and stared at the pond. Couldn’t seem to eat a bite or take pleasure in anything.”
“So much to do right afterwards, a body doesn’t have time to think. But later, later it all sinks in. Good thing the Glicks have their faith to sustain them,” Ed added. “It’s something you admire about the Amish. They accept death as part of life.” He took his wife’s arm. “Best we go in and pay our respects,” he said.
“Have you been in to see . . .” Polly glanced down the hall. “They say she looks peaceful, just like she’s asleep.”
Rachel said nothing. She’d never felt the dead looked like they were sleeping. They looked dead.
“Let’s do it, Mother,” Ed said.
The kitchen door at the end of the hall slid open, and a stout Amish woman carrying a wailing baby pushed through. “We’re holding up the show,” Ed said. “See you in church, Rachel.”
“Talk to you later,” Polly said, and they moved toward the parlor.
A minute later, Bishop Abner returned. “Shall we find the parents?” he suggested.
Rachel nodded and followed him toward the back of the house. She could smell the food before they passed through the pocket door at the end of the passageway.
The huge kitchen and attached dining room were women’s domain, and the amount of food and drink amassed there could have easily fed half the valley. Every flat surface of table and counter space was laden with bowls, platters, and plates of food. Pies, cakes, gingerbread, and sweet rolls stood cheek by jowl with trays of roast beef, fried chicken, and smoked hams. The sea of aproned women with rolled-up sleeves and sweaty foreheads parted. Nursing mothers whisked blankets over exposed breasts and babes, and toddlers were shushed from begging for bites of this and that.
Everyone stared at Rachel and the bishop.
“Bishop.” A plump-cheeked woman closed an oven door and stepped back to give them room.
“Bishop Abner.”
Rachel didn’t recognize the teenage girl who spoke, but her red and swollen eyes and the haunted expression on her face hinted at someone near and dear to the deceased.
“ Mam, ” the girl said, “Bishop Abner’s here.”
A tall, thin woman with sad eyes rose from the table. “Bishop, it’s good of you to come.” A young mother with a newborn wrapped in a shawl got up as well, and Rachel noted a strong resemblance to the dead girl. A sister? Under the table, Rachel caught sight of a toddler sucking a thumb. The child wore a close-fitting white baby cap and a shapeless white dress. Rachel couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. Wisps of brown hair curled around the baby’s rosy cheeks.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Bishop Abner said. He turned to Rachel. “Do you know Mabel Glick?”
“You are the one who found our Beth?” the woman asked. She sounded as if she’d been crying for a long time, and her cheeks appeared sunken. “Thank you.”
Rachel added her condolences to those of the bishop. She recognized Mabel as someone she’d seen at the grocery and at the farmer’s market, but she couldn’t remember if she had ever spoken more than a few words to her. Mabel’s eyes were blue, her hair streaked with gray.
Did she know that her daughter had been murdered?
The young woman with the baby slipped an arm around Mabel but said nothing. The infant squirmed in the blanket and began to whimper. Rachel tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing seemed adequate. The kitchen was stifling, and she needed fresh air. She backed away from the table. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please just let me know.”
The thought of retracing her steps back through the kitchen and central hall was daunting, so Rachel edged toward the back door. As she opened it, she heard a man’s strident voice. The angry words were in Deitsch, telling Rachel that the speaker was Amish. She couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, though.
She glanced back at Bishop Abner, who had obviously heard the
“So much to do right afterwards, a body doesn’t have time to think. But later, later it all sinks in. Good thing the Glicks have their faith to sustain them,” Ed added. “It’s something you admire about the Amish. They accept death as part of life.” He took his wife’s arm. “Best we go in and pay our respects,” he said.
“Have you been in to see . . .” Polly glanced down the hall. “They say she looks peaceful, just like she’s asleep.”
Rachel said nothing. She’d never felt the dead looked like they were sleeping. They looked dead.
“Let’s do it, Mother,” Ed said.
The kitchen door at the end of the hall slid open, and a stout Amish woman carrying a wailing baby pushed through. “We’re holding up the show,” Ed said. “See you in church, Rachel.”
“Talk to you later,” Polly said, and they moved toward the parlor.
A minute later, Bishop Abner returned. “Shall we find the parents?” he suggested.
Rachel nodded and followed him toward the back of the house. She could smell the food before they passed through the pocket door at the end of the passageway.
The huge kitchen and attached dining room were women’s domain, and the amount of food and drink amassed there could have easily fed half the valley. Every flat surface of table and counter space was laden with bowls, platters, and plates of food. Pies, cakes, gingerbread, and sweet rolls stood cheek by jowl with trays of roast beef, fried chicken, and smoked hams. The sea of aproned women with rolled-up sleeves and sweaty foreheads parted. Nursing mothers whisked blankets over exposed breasts and babes, and toddlers were shushed from begging for bites of this and that.
Everyone stared at Rachel and the bishop.
“Bishop.” A plump-cheeked woman closed an oven door and stepped back to give them room.
“Bishop Abner.”
Rachel didn’t recognize the teenage girl who spoke, but her red and swollen eyes and the haunted expression on her face hinted at someone near and dear to the deceased.
“ Mam, ” the girl said, “Bishop Abner’s here.”
A tall, thin woman with sad eyes rose from the table. “Bishop, it’s good of you to come.” A young mother with a newborn wrapped in a shawl got up as well, and Rachel noted a strong resemblance to the dead girl. A sister? Under the table, Rachel caught sight of a toddler sucking a thumb. The child wore a close-fitting white baby cap and a shapeless white dress. Rachel couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. Wisps of brown hair curled around the baby’s rosy cheeks.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Bishop Abner said. He turned to Rachel. “Do you know Mabel Glick?”
“You are the one who found our Beth?” the woman asked. She sounded as if she’d been crying for a long time, and her cheeks appeared sunken. “Thank you.”
Rachel added her condolences to those of the bishop. She recognized Mabel as someone she’d seen at the grocery and at the farmer’s market, but she couldn’t remember if she had ever spoken more than a few words to her. Mabel’s eyes were blue, her hair streaked with gray.
Did she know that her daughter had been murdered?
The young woman with the baby slipped an arm around Mabel but said nothing. The infant squirmed in the blanket and began to whimper. Rachel tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing seemed adequate. The kitchen was stifling, and she needed fresh air. She backed away from the table. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please just let me know.”
The thought of retracing her steps back through the kitchen and central hall was daunting, so Rachel edged toward the back door. As she opened it, she heard a man’s strident voice. The angry words were in Deitsch, telling Rachel that the speaker was Amish. She couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, though.
She glanced back at Bishop Abner, who had obviously heard the
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