“Ne. I’ve got it!”
Beyond Mary Rose, there was an open, grassy area and then, on the rocky slope, a hedgerow of Osage orange, often planted to keep livestock out of gardens. Movement caught Rachel’s eye and she stared hard at the line of shrub trees. There was something there . . . no, not something—someone. For just an instant, she made out the form of a man. Then he saw Rachel and ducked down out of sight.
“Someone’s out there,” Rachel said, trying to decide if she should walk in that direction. “A man. Who could—”
“Pay no attention to him,” Alma responded, clearly unconcerned. “That’s Rosh from next door.”
Rachel turned to the older woman. “But he hid when he realized I’d seen him. Why would he just stand there looking?”
“Ya, Rosh creeps around all the time. Likes to keep an eye on Mary Rose.” She waved a gloved hand and picked up a bucket. “He’s harmless.”
“What do you mean, he keeps an eye on Mary Rose?” Rachel stared at the place where she’d seen him, but he didn’t reappear. “It seems like odd behavior.”
Alma shrugged. “Odd for some. Not for others. He’s a sweet boy, but shy. Hard worker. All the time he hunts and traps, fishes for trout in the creek, digs ginseng on the mountain to sell. Picks mushrooms. He and Mary Rose used to play together when they were young. Rosh is a Hertzler. You must know his parents. They belong to our church and are our nearest neighbors to the south.”
“Actually, Rosh is someone I’ve been trying to catch up with,” Rachel said, still keeping an eye on the hedgerow. “Mary Rose said he’s the one who came to tell you what had happened to Daniel. Maybe he saw something in the woods that day while he was hunting. He might be able to help Moses.” She turned to Alma. “Do you mind if I try to speak to him now?”
“Of course, if you think he could help my son. But you may not catch him. We tease him; he’s like a ghost. One minute you see him, the next he’s gone.”
“I’d like to try,” Rachel answered, watching Mary Rose, who had gathered up her clothes basket and was walking toward the house. “It will just take a minute, and then I’ll come right back and help with the milking. I promise.” She started across the yard toward her Jeep. “Which way is Rosh’s house from here?”
The older woman pointed south.
Rachel nodded. “I won’t be long.”
Rachel got into the Jeep, started the engine, and drove down the long lane. When she reached the road, she turned in the direction of the Hertzler farm, drove a short way, and pulled off on the shoulder. There, she got out and hurried back along the road. She found a fallen log and sat down to wait in the shelter of a big oak tree.
No vehicles passed on the road. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the chattering of squirrels as twilight descended on the mountain road. Again, Rachel was swept back in time to her childhood. She could remember trekking through the woods with her father, picking edible mushrooms. Theirs was a big family, as most Amish families were. But her father had always taken care to spend time with each of his children, and she cherished those hours when he was hers alone.
He would point out the different types of mushrooms, warning her not to touch the poisonous destroying angel or the yellow stainer. Instead, she helped him to gather basketfuls of turkey tail, giant puffballs, and white chicken of the woods mushrooms that her mother would prepare for dinner and share at church. Her dat had also taught her to be wary of rock piles where timber rattlesnakes might hide and not to confuse the dangerous copperhead with the harmless hognose, milk snake, or black racer. It paid to keep your head about you when you went into the deep woods, especially alone, but her father never wanted any of his children to fear the mountains because the land provided so much for them.
In less time than Rachel thought possible, a crow squawked a warning cry, and a blue jay scolded an intruder. Rachel didn’t move. She remained hidden behind the oak as a slim figure in a black watch cap, camo pants, and camo jacket moved silently out of the woods onto the road. She didn’t call out to him until he’d almost reached her hiding place.
“Rosh Hertzler?”
The slim figure froze and his pale blue eyes searched the trees. “Who’s there?”
“Rachel Mast. I’ve been wanting to speak with you, but you’re hard to find.” She stepped out from behind the tree. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to thank you for calling Mary Aaron that day to let us know that the police were questioning Moses.” She studied Rosh. She must have seen him in town or at one of the church affairs, but she couldn’t place his face. He stood no taller than her, perhaps not as tall, and his tanned features were almost delicate. Acorn-brown hair brushed the collar of his jacket and not the slightest shadow of a beard darkened his cheeks. In a dress and kapp, he could have passed as a girl, Rachel thought, but despite his size, there was nothing weak-looking about him. His gaze was guarded, and she had the feeling that he couldn’t decide whether to talk to her or dart back into the woods.
One lean hand dropped to the bulging bag tied to his belt.
“You’ve been digging ginseng,” she ventured. The season lasted only until the end of November.
“Ya.”
“On Studer land?”
He shrugged. “Different places.”
“I saw you there, a few minutes ago. And you saw me. Why were you spying on Mary Rose?”
He shook his head. “Wasn’t.”
“Weren’t you? It looked like that to me,” Rachel said. “Alma says you like to watch her.”
He shrugged.
She hesitated, considering what she
