The Amish Witness

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and pondered the information.

“I think you would have liked her,” her mother said. “She was such a happy, loving woman of Gott. She always had a smile and a kind word for everyone.”

Elizabeth’s head snapped up. “Was?”

“Ja. Poor Thomas. He lost Margaret two years ago. She died from complications during childbirth.”

This new information rocked Elizabeth to her soul.

Oh, Thomas. How horrible that must have been for you.

“And the child?” Elizabeth asked.

“They had a beautiful little girl. Named her Rachel. She has a sweet disposition like her mother. She’s a bundle of smiles. Not like that brother of hers. He is all boy. Skinned knees. Energy that doesn’t quit. A dirt magnet, that one.” Mary laughed. “I don’t know how Thomas does it raising them on his own. His parents help when he is working the farm. But they leave to spend six months in Florida every winter. They left a few weeks ago. Margaret’s parents help in their absence. And I step in now and then. But still the responsibility for their upbringing rests on his shoulders.”

Mary carried her mug to the sink more, Elizabeth suspected, to steal a moment to collect her thoughts than to clean.

“Thomas brings the kinner here a couple times a month,” Mary said. “He pays me to watch them while he goes into town for supplies. I think sometimes it is more to help me than to help him. He knows I love children. I am alone, and I can certainly use the little extra cash it brings. But the rest of the time he is both mother and father to those children.”

“Two children?”

“Ja. Benjamin and Rachel.”

“How old is Benjamin?”

“He just turned five.”

A bittersweet smile twisted Elizabeth’s lips. She was happy for Thomas. She had known years ago that he would make a good daed someday.

“Now, go. Get Thomas. He must be hungry by now.” Mary crossed to the stove. “Tell him I have a hot breakfast waiting for him.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. She could hardly wait to see Thomas again and yet knew she had to keep a distance between them. It wasn’t just her heart that was in danger of being lost, but her life, too. She could not put Thomas at risk by being around him, especially when he had two little ones to raise. She wished she hadn’t come back. She’d put her mother at risk, too, and she didn’t know what to do about it. What had she been thinking? The Amish were not selfish people. They always put the community’s needs before their own. Had living in the Englisch world changed her? Was she not Amish anymore?

She needed to rethink her situation. She couldn’t bring evil here...unless it was too late and she already had.

I will be back. Keep your mouth shut if you want to live.

A chill raced over her bones as she remembered the stranger’s words.

Maybe she should go to the sheriff and tell him what she knew.

But the Amish frowned on involving outsiders in their business. They handled things together as a community whenever possible. Besides, the murder had happened in Philadelphia. What could the local sheriff do here?

How could she convince this man that she didn’t know his name and wouldn’t be able to identify him so she wasn’t a threat? And what did he think she had? Did Hannah really tell him she’d given something to her that this man was willing to kill for? If she could talk to him, convince him she was no danger to him, maybe he would believe her and go back to Philadelphia.

The memory of his dark eyes and threatening sneer seized her breath.

Or maybe she wouldn’t talk to him.

Dear Lord, how have things gone so terribly wrong? Please guide me to make good decisions. Don’t let my foolishness hurt others.

Stepping outside, Elizabeth paused at the top of the porch steps and took a good look around the farm now that daylight had arrived. It was beautiful here. Peaceful. Quiet. It seemed like millions of miles away from bottleneck traffic, talking on cell phones and witnessing her best friend’s murder.

But was it far enough?

She placed her fingers gently against the tender flesh of her neck. She could almost feel her attacker’s grip on her throat. She knew with certainty he would return. And now, because of her selfishness, she had led an evil man straight to the doorsteps of the people she loved most.

Please help me, Lord. Please give me wisdom and guide me. I don’t know what I should do now.

She stood in silence and waited.

What? Did she expect some booming voice from heaven to start telling her what to do?

What was wrong with her? She knew better. Gott answers all prayers. He speaks quietly in the inner recesses of one’s soul. Sometimes the answer is yes, sometimes no, sometimes wait. But He answers.

She needed to learn patience and to relearn trust. Maybe He’d be slow to answer because it had been so long since He’d heard from her. For seven years she had not gone to Him for guidance, or little else for that matter. Maybe He no longer recognized her voice.

I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive me.

Placing her fears in Gott’s hands, she stepped into the yard and headed for the barn.

* * *

Thomas had milked the cows, put the tall metal containers of milk outside the barn for pickup for market, moved the horses into the pasture, cleaned the manure from the stalls, laid fresh straw and finished sweeping the wooden floor. There was nothing left for him to do, but he couldn’t make his feet carry him to the house. Elizabeth was in the house.

A flood of emotions—anger, guilt and something else he wouldn’t acknowledge—tormented him.

It was not the Amish way to hold on to anger. He’d thought he’d forgiven her. But when he saw her again, anger simmered in his blood as fresh and strong as it had the day she’d betrayed him and left.

Guilt gnawed at his insides. How could he allow himself to have any feelings of any kind for Elizabeth? Wasn’t that a betrayal of his dear Margaret? He’d have to keep his distance. He wouldn’t let himself betray the memory of a wife who had loved him with all her heart...like he had once loved Elizabeth.

“Thomas?”

He froze. The soft tones of her voice caressed his nerve endings like hot caramel coating an apple in autumn. His emotions tumbled and fought each other for center place. Anger won.

“Ja?” He turned to face her. He grasped the pitchfork tightly and, barely noticing the whitening of his knuckles, tried to hide the anger flooding through his body. He knew he had failed when she glanced into his eyes and he saw guilt and sorrow looking back.

“Mamm wanted me to ask if you are almost finished with your chores.”

He nodded. “They’re done.”

“Gut. She has a hot breakfast waiting.”

“Denki.” He knew the word of thanks hadn’t hidden the iciness in his tone but he couldn’t help it. He needed time to process his feelings. Time to ask the Lord to help him forgive. Time to figure out a way to be in her presence without his heart shattering into painful shards.

She nodded and turned to leave.

“Elizabeth,” he said quickly.