“I don’t even ask that you find his killer, only that you show them police my boy didn’t do it,” Alma pleaded.
Rachel struggled with her conscience. From the beginning of her romance with Evan, her becoming involved in police matters had been a sore point between them. Now, she’d given him reason to think she was trying to delay their wedding again, something that wasn’t true. It wasn’t right to do this to Evan just before they were to be married. But Alma’s tears cut her to the quick. Rachel could only imagine how terrified, how worried, the older woman must be. First the death of a dear son-in-law and now her eldest son a suspect.
“Rae-Rae?” Mary Aaron squeezed harder.
“I guess I could go to the jail and see if they’ll let me speak to Moses,” Rachel said hesitantly. “Maybe now that he’s there, now that he sees what jail is, he’ll want to recant.” She looked at Alma. “Tell them it wasn’t true what he told them. Tell them he didn’t really kill Daniel.”
Alma smiled through her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.
* * *
As Rachel entered her mother’s kitchen the following morning, she could hear the murmur of voices coming from the parlor where the quilting circle had gathered. But she wouldn’t have had to hear her mother’s friends to know the gaggle was here; seven buggies stood in the yard and unfamiliar horses hung their heads over the pound fence. Her father was nowhere to be seen; Sally and Levi were in school, and her older siblings who still lived at home were likewise absent. Fresh loaves of raisin bread stood on the stove, and the delicious smell of bubbling lamb stew filled the air.
Ada had sent a butterscotch pie, and Rachel placed it on the counter next to her Aunt Hannah’s raisin crumb pie and what looked like a pumpkin pie. A tray of Dutch apple tarts rested on a side table. None of the members of her mam’s quilting circle would go home hungry today, that was for sure. They’d all leave with extra food to take home or drop off for a neighbor.
Most of the quilters were members of her parents’ church community, but several came from adjacent Amish groups. And her sister-in-law Miriam, married to Rachel’s eldest brother, Paul, would be here. Miriam’s quilts took prizes at the fair. Rachel suspected her sister-in-law of bringing the apple tarts. Miriam had a delicate way with piecrust that few of the older women could best. Rachel thought that she was a perfect match for the family and considered her another sister.
A tall covered stainless-steel pot of hot chocolate stood on the warming side of the woodstove. Rachel ladled herself a mugful and added square homemade marshmallows. As a child, she’d loved walking home from school on a cold day to find that her mother had made hot chocolate. It warmed the children and made the whole house smell delicious. And there were always leftover biscuits and a jar of honey for healthy appetites. Her mam was never far from her kitchen and it was always spotless. Rachel often wondered how she managed with nine children. Her dat always said you didn’t need plates. You could eat off her mam’s floor.
As Rachel made her way to the parlor, she overheard snatches of conversation. Apparently, Daniel Fisher and his untimely demise were the primary topics.
“Where would the family have been without him?” someone remarked in soft Deitsch.
“Good Lord sent him when they needed him most.”
“Hard to believe. That Moses, I wouldn’t think he could do violence. He found the Troyers’ calf caught in that barbed-wire fence one night and cut himself up getting it loose. Joe Troyer said he was crying like a kinner when he carried the calf to the house.” That was Aunt Hannah.
Rachel hesitated in the hallway, keeping out of sight. She wasn’t exactly eavesdropping on her mother’s friends, which would be rude, but she was listening for information that might help her help Moses. Or at least help Alma and Mary Rose find acceptance in what had happened. That made it all right, didn’t it?
“I never heard why Moses left home to go work for Joe Troyer. Why didn’t he stay home and help Daniel work the farm after Daniel married his sister?” That sounded like Sadie Peachy to Rachel. She was a jolly neighbor who was famous in the valley for her blackberry jam.
“He and Daniel never got along, so I heard,” Aunt Hannah explained. “As my Aaron says, there can only be one man in the house, one head of the family.”
“Well, all I can say, is”—that was the older woman’s voice Rachel couldn’t identify—“he never appreciated Daniel. That farm was going to wrack and ruin when he started courting Mary Rose. If Moses was going to cause trouble under his mother’s roof, better he went elsewhere to sow his wild oats.”
“Always a strange one, that Moses.”
“Never a smile.”
“I don’t think Moses got along with Daniel all that well,” Miriam said. “At least Paul didn’t think so. Daniel was young, and it was probably hard for him, too. He and Mary Rose were still practically newlyweds.”
“You know what they say about two young stallions in a field,” Rachel’s mother added.
Rachel had too many questions to remain where she was for long. She entered the parlor and greeted her mother and the guests. To her surprise, her sister Amanda was there, sitting at the end of the quilting table, needle flying, not saying a word.
“Pull up a chair,” their mother insisted. “We can always use another pair of hands.”
“Ya,” Aunt Hannah agreed. “Sit here by me.” Plump and good-natured, Mary Aaron’s mother was a favorite relative of Rachel’s. Aunt Hannah had always made her welcome in her hectic household, and her explosive humor and big heart had made up for Uncle Aaron’s stern
