River of Mercy (33 page)

He was just putting on his coat when Susan came down the steps.

“Will you be late, do you think?” she said.

“I hope not. I can scarcely keep my eyes open now. I'm still reeling from that delicious dinner you cooked at noon. Between that and the leftovers we had for supper, I expect I'll fall asleep on my way home.”

She lifted her face for his kiss, and he obliged. “Woman, I'm going to be as big as a house if I keep eating the way I have been.”

“You haven't gained a pound in ten years, David Sebastian,” she said, tugging the front of his coat more snugly about him. “I should be so fortunate as you.”

“You,” he said, pulling her back into his arms for another kiss, “are perfect just as you are.”

“Plump as a mother hen,” she said with a sigh.

“Pretty as a peacock and twice as sassy.” He clucked her under the chin, and she gave him a look. “By the way, you can make some more of that cinnamon egg pudding we had for Christmas anytime you're in the mood.”

She smiled. “I noticed you seemed to like it.”

“Now there's an understatement.” He gave his middle a thump. “So, you're sure you don't mind being alone for a bit?”

“I won't be alone. Fannie and Thunder will keep me company.”

“I'm sure they will.”

Reluctantly, he let her go and turned toward the door, but she stayed his hand before he could open it. “David?”

He waited.

“You'll be careful?”

“Careful of what? I'm only going as far as Malachi's.”

“I know, but…well, just be careful.”

He touched the palm of his hand to her face. “I always am, dear,” he said quietly, touched by her concern yet regretting that she obviously felt uneasy.

In truth, the entire community seemed to share that need these days.

Even if David Sebastian had deliberately tried to figure out the purpose of that evening's meeting at Malachi Esch's house, he would have been hard-pressed to imagine most of it. As soon as he saw the bishop who had officiated at his and Susan's wedding—Bishop Schrock, from a neighboring district—David knew something unusual was afoot. And by the time Malachi finished a brief few words in recognition of the bishop, David was more puzzled than ever about the reason he—a recent convert—had been invited. Especially since only he, Abe Gingerich, and John Lapp, Abe's brother-in-law, were gathered around the kitchen table with Malachi and the bishop. Some of the older men, longtime members of the Riverhaven Amish community, were conspicuously absent.

“As I said,” Malachi offered in his familiar way of often repeating himself, “Abe Gingerich and I, as your ministers, took some of our concerns—and those of a few other men from our district—to Bishop Schrock to seek his wisdom and advice.”

He gave more details about some of the complaints that had been brought to him and Abe by a number of the Plain People. Some were problems David had already heard about; others were new to him.

All had to do with Samuel Beiler.

David tensed when Malachi's gaze roamed down the table and settled on him. “I asked Doc here even though he's pretty new to the church because he's been a doctor and a
gut
friend to our people for many years now. We've learned to trust his judgment, and none of us would question his faith or his wisdom in spiritual matters. And John…” He inclined his head toward Abe's brother-in-law, seated across the table from him. “John has a particular concern that he just recently brought to our attention.” He paused. “It's a matter that might concern you, as well, Doc.”

Little by little, David grew even more tense as John Lapp began to speak. In a quiet, hesitant tone, the local farmer related a story that sent a chill of dread coiling through him.

“You all know my boy, Jacob?”

The others at the table nodded, waiting. “Well,” John Lapp went on, “he and Bishop Beiler's middle son, Noah, they spend a lot of time together. They're good friends, those two.”

David noted the way John had begun to wring his hands atop the table as he spoke. Self-consciousness or controlled anger? He wasn't sure.

“The Beiler boy, he's some younger than my Jacob, but he's tagged along after him ever since the two were just little tykes. Noah is a quiet sort, on the bashful side, and has never seemed real happy. Never laughs or acts
schtupid
like some boys when they're that age. He's never been much of a talker.”

Where was this going? David knew what John meant about the Beiler lad. He had treated him once or twice for the usual boyhood broken bones and sprains. He had never been able to coax anything more from him than a ghost of a smile and a shake of the head. But what did Beiler's son have to do with tonight's odd meeting?

“A few weeks back,” John continued, “Noah told Jacob a mighty troubling story. I'm not sure what gave rise to him bringing it up. I think it might have had to do with some of the fellows talking among themselves about that
Englischer
boy who was in court back then for beating on a relative. You know the one? He beat up a younger cousin to get back at his uncle. Seems the uncle turned him in for stealing.”

Again the men gave a nod of acknowledgment.

“Anyway, something apparently was said while they were all together that upset the Beiler boy, and later that night, when he and Jacob were by themselves, he let it be known that his
dat
beat him and the oldest son, Aaron, pretty regular.”

The men had fallen totally silent. David caught himself holding his breath. Finally, Abe Gingerich spoke up. “I asked John about this, and he said he questioned his boy, Jacob, pretty thoroughly. Jacob maintains that Noah Beiler insisted he and his brother were often beaten. Not paddled, but beaten. Hard.”

John Lapp went on, his hands balled into fists on top of the table. “At first I figured Noah had exaggerated. Boys will do that sometimes. You know…to get attention. But my boy stood up for him. He said Noah wasn't one to say things that weren't true. Even so, I wasn't all that concerned. After all, which one of us hasn't had to discipline a son for some kind of misbehavior?”

Malachi Esch interrupted at that point. “There's a difference between discipline and a beating, John,” he said quietly.

“Ja,”
John agreed. “And I pointed that out to Jacob. I told him he mustn't exaggerate and that Noah might have used too strong a word.”

He stopped, glanced around the table, and dropped his gaze slightly as he continued. “There was more. Noah claimed his
dat
also beat his mother when she was still living. Said he beat her till she cried.”

The others exchanged looks, but David caught his breath. Unless the Beiler boy had exaggerated—or worse, outright lied—his darkest suspicions about Samuel Beiler had just been confirmed.

Over the years, he had noticed a number of behavioral traits in Beiler's wife that he found suspect: the way she seemed to shrink within herself when her husband was in the room, her obvious uneasiness at his presence during the delivery of two of their sons, the nervous glances she sent his way when he wasn't looking, and a number of unexplained bruises and broken bones.

In his medical practice among the Amish, he had come across more than one wife who had been beaten. The Amish were inclined to handle or even conceal any disturbing conduct within their own communities rather than involving the
Englisch
authorities, but physical abuse wasn't that easy to conceal from a doctor. Twice he had actually confronted husbands he suspected of such despicable mistreatment. One had flatly denied David's accusations and, furious, refused to allow him to treat any member of his family again. The other man seemed to have been shamed by the confrontation and, as far as David knew, had discontinued the appalling behavior.

He had never been certain about Samuel Beiler, only suspicious. The signs had been there but not any conclusive evidence. But now, as much as he hated to face the fact that his suspicions had most likely been justified, he found himself believing the witness of John Lapp's son.

David was roused from his thoughts as Malachi asked, “Doc, the bishop and I need to ask you something, and whatever you say won't leave this room. Did you ever know about any of this in regard to Samuel's wife and his sons? Could what the boy told Jacob be true?”

Bishop Schrock also faced David with a question. “You can understand, I'm sure, Doctor Sebastian, why your friends brought this information to me and why we need to find out if there's truth in it.”

In that moment, David was genuinely at a loss for words. If he had ever been able to prove his suspicions, most likely he would have gone to Bishop Graber. But he had never had proof. Did he and the others really dare to take the word of a child? The Beiler boy, Noah, couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen at most. How on earth could they even begin to handle a thing like this?

“There's more, Doc,” Malachi put in.

David looked up to find his neighbor's face creased with a troubled expression.

“I think maybe there's another reason you should know about what the Beiler boy told John's son, whether it was true or not.”

David waited.

“It's…about Rachel.” Malachi looked uncomfortable, as if he were embarrassed about what he had to say yet convicted that he needed to say it.

“Rachel? What about Rachel?”

“Well…Samuel has been way too open about the fact that he's wanted to marry Rachel for a long time now. He should have kept that kind of thing to himself, but he hasn't. And he seems awful sure he can convince her to agree.”

Malachi shook his head. “It's not right that he should talk about such things to others, but he does. Now, Doc, we know it's none of our business. But what with Rachel being Susan's daughter and your stepdaughter, and given what his own boy has claimed about the beatings…well, that's another reason we thought you should be here tonight. As I said, we all know it's none of our affair, Samuel's talk about marrying Rachel, but I imagine you can see why we thought you should know.”

David's throat was so tight, his mouth so dry, he wasn't sure he could speak, but somehow he forced a reply. “I've known…for some time that Samuel wants to marry Rachel. She's refused him. More than once.”

The look Malachi settled on him held both sympathy and understanding. “Can you tell us anything about the other, Doc? About the beatings? Do you believe young Noah?”

David hated this. Who was he to accuse a man—his own bishop—of such a heinous, detestable act? And yet hadn't he known? When Martha Beiler was still alive, hadn't his uneasiness about Samuel even then been more than mere suspicion? Hadn't he seen her draw back in what seemed to be an involuntary shudder from her husband's hand on her arm or her shoulder? And the bruises, the fractures. He had asked her about them of course, but she always blamed them on a fall or offered another excuse.

More often than not, Samuel had been in the room with them, and the way he glared at his wife had made David wonder if things might not go even harder for her if he questioned too much. More than once, he'd considered confronting Beiler, but some instinct always warned him off—perhaps because he was afraid he would only make things worse for Martha.

And what about now, if he should admit his qualms? What then? What could possibly be accomplished by adding his own suspicion to the tales of a child? Samuel Beiler was a bishop, after all. The spiritual leader and the authority figure for an entire Plain community.

In that instant he thought of Rachel. She had made no secret of the fact that she didn't love Samuel, that she had no inclination whatsoever to marry him. She was in love with Gant, after all. Gant was the man she wanted to marry. But they couldn't marry. That was more certain now than ever. As bishop, Samuel Beiler would never allow Gant's conversion, never ease the way for Rachel and Gant to wed.

What if Beiler somehow found a way to
make
her marry him? David couldn't conceive of that happening, couldn't imagine any way the man could ever change Rachel's mind—and certainly not her heart. But even the most implausible idea that it could happen made him ill.