, but I am not good at that.”

  “I’m sure you being there was a comfort.”

  Annie traced her finger along the countertop, shrugging as she did. “When I could not think of enough things to say, I listened. He talked of memories of his dat, and he talked of the work they had finished that day.” When she reached the edge of the counter closest to Claire, Annie pulled her hand back. “It was after he talked of the crops that he said it.”

  “Said what?” Claire asked.

  “Henry knows he is to believe his dat’s passing is God’s will. But that is hard for him to do when he believes it is his fault.”

  “His fault?” Claire echoed.

  “Yah. His dat went out to check on Henry’s horse. To make sure she was settled for the night. It was a job for Henry to do but Henry was playing a silly game with his brothers and did not go.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “It is then, in the barn, that Henry’s dat passed.”

  “Wow.” It was almost more than she could process at that moment, but still she tried. “I’m surprised Jakob didn’t mention this when he drove me to work this morning.”

  “Your detective does not know.” Annie wiped her eyes one last time and then smoothed down the sides of her mint green aproned dress. “I have spent too much time talking. It is time to work. What would you like me to—”

  Claire pushed through the fog left in her brain by the young girl’s words and brought the focus back on Henry Stutzman and his deceased father. “Why not? A man is dead.”

  Pausing her hand above the clipboard of items to be attended to that day, Annie turned a questioning eye in Claire’s direction. “I do not understand your question.”

  “Why wasn’t Jakob called? He’s a detective, Annie. Henry’s father is dead.”

  “There is nothing to tell the English police.”

  Claire followed the girl’s attention back to the clipboard, the dozen or so tasks listed on the lined paper no longer important. “Nothing to tell the police? Are you serious? A man is dead, Annie.”

  “It was an accident,” Annie said, shrugging. “It was God’s will.”

  She walked over to the clipboard, removed it from Annie’s hands, and tried to make her employee grasp reality. “Annie, shovels don’t jump up and hit a person in the head all by themselves. Even if he stepped on one that was out of place, it shouldn’t have reached up high enough to hit him in the head. Unless he was a small man.”

  “Henry’s dat was tall. He had to duck to fit through many doors.”

  “I rest my case.” Claire crossed to the wood-paneled upright in the center of the store only to retrace her steps back to the counter and her employee. “Annie, we have to tell Jakob. Now.”

  The sentence was barely past Claire’s lips and Annie was already shaking her head. “Dat would not approve.”

  “Annie, this isn’t about your father’s feelings for Jakob or the general distrust the Amish have for the English police. This is about a man who didn’t die a normal death. A man who should be alive right now, raising your friend.” It was quick, fleeting even, but still, Claire saw it. Annie had doubt. Armed with that realization, Claire plowed ahead. “You know I’m right, Annie. You have to.”

  Nibbling her lower lip inward, Annie shifted her minimal weight from one boot-clad foot to the other and then froze. “Dat would not want me to call the police.”

  Again she sought the teenager’s hands and held them tightly. “You don’t have to, Annie. I will.”

  Chapter 4

  The second her feet transitioned from the cobblestones to the fine gravel roadway that wound its way through the Amish countryside, Claire felt the day’s tension slipping away. The reaction was a given, of course, but still she couldn’t help marvel at the shift and its reason.

  Prior to moving to Heavenly, she’d never realized just how much the hustle and bustle of life in New York City had weighed on her heart and her psyche. Sure, a sizeable chunk of that was more about her failed attempt at marriage than it was about a city and its people. But there was no getting around the fact that her heart was lighter just being in a place where people knew her name and treasured her company.

  These days, when she needed to clear her head of everyday clutter, instead of holing up inside a one-bedroom apartment that was never completely immune to other people’s music or the wailing siren of emergency vehicles in the distance, she could lace up her sneakers and head straight for the most peaceful place she’d ever experienced.

  Here, on the Amish side of Heavenly, she could lose herself in the sounds of nature instead of man—cows mooing, birds tweeting, and crickets coming to life as dusk slowly inched its way across the sky. Most of the farms she’d passed thus far were relatively quiet, the men and the boys who tended their fields likely now assembled around the kitchen table in their homes, enjoying dinner and sharing details of their day with the rest of their families. There were a few farms, of course, that still seemed active, with their owners trying to squeeze every last minute of work time from the long summer day, but even in those instances, she knew it wouldn’t be long before they, too, turned their attention inside the home.

  It was a part of the Amish life she admired, and a part she very much wanted to emulate when and if she ever remarried and started a family of her own.

  Like clockwork, Jakob’s amber-flecked hazel eyes appeared in her thoughts and elicited a smile from her lips. So many times over the last few months, she’d found herself daydreaming about the faces of Jakob’s future children—their sandy blond hair, their dimple-accompanied smiles, their broad shoulders, their knee-weakening laughter, and their unwavering sense of right and wrong. Sometimes, their blond hair would take on an auburn tint more like their mother’s . . .

  Shaking the not-so-ludicrous thought from her head, Claire followed the bend in the road, taking in the name on the next mailbox she saw.

  Stutzman.

  Annie’s friend . . .

  Her pace slowed enough to afford a view of the family home in the background and the driveway in the foreground. Careful not to run into the mailbox, Claire took a mental count of the buggies tethered to trees on both sides of the narrow, winding driveway. Sure enough, nearly half a dozen people from the community had amassed on the Stutzman farm to lend a hand in the wake of tragedy. The women, Claire knew, were inside the two-story home, making dinner, helping with the youngest children, and lending support to the deceased’s wife. The men were likely in the barn tending to animals or out in the fields with Henry and the other boys helping wherever they could.

  She craned her head up and around the buggies in search of Jakob’s car but came up empty. If he’d been there—as she suspected he had—he’d moved on, taking his notes and his finely tuned gut back to his office inside the Heavenly Police Department. Whatever he had or hadn’t found in the Stutzmans’ barn would remain a question mark for her until he reached out via a call or text.

  Glancing at her watch, Claire contin
ued toward the one farm that made her feel lighter and happier than all the rest. Step by step she made her way past farms she knew, and farms she didn’t, the day’s final rays still warm on her face. As she walked, she tried to imagine what Esther and Eli were doing at that moment . . .

  Would they still be eating dinner?

  Would they be sitting on their front porch, talking about the baby that was due to arrive in a little over two months?

  It went through her head, for just a moment, to turn around and head back to the inn. After all, Esther and Eli were still relative newlyweds. After a long day out in the fields and in his woodworking shop, maybe Eli just wanted to have Esther all to himself . . .

  Yet she kept walking.

  She didn’t know why, exactly, but she knew she needed time with Esther—time to laugh, time to catch up on each other’s lives, time to soak up the positive, upbeat aura that was her former-employee-turned-friend and Jakob’s niece.

  It wasn’t that anything was wrong in her life; quite the contrary, in fact. Life was good, great even. And if that wasn’t the case, she had Aunt Diane and Jakob ready to lend a listening ear and a supportive shoulder at the drop of a hat.

  No, Esther was different. Esther was the girlfriend Claire had been too busy to find in her twenties. Now that she had an Esther in her life, she found she needed that kind of friendship in much the same way one of Aunt Diane’s potted plants needed water and sunlight.

  A half mile or so down the road, she turned down the driveway marked Miller, the sound of Eli’s happy greeting from inside the barn only serving to solidify her decision to come.

  “Hi, Eli,” she called back, making her way down the driveway and over to the large white building on the left. “Working late, I see . . .”

  Eli stepped out of a stall toward the back of the barn and closed the gap between them with several easy strides, his mop of blond hair escaping around the edges of his straw hat. “It is good to see you, Claire. Esther will be pleased.”

  “How is Esther feeling?” she asked.

  “Esther is fine. You must go inside and say hello.”

  “I won’t be interrupting anything?”

  “You do not interrupt.” Eli thumbed the back side of the nearly seven-month-old beard that served as his wedding ring and nodded toward the house. “Tell Esther I will be in soon.”

  “I’ll do that.” She watched him return to the stall from which he’d come and then made her way up to the house, the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies wafting through the first-floor windows of the couple’s home.

  When she reached the door, she knocked, the answering sound of Esther’s footsteps igniting a smile that claimed far more than just Claire’s mouth. She did a little dance atop the welcome mat as the door swung open.

  “Claire!”

  “Esther!” She accepted Esther’s hug and held it for several long moments before stepping back to take in her friend’s burgeoning belly. “Look at you! That baby is really growing!”

  “That is what I keep telling Eli, but he thinks it might be the cookies I keep making.” Esther’s gaze dropped to the floor momentarily, only to return to Claire’s with a side order of crimson cheeks. “I do not know why, but I can’t stop thinking about cookies.”

  Claire laughed. “It’s called pregnancy cravings. And it’s normal, from what I’ve read.”

  Esther peeked around Claire and surveyed their immediate surroundings, her voice dipping to a whisper. “Yesterday, it was oatmeal cookies. Today, it is chocolate chip. It does not stop.”

  “I could smell them the moment I left the barn and started in this direction,” Claire said.

  “They are fresh out of the oven. Would you like one?” Then, shaking her head, Esther motioned Claire to follow her inside. “Of course you want a cookie. You always want cookies.”

  “And cake . . . and brownies . . .” She closed the door and trailed her friend through the large, sparsely decorated front room that served as a worship space when it was Eli and Esther’s turn to host Sunday service. “I wish I could say I’ve changed in that regard since you left Heavenly Treasures, but I haven’t.”

  “I am glad.” Esther led Claire into the kitchen and over to the handmade wooden table in the center of the room. Once she was settled on one of the two long benches Eli had crafted to accompany the table, Esther retrieved the plate of cookies from the counter and set it in front of Claire. “It is good to see you.”

  She bit into the still-warm cookie and moaned. “Oh, Esther . . . These are delicious.”

  “They are the same cookies Mamm makes.”

  “How is Martha?” she asked, taking another bite.

  “Mamm is good. We visited for a time this morning when she and Dat came to see Carly.”

  “Who is Carly?”

  “Carly is the horse Eli has bought to pull the buggy.”

  She refrained from a third bite long enough to consider her friend’s words. “What about Minnie? She does a fine job pulling your buggy.”

  “Minnie is slowing down. Eli worries the buggy will soon be too much for her to pull. Carly’s leg should be better by the time the baby is born. When it is, she will pull the buggy.”

  Securing a second cookie, Claire scooted the plate across the table to Esther. “There’s something wrong with the new horse’s leg?”

  “Eli says it is just a strained tendon. It will heal.”

  She couldn’t help but wonder if Esther was able to read between the lines of Eli’s new horse purchase. Sure, maybe Minnie was slowing down. Maybe it really was time to relegate her to second-string buggy-pulling duties. But Claire suspected the real reason lapped at the edges.

  Eli was a protector, plain and simple. He felt it his duty to look after the womenfolk in his life—his wife; his twin sister, Ruth; his mother; and even, to some degree, Claire herself. The purchase of a younger, stronger horse to transport his wife and new baby around made perfect sense.

  “Eli is a good man.” Claire looked around the impeccably maintained kitchen and tried to imagine a half dozen or so children sitting on the same benches where Esther and she now sat. Some of the faces she envisioned favored Eli, with his blond hair and ocean blue eyes. Some were the spitting image of Esther, with her soft brown hair, inquisitive eyes, and propensity for leaving her kapp strings untied. All came together to underscore the part of the Amish culture Claire envied most—the large families and the closeness they shared.

  Aware of Esther’s gaze, Claire brought her thoughts back to the present. “I am sorry to hear about your neighbor. Did you know him well?”

  Esther set her half-eaten cookie on a napkin and rested her hand atop her stomach. “I did. He is with God now.”

  “How is his wife? His children?”

  “Mamm and Dat stopped on their way to see me. They say Emma is looking after the children. She is a strong woman.” Esther glanced toward the hallway and then back at Claire, her eyes wide, her voice hushed. “I could not be strong if I lost Eli.”

  Pushing her own napkin to the side, Claire reached across the table and covered Esther’s free hand with her own. “There is no reason to even think of such a thing. You and Eli are going to live a long and happy life together. I just know it.”

  “I pray that is God’s will.”

  She contemplated a third cookie but opted to refrain, her thoughts traveling back through the day. “I called Jakob about what happened.”

  The faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Esther’s mouth at the mention of her uncle. In public, with her Amish brethren around, Esther abided by the Ordnung and its unwritten rules that mandated she shun her uncle for having left their community after baptism. But in private, or around those who knew better, Esther was beyond thrilled to have Jakob in her life again.

  Fortunately, Eli not only understood that, but also shared his wif
e’s feelings.

  “I felt he should know,” Claire added. “As a detective.”

  Esther’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I do not understand.”

  “The way the man died . . . it didn’t sound right to me.”

  “The shovel hit his head,” Esther said. “It hit him hard.”

  “Wayne was a big man—a tall man. If he were to step on the handle, it would hit his stomach, not his head,” Eli said as he strode into the kitchen and over to the sink to wash his hands. When they were dry, he joined them at the table. “I am glad you told Jakob.”

  Esther looked from Eli to Claire and back again. “You do not think Wayne’s death was an accident, Eli?”

  “I did at first. But this afternoon, when I was making that stool for Claire’s shop, I see it does not make sense.”

  “But you did not tell me,” Esther whispered.

  “I did not want to worry you.” He reached across the table for two cookies and handed one of them to his wife. “If something is not right, Jakob will know.”

  Oh, what Claire wouldn’t give to have Jakob there with her, to hear with his own two ears the trust some of his former Amish brethren had in him. Granted, it could never make up for the pain of being shunned by the very people he left to serve and protect, but it was something . . .

  Esther looked down at the cookie Eli had given her and quietly placed it back on the plate. “Do you really think it is true? That someone”—Esther dropped her hands to her lap and fiddled with the edge of her dress—“could hit Wayne like that?”

  “I do not know, but I wonder.” Eli swallowed his cookie and then turned his attention solely on his pregnant wife. As her gaze lifted to meet his, he nodded. “Carly took the carrot right out of my pocket.”

  The fiddling stopped as Eli’s gentle words and reassuring smile worked their magic on Esther. “That is a good sign, Eli. She is eating.”

  “Yah.”

  Curious, Claire leaned forward. “Can I ask why you bought a horse that is injured?”

  “It is only a strained tendon. She will heal in time.”