Page 23 of The Hidden One

She blinks back tears. “It’s such a foreign thing. Murder and jail and legal problems. I don’t know what to do.” The tears spill, but she swipes them away. “I can tell you one thing, Kate Burkholder. Jonas Bowman is a lot of things and he’s sure not perfect, but he is not a killer.”

“I’m a civilian here in Big Valley,” I begin. “I don’t have any authority or resources, but I’ll help any way I can.”

“We’re not ones to ask for help, but if there was ever a time when we needed it, this is it.” She sets her hand over mine. “Thank you.”

I pull out my notebook and set it on the table in front of me. For twenty minutes we cover the situation from beginning to end. Jonas’s father being put under the bann and silenced. Ezra Bowman’s death. The ensuing feud. What I’m looking for now is new information and insights from someone close to Jonas rather than the perspective of a stranger.

“What was Jonas’s state of mind after the death of his father?” I ask.

“We’d been married a little over a year at the time.” The smile that follows is fraught with angst. “Losing Ezra was a shock. He was such a strong man. Sometimes he didn’t even seem mortal. It was as if nothing could ever stop him or take him down, not even the nature of life itself.”

Hearing her speak of the larger-than-life Ezra Bowman is like watching a silent, black-and-white film. I remember him as an outspoken man with a piercing gaze that could send even the toughest of the tough running home to Mamm. When he spoke, it was with great passion—and you listened. More than once I recall him arguing with my own datt over some topic to which I wasn’t privy. Ezra Bowman was never unkind, but I was afraid of him.

Dorothy heaves a sigh. “Heart attack finally got him. He was plowing the field and collapsed. He fell and … the plowshares tore him up something awful. Jonas found him.” She shakes her head, takes another sip of coffee as if in an attempt to wash away the terrible image. “Jonas was crushed. We’d lost two babies that year and not once did I see him cry. He’s stoic, you know. Keeps it all tucked away the way men do.” She looks away, blinking, remembering. “Jonas cried that day. And in the days that followed, he grew angry.”

I’m familiar with grief and all of its gnarly repercussions. I’ve been handed my share by a Fate who’s rarely fair about how she doles it out. I’ve watched Tomasetti suffer with losses that hollowed him to the core. I’m no stranger to the anger stage.

“Jonas blamed the bishop,” I say.

“Right or wrong, he did.” She shrugs. “Ezra and Ananias had been at each other’s throats for a year. Ezra, the stubborn fool, had been put under the bann. But it was the silencing that did him in, Katie. He couldn’t preach and that destroyed him.”

“Tell me about the argument between Jonas and Bishop Stoltzfus,” I say.

“I’ll never forget it.” Her eyes meet mine. “Church Sunday after the funeral. Jonas was just … raw. He wasn’t himself. Wasn’t eating or sleeping. I figured worship would be good for him, you know. It always is. But when he saw the bishop that day. And his own datt wasn’t there to preach.” She shudders. “I’ve never seen him like that. Jonas went for the bishop and he didn’t stop. They had words. Terrible things were said. They nearly came to blows. Can you imagine? Right in front of everyone.”

“What was the argument about exactly?”

“Jonas blamed Ananias for his datt’s death. Called him cruel. Said the stress of the bann and the silencing killed him.”

“How did Ananias respond?”

“The bishop didn’t help. He said Ezra had fallen to error and sin. He said that God took him because of that tractor.” Dorothy puts her hand over her mouth as if to smother a sob. “I couldn’t believe he would say such a thing. To blame a dead man and point out the error of his ways.”

“Did Jonas threaten him?” I ask.

Her brow creases as if there’s more to be pulled from her memory. “I was so shaken up, Katie. I’ve likely misremembered some of it. One thing I do recall is Jonas telling the bishop that there were a dozen families who supported Ezra’s use of the tractor. Jonas said he was going to rally those families, and that they were going to form a new church district. You can imagine how that went over.”

Dorothy lowers her head, sets her fingers against her forehead, sucks in a deep breath as if to compose herself. “There were so many ugly things said. I could barely take it all in. I don’t want to say it, Katie, but Jonas lost some friends that day. He was too angry. Some of the Amish thought he was just wrong.”

“How long after that argument did the bishop disappear?” I ask.

“Two months to the day.”

“The police spoke to Jonas?” I ask.

“The sheriff’s department picked him up. Talked to him for hours. When they brought him back, Jonas was shook up something awful.”

I think about the case against Jonas in terms of motive and realize that, as a cop, I would have done the same. Pick him up. Question him hard. Apply pressure. Shake him up.

“What about the muzzleloader?” I ask.

She huffs. “That old thing sat in the mudroom gathering dust for years. Jonas likes his meat just fine and that includes venison, but a hunter he isn’t. You know how he is. Got a soft spot for animals.”

I think about that long-ago day when Jonas unleashed the family of skunks on those bullies at the baseball diamond, and something warm flutters in my chest.

“Do you know what happened to the gun?” I ask.

“I must have walked by the thing a hundred times. It sat in the corner for so long I didn’t even notice it anymore. Then it was just … gone.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out when it disappeared and who might’ve taken it, but I just don’t know.”