A Dark Path #8
“The Amish cemetery,” Esh repeats.
“Gentlemen, you can’t just … exhume these graves,” I tell them. “There are ordinances and permits required. This is a family plot. You have to have permission from the landowner.”
I can tell by the way they’re staring at me that my words ring hollow.
“This cemetery was here long before the government and its rules and regulations, Kate Burkholder,” Esh says gently.
“That doesn’t make it right,” I tell them.
“Or legal,” Tomasetti adds.
“They didn’t mean any harm,” Samuel says, rubbing his wrists.
“Or disrespect,” Eicher puts in.
“But we have no interest in your laws,” Esh finishes.
I frown at him. “Maybe you’d like to explain how Eddie Chupp’s dog brought home a human bone. Do you believe that’s a respectful way to handle the remains of your brethren?”
In unison, the men bow their heads, but not before I see the glint of shame in their eyes.
After a moment, Esh raises his gaze to mine. “It was an accident,” he admits. “These graves are very old. The casket was … decayed. Despite our best care, it broke open while we were loading it into the wagon.”
Yoder shakes his head. “We didn’t notice the dog until it was too late.”
“And he ran off into the woods with … you know,” Eicher says.
The last thing I want to do is arrest these old men. Right or wrong or somewhere in between, they’re trying to preserve an old cemetery. Now, I have to deal with the aftermath of their actions.
“What in the holy hell is going on?”
All heads swivel at the sound of Naomi Zook’s voice. I see the cone of a flashlight, her silhouette moving toward us, and, finally, the pale oval of her face. Thrusting the flashlight out in front of her, she shines the beam in the men’s eyes, her mouth open.
“What are you people doing here this time of night?” Not waiting for an answer, she shifts the light to the disturbed grave, and her eyes go wide. “Did you … Is that…” She doesn’t finish either sentence, as if the words are too upsetting to entertain.
The flashlight beam lands on me. “Chief Burkholder, they dug up my graves!”
I cross to her and recap what the men told me. “In essence, they want to relocate these graves to the cemetery in Painters Mill. Unfortunately, once they began work, they realized the task was more difficult than they anticipated.”
She blinks as if trying to absorb something that’s simply too bizarre to believe. “But this cemetery is historical. And this is my property. They can’t come here and … damage it like that.”
“No, they can’t,” I tell her. “Not without your explicit permission, the proper permits, and the hiring of professionals to do the work for them.”
“In that case, I’d like them arrested and charged.” Tightening her mouth, she glares at the men. “They’re trespassing. They vandalized my property.”
“Maulgrischt,” one of the men hisses. Pretend Christian.
Hearing him, Naomi whirls and jabs a finger at them. “Me? You’re the grave robbers.” Her laugh is bitter. “But then that’s the Amish for you, isn’t it? They follow the rules until it’s not convenient. Then they just do whatever the hell they want.”
In the back of my mind, I wonder how deep-seated her animosity toward the Amish is.
“You dishonor the dead.” Mervin Esh raises a shaking hand and points at the cemetery. “The Amish that were laid to rest here are your forefathers. Our forefathers. This cemetery is hallowed ground, not some trinket to be exploited by the likes of you.”
All eyes go to Naomi, wondering if she’ll relent.
I can tell by the way she’s scowling at the old man that she’s unmoved.
I’d been hoping to settle the dispute fairly and amicably.
Send the men on their way with a warning.
Or perhaps with Naomi agreeing to some negotiation that would appease everyone involved.
“I’ll do as I damn well please with my own land.” She glowers at me and jabs a finger at the men. “Forefathers? These old fools don’t even know who’s buried here. The manifest is long lost. None of those stones are marked. And yet here they are, trying to take what doesn’t belong to them.”
“We have the names,” Esh says quietly.
“And the dates,” Yoder adds.
Naomi goes still, her eyes narrowing. “How is it that you have the manifest?”
Esh looks away, folds his arms over his chest.
“It belongs to the bishop,” Yoder tells her.
In the back of my mind, I vaguely recall Naomi mentioning a missing manifest.
Beside me, Tomasetti mutters beneath his breath, “Here we go.”
“You stole it,” she hisses.
“The manifest belongs to the bishop,” Eicher maintains.
Setting her hands on her hips, she looks at me.
“According to the paperwork I received when I inherited the property, the manifest was in the house. It’s a historical document.
And it’s valuable.” She casts an accusatory look at the men.
“That they have possession of it can only mean one thing: They stole it.”
“It belongs to the Amish,” Edward Eicher tells her.
Naomi strides to Esh, shoves her finger in his face. “Where is it?”
I don’t expect the situation to get physical, but they’re too close for comfort. I’m about to intervene when an unexpected voice sounds in the near distance.
“‘Sylvanus Zook built a cabin on this site in 1853. Flood took it so he built this house here on the hill in 1866.’”
All heads turn to see young Samuel Eicher hold up a tattered tome about the size of a textbook.
His voice is shaking as much as the paper, but he reads without looking up.
“‘He finished the barn in 1869. His first son was stillborn in 1870. Sylvanus built the cemetery that year. He planted that sycamore tree the day he buried his boy.’”
As Samuel recounts the story, it almost seems to rumble through the cemetery like thunder. The silence that follows is so absolute, I can hear the leaves falling to the ground.
In the dim light from the lantern, I can just make out Naomi’s expression. She’s listening now, head cocked, her expression no longer angry, but thoughtful.