Her mother smiled. “I know what you’re thinking; it’s not the cancer. You worry too much. I wasn’t paying attention. Struck it on the corner of the cabinet. Old skin. I bruise easy since the cancer. It’ll go away in a few days.”
“If it doesn’t, be sure and mention it to your doctor when I take you for your checkup next month. It’s on the twentieth, isn’t it?”
“Ya, the twentieth.” She picked up the platter. “We’d best get back to the house. I need to get this bacon into the beans before services begin.”
“Right.” But Rachel wasn’t thinking about the bacon. She was thinking about a bruise. A bruise she’d seen elsewhere. On Mary Rose’s wrist that first day she’d gone to visit the Studers after Daniel’s funeral. Mary Rose was young and wouldn’t bruise easily.
Which made Rachel wonder . . .
What if . . . Joe had said that Daniel had hit Lemuel. And Rosh had told her the previous day that Daniel had beat him up. She hated to jump to such an awful conclusion, but what if there was truth to it? She looked to her mother.
“Mam, have you ever heard anything about Daniel Fisher having a bad side?”
“What do you mean?”
“That he might have been . . . harsh with Mary Rose? Harsh . . . handed?”
Her mother shook her head slowly. “Ne, nothing like that. I have heard he had a temper, but a lot of men do, especially young ones. Your Uncle Aaron has the worst temper of anyone I’ve ever met, but he’d cut off his own hand before he’d strike your Aunt Hannah.” She started for the door. “Of course, you never know what goes on between a man and his wife.”
“So, what you’re saying is that there’s a possibility that Daniel could have abused his wife?”
Her mother turned back, her features growing solemn. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“But . . . wouldn’t she have told someone?” Rachel asked incredulously.
Her mother thought on that a moment. “Ne. Most women would hide such a thing out of shame . . . or fear of the man and what he might do. Not a thing a man would want known. Our bishop wouldn’t stand for it. You remember, he put Andy Peachy on warning of being shunned for yanking on Elsie. A man and woman are equal under God, and it is wrong for any man to use his strength to harm his wife.”
Rachel studied her mother’s face. “So, Mary Rose might have been afraid of Daniel.”
“A lot of mights in your thinking, Rachel.” She raised a finger. “Cast not the first stone, daughter.”
“But he could have been abusing her, and she and her family could have kept it a secret,” Rachel said.
Her mother nodded. “Possible, but you could be wrong. And saying something like that aloud, you don’t want to be wrong.”
“Well, I’m going to ask Mary Rose straight out.” Rachel folded her arms over her chest. “Of course, what are the chances she’ll tell the truth? Especially since Daniel’s dead. But what if . . . what if he did beat her and she killed him for it?”
Her mother scoffed. “That’s a step too far. Mary Rose doesn’t have the gumption to swat a fly. Don’t make accusations you can’t prove. It’s wrong to blacken a dead man’s name without proof.”
“So how could I go about finding out? There has to be more to this. It doesn’t make sense that a good man without enemies would be killed without a good reason. He wasn’t robbed and . . .” She almost told her mother that Daniel had been shot a second time, but she bit back her words. It wasn’t her message to deliver. “Why? Why was he killed?” she said. “There has to be a motive.”
“Well, if it was me asking such questions,” her mother said thoughtfully, “I’d talk to the midwife. She delivered Mary Rose’s baby, and she tended her through a rough pregnancy. No matter how tight-lipped a woman is, she’s vulnerable when she’s with child. And Salome is a woman other women naturally get close to. If anyone knows if such things went on, it might be her.”
“You think Salome will talk to me?” Rachel pushed open the smokehouse door.
“Doubt it,” her mam pronounced. “Salome probably knows more secrets than that old mountain out there, and so far as I know, she’s never let slip a one.” She walked out into the cold gray morning. “But you’ll never know until you ask.”
Chapter 12
I’d talk to the midwife. Rachel’s mother’s words echoed in her head as she downshifted to make the final ascent to the small, gray stone house tucked into the side of a wooded hill. The road seemed almost too steep for a horse and buggy and Rachel wondered how the midwife’s clients reached her. A low stone wall surrounded the house and a tidy herb garden. Smoke puffed from the chimney on one end, giving Rachel hope that this time, after two other attempts, she’d found Salome Plank at home.
Rachel parked her vehicle outside the fence. An arched frame held what must be climbing roses over the gate. Down the hill and to her left lay a vegetable garden with raised beds and a small stone stable. There was also a pasture with a three-rail wooden fence containing sheep and goats and one mule. The midwife, Rachel remembered, drove a mule rather than a horse when she called on her clients or made the trip to town or church services. A string of antique sleigh bells dangled from the gate, and when Rachel pushed it open, they rang loudly in the still air.
Almost immediately, the door swung open and Salome Plank called a cheery greeting in
