A Shining Light (26 page)

I handed the chimney to her and she gently set it in place. “The room will shine tomorrow.”

“Ja, the dining room is always brighter the day after we clean the chimneys and trim the wicks.” When we finished, Greta surprised me with a quick hug. “Thank you for being a gut friend, Andrea. I know my mood has been disagreeable over the past weeks, and I am sure it has been difficult to be pleasant when I am around.”

“We must continue to pray that your father will make a decision that will be best for you and Benjamin,” I said as we carried the buckets of water and other cleaning supplies to the kitchen.

In addition to praying for Andrea's situation, I would be praying for my own circumstances. Lukas and Dirk had talked after meeting the night before last, but Lukas hadn't yet confided in me. Thus far, there had been no opportunity to speak with Dirk. In truth, I hoped I wouldn't have to go to him. I wanted my son to come to me with his problems and concerns. But I worried Fred had won his heart and his mind. How did a mother protect her son from his own father?

When Lukas returned a short time before supper, I greeted him on the back porch of the Küche. “Did you stop to see your father today?”

“For a while, but I went to work with Brother Dirk first.” A sheepish look shadowed his blue eyes. “I quit going to the tinsmith shop after school. Papa said he needed my help more than Brother Dirk did.”

I nodded but remained silent and waited for him to continue.

“Brother Dirk talked to me after prayer meeting the other day. He said he missed having me work at the shop.” He looked up. “And he said he was disappointed that I hadn't kept my vow to help him, and that a man needs to keep his word.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “I wanted to go to work at the shop, but Papa said that a good son did whatever his father told him. Even when I tried to
explain that everyone in the village was expected to do what they could to help, he wouldn't change his mind.”

My heart ached for Lukas. He'd been torn between his desire to win Fred's affection and breaking his word.

“Papa said family comes before anything else and that we are going to leave the colonies as soon as he's well.” A tear trickled down his cheek. “I said you might not want to leave, but he said you have to do what he says.”

“I don't think we need to worry just yet, son. Before we can leave, your father needs those stitches to heal. Besides, even if he wants to leave, he'll first need money.” I pasted on a brave smile. “Once he's well enough to work, he'll need to go somewhere and earn enough wages to send for us.” My response didn't seem to calm Lukas, and I pulled him into a hug.

“But what if he had enough money? Would we go with him?”

I released my hold and looked into his eyes. “You are worrying needlessly, Lukas. Your father has no money.”

I glanced up and caught sight of Brother Bosch. He waved and called a greeting. “I need to have a word with Sister Erma. Is she inside?”

“She is. And I'd better get back to my duties before the supper bell rings.” I leaned close to Lukas's ear. “We can talk more later, but I'm glad that you decided to keep your commitment at the tinsmith shop.”

Brother Bosch followed in my footsteps as I returned to the kitchen. He lifted his nose in the air as he stepped inside. “The smells in this Küche are like a little piece of heaven, Sister Erma.”

She waved her hand at him. “Just because you give me the compliments, do not expect a bigger bowl of filled noodles on your table.”

The elder laughed. Soon after I started working in the Küche,
I learned that Brother Bosch had a fondness for filled noodles. No doubt he was pleased to see they were on this evening's menu.

“I expect only my fair share, Sister, but there will be an extra outsider eating with us today, if that is not an inconvenience for you.”

She wagged her head. “Nein. One more is not a problem. A new field worker?”

He shook his head. “No. A visitor to our villages.” He glanced in my direction. “One who is most unexpected.”

I paid little heed to Brother Bosch's comment, but after he departed, I wondered if the doctor had declared Fred well enough to eat in the dining hall. His appearance would certainly be unexpected, and even though he'd been here several months, he was considered a visitor. Is that why Brother Bosch had looked in my direction?

A knot tightened in my stomach. What if Fred exhibited rude behavior during the meal? He enjoyed making others feel uncomfortable, and he would find the fact that we did not speak during meals an unnecessary rule. Would he care so little about Lukas and me that he would jeopardize our welfare here? I wanted to believe he wouldn't, but my mind told me otherwise. If he would teach his son to disobey me, he would care little about offending the residents of the village—or me, for that matter.

“Sister Andrea!” Sister Erma nudged me. “You are lost in your daydreams. We have work to do.”

She gestured toward the empty china serving bowls and soup tureens sitting on the worktable. I nodded and began to fill the tureens with pea soup. Fred would turn up his nose at the soup—he disliked pea soup. My hands trembled as I wiped the edges of the tureens and placed a lid on each one.

“Shall I take these to the dining room?” I turned to face Sister Erma.

She looked at me as though I'd lost my mental faculties. “Ja. They cannot eat the soup if it is out here, can they?” With a quick flit of her hand, she motioned for me to take the tureens into the other room. “You are acting as though this is your first day in the Küche.”

I offered a feeble smile and hurried to do her bidding. There wasn't time for an explanation. Sister Erma wanted action, not excuses. Complaints regarding her Küche were far and few between, and she expected it to remain that way.

When the final bell rang and the doors of the dining hall opened, I focused on the men's door and looked for Fred to enter and take his seat with the other outsiders. Instead, a neat-appearing man wearing a brown wool suit sat down at the outsiders' table. I blew a sigh of relief. Since there was no sign of Fred, I'd likely misinterpreted Brother Bosch's expression when he had mentioned the visitor. Still, I wondered who the stranger might be and what had brought him to West Amana.

Because of the train stations in Main, Homestead, and South, those villages were frequently visited by salesmen or buyers from the large cities. Visitors to West were mostly farmers and their wives from the surrounding area, locals in need of repairs to their household wares or farm equipment—visitors who didn't eat their meals in our kitchen houses.

From all appearances, I wasn't the only one interested in the
stranger. It seemed everyone in the dining hall had taken a turn looking in his direction. My earlier apprehension eased, and I moved back and forth filling bowls and platters at my usual pace. The stranger wasn't shy about taking in his surroundings. While he ate, he appeared to study the room and each of us, as well.

Once the after-meal prayer had been recited, I was surprised to see Lukas rush out the men's door of the dining hall. Usually he stopped to tell me good-bye before heading off to visit Fred before prayer meeting.

As I stacked the dirty plates and placed them on a large tray, a shadow fell across the table and I looked up. Brother Bosch and the stranger stood on the other side, both of them staring at me.

A tingling sensation swept over me as I looked into the visitor's dark eyes. His hard stare caused me to flinch, and dread made my dinner sit heavily in my stomach. I turned away, gathered a handful of dirty silverware, and hoped he would leave, but I knew he wouldn't. He was here about Fred. I was sure of it.

Brother Bosch tipped his head toward the visitor. “Sister Andrea, this is Mr. Shaw. He would like to speak with you.” He gestured toward the back porch. “I think there would be more privacy outdoors.”

I glanced back and forth between the two men and nodded. After placing the fistful of dirty silverware on the tray, I scooted it from the table and carried the tray to the kitchen. Sister Erma frowned when she caught sight of the stranger following me.

She pointed a wooden spoon in his direction. “Only workers are allowed in the kitchen.” When Brother Bosch appeared, she dropped the spoon to her side. “Is against the rules for him to be in here, Brother Bosch.”

“Ja, ja. We are going outside.” He motioned toward the back door. “It is easier this way.”

Her frown remained intact, but she didn't argue. I shrugged and hoped she would understand that I hadn't directed them through the kitchen. “I will be back to help in a few minutes.”

Mr. Shaw stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “It may take longer than a few minutes.”

In spite of the kitchen's warmth, I shivered. What could possibly take more than a few minutes? If this man was here about Fred, wouldn't it be easier for him to go and speak to Fred? With my insides tossing about like cream in a butter churn, I stepped outside.

“I will wait over here by the tree so that Mr. Shaw may speak to you in private, Sister Andrea.”

Before he could move, I shook my head. “No, please stay. I have nothing to hide, and I am sure Mr. Shaw won't object if you are present during our conversation.” I folded my arms across my waist and returned his stare. “Will you, Mr. Shaw?”

The man walked down the porch steps and halted. “If you don't mind others knowing your business, I don't mind.” There was a callous tone to his voice—one that signaled that he was accustomed to getting his way.

A man like Fred.

Yet Mr. Shaw didn't appear to be of the same ilk—he seemed better educated, and certainly better dressed. Brother Bosch stepped to my side while Mr. Shaw stood across from us. To any onlookers, we would look like three people engaged in a pleasant conversation, but from the moment I'd met Mr. Shaw, I knew this talk would not be pleasant.

“I'm not a man who beats about the bush, Mrs. Wilson, so I'll get right to the point. I'm here regarding your husband, Fred Wilson. He
is
your husband, isn't he?”

I nodded. “I am sure Brother Bosch has already told you I am married to Fred Wilson.”

He shrugged. “He did, but a man in Baltimore said he thought Mr. Wilson might have married some gal down in Martinique, name of Neyssa. Wanted to be sure I got things straight.”

My stomach roiled. Who was Neyssa? Had Fred been involved with another woman while he was gone? Is that why he hadn't returned from the Caribbean? “Who was this man in Baltimore who told you about another woman, Mr. Shaw?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, but I promised I wouldn't say. I can tell you the information came from a reliable source, a man who sailed to Martinique on the same ship as your husband.”

While I did my best to digest the unexpected news, Mr. Shaw removed a small notepad from his pocket. “Has your husband ever spoken to you about a robbery or murder in Baltimore?”

I reeled and took a backward step. So the letters were true. Fred had been involved in a terrible crime. Brother Bosch reached around my waist and walked me to the porch. “You should sit down, Sister Andrea.”

My gaze remained fixed on Mr. Shaw as I sat on the porch step. Should I mention the letters I'd read? I couldn't chance Fred knowing I'd read his mail. Fear gripped me, and I swallowed hard. “No, he has said nothing about such things.”

“I see. Well, Mr. Bosch tells me that your husband has been treated by the doctor ever since he arrived in Iowa. Did he tell you how he happened to injure himself?”

“Not in any detail. The malaria is common among sailors who travel to the Caribbean. As for the other injuries, I assumed they happened in Martinique or on his return voyage.” One look at Mr. Shaw's eyes and I could see he didn't believe me, but I didn't want to tell this stranger that I spent as little time as possible with my husband. Though I was ashamed to admit it, I hadn't asked for details—partly because Fred became angry when I peppered him
with questions, and partly because I feared him. Now, however, Mr. Shaw was quite interested.

“My husband could more easily answer your questions, Mr. Shaw. You'll find him at Dr. Karr's office.” I hesitated a moment. “Are you an officer of the law, Mr. Shaw?”

He cleared his throat. “I am a Pinkerton agent charged with apprehending the man who shot and killed a banker in Baltimore.” He tugged on his necktie. “I have every reason to believe that man is your husband, Mrs. Wilson.”

I gasped. “You believe my husband is responsible for a murder? I know Fred has many faults, but I do not want to believe he would kill anyone. Who told you he is the one who shot him?”

“A sailor has given us many details that have been very helpful, but I am mainly relying upon the investigation that has been conducted by our agency. Please understand that I do want to talk to your husband, and I will carefully weigh his answers. However, I thought it best to speak to you beforehand.”

I surmised the detective wanted to see if Fred's story would align with mine. “Fred hasn't told me anything about the incident. If you like, I can accompany you to the doctor's office. Otherwise, I'll go inside and finish my work.” Though my voice remained strangely calm, my insides quivered like Sister Erma's rhubarb jelly.

“I believe I'd like you to come with me, Mrs. Wilson. If your husband becomes upset, having you present may help calm him.” He turned toward Brother Bosch. “Would you please explain to Mrs. Wilson's supervisor, sir?”

Brother Bosch gave a slight nod. “I think it would be wise for you to go with Mr. Shaw, Sister Andrea. Your husband is quick to anger, and I know the detective would like to avoid difficulty with him.”

“I am not certain my presence will prove helpful, but I'll go
along.” I would have been more comfortable if Brother Bosch had come with us, but he returned to the Küche.

While we walked to Dr. Karr's office, my conversation with Mr. Shaw quickly became one-sided. I attempted to discover how much he knew about Fred and if he had any genuine evidence that would prove Fred had committed such a shocking crime. However, Mr. Shaw was more accustomed to asking rather than answering questions, and I soon found myself being quizzed about my childhood, my marriage to Fred, our life in Baltimore, and my subsequent adjustment to living in the colonies.

“So you have only one child?”

“Yes. Lukas left after supper to come and visit his father, so I would ask that before you talk to Fred, you permit me to send him back to the kitchen house.”

“Of course. Though my questions and appearance might suggest otherwise, I am not heartless. I am certain of your husband's guilt, but what you will eventually tell the boy is your choice. If at all possible, we will leave without trouble.”

I stopped short. “Do I understand that you intend to take Fred with you in the immediate future?”

He nodded. “That is my plan.”

“So he has no opportunity to prove his innocence or guilt? He must simply do as you tell him?” I still didn't want to believe Fred was capable of murder, and it didn't seem right that this stranger could appear and haul him off to . . . to where? I had no idea where he planned to take Fred.

He took my elbow and propelled me onward. “He will have a trial in Baltimore. That's where the crime was committed, Mrs. Wilson. That's the way the law operates.” He looked at me as if those few words should explain everything.

“But you're from the Pinkerton Agency. You're not a policeman
or a sheriff. Surely something more is required before you forcibly detain someone.”

“I have paper work that permits me to return your husband to Baltimore, Mrs. Wilson.” He reached inside his pocket, withdrew several papers, and then handed them to me.

I stopped, and in the waning light, looked at a sketch of my husband. In bold block letters below his likeness were the words
Wanted, Dead or
Alive, $500 Reward.
My mouth turned dry and I clutched a hand to my chest as Mr. Shaw grasped my elbow.

“Please don't faint on me, Mrs. Wilson.” I didn't miss the concern in his eyes when he looked down at me. “I realize this is a shock to you, but you are better off without your husband.” He hesitated. “I wish there were some kind way to have said that, but there isn't. Fred Wilson is a ruthless murderer who deserves to be punished. Even though he is wanted dead or alive, it is my intention to take him back to Baltimore for trial.”

“But if he would attempt to escape—?”

“I'd have no choice.”

I shivered and offered a silent prayer. A prayer that Fred would see the error of his ways and repent, that he would realize the only way to true forgiveness was through his heavenly Father, and that he would open his heart to receive God's forgiveness. But if Fred had not turned to the Lord when he'd been surrounded by believers and blessed by their mercies, would he turn to the Lord now?

“The doctor's office is right over here.” After opening the door, I gathered my skirt and stepped inside.

The jangling of the overhead bell was followed by an eerie silence. Usually Lukas would call out and greet me, or I would hear him talking to Fred when I entered the office. I gestured for Mr. Shaw to follow me, but I came to a halt when I looked into Fred's room.

I clutched my throat. “They're gone.” Panic seized me. Turning on my heel, I collided with Mr. Shaw. I attempted to push him from my path, but he didn't budge. The man was as solid as a brick wall. “Move! I need to find my son.”

“And I need to find your husband.” His voice bore a sharp edge. “Where are they?”

My mouth gaped open. What was wrong with him? Why would he think I knew where they were? Wasn't my fear evident? “I don't know, but I'm going to go and look. Get out of my way.”

He grasped my shoulders and held firm. “You'll do no good if you take off in a panic. You need to settle yourself and think where the boy and his father might have gone.”