Cast a Blue Shadow (15 page)

30

Saturday, November 2 6:20 P.M.

PROFESSOR Branden sat in front of the Saturday evening news so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear the weather treatise on the important patterns in “winds aloft.” His eyes were directed at the TV, but his mind held his attention elsewhere. He missed the overnight forecast for another eight inches of snow.

Caroline Branden sat next to him on the couch in the family room. She noticed the distant focus in her husband’s eyes, and reached across his lap to hit the remote button, turning off the set. The professor’s expression did not change. She let him drift in his reverie for nearly ten minutes and then nudged his elbow. No effect. She nudged again, harder, and he turned to her and blinked.

“Tell me again about the trophy,” she said.

Branden stirred and rubbed at the back of his neck. He saw that the television was off and asked, “News over?”

“I just turned it off.” She smiled and rose to clear coffee cups from the end tables. Standing in front of him, poised to carry the dishes into the kitchen, she tipped her head that way and said, “Come tell me about the trophy again.”

As she washed and he dried at the kitchen sink, the professor explained his deductions to her again, saying, “I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if Henry hadn’t turned it around to face the right way.”

“One would think a backwards trophy would be easy to spot,” Caroline said.

“It’s a stylized brass replica of men crouched in a low rugby formation,” he said. “You can turn it either way, and it wouldn’t look wrong.”

“So, how did Henry know the right way?”

“He was coach the year Harry Favor’s team won the championship. Has a twin to that trophy in his office. Might be the only person in the world who’d have known it was backwards.”

“So somebody like a maid just put it up wrong?” Caroline offered.

“Right,” the professor said. “Except for the fact that Henry himself was the last person supposed to have touched it, Friday evening before Juliet Favor’s dinner. He would have put it back on the mantel correctly.”

“What does that tell us?”

“I think it’s the key element to a number of facts in this case. Favor’s crushed skull, and a crack in the marble floor. Martha’s bloody apron.”

“Seems like quite a stretch.”

“We’ll know soon enough. There should be certain fingerprints on that trophy, and not others. The blood residue on it will match, or it won’t. Or there won’t be any blood at all. I don’t know. I’m trying to understand what role Martha played in all of this. Trying to understand the sequence of events.”

“You said Juliet Favor didn’t die from the blow to her head.”

“She didn’t.”

“And I’m sure you don’t believe Martha Lehman harmed anyone.”

“I don’t. That’s the whole point.”

With the dishes dried and put away, the Brandens took seats at the kitchen table, and their day drew to a close there, as it had begun, with pink coloring the sky. Twilight lingered, and then faded, and the neighborhood lights gave luminosity to the large snowflakes streaming down.

The front doorbell rang, and Caroline answered it and brought Evelyn Carson and Cal Troyer back along the long hallway to take seats at the kitchen table. Caroline put on a pot of coffee and set out four mugs, a Texas cattle scene, a New Orleans, a Phantom of the Opera, and a San Francisco streetcar.

Evelyn Carson began directly. “Cal says Martha stopped by the church late this afternoon.”

Caroline sat down across from the pastor with a hopeful expression.

Cal Troyer’s long white hair was pulled back, as usual, and tied off in a ponytail. His full white beard was short and neatly trimmed. He rested his stout carpenter’s arms on the tabletop and clasped his callused fingers together. There was a frown on his face.

“Sonny Favor told Martha that she might just as well go ahead and get an abortion,” Cal said. “Said he’d cover all of the expenses.”

“That’s big of him,” Caroline scoffed.

Evelyn Carson said, “I went out to Cal’s church after I left, Caroline. I thought maybe she’d turn up there, sooner or later.”

“Sooner, it seems,” the professor said.

“She’s been to some Wednesday services, from time to time,” Cal said. “Today she told me that you all know she’s pregnant.”

“You’re surprised?” Caroline asked.

“Not really,” Cal said. “It’s pretty easy to tell she’s got a wild side. She hinted about that Friday night. I found her alone in the sanctuary about a quarter to nine.”

“It’s not her fault, Cal,” Evelyn Carson said. “It’s the old abuse she’s never resolved. In cases like hers, that shows up as promiscuity.”

“I wasn’t just talking about sex,” Cal said. “She’s reckless. Seems like she doesn’t too much care what happens to her.”

“That’s all part of the pattern, unresolved childhood issues or troubling memories and dreams,” Evelyn said.

Branden thought about mentioning Martha’s affair with art professor Phillips Royce, and decided against it. Instead, he said, “Cal, do you know where she went after she talked with you?”

“She made two calls from the church, and Sonny Favor came around and picked her up in his 4x4,” Cal said.

“Great!” Caroline said. “That’s just great.”

“Did she confide in you, Cal?” Evelyn asked. “Really talk about important things?”

“Yes,” Cal said simply, and stroked his beard.

The three waited.

Said Cal, “I really shouldn’t tell you anything about it.”

The professor rose, carried the coffeepot to the table, and poured all around.

“This decaf?” Cal asked.

Caroline nodded.

Evelyn said, “Her state of mind is fragile now, even if she is talking again. I’d rather she weren’t riding around with Sonny Favor.”

Branden set the carafe down, stepped to the phone, and dialed Sonny’s cell phone. Into the phone he said, “Sonny? Right. Professor Branden. Is Martha with you?” With his palm cupped over the mouthpiece, he shook his head. Caroline came along beside him and leaned her ear to the receiver.

Branden next said, “We thought you’d know where she is, Sonny. I see. No, the snow is bad here, too. Then why did you let her go? For crying out loud, Sonny! Don’t you think that was a bit reckless? I’d like to talk to you, Sonny. No, I’ve got a faculty meeting tomorrow afternoon. All right, Sunday night, then. No, your dorm lobby. You’re not supposed to be inside your house, Sonny. No, I’d advise you not to do that, Sonny. Look, you just stay out of there. OK. Right. And call me if Martha comes back. OK. Yes. I’m sorry about your mother, Sonny. Yes, truly. Why would you doubt that? I hope you’ll change your mind. OK, Sonny, but you’re wrong. We’ll leave it at that. You just make sure you’re there tomorrow night. Yes, goodbye.”

At the table again, the professor gave an explanation. “Sonny picked Martha up at the church. Took her back to her dorm. Outside, there was an Amish gentleman in a buggy. Martha spoke to him in Dutch dialect briefly, climbed up onto the seat, and drove off with him.”

“Ben Schlabaugh,” Caroline muttered.

“Probably,” Branden said. “Sonny couldn’t think of a reason to follow her. He said she was crying.”

“That boy has a heart of stone,” Evelyn said.

“I’m not very happy with him,” Branden said. “He sounds as if he’s washed his hands of her. Spoke about his new responsibilities to his family.”

Caroline shook her head. “Martha doesn’t need these two guys in her life, right now.”

Evelyn said, “At least Ben Schlabaugh won’t advise her to have an abortion. That could prove disastrous for her, emotionally.”

Caroline nodded agreement. “Tomorrow, when we talk to Ben, we’re going to have to get him to bring her back.”

Pointedly, Cal said, “I don’t think you’d better count on that.”

“Why?” Branden asked.

Cal shrugged and said no more.

“Tell them about the trophy,” Caroline said to her husband.

Branden gave a brief account, emphasizing the fact that the blow to the head did not kill Juliet Favor.

“Maybe all Martha did was clean off the blood and put it back on the mantel,” Cal said.

“If she saw the murder, that would account for her condition this morning,” Evelyn said.

Branden said, “She saw something. Probably handled the trophy, too.”

“If she knows who the killer is, she’s in danger,” Caroline said.

“Maybe all she knows is who hit Favor on the head,” Branden said. “Trouble is, that person may still think he killed Favor.”

“Or she,” Caroline interjected.

“Or she,” Branden agreed. “That person might not know Favor was already dead.”

“Would that be enough to produce the reaction we saw in Martha this morning?” Caroline asked.

“Oh, very much so,” Evelyn said.

“What do you all plan to do tomorrow?” Cal asked.

Evelyn said, “I can’t do anything for her, unless she comes back to see me.”

“Like I said,” Cal said, “I wouldn’t count on that just yet.”

Caroline said, “Evelyn and I have an appointment to talk with Ben Schlabaugh tomorrow.”

“You don’t sound like you care too much for him,” Cal observed.

“I don’t,” Caroline said, eyes leveled intently at Cal.

“Hold off on that judgment, Caroline,” Cal said knowingly. “Ben Schlabaugh is about ready to break away from his Old Order sect. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the scriptures with him.”

“You think he might quit on the thing?” Branden asked.

“Ben has been in touch with Martha about this,” Cal said. “He put money down on a car, and I have him counseling with the pastor at the conservative Mennonite church over south of Fredericksburg, where Martha’s family goes now.”

“He’d join Martha’s church?” Caroline asked.

“I think so,” Cal said. “It’s a delicate thing at the moment. For now, Martha is with him—her choice—and he’s close to a conversion breakthrough. It couldn’t be a more delicate time for him, spiritually.”

Caroline studied the pastor’s round face and large, tranquil eyes. “We still need to talk to him,” she said.

Evelyn agreed with a nod.

Cal slid his chair back and stood up. He slipped his arms into his coat and said, “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from them. In the meantime, I’m going out to her old district and nose around. There’s a shoe repair shop where I know the fella likes to talk.”

Out under the light of the front porch, with snow accumulating on his black felt hat, Cal asked Branden, “What does Bruce make of this whole mess?”

Branden said, “He thinks Martha is in it up to her neck.”

“You remember when we caught the minister’s garage on fire, trying to smoke those cigarettes?”

Branden laughed. “Bruce told his dad it was only him.”

“Did you ever own up to it, Mike?”

“No.”

“Neither did I,” Cal said. “Too embarrassed. Bruce took a licking over that one.”

“His dad wasn’t the gentle type.”

“No. Not at all.”

Branden stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and watched snowflakes coming down, thinking about his lifelong friendships with Troyer and Robertson.

Cal said, “Mike, you’re gonna want to think of Martha like you do Bruce.”

Branden looked back at Cal.

“Martha is confused about her loyalties right now. She doesn’t know whether she should protect someone, or whether she should tell what she knows.”

“Protect whom?” Branden asked.

Cal said, “You know I can’t say,” and stepped off the porch into the snow.

31

Saturday, November 2 7:40 P.M.

AT THE home of Martha Lehman’s parents in Fredericksburg, Cal Troyer accepted a cup of herb tea in the kitchen and sat with them at a round kitchen table with a red formica top. The Lehmans were dressed like ordinary English folk, though more conservatively than most. Mr. Lehman wore a plain white shirt and dark cotton slacks. He was in his evening slippers. Mrs. Lehman wore a plain pink dress with a white lace apron and white prayer cap. She produced a large manila envelope and dumped the contents, pictures of all sizes, onto the table. Mr. Lehman spread them out, and Cal saw immediately that they were all shots of one red barn, from various angles, inside and out, taken at different seasons of the year.

Mrs. Lehman said, “Martha has not been very happy with us, lately. She thinks we ruined her life, or something.”

Mr. Lehman said, “She’s only been home once since school started this year, and she brought all these pictures and pretty much threw them out onto the living room carpet. She kinda kicked them around with her toe, and said, ‘What happened in this barn?’ She was mad, really mad. Thought we could tell her something.”

Mrs. Lehman said, “She thinks we have held something from her. But Cal, we didn’t know a thing. It’s crazy. Why would we hurt her?”

Cal picked up one of the smaller photographs and asked, “Can I take one of these?”

Mr. Lehman said, “Sure, take as many as you like. Martha said she had photographed that old barn about a thousand times. Wanted to know why we thought she would need to go back there time and time again. She pretty much accused us of child abuse, or something. Said we let her down.”

Cal asked, “You haven’t seen her today?”

“No,” said Mr. Lehman. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, I think so,” Cal said. “But her boyfriend’s mother was murdered last night, and Sheriff Robertson wants to talk to her about that.”

The Lehmans looked at each other, puzzled, and Mr. Lehman said, “We haven’t seen her except that one time, since she went back to school.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Cal said. “If she sees me again, I’ll tell her to come out to see you.”

“She won’t do that,” Mrs. Lehman said. “She’s really mad about something.”

“Then, when I have something, I’ll come see you myself,” Cal said.

He thanked them for the picture and left.

32

Saturday, November 2 8:30 P.M.

ABNER Mast had clamped a thick leather sole to a size eleven work boot and was running a massive old stitching machine around the edge to sew it together. Cal Troyer stood and watched. They were in a red outbuilding behind the Mast residence about a mile west of Charm. A fire in a potbellied stove heated the room. Overhead, delicate silk mantles glowed at the ends of small, round gas pipes, which crisscrossed the ceiling. Five of the mantles hissed softly with flame, and still the room was not particularly bright.

Cal asked, “So, you knew the Lehmans?” and watched Abner’s scarred and dirty fingers work skillfully around the thick needle, as the boot turned on the contour of its sole and the leather tightened with the stitching.

“This is the hardest part,” Abner said, and concentrated on the last few inches. He finished up, cut the waxed thread with a knife, and tossed the old boot onto the floor. In all, there were, by Cal’s count, five finished pairs on the floor, and a dozen or so left to do. Abner’s supply of new soles was sorted into cubbyholes over his workbench. Taking up a child’s boot, he chose the right size sole and lined it up on the bottom of the boot.

Cal waited and watched.

Abner made an adjustment on his stitching machine, used an old oilcan in places, and then glanced back at Cal. “The bishop put the Mite on all the Lehmans when they pulled out of the congregation. I’m not supposed to be talking about ’em.”

Cal smiled. “I reckon you could tell me a few things, and it wouldn’t get around.”

Abner smiled too. “Can’t see how it’d hurt.” He worked the small boot into place on his machine and threw a few stitches before letting go. The boot was pinned by the needle. Abner walked over to the stove and pitched in another log. He was five feet, four inches tall, and his hair and beard were gray. He had the butt of a thick cigar caught in the corner of his mouth, and he used a glowing splint to light it. Some sparks caught in his beard, and he danced a bit, brushing the glowing hair out onto the floor. He pinched the cigar in his fingers and spat tobacco.

Cal laughed, and Abner said, “You think that’s funny?”

Cal shrugged and said, “Bishop sees you dancing around like that, and you’re gonna be out, too.”

Abner laughed and put the cigar back into the corner of his mouth. He puffed on the thing several times and finished by blowing a dense cloud of blue-white smoke toward the ceiling. “Boots it was,” he said. “That was the first of the Lehmans’ troubles.”

“How many people split off?” Cal asked.

“Well, let’s see, now. There was the whole John Lehman family —thirteen, I guess. And his brothers, too. With their families, I guess maybe about fifty souls. They all went Mennonite. But it was boots as I remember the first of it.”

“Had to be more than that,” Cal observed.

“Oh, it was. But first John wanted his family dressed in those store-bought walking shoes. Said it’d be better for their feet.”

“He was probably right,” Cal said.

“I just mend them,” Abner said, waving a hand at the pile of old boots on his workbench. “Truth was, John Lehman was a bible scholar, or so he thought, and he started hounding the bishop’s tracks over all our little rules. Said we were all wrong to obey so many rules.”

Cal said, “He’s Mennonite now, so I’m guessing he preached about salvation by faith.”

“That’s all he talked about, Cal. Wanted to organize bible studies, teach people about faith. Said we could be certain about heaven when we die. Through faith. Saving faith, he called it. Said it was in the scriptures.”

“It is,” Cal said. “We are saved by grace, through faith, and not by works—the way we live our lives—so that no man can boast.”

Abner shrugged. “Who’s gonna keep the old ways, Cal? It matters how we live.”

“I wouldn’t disagree,” Cal said, “but do you think that was enough to get him Mited?”

“Bishop warned him not to preach that liberal doctrine. So, yeah, they were shunned.”

“Have you seen much of him since then?” Cal asked.

“You bet. He still comes around here. Drives that fancy car of his right up into my yard. I had to tell him to stop coming around. He was gonna get me shunned, too.”

“I think they’ve got a good church now, Abner.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What can you tell me about his daughter?”

“Which one? He had six.”

“Martha.”

“She was in the middle. Strange girl. She stopped talking one day, and he took her to a head doctor in town.”

“Do you think that brought the bishop down on him harder?”

“Naw. We know about psychiatrists. We’re not backward, Cal. Just like to do things the old way.”

Cal nodded, tried not to smile. “You have any idea what happened to her?”

“I guess I lost track.”

“She had a baby when she was fourteen. Gave it up for adoption.”

Abner nodded, shrugged to indicate he had known that. “Some folks said it was Ben Schlabaugh’s baby.”

“Wasn’t,” Cal said.

Abner raised an eyebrow. “Nobody out here knew that.”

Cal figured otherwise, but said, “Martha is in trouble again. I thought she might have been out this way.”

Abner pulled his cigar out and eyed Cal closely. “She comes around to take pictures.”

Cal produced the small photograph he had borrowed from the Lehmans and showed it to Mast. “You recognize this?” he asked.

Abner took the photograph in his fingers and studied it. “Sure. That was John Wengert’s barn. He had the farm next to the Lehmans.”

“Was?”

“It burned down a few weeks ago.”

“Martha has about a hundred photographs of that barn,” Cal said. “Inside and out.”

“Like I say, it burned down,” Abner said.

“Why do you suppose she took so many pictures of it?” Abner Mast focused his eyes on the floorboards. “John Wengert moved up north. He’s dead, now.”

Cal waited, but Abner had nothing more to say.

“What happened in that barn, Abner?” Cal asked.

Mast looked into Cal’s eyes, briefly, and then turned to his sewing machine. Nothing else Cal said that night convinced Abner to talk any more than he already had.