BOOKS BY VANNETTA CHAPMAN
THE AMISH BISHOP MYSTERIES
What the Bishop Saw
PLAIN AND SIMPLE MIRACLES
Brian’s Choice
(ebook-only novella prequel)
Anna’s Healing
Joshua’s Mission
Sarah’s Orphans
THE PEBBLE CREEK AMISH SERIES
A Promise for Miriam
A Home for Lydia
A Wedding for Julia
“Home to Pebble Creek”
(free short story e-romance)
“Christmas at Pebble Creek”
(free short story e-romance)
THE REMNANT
Overshadowed (free ebook short story)
Deep Shadows
Raging Storm
Light of Dawn
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Scripture quotations are taken from
The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
The New Life Version, © Christian Literature International.
Cover by Bryce Williamson
Cover photos © Brian Brown, ulimi. Oleg Saenko / iStock
Published in association with the literary agency of The Steve Laube Agency, LLC, 5025 N. Central Ave., #635, Phoenix, Arizona, 85012.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHAT THE BISHOP SAW
Copyright © 2017 by Vannetta Chapman
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6647-4 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6648-1 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Chapman, Vannetta, author.
Title: What the bishop saw / Vannetta Chapman.
Description: Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, 2017. | Series: The Amish bishop mysteries; 1
Identifiers: LCCN 2016041355 (print) | LCCN 2016048106 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736966474 (softcover) | ISBN 9780736966481 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Amish—Fiction. | Clergy—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Suspense. | FICTION / Christian / Romance. | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.H3744 W48 2017 (print) | LCC PS3603.H3744 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041355
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
For My Friday Morning Prayer Breakfast Group
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book is dedicated to my Friday Morning Prayer Breakfast Group. Ladies, you cannot possibly know how much I look forward to that weekly hour together—high-carb food, good friends, plenty of laughter, and the sweet offering of prayer.
I’d like to thank the awesome staff at Harvest House. You all make the sometimes perilous job of writing a real pleasure. Gratitude to my agent, Steve Laube, who answers emails promptly and succinctly. As usual, I owe a giant debt of gratitude to my pre-readers Kristy Kreymer and Janet Murphy. You two ladies have eagle-sharp eyes and a good ear for how a sentence should sound. I also appreciate Patti Gallagher’s input and her patience in answering my many questions about the Monte Vista, Colorado, area.
My family continues to support me through this journey. I wouldn’t even attempt to do such a thing as write a novel without them. I love you guys.
I also would like to express my appreciation to my readers, who impatiently wait for the next book, devour it in a single day, and then email me asking when the next one will be available. You all are awesome!
And finally, “Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Contents
Books by Vannetta Chapman
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
Glossary
Recipes
Green Bean Casserole
Das Dutchman Essenhaus Raspberry Cream Pie
Apple Cinnamon French Toast
Amish Cheesy Casserole
Carrot Cake
Amish Coffee Cake
Peanut Butter Spread
Author’s Note
About the Author
Find New Friends in the Women of Pebble Creek
Discover Stories of God’s Unexpected Grace and Provision
All It Takes Is One Night to Plunge the World into Darkness
Ready to Discover More?
About the Publisher
Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.
1 PETER 4:10
Of all the senses, sight must be the most delightful.
HELEN KELLER
Prologue
Goshen, Indiana
Henry Lapp needed an escape.
He sat at the kitchen table, his chin propped on his hands, staring out the window at his brothers and sister. That was where he should be, in the field, playing ball. One glance at his mother told him that was not going to happen, which didn’t stop him from arguing about it. At twelve years old, he’d learned parents could sometimes be persuaded if one nagged with determination.
“I promise not to bat.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ll stand in the outfield. No one ever gets a ball to the outfield.”
“It’s not going to happen. And baseball. I never want to see you playing baseball again. It’s not up for discussion, Henry.”
“And yet we are discussing it, ya? So maybe there’s a possibility.” He offered his crooked smile, the one that always made her laugh, but it did nothing to diminish the worry lines around his mother’s eyes.
“You’ve been home three days, Henry. Only three days after… what? Three weeks in the hospital?”
He gingerly touched the side of his head. The stitches were gone. As for the three weeks, he remembered very little of that time since he’d spent much of it in a medically induced coma.
His mother sat down beside him and waited until he turned his gaze from the window to look at her. “You almost died, Henry. Your dat and I sat by your hospital bed, not knowing if you would wake up.”
“I’m better now.”
“And we praise Gotte for that every night, but you will follow the doctor’s orders. She said for you to take it easy for a few weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“Getting sick is easy. Getting well is the trick.”
“Not a gut time for proverbs, Mamm.”
“The best time for a proverb is when you think you don’t need one.”
“But I’m bored.”
“How about you write your mammi?”
“I did that yesterday. Besides, writing feels like school, and it’s summertime.”
“I’ll have dinner ready in an hour. Until then, you can draw her a picture.” She stood and turned back to the stove, and he knew the discussion was over.
At least he’d given it his best try. He fetched a large sheet of construction paper and a pencil from the supply his mother kept near the table for school projects. He paused to consider what he should draw. Mammi was always asking about their church dinners. She missed the folks in Goshen since moving to Illinois to help one of his onkels. He would draw the picnic they’d had the day before. He bent over the sheet of paper and set to work.
And then his father was coming in the back door asking about dinner, and his brothers were trooping in the front talking about the baseball game, and his little sister was standing beside him.
“Look what Henry drew, Mamm. I can see me! And I can see my doll too.”
“That’s great, honey. Now wash your hands.”
Henry pushed the sheet of paper away and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly he felt tired, as if he’d been clutching the pencil for hours. How long had he been drawing? Before he could work out the answer to that question, his three brothers stepped behind his chair.
“Whoa.”
“That’s a little spooky.”
“Mamm, you’d better come look at this.”
Henry wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about, but then his father reached over him and pulled the sheet of paper closer. Henry glanced down to see what looked like a photograph. Every person, every facial expression, every leaf looked real down to the smallest detail.
“Boys, take your sister outside.” Henry’s siblings left, and his father sat down next to him as his mother joined them. Her face paled when she looked at the drawing.
“You did this?” His father was still staring at what he’d drawn.
“Ya. I guess.”
“How—”
“I don’t know. Mamm told me to draw, so I did.”
“But this… you shouldn’t be able to do this.”
Henry touched the paper, and that was when he noticed that perhaps he’d been a little too detailed. A husband was berating his wife about something, his face wreathed in a mask of anger. Two boys were fighting over a volleyball. Henry could imagine the unkind words they were saying by the expressions on their faces. A teenage boy stood next to a tree with a girl, no doubt thinking they couldn’t be seen. In the drawing he was kissing her, one hand touching her face and the other hand resting on her hip. The look on their faces was one of complete happiness.
Anger and sadness and love. They weren’t merely words. They were played out over every inch of the sheet of paper.
“I didn’t mean to draw those things.” Henry picked up his pencil, flipped it over, and frantically began erasing.
His father slipped his drawing off the table as his mamm pulled the pencil out of his grasp. “Perhaps you should go rest,” she murmured.
Henry had made it to the sitting room when he noticed his shoes were untied. He squatted to tie them, not intending to eavesdrop.
“This is from the brain injury,” his father said. “It has to be.”
“I don’t understand. How could being hit in the head by a baseball cause… cause this?”
“Remember? The doctor said he could lose things—abilities, balance, whatever. And that he could gain things too.”
“This? He gained this?”
“Maybe.”
“And he drew it from his memory?”
“How else?”
“What do we do about it?” his mother asked.
“We’ll speak to the bishop, and we’ll pray.”
“It will frighten people if they see this. No one wants their actions, their every emotion recorded.” She paused, and Henry knew she was looking at the angry expressions, not the joyful ones.
“It’s a gift,” his father said, though his voice sounded anything but certain.
“It could be,” his mother agreed. “Or perhaps it’s a curse.”
One
Fifty-two years later
San Luis Valley, Colorado
May 1
The smell of fire woke Henry Lapp from a sound sleep.
He stumbled out of his bed and hurried toward the window he’d left cracked open. A red glow on the horizon confirmed he wasn’t dreaming. Throwing on his clothes and shoes, heavy black coat, and Plain hat, he made it out the front door in less than five minutes.
Should he take the time to hitch up Oreo? Or would it be quicker to walk?
Before he could decide, he heard the distant clatter of hooves. Jogging to the street, he raised a hand as Abe Graber’s mare trotted around the bend in the road. Abe pulled to a stop and Henry hopped into the buggy.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Vernon’s house.”
“Anyone hurt?”
Abe yanked off his hat, pushed the hair out of his eyes and plopped the hat back on again. “Ya, probably so. Word is Vernon was home. It doesn’t look gut.”
Henry didn’t bother asking Abe more questions. He was surprised the man knew a
s much as he did, but then the Amish grapevine was efficient and reliable. If they said Vernon had been home at the time of the fire, then more than likely he had been.
Henry spent the remainder of the ride praying for Vernon’s soul and staring out at the darkness of the Colorado night, offset only by the glow of the half moon. The weather had warmed recently, but temperatures were still quite chilly at night. Perhaps a fire in the stove had sparked, igniting something lying close by.
“Talk to him lately?” Abe asked.
“Yesterday. I went by to see him after church. He didn’t stay for luncheon.”
“Not unusual—for Vernon.”
“True, but I was concerned.”
“So did everything seem okay… when you visited him?”
“As much as it could with Vernon.” Henry didn’t explain.
He knew he didn’t have to.
Two
Henry could hear the crackle of the flames from where they tied the mare, next to several other buggies and well away from Vernon’s house. The horse snorted and stomped her foot, and then she began to crop at the grass. Henry and Abe hurried toward the side of the house, where the bulk of the activity was taking place. It wasn’t easy going. They had to skirt around a dilapidated chicken coop, weave their way through rusted farm equipment, dodge several chickens, and then pick a path through piles of broken garden pots.
Emergency personnel hadn’t taken such a careful route. The fire truck had crushed a pile of bicycle parts and what looked to Henry like a motor scooter.
The house itself was ablaze, a sight that stirred an ache deep in Henry’s heart.
Firefighters, risking their lives, were trying to keep the fire from spreading to either of the barns.
A homestead—gone.
A life—abruptly ended.
Because he didn’t see Vernon anywhere, he feared that was the truth. But then every life was complete. Isn’t that what Abe had preached recently? Every life was complete. Henry believed it to be so. The Bible said as much in the book of Job. A man’s days are numbered. You know the number of his months. He cannot live longer than the time You have set.