The Amish Clockmaker (7 page)

Mr. Purcell hesitated, and then he stood and came around to the front of the desk. “Look,” he said, for the first time seeming genuinely sorry for us. “Starbrite has trained investigators, computers, legal databases at their fingertips, you name it. There's no way you folks can compete with that. They'll
probably find him within another week, and then it'll be a done deal. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. Everyone leaves a digital trail. Even the Amish.”

“Ex-Amish,”
Daed
clarified. “Clayton Raber broke away from the church years ago.”

“Whatever. I'm just saying, with all of our technology and resources, I'm afraid we have a far better shot at finding him than you do.” His eyes were surprisingly apologetic.

We both rose, and he reached out to shake our hands.
Daed
took his willingly, like the forgiving man he was, and after a moment's pause I followed suit. Though I was grateful to this lawyer for sharing with us as much as he had, I was still deeply frustrated. As we turned to go, one thought began to burn inside of me.

If this was a race to the finish, then I had to get to Clayton Raber first.

But how?

F
IVE

D
aed
and I rode home from the lawyer's office in silence, the steady hum of the car's engine the only sound. We sat in the back together, and at one point I stole a glance at his face, but he was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. What was he thinking? Had he let the lawyer's doubts sneak into his own mind? Was he regretting the olive branch he'd so graciously offered me this morning?

He and I were probably thinking the same thing, that without this land we wouldn't be able to expand. He was probably happy about that, but I knew the truth. If we didn't expand we would end up having to go out of business. We had to have that land, which meant we had to find Clayton Raber.

But could we find him before Starbrite did? The lawyer's words rolled around in my head like an ungreased wheel, and I wondered if their fancy technology and resources did indeed give them advantages we couldn't overcome. I voiced this concern to
Daed
, though I was wary of what his response might be.

After a moment of thought, he spoke. “You know, we have resources those people with their investigators and fancy computers would never think to use.”

I looked at him, curious, as he continued.

“The Amish community has a lot of its own tools, some of them entirely unavailable to the
Englisch
.”

“Like what?” I asked. I hadn't expected optimism.

He turned and looked at me. “The Amish grapevine, for starters. Church directories. Genealogy books. Local lore. That sort of thing.”

I smiled. Of course. We had our own databases right at our fingertips. The information didn't need to be stored on a computer. It was already stored in the hearts, minds, and memories of every Amish person we knew. It was already inscribed in the pages of dozens of directories and family histories. We just needed to know where to look and whom to ask. Suddenly, I felt a surge of appreciation at how solidly my father was now supporting me.

“You think we'll be able to find Clayton before they do?”

He nodded. “God willing, I think we have a chance.”

When we reached home, he and I agreed we would touch base at supper tonight when dining together in the main house. He had some tasks to finish around the farm, he said, and I told him I'd be spending the rest of the afternoon with the Amish directories, trying to track down Clayton's relatives still living in the region.

We parted in the driveway, and as I headed off toward the cottage, it struck me suddenly how supportive
Daed
was being through all of this. The thought surprised me, though it shouldn't have. He always stood by his word. What he had said this morning about not burying the talents really had indicated the end of his doubting. He'd made up his mind to be on board, and now on board he was. With a rush of gratitude, I thought how very blessed and humbled I was to have such a good and decent man as my father.

Amanda was at the cottage when I got there, so I brought her up to speed on the visit with the lawyer as I grabbed some things I needed from the bookshelf in the living room. Then I spent the next hours down at the shop in the emptiness and quiet, sitting at the counter and poring over my resources, making phone calls, and leaving messages.

Thanks to
Daed
's advice, I started my search for Clayton Raber with the Amish directory for Lancaster County, a huge, heavy book that included names, addresses, histories, and more of all the Old Order Amish families in the region. As one who had broken away from the church, Clayton himself wouldn't be in there, but the book should have the names and contact information for many of his family members.

Because my family and I lived in Clayton's house—and, therefore,
Clayton's old district—I had always assumed we attended church with the same families he had, or at least with later generations of the same families. But now I realized that wasn't the case, thanks to the Amish policy on the uniformity of districts.

Within an affiliation, Amish churches were organized geographically, with each individual congregation, or district, limited by size. Once a district had more than thirty or forty families, it had to split into two separate districts. That way, families could continue to meet in homes, maintain an intimate sense of worship, and prevent any one group from growing larger or more powerful than any other.

The system worked well, but it sure was making more trouble for me now. Since 1955, the Rabers' district had split several times—which meant I had to trace things out through every single split, just to be sure I had the right branches of the family. Making my task even more complicated was the fact that Clayton had six sisters—Katrina, Pauline, Dorothy, Libby, Joan, and Maisie—but no brothers, so a lot of different surnames were also involved.

It took hours to sort it all out, but by tracing the line of the Rabers' church with the family names and genealogies, I was able to narrow things down to the crucial people who were apparently still around, the ones I wanted to contact first. I jotted the names down line by line until I'd written on almost three sheets of paper—an end result that was both encouraging and daunting.

I briefly considered going back and repeating the entire process for the family of Clayton's late wife as well, tracing it out to find any remaining family members. But my understanding was they had moved away from the area decades ago, and I doubted any of them would have kept tabs on the man anyway. I decided not to go that route for now. Besides, even if I did find someone, I couldn't imagine them wanting to hear from me about such a dark part of their family's history.

Instead, I returned my attention to the information I already had. Flipping to a fresh sheet, I calculated what the current ages of Clayton and his sisters would be. If Clayton had been in his late twenties when he moved away from here, he would now be in his late eighties. That meant the youngest of his sisters would be in her early nineties—and they only got older from there.

The lawyer had said there was just one surviving sibling left. By cross-referencing several of my sources, I tried to figure out which one it might be, but I wasn't sure. My best guess was Joan. One listing showed her date of
birth, so I did the math and saw that she was ninety-four now. At that age, she would be living with one of her children.

But how to know which one? I was trying to think of some way to figure that out when one of our neighbors came to mind, an old Amish man named Ben Sauder. Ben knew everyone and everything that happened around here. Chances were, he'd know which sister was still alive and where she lived now.

I decided I'd start my search with him first thing tomorrow. I'd walk over to his home, which was only a few blocks away, and pick the man's brain.

Whichever sister it was, with her in her nineties, I could only hope her memory was still intact—and that she would be willing to tell more to me than she had to the
Englisch
investigators.

I closed the pad and looked around the empty shop, and a pang of regret and sadness shot through me. Maybe this was God's way of answering my prayer for doors to be closed where He didn't want me to go. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the desk.

Is that what this is, God? A closed door? Or just a bump in the road that means nothing beyond what it seems?

I opened my eyes again, distracted from my prayer by another pressing issue. Should we keep the store closed or reopen it until this issue was solved one way or the other? I locked up and headed for home, my mind burdened by questions.

I began carefully considering the reality of our situation. Because of the expansion, we'd already been planning for the shop to be closed, but now that we knew what we were in for, I had to admit that this whole thing might take longer than expected—if it was ever going to happen at all. We couldn't afford to keep the store closed for too long and should probably go ahead and open back up right away—at least until the matter was settled one way or the other. Then again, I needed my time free so that I could spend it searching for Clayton Raber, not working in the store.

I decided to give myself one day, tomorrow, to gather information. If after that things weren't looking promising, I would open back up for business on Friday.

I entered the cottage and saw that it was empty, which meant Amanda was at the main house helping with dinner. I put my notes away, washed my face and hands, and walked over to my parents' place across the drive. When I came through the door, the scents of baking bread and sugared ham greeted me.

“You're just in time, Matthew,” I heard my wife call from the kitchen. “Supper's almost ready.”

I followed her voice to the warmth of the next room, where she stood with her mitted hands in the oven, her plump tummy bulging out from beneath her apron.

“Let me get that,” I said, moving quickly to her side.

“I have it.” From the oven's depths she pulled out a juicy, steaming ham and placed it on the top of the stove.

Mamm
was setting the table, her back to us, so I seized the opportunity to wrap my arms around Amanda's ever-growing waist.

“Not in front of your mother,” she whispered with a giggle, “and not while I'm trying to cook!”

She let me give her a peck on the cheek before shooing me away. Smiling, I walked back to the door and hung up my hat.
Daed
came inside at that moment, hung up his hat as well, and then headed to the sink to wash his hands. I made my way to the table and sat.

I couldn't help but smile even more as I took in the spread of food in front of me: mashed potatoes topped with melting squares of butter, fresh green beans from the garden, fried okra cut into crispy circles, and a bowl of chopped strawberries, blackberries, and peaches drenched with cream.

Noah showed up at the last minute and tried to slip into his seat unnoticed, but
Mamm
made him wash his hands. He returned just as
Daed
sat and then led us all in a silent grace.

After a hearty “amen,” my father asked me if I'd made any progress with the directories. I sighed and told him it had taken the rest of the afternoon, but at least I had a list of names to start with first thing in the morning. I spooned some beans onto my plate and passed the dish along.

“I still can't believe that land really doesn't belong to us,” Amanda said, shaking her head from side to side.

I cut a piece of ham with my knife. “I know. According to the lawyer, it was never ours to buy in the first place.”

“What?” Noah asked, looking up from the decimated pile of mashed potatoes he'd been focused on. Judging by his incredulous expression, I realized no one had updated him since our visit with the lawyer.

I looked at
Daed
again, but he was studying his plate, so I answered Noah's question, giving him the details in a nutshell and explaining that our only option now was to hunt down Clayton as soon as possible and convince him to sign the lot over to us.

“What happens if you can't find him in time?” Noah asked, his eyes wide.