Page 35 of Fallen

Once a young Amish person has made the decision to join the church, die gemee nooch geh is the period of instruction in which the ministers teach the young person wertrational, the values and what it means to be Amish.

“Rachael went through all the instruction. The Diener gave her time to turn back.” He sighs. “Rachael became a member of the Gemein.” The community. “But she didn’t make the vow with the solemnity it deserves. Six months later, she was shunned and excommunicated.”

In the church district here in Painters Mill, being shunned or placed under the bann is usually remedied by the correction of some “bad behavior.” For example, if a baptized Amish person is caught driving a car or using technology that isn’t allowed—and he gets rid of the car. Excommunication, on the other hand, is usually permanent—and rare.

“Why was she excommunicated?” I ask.

The old man looks down at his hands, laces his fingers. Watching him, I realize that even after the passage of so many years he’s bothered by this particular subject. Because his efforts weren’t enough to save her? Or something else?

“Bishop, I’m just trying to understand what happened to her,” I say quietly. “To do that, I need some insight into her history, her past.”

“Are you certain you want to know, Katie?”

I look at him, taken aback by the cryptic question. “If you know something about Rachael Schwartz that might help me figure out who did that to her, I need to know about it.”

Sighing, he turns his attention to his wife. “Ich braucha zo shvetza Chief Burkholder,” he tells her. I need to speak with Chief Burkholder. “Laynich.” Alone.

“Voll.” Of course. Giving me a final look, the Amish woman sets the dish towel on the counter and leaves the room.

For a moment, the only sound is the birdsong coming in through the window above the sink. The bawling of a calf in the field.

The bishop raises his gaze to mine. “Rachael Schwartz was deviant. The type of woman to do things best saved for marriage.”

“I need names.”

“Some were English. The Amish…” He shrugs.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “Was she a minor?” I ask. “Under sixteen?”

“Close to that age. I’m not sure.” Another shrug. “These are things I heard.”

“From whom?”

He raises his head, his eyes searching mine. “These questions … may be the kind that are best not answered.”

“I don’t have that luxury,” I snap.

He’s unfazed by my tone. My impatience. After a moment, he nods. “Perhaps you should ask your brother.”

“Jacob?” I stare at him, aware that my face is hot, my heart beating fast and hard in my chest. “Ask him what exactly?”

“You want to know about Rachael Schwartz? Ask him.”

“What does she have to do with my brother?” Defensiveness rings hard in my voice, despite my efforts to curb it.

“Jacob came to me. Years ago. For counsel.”

“Counsel for wh—”

He raises his hand, slices the air, and cuts me off. “I’ll not speak of it. Not now. Not ever. If you want to know, go to Jacob.”

“Bishop, you can’t drop something like that in my lap and then walk away without an explanation.”

Grasping the rails of his walker, he pulls himself to a standing position. “I’ve nothing more to say to you, Kate Burkholder.”

Perhaps you should ask your brother.

The bishop’s words taunt me as I drive down the lane. Jacob’s name is the last name I expected to hear in the same sentence as Rachael Schwartz. I simply can’t get my head around the implications. Jacob and I were close as kids. I admired him. Looked up to him. Relied on him for guidance. I loved him with all my young heart. Until I was fourteen years old and a neighbor boy by the name of Daniel Lapp entered our safe and protected world and introduced me to the dark side of human nature. It wasn’t my parents, but Jacob who judged me that day. It was he who blamed me. For what happened to me. For what I did about it. For the death of a man I’ll never come to terms with. Our family was never the same. But it was my relationship with Jacob that was shattered. I still see him on occasion. I visit my sister-in-law and my niece and nephews. But Jacob and I rarely speak. We’re strangers.