A Dark Path #9
Samuel stands straight and tall, not looking at her, and continues reading.
“‘Mary Zook was the wife of Sylvanus. She was born in 1845. She bore twelve children here. She had a garden on the east side of the house. Grew corn, tomatoes, green beans, and watermelon. You can still see the marks on the land. Sylvanus Zook froze to death in a blizzard on February 4, 1901, while hunting deer to feed his family.’” The young man lowers the book and bows his head.
“Mary succumbed to influenza on January 6, 1909,” he says.
“The entire family is buried in that cemetery.”
The jangle of a harness, the crunch of brush beneath hooves draws my attention.
All heads swivel to the buggy approaching from the rear of the property, the battery-powered headlights cutting through lowering fog.
I recognize the family. They own a quilt shop in town.
I’m trying to figure out why they’re here when I notice a second buggy behind them.
A third buggy brings up the rear. Farther away, through the trees, I see half a dozen sets of headlights bobbing in the dark, and only then does it strike me that they must have heard about the discovery of the remains—and they’ve come to support these men.
“Here come the troops,” Tomasetti says quietly.
Orla Yoder goes to the younger man and eases the book from his hands. “This buch is almost two hundred years old. It has been passed from generation to generation,” he says. “Like the house. The land.” He grimaces. “This cemetery.”
Except for the movement of the horses and the occasional jingle of a harness, the night is silent. For the span of a full minute, no one speaks. No one moves. I’m cognizant of Tomasetti standing next to me, taking all of it in, and I sense a collective holding of breath.
The eldest of the group, Mervin Esh, takes a shaky step forward with the help of his walker. “We do not wish to disturb these graves. We prefer that our brethren rest in peace. Here, where they belong. But if you force our hand, we will move them.”
All eyes go to Naomi Zook. For the first time, she doesn’t look quite so sure of herself.
When she raises her eyes to the men, her expression is sober.
“I haven’t been Amish for a long time,” she begins.
“I disagree with too many of your rules. That said…” She draws a deep breath, and slowly exhales.
“I do, however, have a great appreciation for history, including the history of the Amish. I didn’t know about the diary, so I had no way of knowing about the history of this farm.
” She frowns at each of the elders, then turns her attention to the growing procession of buggies.
“I don’t believe this cemetery should be moved.
” She is quiet for a moment, as if trying to find just the right words. “I don’t think you do, either.”
“We do not,” Esh confirms.
She nods, but her mouth is set in a taut line. “I’m going to open my B and B.”
The old man shakes his head, looks down at the ground.
“What I can do is take the ‘cemetery ghost tours’ off the agenda.”
“I’ll be damned,” Tomasetti mutters.
Brushing at the front of her jacket, Naomi strides to the three elders.
“If you’re still interested, I’d appreciate it if you would continue to be the heedah of the graabhof.
And, of course, that beautiful, historic tree.
” Her pronunciation of the Deitsch words is flawless. “I’m happy to pay you a fair wage.”
“We don’t want money,” Esh tells her.
“Suit yourselves.” She holds out her hand. “I would like my book please.”
The three old men exchange looks. For several heartbeats, Orla Yoder stares down at the book, giving no indication whether he’ll return it.
“The buch will be preserved, protected, and on display,” Naomi tells him. “In the house. You have my word.”
Finally, Yoder totters over to her and passes her the tome.
“Thank you,” Naomi says primly. “I’ll take good care of it.”
The crowd seems to release a unified sigh of relief.
At that, the buggy drivers begin the process of sidepassing their horses and turning around. Naomi approaches the other elders. Though her back is ramrod-straight, her expression is soft as she extends her hand for a shake.
I look over at Tomasetti to find his eyes already on mine. “I guess that settles it,” he says.
“I’m glad I didn’t have to arrest anyone.”
“The power of negotiation at work.”
“There’s something to be said for a happy ending.”
“Speaking of…” He takes my hand, and we start toward the barn to collect our things. “I thought this might be a good time to discuss our honeymoon plans.”
Between being busy with work and the actual wedding, I hadn’t considered what comes after. “Do you have something in mind?”
“You mean aside from a few days off?” He squeezes my hand. “I thought a cabin by the lake might be nice. A lot of trees. A little quiet.”
A small thrill races through me at the thought. “Tomasetti, I think that’s the best proposition I’ve had all day.”
“Chief Burkholder, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”