a guest or family, and you’re both,” Naomi said with a nod. Taking Marlena’s hand, she started from the room. “Oh,” she said, turning back, “someone else is waiting for you to get up. Special Agent Armstrong will be here right after noon meal to take you to the graveyard to walk through … through what happened. Sorry, but that’s what he said when he came by earlier. Give me a shout if you need help getting dressed,” she added, and pointed toward the chair in front of the sewing machine as they left the room.
Hannah gasped. Now she saw why Naomi’s wedding dress was only partly done. It was not just because they were letting Hannah sleep in this morning. She saw, laid out over the chair back and arranged on its seat, a new Amish dress in emerald-green, a good color for a maidal; black undergarments, no bra of course, which would take some getting used to again; a new pair of white, laced walking shoes like the women wore; a new cape—no, it was one of her old ones—and a new black bonnet. But no prayer kapp for her red-dyed, short-cut head, the sign of a dedicated Amish woman. All this kindness and generosity—but the lack of that precious kapp—spoke louder than Naomi’s words.
Tears blurring her vision, Hannah walked slowly to the small oval mirror they kept turned to the wall unless it was absolutely needed. After all, it was prideful to preen and to change the appearance God gave to each of His children. The true reason photographs of Amish faces were forbidden was that it could lead to individualism and conceit in one’s appearance, even though it also defied the Biblical warning “Thou shalt make no graven images.”
Hannah turned the mirror outward and jolted as her image stared back. Scarlet hair, though it now lay flat and looked softer after Mamm had washed and brushed it in the hospital. A face plain and naked without the dramatic mascara and black lipstick. Just Hannah Esh’s Amish face again, only one now lined with pain, perhaps fear, eyes narrowed, full lips pressed together, and the lower one trembling. She realized she was shaking all over and not just because she’d risen from a warm bed.
Was she scared to be home? Afraid of having to face everyone, especially Seth, again?
She thrust out her lower lip in defiance and walked to the clothing. One-handed, she reached for it to get dressed. It was only then she noticed that the screen to the side window behind the sewing machine was cleanly slit along its edge. Maybe that was what she’d heard flapping last night. But it was so unlike her daad to leave something not repaired. She leaned closer and gasped. Long, dark marks on the sill inside of the screen made it look like some sharp object had tried to pry the window itself open.
“You didn’t lean a ladder at the driveway side of the house, even to carry the shingles up, did you?” Bishop Esh asked Seth as he sat at the far end of the dinner table from Hannah, with Marlena in a high chair beside him. Seth was pleased to see Hannah at the table and dressed Amish, though she hadn’t covered her head. As ever, she seemed for him some sort of magnet and he the compass needle pulled to her true north.
He had to focus on the bishop’s words. “No,” Seth answered. “I’ve kept the ladder between the flower beds in back, near where the shingles were unloaded. Since the peak of the roof is on the driveway side, my ladder wouldn’t reach it. Is there a problem?”
“Yes, one we will have to run by Agent Armstrong, that’s for sure,” the bishop said, frowning.
Naomi, sitting on the other side of Marlena’s high chair, put in, “Someone cut the screen in the side window to my bedroom—now Hannah’s—and it wasn’t my Josh, that’s sure. He wouldn’t do that, even if the ladder marks were under the cut window. And someone tried to pry it open, too, but it sure wasn’t Josh and me!”
“We know that, Naomi,” Mrs. Esh said, and reached over to pat her youngest daughter’s hand. “You’ve always done things on the straight and narrow, ya, we know that.”
Seth saw Hannah’s cheeks color, as if that was a reflection on her, maybe on him, as well. Sure, Hannah used to slip out to meet him once in a while after the house went dark but not through a sliced window screen. Hannah and her friend Sarah, next farm over, had sneaked out in their rumspringa years to listen to the radio and fool around. But this news upset him, and not because he’d been indirectly asked if that ladder and the cut screen was his doing. If it wasn’t him, who was it? Could Josh have done it and not told Naomi? Once Linc Armstrong found out about it, he’d probably question anyone within miles who had a ladder.
“Could someone have been trying to break in?” Seth asked, his fork halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t so much as tasted the chicken on biscuits yet, since he’d been making sure Marlena ate well.
“Naomi’s sure the window wasn’t that way yesterday,” the bishop said. “It could be those nosy reporters with their cameras, not taking no for an answer.”
Or it could be something worse, Seth almost said. That thought hung in the air while people went back to eating. Finally, Hannah spoke.
“I don’t want Agent Armstrong trampling all over my private life, but he’s going to have to take a look at the window and the ladder marks.”
“Right,” Seth put in. “One more thing. He asked me to go with you to the graveyard this afternoon. Not to hear what you tell him, but to pick up the story where I came in. To talk to us about the crime scene.”
He said no more and tucked into Mrs. Esh’s delicious dinner, though he hardly felt hungry anymore. He’d bet a new barn that part of the reason Agent Armstrong wanted him to go along was so that he could see how he and Hannah would act when they were together. Actually, he’d like to see how they would, too.
Hannah noted how tense Seth and Agent Armstrong were around each other as they stood under her bedroom window after dinner.
“Those imprints look identical to your ladder’s feet, Seth,” Armstrong observed as he rose from a squat after a close examination of the imprinted soil between the bare rose canes. He’d already taken photos of the feet of the ladder, the cut screen and the scratches he called “jimmy marks” on the bedroom windowsill upstairs.
Hannah hugged her cloak tighter around herself with her good arm as she, Seth, Naomi and Daad watched the agent’s every move. His eyes had seemed to take in everything inside and outside the Esh home, just like he tried to see inside people’s heads.
“Of course,” Agent Armstrong added, “whoever it was could easily have borrowed your roofing ladder, though I don’t see any footprints back there but yours.”
Hannah watched as the two very different men looked at each other, eye-to-eye. Neither blinked or flinched.
“It’s the why that will lead us to the who,” Seth said.
“Lead us? But I get your drift. Motive. Easier said than done, but I’ll get to the bottom of it,” Armstrong countered.
“But what I don’t like,” Seth went on, “and what you didn’t mention is that if someone was trying to get to Hannah, he had to know what bedroom she was in, had to be some sort of insider. Bishop Esh and I checked, though I don’t think you did, to be sure no other windows in the house had a random cut screen or screwdriver marks.”
“Who said it was a screwdriver?”
“I— We, especially her family, just want Hannah protected,” Seth insisted.
Bishop Esh put his shoulder between the two men to make them step farther apart. “I’m going to buggy into the hardware store in town,” he told them, “get
