Page 61 of Breaking Silence

Samuel and Ike are still sleeping. I know this will be the last night these children sleep in their own beds. Come morning, life is going to change for them all in a very big way, especially Mose and Salome. I wish I could protect them from the further upheaval they’re facing, but I can’t.

The lantern flickers in the center of the table, the gas hissing through the glowing yellow mantle. Nicholas and his wife sit together, staring down at the tabletop, their expressions nervous and troubled. Mose is slumped in a chair, staring intently at his hands on the table in front of him. I can tell by the white knuckles that he’s apprehensive. In the dim light from the lantern, I notice the angry red glow of a new acne outbreak just below his cheekbones. Tomasetti is sitting next to Mose, his expression as dark and cold as the night.

After a moment, Tomasetti skewers Mose with a hostile look. “Salome told Kate you’re adopted. Is that true?”

Mose shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze flicking from the Amish couple to me, as if we’re going to save him from having to answer.

“Don’t look at them,” Tomasetti snaps. “They can’t help you. This is your deal. Why don’t you act like a man and level with me?”

Mose wipes his hands on his trousers. “The Slabaughs adopted me ten years ago, when I was seven.”

“Why were you adopted?” I ask. “What happened to your parents?”

“They were killed in a buggy accident.”

“Where?”

“Indiana. Near Connersville.”

“How did you end up here?” Tomasetti asks.

Mose doesn’t look at him. “Rachael was my aunt. She took me in when they were killed.”

“Do you have siblings in Indiana?”

“No.”

“What was your last name before you were adopted?”

“Hochstetler.”

I pull out my note pad and jot down the name. “So Salome is your first cousin?”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

All I can think is that a first cousin is too close for a sexual relationship. That’s not to mention the problem with her age, and the baby. “You’d better be telling the truth,” I say. “You know we’re going to check.”

“It’s true.”

For a moment, the only sound comes from the rain tapping on the windows. Then I’m aware of the hiss of the mantle, the high-wire buzz of tension in the room.

After an uncomfortable silence, Tomasetti asks Mose, “Where’s the rifle that was in the mudroom?”

The question echoes off the walls like a gunshot. I watch Mose, concentrating on his body language, his eyes, anything that might divulge a lie.

“You mean Datt’s hunting rifle?” The boy appears surprised by the question. “It’s by the stove in the mudroom.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then I don’t know where it is. Someone must have moved it.”

Frannie breaks in. “Perhaps Solly did something with it in the days before his death.”

“The rifle was there yesterday,” I say. “I saw it.”

“That means someone in this house moved it,” Tomasetti says. “Or took it.”

I look at Frannie and repeat the same question I posed to Nicholas earlier. “Has anyone visited the house?”