Separate from the World (12 page)

Robertson faced Enos and said, “You’d better explain yourself, sir,” and Enos mouthed words helplessly, unable to give voice to his fears.

Branden drew the dwarf aside and said, “You have to tell us, Enos. You have to tell us what you know.”

Behind him, a man said, “I can tell you better,” and Enos managed a single word, “Israel!”

Israel Erb was as tall as Robertson, easily topping six feet. He was dressed in a black Sunday suit, with gray hair spilling out under his black felt hat. He said to Robertson, “One of the children took our Benny’s phone and has been using it. We didn’t know she had it. We didn’t even know Benny had a phone. But, Benny got a call two hours ago, and the child answered the ring. A man said, ‘Stay home. Lock your doors, or you will never see the children again.’”

Branden asked, “That’s why you wouldn’t come to your door?”

Israel nodded. “I sent one boy on foot to Preacher Hershberger’s. He’s closest. We counted one child missing from our household—Albert. The other child, I can see, was Mattie.”

A paramedic came up to Robertson and reported, “There’s nothing wrong with her, Sheriff. The little girl is fine.”

Robertson and Branden stepped aside to let Vera carry Mattie toward home. Enos fell in behind Vera, and the whole family of children followed them back through the narrow stand of trees at the property line.

Robertson said to Israel, “You know that’s not good enough. I need to talk to the girl who took that call.”

Israel nodded agreement and said, “Our Mary had the phone. We will wait across the road.”

“You keep them all right there on the farm, Mr. Erb,” Robertson growled. “When I get around to you, I’m going to need some answers.”

Branden watched the taller Erb walk back across the road and said, “That’s a little harsh, Bruce,” to the sheriff.

Robertson complained, “They got that phone call over two hours ago.”

Branden said, “Let me talk to Enos. I can do that better than you. And let me question Mattie. You’d just scare her.”

Robertson gave a dismissive wave of his hand and fixed his gaze on Dan Wilsher. “I’m going to help Dan,” he said and walked off to join his chief deputy.

Branden checked the tree line and saw that the Erbs had all filed home. He started to follow them but heard Willa Banks behind him, saying, “You mark my words, Professor. That rat Miller is up to no good.”

When he turned to her, the professor saw Willa Banks standing on the lawn with her fingers wrapped around another can of beer. She had a rusty lawn chair under her arm. Setting her beer on the lawn, she opened the folding chair in front of him and sat down. “Think I’ll watch a spell,” she pronounced.

“You’re not going to . . .”

“Help out? No, Professor. I’m gonna sit here and watch someone make a fool out of Andy Miller. This is going to boil down to money, and I want to see what that sanctimonious Rat Puke is going to do about it—pardon my French.”

IT WAS WILLA BANKS who had roused the Enos Erbs from their home. While Branden held little Mattie in the woods, she circled around and came up behind their house. She ran up to the back door and proceeded to pound so insistently that Enos had to answer her. This Branden learned from Enos, while they waited in the front parlor of the dwarf’s home for Cal Troyer to arrive. Branden had called Troyer as soon as Robertson had walked off to join the search team.

While they waited for Cal, the professor tried a few gentle questions with little Mattie, but she would not speak. Her mother put her to bed. When Cal was seated, Branden started questioning Enos.

“Was it Bishop Miller who told you about the kids—about the phone call on Benny’s cell? Is that who was in the buggy when I came out?”

Enos nodded anxiously. Mute, he looked as if he’d never speak again.

“Enos,” Cal said. “You have to talk to us now. Tell us what you know.”

Erb’s expression was a mixture of panic and confusion, like a condemned man asked to choose between poison and the noose.

Branden said, “Mattie is safe, Enos. Now think of Albert.”

The house was as quiet as a courtroom waiting to hear a verdict. Enos lifted his palms helplessly, swallowed a lump, and said, “The bishop.”

“Yes—the bishop?” Cal urged.

“He said we had best all wait in our homes. He told us it was wrong to hate. It was wrong to condemn this man. He told us to pray. But I got so panicked. I got so lost. Oh, I am weak!”

“I don’t think you are,” Branden said.

Enos gave the impression of a man interrogating himself on the question of integrity. “The bishop said that a strong man would suffer the least right now. That he would hold true. Never hate. Never condemn.”

“That’s probably true,” Cal said. “But this is unusual. Nobody would blame you now.”

“We are to pray,” Enos said, sounding sure.

“Rightly so,” Cal replied.

“We are to trust God to know best,” Enos said with greater confidence.

“Even more,” Cal said. “Especially now, Enos. But help us. Tell us what you know.”

Tears spilled onto his cheeks. “It’s so hard.”

He pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He lifted his hip off the chair and stuffed the wadded handkerchief deep into his side pocket.

“Thing is, Cal,” he said, “I don’t know anything. Only what Willa told me—that they had found Mattie—and only what the bishop said—Albert was missing, too. And that they’d be killed if we tried to find them.”

 

 

On the front lawn, Branden and Troyer stood alone, watched by a dozen pairs of eyes from the Enos Erb house. Branden turned his back to the eyes and told the pastor, “That bought the kidnappers time, Cal. The phone call kept these two families locked in their homes instead of out looking for their children. That bought time.”

“But why take the children, Mike?” Cal asked.

“Why take the boy and leave the girl behind? And if they—he—needed time, for what?” Branden said.

Cal said, “Maybe two kids were too much for him to handle alone.”

“Then why not kill her?”

Cal shrugged his confusion.

Branden offered, “OK. They—he—wants something.”

“What?”

“Don’t know.”

“From whom?”

“From the Erbs—all of them,” Branden said. “He wants something from the Erbs.”

“What, Mike? What do Amish have? What can Amish give?”

Branden turned to look back at the house full of eyes. He gave it a long time, intending Enos to see his worry. To see his dilemma. If the dwarf hadn’t told him everything he knew, he wanted him to realize his error. Turning back to Cal, Branden said, “He knows more than he’s told us.”

“We should try Israel,” Cal said. “He seems to know the most here.”

“No, Cal. Not Israel. It’s the preacher who knows the most here. While I talk with Israel, you’re gonna hunt down Preacher John Hershberger. If he wants to be a bishop so bad, let’s offer him a challenge.”

CAL RETRIEVED his car from the roadblock at the school on Mt. Hope Road and drove east to find Hershberger. Branden crossed Nisley on foot and found Robertson walking down from Willa Banks’s place. The sheriff asked Branden, “What’d you get from Erb?”

Branden said, “Benny Erb had a cell phone.”

Robertson croaked out, “We know that already!” and rubbed his short gray hair nervously.

The sheriff looked undone by worry. His tie was stuffed into the side pocket of his suit coat, and his collar was loose. His neck was scratched red, and his mouth seemed pulled into an irreversible frown. Shiny beads of perspiration rode the top of his lip, and his eyes were restless, as if he’d missed a dose of his antidepressant. He took his handkerchief out, used it to wipe his lip and then his forehead, and asked, “Where’d Cal go?”

“He’s going to find John Hershberger. The preacher. The one who’s gonna be bishop of a new congregation.”

“Ellie told me this was Andy Miller’s district,” Robertson said.

“There’s a split. Hershberger is taking half the church off on the modern side. Miller asked him to go form a new congregation.”

“Over what?” Robertson asked. “No, don’t tell me. It’s going to be something stupid like radios.”

“Science projects at the college.”

“Is that going to mix in here with these kids, Mike?”

“I don’t know,” Branden said. “I really don’t know what’s going on out here.”

“This the same Benny who died out here a couple of weeks ago, the Benny with the phone?”

“Benny Erb. He fell off a ladder in that little store right there. But Enos Erb asked me yesterday to look into that.”

“Why?” Robertson asked as he studied the Israel Erb house. He started walking up the drive.

Branden walked along and said, “Benny was a dwarf.”

“Couldn’t climb a ladder?” Robertson asked.

“Right. You got that fast.”

The sheriff mounted the front steps of the house and lifted his hand to knock, but Israel Erb was already at the door, and he pushed out to join the men on the porch. The silence the professor had noted before was still in force. There was no movement or noise inside the house.

Israel said, “Is there news of Albert?”

“No,” Robertson answered. “We’ve expanded the search.”

“Do you expect to find him, Sheriff?”

Robertson eyed the man, took his measure, and gently said, “Not right away.”

Erb nodded gravely.

Branden said, “Enos told us that it was Hershberger who told him about his Mattie being taken.”

Erb said, “He and Bishop Miller. They went together.”

“So Hershberger knew right away,” Branden asserted. “He knew they’d been kidnapped.”

“I sent a boy to him when we found the phone and learned about the call,” Israel said. “Our Mary took the call. We sent for the preacher right then, because he lives close by. He decided to get the bishop.”

“OK,” Robertson said. “So you waited inside, and so did Enos. What else?”

“You came,” Israel replied. “You are here.”

Robertson stroked his handkerchief impatiently across his brow and said, “That’s all, Mr. Erb? You didn’t search? Didn’t go looking for them? Why?”

“The caller told Mary that the children would be harmed if we did.”

Robertson shook his head with disgust.

Branden said, “Hershberger and Miller just went home after they talked to Enos?”

“I didn’t watch to see.”

“What in the world were you doing?” Robertson demanded.

“Praying, Sheriff. We were praying.”

Robertson started to bark out, “For crying out . . .” and Branden cut him off, asking, “Can we talk to Mary?”

The big sheriff drew his intensity back inside and waited impatiently for an answer.

Israel put his head through the door, and a girl of about fourteen came sheepishly out onto the porch. “Mary, please tell them,” Israel said.

Mary Erb searched the faces of the men for some comfort, took a careful breath, and said, “The man said don’t come out or we would never see Mattie and Albert again.”

Though not a dwarf, Mary was short and would probably not reach average height. Her brown hair was put up in a bun under her prayer cap, and her olive dress ran long, to the tops of her black shoes. Her eyes were brown and restless with anxiety, and she had a dish towel in her fingers, working it like prayer beads.

“He used their names?” Branden asked.

Mary hesitated. “I’m not sure, now.”

“What else?” Robertson commanded harshly.

Tears welled in the corners of Mary’s eyes, and Branden knelt to face her.

Eyes level with the professor’s, Mary said, “We were not to look for them. That’s what the man said.”

Branden pushed up from his knees and shot Robertson a glance. Then he said to Israel, “We can use the phone, Israel. We can take information from it. That’ll tell us who called.”

A tragic sorrow bled into Israel’s gaze. It was mixed with the long vistas of resignation. With the long memories all Amish carry of the persecutions in Europe. He raised his palms helplessly and said, “We do not have the phone.”

The sheriff started to growl out something profane, but Branden turned on him so fast that he choked it back and bit down on his temper as if he’d been slapped in the face.

Carefully, Branden said, “Israel, that’s the one thing right now that can lead us to the person who has Albert.”

Israel whispered, “We got rid of the phone. Such gadgets have no place here.”

Branden asked, “OK, where did Benny get it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you know he had one?”

Israel shrugged.

Mary said, “Benny said he got it from a friend he met. He told us kids that. After Benny died, Daniel got it out of his apartment and gave it to me. He knew I liked it.”

Branden turned back to her and leaned over to ask, “Do you know who gave it to Benny, Mary?”

“No,” Mary said with a quivering lip.

“Do you know how long he had it before he died?”

“No.”

“Did he ever tell you his number?”

“No.”

“Did he ever let you use it?”

“No. He said it was for grown-ups.”

“You didn’t call your friends? You didn’t want to use it?”

“No.”

Branden pressed, “And Daniel just gave it to you, Mary?”

“He said he didn’t like it.”

“He’s your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it, Mary? Did you like the phone?”

“Yes,” Mary said and started to cry. “I just carried it around. Then I got that call.”

Branden straightened up. He held Mary’s eyes and judged that she was telling the truth. To Israel he said, “Do any of your children —maybe the older ones—maybe Daniel—know what Benny’s number was?”