Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(86)

“I didn’t hurt them. I would never commit such a terrible sin. Maybe I wasn’t as good a mamm as I should have been. You know, cooing and kissing and the lot. I think Sadie must have picked up on that.”

She’s thoughtful for a moment. “They were special, you know. Little Amos and sweet Bonnie. They were slow learners. Like Nettie. The doctor said it was too early to tell, but I knew.”

“They had Cohen syndrome?” I ask.

Nodding, she raises her hands, brushes tears from her cheeks. “The doctor said it was SIDS that killed them. That didn’t keep people from talking. You know how the Amish are. They may be pious, but they love their gossip—almost as much as they love God.” A bitter smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “Vern and I heard every cruel word.”

I think about Sadie Stutzman. The minutes I spent with her at her small house on the river. Those poor babies … The midwife’s concern had not been ambivalent. Were her suspicions correct? Or is this woman telling the truth or some version of it? Is it possible Sadie Stutzman and the bishop did something unthinkable?

“And Nettie?” I say.

“I barely remember the birth. It was difficult and long and I was half out of my mind with pain and exhaustion. Afterward, Sadie told me she was gone. We didn’t question. We never got to see her. Or hold her. We were so grief-stricken it’s all a blur.”

“And the grave?” I ask. “The marker?”

She shrugs. “Someone dug the grave the night she was born. They put up the marker. I don’t know who.”

The sirens are closer now. Two of them, rising and falling in a weird harmonization. I stare at the Amish woman, my heart tapping a hard tattoo against my ribs.

“At some point, you realized the truth,” I say.

“Vern was always suspicious. I mean, after Nettie. A couple of months ago he ran into Elmer Moyer. They’d had a falling-out over money before. Elmer had accused Vern of shortchanging him. That night, Elmer was drunk and started taunting Vern, telling him he’d driven a baby up to Painters Mill. Vern came home in a state. Angry, you know. Furious, in fact.”

She closes her eyes, tears squeezing between her lashes. “He dug up the grave later that night and, dear God in Heaven, there was nothing there.”

“What happened to Elmer Moyer?” I ask.

“He left town. Ran away.”

I nod, find myself thinking about Patty Lou and that dumpy little bar in downtown Crooked Creek, and I wonder if Elmer will ever find his way back to her.

“If Vern had found him,” Rosanna tells me, “he would have killed Elmer, too. He’s the only one who got away.”

Putting her face in her hands, she begins to sob.





CHAPTER 28


Four days have passed since Tomasetti and I discovered a frightened and confused Elsie Helmuth locked in a bedroom at the Mullet farm. Over the course of several interviews, the girl revealed that Vernon Detweiler abducted her that day at the Schattenbaum place. After murdering Mary Yoder, he dragged Elsie to his truck and drove her to Crooked Creek.

In the following days, Rosanna Detweiler fed her, washed her clothes, cooked her meals, and took her for long walks in the woods. They’d called the girl Nettie, and they’d told her they were her family now and that she would never be going back to Painters Mill.

According to Elsie, the couple didn’t hurt her, not physically. But there are a lot of ways to harm a child. She’d been taken from her family, her loved ones, and everything she’d ever known. When she tried to run away—and find her way home—the Detweilers had locked her in the bedroom for hours on end. All of it had frightened Elsie terribly. Last time I talked to Miriam Helmuth, she told me the girl was having nightmares and couldn’t be left alone. I suspect little Elsie Helmuth will be dealing with her fears for some time to come.

Life is slowly returning to normal. Painters Mill is blissfully quiet. The Amish are busy cutting and bundling the last of the season’s corn. The Harvest Festival started this morning. The merchants and shopkeepers along Main Street are reveling in the influx of tourists.

I should be feeling celebratory. A little girl is safe and home with her family. I’m alive and being credited in part for solving one of the most heinous and complex crimes involving the Amish in the history of the state. The Boyd County sheriff’s deputy who was on scene that day at the Mullet farm survived a serious stabbing. Bishop Troyer is recovering at home now; he’s going to be around a few more years to keep all of us wayward souls in line. I’m thankful for all of it.

But I didn’t walk away from this case unscathed. I’ve spent too much time thinking about Rosanna and Vernon Detweiler, trying to answer the questions that continue to nag. According to the people who knew them, Rosanna Detweiler rarely left the property, venturing into town only to buy groceries and household goods. She spent her days tending her garden and walking in the woods.

Vernon Detweiler was a silent, brooding man. He doted on his wife and was vocal about the prospect of one day having a family. He also had a temper and, despite his being raised Amish, a propensity for violence.

From what little I’ve been able to piece together, Rosanna was, indeed, the daughter of Marlene Byler—and likely the baby she held in her arms when she jumped from the bridge. No one knows how she survived the fall. An Amish woman who’d been close to Ruby Mullet confirmed that Rosanna was raised by her grandmother and inherited the farm when her grandmother passed away.