Plain Killing

Plain Killing Read Online Free PDF

Book: Plain Killing Read Online Free PDF
Author: Emma Miller
think he said. You must go to him.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “And then come back to the house for coffee and something in your stomach. Even in a time of trouble, you must eat to keep up your strength.”
    “Thank you, but not today,” Rachel said. “I have to get Mary Aaron home, unless we go on to tell Beth’s parents.”
    “Such a pity,” Naamah said. “I’ll make my grossmutter ’s pound cake to take to the Glicks. And a pot of soup, bean or German vegetable. What do you think? Either make goot for feeding a crowd.” She shook her head, looking at the flowers in her hand. “ Ach, poor woman, the mother, first to lose her daughter to the Englishers and then to death. Breaks my heart to think of it.” She glanced at Rachel and Mary. “Best you go. He will know what is best to do.” Again, she pointed to the barn.
    Rachel followed the sound of metal screeching against a sharpening stone, toward the barn across the road; Mary Aaron walked at her side. They found Bishop Abner where his wife had said he would be, wearing safety glasses and grinding the edge of a scythe. He was seated on what appeared to be a bicycle frame and pushing foot pedals to rotate the stone by means of a series of straps and pulleys. The rasping noise was so loud that Rachel clapped her hands over her ears.
    “Bishop Abner?” Mary Aaron moved forward to tap his shoulder.
    Surprised, he started, then stopped what he was doing, pushed back the glasses, and smiled at them. He rose from the bicycle contraption. He was a small man with very little hair on top of his head and a long, scraggly reddish-gray beard that he’d tucked into the top of his overalls. He carefully laid down the scythe and scooped up a brimless straw hat. He put it on. “Forgive me. It’s warm in here,” he said by way of excuse for being hatless.
    Rachel glanced around the workshop. The work area was clean enough to be her kitchen after her cook had finished tidying up at the end of the day. The cement floor had been swept; the tools were hung on wall pegs or stacked on shelves, and nothing was out of place. She smiled back at the bishop. As the religious leader of their church community, he was a devout, hardworking, and selfless shepherd to his flock. She liked him, despite the fact that he never missed an opportunity to try and lure her back into the fold.
    “Rachel, you’ve come to talk with me?” he asked as he picked up the scythe and carried it to a wall of farm tools. He hung it beside a sickle and the wrought-iron head of a pitchfork. “Your mother was just saying to me last Sabbath that she thought you might be ready to—”
    “ Ne, Bishop Abner,” Mary Aaron interrupted. “This isn’t about Rachel. We’ve come on a sad matter. We hope you know the right way to do what must be done.”
    He stroked his beard. “ Ach. Come outside. We’ll sit under the maple tree in the shade. There’s always a breeze coming up the valley.”
    Behind the barn, beneath the tree were several benches and a rocking chair. Bishop Abner waved them to a seat just as Naamah appeared with a jug of cider and three mugs full of ice. “Thought you might be parched,” she said. “Not staying. I never interfere with my Abner’s church business, but I don’t like anyone to go away from our home thirsty.” She poured the cider, handed the mugs around, patted Mary Aaron’s shoulder, and left them alone.
    The bishop took a sip and then nodded to Rachel. “What is it? What sad news have you come to share?”
    “We went up to the quarry, a group of us,” Rachel began. Mary Aaron supplied the names of each of the young women. All but Rachel were members of his church. He had known most all of their lives.
    “We went for a picnic,” Rachel explained. “And then . . .” She went on to tell him the rest of the grisly story.
    Bishop Abner listened intently, his faded blue eyes filled with concern. He didn’t speak until Rachel finished. He waited a
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