Shunning Sarah (19 page)

“It was a beautiful service,” I said. “Even though I couldn’t understand much.”

He looked at me, perplexed.

“Yes, Gideon. I was there. I watched and prayed along with the rest of your community. The service was enlightening.”

“Stay away from us.” Now he sounded harsh, where before he’d sounded instructive.

I told him I’d be at the Lamplight Inn in town in case he or his family reconsidered and wanted to discuss his sister. “Putting a homicide victim’s face on television is a way of honoring them. Showing that their life mattered, as did their death.”

“No. TV is the devil’s tongue.” He cracked the reins and I dodged the metal wheels just as the horse started to bolt.

“Tell me why you were shunning Sarah.” This time I was yelling, sort of like when Tom Cruise wanted the truth in
A Few Good Men.

“Sarah could not forgive.”

Those were Gideon’s final words before the buggy disappeared into the night. I could still hear the clip-clop echoing long after I lost sight of him.

S
leep did not come easily to me in the same bed where Sarah Yoder had spent her last night alive.

A thick yellow chenille spread covered me with old-fashioned warmth in the front bedroom of the Lamplight Inn. A gray cat curled on a corner chair, purring. But still, my mind could not relax.

I had finished reading my Amish love story. As foreshadowed, the heroine had resigned herself to a simple life with her reliable suitor, rejecting the flashy outside world. It was a comfortable conclusion that made me envious of her happily ever after.

It’s just fiction, I reminded myself. Real life is never so easy. Neither is true love.

Hours later, in a confusing dream about forgiveness and damnation, I woke to a crashing noise.

Two intruders barged inside, kicking the door to my room open. They both wore wide-brimmed hats. A clean-shaven man grabbed me by the arms with one hand and held my head with the other. His bearded companion turned on a flashlight and advanced toward me. He was careful to keep the light focused on the ground so I couldn’t see their faces.

I tried kicking, but the second attacker caught my ankle and dropped down on the mattress next to me. We all were breathing
fast, but only I feared for my life. My nightgown bunched up at my waist, and I felt both terrified and exposed.

“Let me go.” I was too shaken to scream. They might not have even heard me; my voice was low and strained.

They said little, and I understood none of their language, but certain guttural noises reminded me of the Pennsylvania Dutch speech at Sarah Yoder’s funeral.

I was certain my assailants were Amish.

I twisted my body. Someone yanked my hair. The mattress started to slide off the bed frame and the flashlight fell between the pillows. I tried rolling to the floor to escape, but strong hands held me tight.

I braced myself for rape.

I’d interviewed enough sexual assault victims to know this was going to be ugly. And even when my attack ended, it wouldn’t ever be over for me. While these men might disappear into the night, forgetting me as memories of that night blurred with their other victims, I would never forget what they did.

But my assailants had other ideas. One seemed to flash the light under the bed and around the corners of the room, as if searching for something. Could they merely be robbers? Were they looking for money?

My optimism died in seconds, and I feared I was next to go. Enough light still shone to reveal a pair of scissors coming toward my throat.

“Please,” I cried. “Don’t.”

I shut my eyes because the blades scared me, and all I could imagine was cold metal against warm flesh.

In the background, the owner of the inn was screaming for them to leave. I hoped she had already dialed 911. I didn’t want to die minutes from rescue.

Then I heard snipping sounds.

They released me so abruptly, I fell off the bed. Then I realizing my hair had been sheared and scattered across the room.

Linda found the flashlight and helped me to the bathroom. The power and phone lines to the house had also been cut. When she heard my screams and tried to turn on the lights, they wouldn’t work. Neither would the telephone.

I looked in the mirror, but didn’t recognize my reflection. What used to be a fashionable shoulder-length bob was now an ear-length disaster.

L
inda kept apologizing because the attack happened on her turf. I reassured her that this wasn’t her fault.

I couldn’t understand the motivation of my assailants. While I didn’t get a clear enough look to identify them, I was sure that the one with the scissors had to be Gideon Yoder.

So much for Amish pacifism.

“Why would they do this?”

She had neither answer nor advice, but to better assess the damage, carefully lit a kerosene lamp she kept to impress tourists.

My first reaction was to call the sheriff. Breaking and entering, assault and battery, trespassing—I wanted the pair arrested and jailed. I wanted their mug shots on the news coast to coast. But after today’s wild squad-car ride, Sheriff Eide would obviously not be sympathetic to my plight, so that wasn’t possible.

My second reaction was that I didn’t want to make news this way. I’d be a laughingstock. The other media would pull file tape of me from old stories and run before-and-after pictures of my new ’do. They would make jokes about how I was losing my hair over my job.

I snapped a picture of my head with my phone camera and texted it to Garnett, because I didn’t know who else might care or even be awake.

He texted back, “Is the station making you cut your own hair now?”

I couldn’t bear his sarcasm, so I didn’t answer.

Linda offered to contact Ike, the owner of Everything Amish. She had his home number from a local business directory and apparently thought we were closer than we actually were. I noted that she didn’t suggest calling 911, probably because she didn’t want her place known as a crime scene.

I didn’t want Ike seeing me like this, because I still hoped to go on a date with him. But I needed some personal counsel and some Amish perspective. So I handed her my phone and let her make the call.

•   •   •

It all made sense to Ike.

“Hair, for the Amish, symbolizes their commitment to a pure and simple life,” he said. “Women never cut their hair; men never trim their beard. To have them hacked off is shameful to the individual and indicates a lack of respect by the attackers.”

And cutting the power lines could be interpreted as a statement of their opposition to modern conveniences.

“If they have a problem with my reporting,” I said, “can’t they just complain to my boss?” I dreaded having to explain my haircut to Bryce. “I thought Amish violence was rare. I’m starting to wonder if one of them killed Sarah.”

Ike explained that a splinter group of Amish in Ohio recently broke into the house of a bishop in the middle of the night and cut off his beard and his wife’s hair. He was surprised I hadn’t heard the news.

“I don’t follow Amish gossip,” I said. “Was everyone talking about that attack the last time you were in Ohio picking up merchandise?”

He looked puzzled, then suddenly said, “Oh no, it’s been on
the networks, Riley. And now Amish communities consider such an ambush the ultimate insult.”

“So you think that’s where these guys got the idea to come after me?”

“No doubt.”

“And they’re trying to send me a message that I need to stop putting Sarah’s picture on the air?”

“After your confrontation with her brother, that’s a good guess.”

“But how did word of this Ohio haircutting news even get out?” I asked. “I thought Amish handled things internally and never involved the cops. That’s sure the line they’ve been giving me. Forgive and be forgiven.”

“That case is odd.” He speculated that the anger of the Old Order Amish toward the renegades must have been grave for them to call in outside law enforcement.

“What about me? What should I do?”

“Only you can decide.”

I decided to pack up and leave.

•   •   •

Minutes later, my plans changed. I’d lost something besides my hair, but gained even more.

My belongings had been scattered across the room during the break-in. Gathering them, I realized my camera was missing. I had purposely brought all the equipment inside, figuring it was safer at night with me than outside in the car. Then I remembered how the men seemed to be searching the room for something.

I was more convinced than ever that the Amish were punishing me for keeping Sarah in the news. Their culture appreciated symbolism, and to show their disrespect for TV, they’d also taken my camera in addition to my hair. Probably to use in some antielectricity ritual denigrating the “devil’s tongue.”

Bryce would be furious about the camera. Channel 3 would be out at least fifteen grand. There was no way I could get out of filing a police report for the theft or he’d think I sold the camera on Craigslist.

“Any chance you could call in the assault yourself?” I asked Linda.

“I’d rather not,” she said, “but will if you want me to.”

I didn’t want my name going out over the county scanners. The sheriff might decide to respond himself and charge me with filing a false report. But Linda didn’t want the name of her inn associated with crime.

“Could you not mention me on the phone?” I asked. “I’ll explain the specifics when they get here, but just say there’s been a break-in.”

A county deputy showed up soon after. It was Laura Schaefer, still working the rotten night shift as her punishment for challenging the sheriff in the election.

In my nightgown and minus my hair, she didn’t recognize me from our encounter by her lawn sign the other day. To convince her I was who I claimed, I had to show her my laminated Channel 3 ID. Even then she looked dubious.

“Really, Laura, it’s me.” Her hair was different, too. All pulled back like a ballerina’s. But I still knew her, although her name on a badge certainly made recognition easier.

“That’s Deputy Schaefer to you,” she said.

She wanted to do everything by the book. As I described my attack, she grew even more skeptical, but took down the report.

“Let me make sure I have this straight, Ms. Spartz. They cut your hair?”

“Yes.” I pointed to strands scattered across the floor.

“And stole your camera?”

“Yes.”

“And you think they were Amish?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Do you have any better description?”

“No, the room was dark.”

The landlady had no more to offer: the men were leaving as she was arriving.

I told Deputy Schaefer about my suspicions of Gideon Yoder and she took down his name. But if not for the broken door hinges and Linda vouching for me, she wouldn’t have believed any of my tale. I couldn’t really blame her. It sounded wild.

“I’ll call later, Deputy, to add the camera’s serial number to my report,” I said.

“That would be helpful,” she replied.

When she left, I left. But I didn’t just leave with a bad haircut. I also left with a secret Sarah had hidden under her mattress at the B and B that had fallen to the floor during the scuffle.

I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I was certain the answer would point to her killer.

M
y parents had left the door open but didn’t actually expect me to show up, especially not at that time of morning. If the dogs hadn’t barked, they might have slept through my arrival.

My mom was in a fleecy pink bathrobe. My dad was in flannel pajamas with holes in the knees.

I regretted not taking an Amish bonnet along from the Lamplight closet to cover my hair, because that was the first thing my parents noticed even though they were half asleep. And boy, were they mad when they heard the details.

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I have to be on TV today.”

My mom reassured me that everything would be fine. “Remember who used to cut your hair when you were little? When I’m through with you, honey, you’ll look like Halle Berry.”

•   •   •

I didn’t look like a movie star, but I did look better.

My mother had a haircut trick from my childhood called Scotch Tape Bangs. She put tape across my forehead and cut once. The result was as crooked as I remembered, but with a little gel and a blow-dryer, who could tell?

I thanked my mom for her snipping ability. Then I told her I needed a nap. “Wake me in an hour.” By then, I hoped to know if Walden had survived the night.

When I crawled under the blankets, Husky followed me. I told him I’d bring him home soon, but today’s assignment was dangerous and might involve bears and guns.

“You’ll be safer here on the farm with the other dogs.”

Then I started wondering if I’d be safer with him beside me. I willed myself to fall asleep, but no slumber came. I tried counting backward to the last night I slept well, but gave up.

I reached for my purse and Sarah Yoder’s secret, pulling out a notebook. Only about a dozen pages contained writing. The language looked German. My hope was that this was a hidden journal of her final days. September translated the same in German and English. So I could see that the writing began about two weeks before what investigators determined to be Sarah’s time of death.

I paged through the diary backward, because as a newsie, I wanted the most current look at Sarah’s life.

Ich habe beschlossen, dass ich morgen zur Polizei gehe.

I had no idea what the sentence meant.

My last thought before dozing off was that Sarah’s name wasn’t actually on the notebook. I hoped conjecture wasn’t giving me false confidence.

I
understood rearview mirrors are essential in automobiles, but I was trying to avoid my new look as much as possible. Just as I turned the key to head back to southeastern Minnesota’s bear country the next morning, I received a text.

* appeared on my screen. It was Nicole signaling that Bryce was calling her into his office. She must not have known I was out of town.