Plain Missing

Book 4: Stone Mill Amish Mystery

by Emma Miller

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Amateur Sleuth; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Inn owner Rachel Mast is no longer a devout member of the Amish community of Stone Mill, Pennsylvania, but she still cares deeply for them. So she’s staying at her family’s farm to help her mother through an illness—and at the same time, trying to track down two missing people . . . When the young gather to sing, it’s usually an evening of wholesome fun—but this time, the event has stirred whispers of scandal. Elsie Hostetler and her sweetheart, Dathan Bender, never came home afterward. There’s not even a trace of their horse and wagon, leading some to suspect that they’ve run off to marry and join the Englisch world. But Rachel fears there’s more to the story than a rebellious elopement. Her fiancé, a state trooper, is out of town, so she starts investigating herself, using her Amish background to pry information from the tight-lipped community. It turns out things were not so peaceful between Elsie and Dathan—and there was also a confrontation at the singing with a short-tempered ex-Marine. Among the simple houses and quiet country roads of Stone Mill, Rachel must find out just what kind of sins have been committed—and who is need of forgiveness . . . Praise for the Amish Mystery series “An excellent addition to the Amish mystery subgenre.”— Library Journal “An exciting tale of mystery, love, and danger.”— Booklist “A well-informed look into the tranquil world of the Amish with a fairly edgy puzzler.”— Kirkus Reviews

Release date: April 1, 2017

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“You shouldn’t have insisted on supervising the sauerkraut making,” Rachel fussed as she tucked her mother into bed. “That’s why you’re worn out. You know what the doctor said about getting your rest.”

Esther Mast laid her head back on the pillow with an audible sigh of relief. Rachel smiled down at her before bending to kiss her cheek. Her mother’s pale skin was warm against Rachel’s lips, and her eyes glowed with the affection she found it impossible to show.

“Need another pillow?” Rachel asked. Her mother shook her head. “Want me to rub your feet?” Again, her mam signaled in the negative with a slight shake of her strong chin. Rachel smiled at her again. “Good night, then. I love you.”

Esther’s mouth tightened into a stubborn line. She closed her eyes and turned her back to her eldest daughter.

“Don’t forget your prayers,” Rachel admonished teasingly. There was no answer, but she didn’t expect one. Her mother hadn’t spoken directly to her in nearly seventeen years. Not since Rachel left her Old Order Amish family to become an Englisher.

Rachel crossed to the nearest window and pulled down the shade. Dusk was falling over the farm, and the dark shadows had already laid claim to the valley, sheltered by the mountains. Glancing around the peaceful room with its wide-plank floors, plastered walls, and old walnut dresser, her gaze kept being drawn back to the iron double bed. How small and vulnerable her mother looked, how unlike the strong, vigorous woman Rachel had known all of her life. The white elders’ kapp that tied under her chin and covered what hair she had left made her appear even more fragile. “God bless and keep you, Mam,” Rachel murmured.

Straightening her shoulders, she left the borning room, the downstairs bedroom that always smelled of mint and served for childbirth or sick or elderly members of the family. It seemed strange to see her mother sleeping there, rather than in the upstairs chamber that she’d always shared with Rachel’s father. But everyone had agreed that the steep stairs of the old farmhouse would be a challenge for Esther just now. And it was easier for Rachel to care for her without climbing the steps.

Her mam’s battle with breast cancer had made it necessary for Rachel to leave Stone Mill House, her bed-and-breakfast in town, to come home and help while her mother recovered from her latest round of chemo. But Esther was doing well; the oncologist said so. With prayer and the best medical treatment, there was every reason to believe that her mother would beat the disease and remain at the heart of her family for many years to come.

Rachel wrinkled her nose as she made her way down the hall and back to the kitchen, where her sisters were washing and drying dishes. The kitchen, unlike the other rooms in the house, was piled with clutter. No trash or dust accumulated, but empty canning jars stood on the counters, lids and rings filled bowls already holding pens, notepads, and recipe cards, and soup kettles and cast-iron frying pans rested on wide windowsills. More pots filled the cabinets, threatening to spill out when a door was opened. One of the cabinet doors always stood ajar.

“This whole house stinks of sauerkraut,” Rachel observed. It had been a warm day for September, and the breeze had failed them. She wished she could turn on the central air. But in a house without electricity, there was no air-conditioning and no fans. Not that she didn’t love her mother’s sauerkraut; she did. But the smell was overwhelming. “Mind that pitcher,” she warned her sister Sally. “If you drop it, Mam will have your head on a platter.”

Eleven-year-old Sally, freckle-faced and full of herself, rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to drop it.”

“She didn’t dry it properly,” their sister Amanda reported in a patient, matter-of-fact tone. “She just whisked the towel over it. See, Rachel. Water dripped all over the floor. And I just mopped it this afternoon.”

Sally stuck out her tongue at Amanda, but Amanda simply went on rinsing off a long-handled dipper. “I told her to be careful. That spatterware pitcher came from Mam’s grandmother,” Amanda said. “It’s one of the few things that survived the fire.”

Tattletale, Sally mouthed silently.

“Hush, now, both of you,” Rachel interposed. “Do you want Mam to hear you quarreling and come out here to settle things? I just got her into bed.” She tugged tenderly at one of Sally’s thick auburn braids, which had come unpinned from under her rumpled kapp and dangled down her back. “And you mustn’t be so quick to snap at Amanda. She wasn’t being mean. She was just thinking of Mam and how much she treasures that pitcher.”

“I’m sorry,” Sally said, “but she’s such a goody-goody.”

“Am not,” Amanda retorted. “You know you’re clumsy. I just didn’t want you to get in trouble.” She placed the ladle in the drying rack beside the dishpan.

“I am not clumsy!” Sally flung back. “You’re always trying to be the boss of me.”

Amanda’s chubby face crumpled into an expression of hurt. “I’m your older sister. It’s my duty to help you see what you’ve done wrong. And yours to listen to what I say.”

Sally tossed her head. “You aren’t my mother.”

“All right. Enough,” Rachel insisted. “I’ll finish the drying. Sally, you run out to the chicken house and make certain that Levi fastened the door tightly. Aunt Hannah lost a hen to a fox last night.”

Sally didn’t need to be told twice. She flung off her apron and dashed barefoot out of the kitchen, her kapp strings flying.

“You shouldn’t give in to her,” Amanda said as the screen door slammed. “Because she’s the youngest, everyone spoils her. But you’ll do her no favors. What kind of wife and mother will she make?”

Rachel looked at Amanda and tried to hold her peace. Amanda was the model of what a properly-brought-up Amish girl was supposed to be: quiet, hardworking, a skilled seamstress, and more concerned with the next life in heaven than this earthly one. But since Amanda had been small, Rachel had found it difficult to appreciate her strengths. Amanda should have been born a Hostetler, Rachel thought. She would have fit in perfectly with their mother’s family. The Masts, their dat’s family, were mostly easygoing; they didn’t break the rules so much as find more comfortable ways to follow them. Not that their dat wasn’t solid in his faith, but he wasn’t as quick to judge the Englishers or those of his own church who were a tad more liberal.

But here was Amanda, looking for all the world as if she might break into tears, while helter-skelter Sally had forgotten the fuss and was happily doing her thing. Rachel didn’t expect to see Sally before evening prayers. If she knew her little sister, she had a romance novel stowed in the hayloft, and as soon as she made certain the chickens were safe, she’d be searching out her book. It wasn’t exactly a forbidden pursuit, since Rachel, having bought the paperbacks for her, knew that they were Amish romances and suitable reading material for a girl her age. So why was it so much easier to find charity in her heart for the independent little sister than the dutiful one?

Feeling a pang of guilt, she gave Amanda a quick hug. “Sally’s young,” she murmured. “And you know she’s always been more like Dat than Mam.”

Amanda shook her head. “But she gets away with everything,” she said. “Mam never let me—”

“You were a different girl,” Rachel interjected, giving her another squeeze. “Being good comes easily to you. Sally is a wild rose, prickly and unpredictable, but every bit as sweet as you.”

“I worry that she will stray from the fold when she becomes rumspringa,” Amanda said. “Or leave us altogether, like you did.”

Regret settled over Rachel’s shoulders like a damp sweater. There was the nut of it. Amanda resented Rachel for choosing a worldly life rather than an Amish one, and Amanda feared that she would lead Sally to follow her, as their mother also clearly feared. And there was no answer that Rachel could give that would comfort either their mam or Amanda, because she’d often thought that if one of her siblings left the church, it might be Sally. Sally, who had such a desire for books and what lay beyond the boundaries of their family farm and the church community. “Each of us has the right to choose,” she answered softly. “And I haven’t left you altogether, have I?”

The cell phone vibrated in Rachel’s apron pocket. “Mam may be awake still,” she said to her sister. “She might like it if you went in and read the Bible to her. You know how she loves to hear you read the Psalms. She always says that you have the most soothing voice of all her children.”

Amanda brightened. “I can do that. I’ll just finish wiping down the counters.”

“Ne,” Rachel urged, falling back into the Deitsch dialect they usually spoke at home. “I’ll do it. You go to Mother.” Her phone vibrated again. She glanced at the clock that stood on the mantel. Could it be Evan calling? It was Friday, and she hadn’t spoken to her fiancé since the beginning of the week.

The screen door squeaked, and boys’ boots thudded on the porch. Rachel heard the raucous voices of her younger brothers, Levi and Danny. “Any more of that blackberry pie left?” one of them called.

Obviously, there would be no privacy for her to answer her phone here in the kitchen. And as the cell vibrated again, Rachel made a beeline for the bathroom, a last line of defense in her mother’s busy household.

Rachel slammed the door, flipped the slide bolt, and answered her phone. “Hello?”

Nothing. Missed Call popped up on the screen. Evan. “Wriggling cabbage worms,” she muttered, using her mother’s favorite exclamation when something went wrong. She dialed back, but it went straight to voicemail. He must have tried to give her a quick call between lectures.

She wished she could have answered the phone when she’d felt the first vibration. There were no rules against her having a cell. She wasn’t Amish. Not anymore. But her mother disapproved of the phone, and Amanda would have been certain to have reported the call to her. So she’d been a coward and not answered, and now, who knew when Evan could call back?

Rachel slid the phone back in her pocket and opened the bathroom door. She went out, and Danny rushed in. She returned to the kitchen, wiped down the counters, and tidied up as best she could. When she was certain that all was in place, she drew the white curtains and went out to take the laundry off the clotheslines, a task that should have been completed hours ago. How her mother did it all while raising nine children was more than Rachel could comprehend. And Rachel wasn’t cooking nearly as much as her mother usually did. Neighbors were sending over casseroles, pies, hams, and roast chickens almost daily.

When all the clothes were folded and placed securely in the basket, Rachel stood a moment in the soft twilight, gazing over the fields and woods as her mother’s favorite orange tabby rubbed against her bare ankles. Taking a deep breath, she let the familiar sounds and scents of the farm seep into her bones. Years ago, all she’d wanted to do was get away, but now the old patterns tugged at her heart. She swallowed, amazed at how easily she’d slipped back into her old life in the past few weeks.

There was peace here. And as much as she loved Stone Mill House and as much as she looked forward to marrying Evan and building her business at her B&B, she had to admit that being here was almost a vacation from her busy schedule. That thought was so crazy that she laughed out loud. A vacation? Caring for her mother, overseeing the house, canning green beans and corn, cooking for her parents and siblings, and keeping track of her brothers should have had her sound asleep before dark. But, strangely, it hadn’t. She’d never minded physical labor, and it was fun being part of a large family. It almost made her wonder if she could have been happy remaining Amish and following the path everyone had expected her to.

From the meadow came the crack of a bat striking a ball, a dog bark, and excited shouts. Some of her cousins and probably her brothers Danny and Levi were playing ball. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself fifteen and there with them. English people believed that the Amish led austere lives, and that the children grew up without playtime. That was far from the truth. She couldn’t think of anything sweeter than being an Amish child in the midst of a loving and faith-filled family. Their home had always been a place of prayer and hard work and laughter. She’d never gone to bed hungry or heard her parents argue. Even today, being here on the farm made her feel safe and cherished.

Soon it would be too dark to see the ball, and the kids would scatter to their own homes. Her father expected them in the house by nine for evening prayers and then bed. Morning came early on the farm, and breakfast was at seven, after milking and first chores. It probably wouldn’t do her any harm to turn in early either. There were lima beans and late tomatoes to be picked, and the best time to work in the garden was before the sun was high enough to make it hot.

“There’s that kitz. Your mother was asking where she was.” Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts. She looked up to see him strolling across the grass from the direction of the barn. He was a tall man with a long-legged stride and a short-cropped beard that was just starting to show streaks of gray. “You know how she is about her children and her cats. Wants to know where they are at bedtime.”

Rachel smiled at him. She and her father had always shared a closeness, that in spite of the love she felt for her, her mam never experienced with her. Her dat was easy. He said what he thought, and he was always tolerant with ideas other than his own. “I imagine she’s asleep by now.”

“Ya, probably is.” Her father spoke to her in English, as he usually had when she was growing up. He’d always wanted his children to be comfortable in the outer world, and she was certain that her familiarity with the language had helped her transition from an Amish farm to corporate America. “She looks goot, don’t you think? Better than after her first round of chemotherapy?”

“Yes, I do,” Rachel agreed. “She’s going to beat this.”

“I think so, too,” her father said. “I believe it.” He picked up the basket of folded clothes. “I don’t have to tell you how much it means to her to have you here helping out while she recovers . . . means to us all.”

Rachel shook her head. “You don’t have to say it, Dat. I know, and I know that she loves me, but . . .” She shrugged. “You know how she is.”

He smiled back at her. “And you know why she does it. You were her firstborn, and always dear to her.”

“But we’ve always butted heads.”

He chuckled. “And you think we haven’t? My grossmama warned me, ‘That Esther is a Hostetler. She won’t be easy to live with for sixty years.’ ”

“But she’s been a good mother,” Rachel defended, keeping pace with him as he walked back to the house.

“And a goot wife. We’re a team. Sometimes she pulls harder, sometimes me, but we pull the load together.”

Rachel nodded. “I hope that it will be like that for Evan and me, too.”

“He’s a goot man, that one. For an Englisher. I’d rather he was Amish, but parents don’t get to choose. Your mother was just asking me if you’d set a date for your wedding. You’ve been walking out with him quite a while.”

“And I’m not getting any younger?” She said it lightly, but she knew that in her thirties, she was getting a little long in the tooth for a first-time Amish bride.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I’ll wager Mam has said it,” Rachel replied with a chuckle. “But to answer your question, no, we haven’t set a date. The English have longer engagements than our people. Evan has a friend who’s gone with his girlfriend for six years.”

“Sounds like a waste of time to me, time that could be spent making a home together, giving me grandchildren.”

“Whoa.” She laughed, throwing up her hands. “First comes love, then comes marriage. The babies come last, or they should.”

Her father carried the basket of clothes into the house and returned to the porch to sit with Rachel. They talked about the day, about crops, about one of her father’s cows that was feeling poorly. As evening became night, one by one, the Mast children went into the house, and soon it was time to start thinking about turning in. Everyone was up early on the farm; there was no sleeping in past six for Rachel. There would be breakfast to make, and a dozen other things to do come sunrise.

Her father was just moving toward the kitchen door when he pointed. “Here comes Lettie.” He indicated the figure coming up the dark driveway. “Hostetler girls must have let her off at the end of the driveway.”

“It’s early for her to be home,” Rachel remarked, though it was close to ten. Her sister had gone to a singing with some of her cousins. As pretty and popular as Lettie was, it was unusual for her not to ride home with one boy or another. She wasn’t serious with anyone yet, but she enjoyed the attention.

“Tell your sister that we’re having prayers soon,” their father said as he went into the house.

“I will,” Rachel promised. “I’m coming, too.”

She waited on the back porch for Lettie, but her younger sister seemed self-absorbed and in no mood to share news about her evening. Whatever had caused Lettie’s early night, she wasn’t talking. The two of them joined the rest of the family in the parlor for a short prayer, and then Lettie went directly up to bed.

But Rachel was wide awake. After her father and siblings had turned in for the night, she went back to the porch and sat in her mother’s rocking chair. It was a beautiful night. The September air was still warm; the mosquitoes were almost nonexistent, and the chirp of crickets was comforting. Moonlight tinted the farm-scape in a soft glow, and the quiet was so soothing that she could feel every muscle sighing with pleasure. She knew that when the alarm went off the following morning, she’d wish she’d gone to bed earlier, but it was so nice out here that she couldn’t bear to leave just yet.

As it grew later, the stars came out, one by one, bright and clear as they had never been in the city, brighter even than they seemed to her in town in the backyard at Stone Mill House. There was something about a soft September evening that rejuvenated the spirit and enriched the soul.

Minutes passed and then an hour and still she sat, rocking, remembering, and making plans for the future. When her mother had completed her treatments and was well on the way to recovery, Rachel thought, she would find a professional to redesign the website for the craft shop at the B&B. She’d done an okay job with a basic site when she didn’t have two pennies to rub together, but the Amish craftsmen and women she supported deserved the best chance to reach the widest market for their creations. A professional-looking, easy-to-navigate website would lead to more sales. Mary Aaron’s quilts were museum-quality, and Coyote Finch’s pottery deserved a space on the shelves of New York’s finest retailers. Of course, her friend Coyote wasn’t Amish, but she was local, and Rachel was delighted to have the opportunity to show some of Coyote’s hand-thrown pieces.

A shooting star streaked across the sky. Another flash gleamed in the darkness, lower on the horizon. Rachel peered into the night, trying to get a better look. But then she realized that it couldn’t be a shooting star. It was too near the ground. She rose from the rocker and walked to the edge of the porch, trying to figure out what it might be. And then she realized that it was a bobbing lantern. Someone was coming across the meadow from the direction of Uncle Aaron’s farm.

Rachel was puzzled. It was late. Few Amish were abroad so late. Even courting couples would be home by now. She left the porch and walked across the damp grass toward the source of the light. “Hello?” she called.

“Rae-Rae! I’m so glad you’re awake.” Her cousin’s voice.

“Mary Aaron?” Rachel lowered her voice, not wanting to wake the dogs or disturb her mother, whose bedroom window faced the meadow. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

“Have you seen Elsie? She didn’t come home from the singing.” Mary Aaron lowered the lantern and set it on the ground. Her face was pale and worried in the yellow glow of the lantern light.

“Lettie was home by ten but that was hours ago.” Rachel glanced up at the sky. It had to be after midnight.

“Did she say anything about Elsie? Joanna said she thought Dathan was driving her home.”

Rachel shook her head. “She didn’t say much at all.”

“I just can’t imagine where she would be so late. Elsie listens to Dat. She should be home by now.”

“She and Dathan are getting pretty serious, aren’t they? I imagine they just parked somewhere. To talk,” Rachel added hastily.

“Not our Elsie. She follows the rules. And you know how our father is. He told her to be home by ten at the latest.”

“What did Joanna say? Did she know if Elsie was with Dathan for sure?”

“She didn’t see them leave, but John Hannah left after eleven, and he took one of the Stutzman girls home. He didn’t see them anywhere on the road.”

John Hannah was Elsie’s twin and took his obligation to look after his sisters seriously, even though he was at an age when he was cutting a swath through the hearts of the Stone Mill girls.

“Maybe John Hannah just missed them for one reason or another,” Rachel said. “They may have had trouble with the buggy or—”

“Ne.” Mary Aaron’s tone was becoming more agitated. “Dat sent him out on horseback to retrace the route to the singing. They weren’t anywhere, and none of the other boys had seen them. I’m frightened, Rae-Rae. And I have a bad feeling. Elsie isn’t late. She’s missing.”

“I don’t think we should panic,” Rachel said. “Why don’t we take my Jeep and drive the route from your house to where the singing was held? Elsie might have come home while you were walking over here.”

“All right,” Mary Aaron agreed. “I was hoping that you’d offer. Dat is pretty mad, and Mam is close to tears. It’s just not like Elsie to do anything like this. I’ve probably bothered you for nothing, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Let me go in and get my shoes and keys to the Jeep,” Rachel said. “And it’s no trouble. How many times have I needed your help?”

Minutes later the two of them were trudging down the long lane to the road. Rachel kept her vehicle parked across the road in a grove of trees on an old logging trail. The land belonged to her father but was far enough from the house that her mother wouldn’t complain about it. She hadn’t wanted Rachel’s Jeep in the yard, in the shed, or even behind the barn, saying that it set a bad example for the younger children. Rachel knew that if she’d held her ground, she could have parked closer to the house. Her dat would have supported her. But it was easier to let her mother have her way. With her mam, it was best to pick her battles.

Once in the Jeep, Rachel and Mary Aaron went to Mary Aaron’s house, which wasn’t far away, being the next farm over. Both Aunt Hannah and Uncle Aaron were up and came out into the yard with a lantern when they arrived. Rachel’s aunt was wearing a long nightgown and robe, and her usually pleasant face looked drawn. Her graying hair was hanging down her back and she hadn’t bothered to cover it, which normally would have brought criticism from Uncle Aaron. But there had been no sight and no word of the young couple, and her uncle was clearly more concerned about Elsie’s whereabouts than his wife covering her head.

“Where’s John Hannah?” Mary Aaron asked her mother.

“Putting the horse up.” Uncle Aaron was fully dressed, but he’d come out of the house without his hat, an omission that Rachel couldn’t remember ever seeing before. Tufts of hair the same shade as his bushy eyebrows stood out from his head. He was a big man, but tonight, he appeared even larger and more imposing.

Whenever the preachers had preached about Moses in the Old Testament, Rachel always pictured Uncle Aaron, with his long white beard and forbidding countenance, denouncing the sins of the Israelites. He was a good man and she’d always loved him, but many found him difficult and taciturn. And when it came to his children, Uncle Aaron was definitely a strict father. Rachel’s own mother, Esther, was one of the few people who went out of their way to spend time with him. Rachel could see the state her uncle was in tonight, and she almost felt sorry for her cousin Elsie.

“Elsie told Joanna that Dathan was bringing her home,” Aunt Hannah explained, referring to one of Mary Aaron’s . . .