Rachel recognized the driver, Tom Perkins. He was a postal worker who’d retired in Stone Mill with his wife a few years previously and earned extra money by driving the Amish. Sitting beside him in the front seat was a woman in an Amish bonnet and cape. “I wonder who this is,” she said to Evan.
The passenger’s door opened and Alma Studer climbed down. “Rachel Mast,” she called in her usual abrupt manner. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Moses.”
Chapter 4
“Ya.” Rachel hurried across the driveway. “Of course. Won’t you come inside? I can make us a pot of tea.” If Alma objected to her jeans and work coat or even noticed her very un-Plain clothing, she gave no sign of it, but nodded. Rachel glanced at Evan.
“Let me see if Tom would like to come in for coffee,” he suggested. “You and Alma can go into the small parlor where it’s private.”
Rachel offered him a grateful smile. He understood that whatever Alma wanted to tell her about her son, there was little chance that she’d say anything in front of Evan or the driver. “Perfect,” she assured Evan. “There’s sweet potato pie in the pie safe in the kitchen. There may be some raisin left as well.”
She hadn’t eaten supper yet, and she doubted that he had, either. There was corn chowder and ham in the refrigerator. Her amazing housekeeper always left something yummy. But, considering Evan’s appetite, she didn’t think it would hurt him to have dessert first and a meal later. Knowing him, he’d likely finish the evening off with another piece of pie.
Rachel motioned toward the house. “Please, Alma. Let’s get out of this wind. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a hot cup of tea.”
As the older woman started for the house, Evan moved close to Rachel and whispered, “Are we okay?”
Rachel nodded. “We’re good. Better than good. I’ll reschedule that appointment tomorrow. Well, Monday if she’s not open Saturdays.” She shivered in the wind. It was getting colder, but she’d always loved the brisk autumn, the scent of wood smoke and the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot.
Love you, he mouthed silently.
“Love you, too.” She hurried after Alma, caught up with her, and led the way up onto the porch. “I’m so glad you came,” she said to the older woman.
She wondered what was so important that Alma would go to the trouble to hire a driver in the evening. It might be that she simply was uncertain as to what was happening with Moses and wanted her assistance. Or, it could be that Alma knew something about Moses’s reason for confessing to murder. In any case, Rachel wanted to hear what she had to say.
Inside, they took off their coats, and Rachel showed Alma through a narrow hallway to a tiny parlor in the oldest part of the house. Kindling had been laid in the fireplace, and although the room had electric heat, Rachel used a long wooden match to start the fire. “That will make it cozy in here,” she said, making small talk in Deitsch. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable while I put the teakettle on.”
The tea would provide a relaxing atmosphere. The Amish had their ways; Alma jumping into her purpose for coming would be considered rude. Rachel would learn nothing from Alma by being hasty.
Rachel turned on the candles arranged on the mantel and end table. She loved the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off the stone walls. She’d grown up in an old house, using propane, kerosene lamps, and lanterns, but she had a dread of fire. Battery-operated wax candles were one Englisher invention she adored.
“How is Mary Rose?” she asked Alma.
“Mourning her husband, of course.”
“Of course,” Rachel murmured. “This has been a terrible shock for her, I’m sure. And the baby?”
“Well, thanks to God. Poor, fatherless babe.”
“We had a good turnout for the funeral. The bishop’s words must have been comforting to the family. I’ll be right back.” Rachel excused herself to heat the water and prepare tea and a dish of cookies. Patience was not her strong point, so it seemed as if it took the kettle forever to heat, but she knew Alma couldn’t be rushed.
Evan was just coming into the kitchen alone as she picked up the tray to return to the parlor and Alma. “Tom didn’t want coffee?” she asked.
“He had to pick up something for his wife at the drugstore. He said he’d be back in an hour. Don’t worry about me.” Evan motioned in the direction of the parlor with his chin. “She say anything about Moses?”
“We didn’t get to that yet,” she explained. “Coffee’s hot in the dining room. Mary Aaron just made it.” There was always a fresh pot and refreshments available for the guests at Stone Mill House six a.m. until nine p.m.
“Don’t worry about me,” Evan assured her. “I can find it.”
Balancing the teapot, mugs, cream pitcher, and sugar on the tray, Rachel returned to her visitor. Alma sat in the same spot, hands folded in her lap, features composed. Her mouth was pursed, her eyes wary behind her glasses. Across from her on an antique Windsor chair sat Mary Aaron. She was wearing a plaid skirt, a blue cotton sweater, and gray Ugg boots. Her wheat-colored hair was braided and pinned into a crown on top of her head. And over that, she had tied a blue-and-white kerchief. Rachel was grateful for the head covering. Alma didn’t seem to be disturbed by Mary Aaron’s English dress, either.
As Rachel entered the parlor, Mary Aaron got gracefully to her feet, her hands clasped together at her waist. “I’ll leave you two to talk alone,” she said softly in Deitsch. “I just wanted to know if Lemuel was all right. And Mary Rose, of course. What happened today, with the Englisher police, it had to have been frightening.”
“Ya,” Alma agreed. “But you stay,
