Page 17 of The Hidden One

Seemingly lost in the memory, Jonas shakes his head. “Datt was distraught. He was a good minister. Some of the families in our church district rallied and supported him. People took sides and, in the end, several families rebelled. They chose Datt over the bishop. It was a painful time.”

Church disagreements aren’t unheard of among the Amish. Over the last hundred years, several factions of Amish and Mennonite groups have broken off to begin new settlements with different rules. The reasons for the splits range from clothing types to the rules surrounding excommunication to the types of buggies allowed.

“There were a lot of hard feelings. On both sides.” He runs his fingers over his beard, his expression troubled. “Two weeks later, Datt passed. They said it was a heart attack.” Jonas’s expression hardens. “Maybe it was the stress. But he was gone.”

I nod, wincing against the stab of guilt that follows. I’d heard about Ezra’s passing and yet I didn’t write a note or send condolences to Jonas or his family.

“I’m sorry about your datt,” I tell him.

“He’s with God now.” He waves off the condolence and for the first time I catch a glimpse of anger. I’m surprised because his datt has been gone eighteen years. Too long for him to still hold a grudge.

“A couple weeks later, church Sunday, I got into an argument with Ananias,” he tells me. “I lost my temper. I shouted. Said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Did you threaten him?”

“No.”

“What about the vandalism incident?”

“Ah.” He gives a wry smile. “The old men didn’t leave anything out, did they?”

I say nothing, wait.

“I was young and stupid. Not to mention angry. I went out with a sledgehammer and wrecked his buggy.” He looks down, shakes his head as if in self-disgust. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You got caught?”

“Paid a fine.”

A documented indictment of character that likely played a role in his being arrested.…

He sighs. “Two months later, Ananias disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone or what happened. But there was talk. Too much talk.”

“About you?”

He nods. “The police questioned me, but I wasn’t too worried. I had the truth on my side. Even so, the suspicion was there.”

“Do you have any idea what happened?” I purposefully leave the question open ended.

“You mean who killed him?”

I nod.

“All I know is that he was a hard man, Katie. If someone took offense to being treated harshly…” He lets the words trail.

“Tell me about the muzzleloader.”

“The police found it in the field where the bones were discovered. It was mine. An old thing I hadn’t seen for years.”

“How did it get there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jonas, how can you not know? The gun must have been missing from your house, right? Did you give it to someone? Or let someone borrow it? Was it stolen?”

He scoffs. “No. I just … lost track of it, I guess. The muzzleloader belonged to my dawdi.” Grandfather. “He passed it down to my datt. My datt to me. I’d had it for years. Kept it in the mudroom.” He gives another shrug. “I didn’t hunt much, you know. I don’t know when it went missing.”

“So the muzzleloader disappeared from your home and you didn’t notice?”