Page 67 of The Hidden One

“You talked to my brother.”

“Do you still have it?”

“I gave it to the police years ago.” An odd light enters her eyes. “Got a copy, though. You sure you want to see it, Chief Burkholder? Might tear down that goody-goody image of Jonas Bowman you got stuck in your head.”

I get a bad feeling in my gut. “I’d like to see it.”

Turning away, she walks to the house and disappears inside. I stand beneath the shade of the elm, taking in the beauty of the phlox, but not really seeing it. Mainly, I’m hoping whatever’s in the letter isn’t too damning.

The screen door slams. I look up to see Mary Elizabeth trot down the steps. Her feet are heavy on the ground as she crosses to me.

“This might set you on the right track.” She shoves a single sheet of paper into my hands.

I slip on my reading glasses, recognize Jonas’s handwriting immediately, and I read.

We have the Ordnung to guide us. If somebody doesn’t obey the rules, they are punished. As bishop, you have the right to punish your church people when they’ve strayed. What should happen to you when it is you who wrongs us? Be assured, an evil person will not go unpunished. Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed. Your day of judgment is near. When you are gone I will pray for your soul.

I look up at Mary Elizabeth. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in my datt’s desk. I found it a few days after he disappeared.”

I read the letter again, feel the press of dread on my shoulders. The letter itself isn’t incriminatory. Combined with the other evidence against Jonas, there’s no doubt it could be used against him.

Sunshine filters through the treetops when I pull into the Bowman driveway. I park at the rear to see that the buggy is gone. I go to the back door to leave a note and the door swings open.

“You look like you’ve had a hard day,” Jonas says.

“That’s one way to put it,” I tell him. “You got a few minutes?”

“Sure.” He opens the door wider for me to enter. “Dorothy went into town for groceries. Took the kids.” He steps back. “Come in.”

I follow him through the mudroom to the kitchen. He motions me into a chair and then goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher. “She made mint tea before she left. Want some?”

It’s a uniquely Amish tea; the memory makes me smile. “I’d love some.”

He pours it into glasses, sets one in front of me, then takes the chair across from me. “I’m afraid to ask if you have news,” he says. “Your expression is grim.”

“I saw the letter you sent Stoltzfus.”

He nods. “I barely remember it.”

“It’s damning.” I relay the contents to the best of my memory. “The police have it. The prosecutor will probably use it against you.”

“I have the truth on my side.”

“The justice system isn’t perfect.”

“God will see me through.”

I don’t have the energy or the heart to tell him that sometimes God doesn’t get it right either. Even after everything that’s happened, he’d probably argue the point. “I went to see Levi Schmucker today.”

He arches a brow. “He must be pretty old by now.”

“Not so old that he couldn’t remember that Ananias Stoltzfus beat the hell out of him.” I tell him about my visit. “It was a vicious beating. Busted his teeth. Broke his arm. Put him in the hospital.”

“I didn’t care for Ananias or his tactics, but…” His troubled expression lands on mine. “Is it possible Levi is lying?”

“It’s possible. Or he could be exaggerating. If he was, indeed, molesting his daughter, he might be trying to deflect. That’s not what I’m getting at.”