Leave it to Tomasetti to make me laugh about something that really isn’t funny. That’s one of the things I love about him. “He’s very Old Order. One of the women told me there’s no plumbing in any of the houses on his land. Their dresses have to be a certain length and only a few colors are approved. No slow-moving vehicle signs on the buggies. Steel wheels. No windshields. No gas- or kerosene-powered engines, even on the dairy farms.”

“Makes the appearance of those snowmobiles even more baffling.”

“Exactly.” I’m still thinking about Schrock. “Interestingly, he practices Meidung.”

“Shunning?”

“Right. Only he takes it to the extreme. Usually social avoidance is used to bring the wayward souls back into the fold. Schrock doles it out as punishment. He bans for life and for relatively minor offenses.”

“Sounds like you don’t want to find yourself on his shit list.”

“If he only knew, right?”

Tomasetti pauses. “If you want to make points with Schrock, maybe you ought to tell him about the two guys on snowmobiles.”

“You’re right. It’ll give me an excuse to visit his farm and talk to him.”

“Might make you an enemy or two,” he says. “Something to keep in mind.”

“I’m not here to make friends.”

“Will you do me a favor before you start beating the beehive?”

“If I can.”

“Watch your damn back.”

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

When I was a kid, my brother, Jacob, would help our neighbors bale hay for extra cash. The summer he turned thirteen, he used that money to buy his first bicycle. My sister, Sarah, and I—being females—were handed down his skateboard. I wasn’t very good at sharing and spent a good bit of time haggling with Sarah, trying to convince her I should be the one to ride it. I was a persuasive child, and most of the time, I got my way. I loved that skateboard; it gave me the freedom I craved—but got me into a lot more trouble than my parents bargained for.

Of course my short-lived love affair with that skateboard was twenty-five years ago. Now, looking down at the kick scooter propped against the deck rail, I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill myself with it. The Schrock farm is only half a mile away and the roads are clear, so I decide to try it. The day is overcast with temperatures hovering in the mid-twenties, so I’m bundled up. Knowing Schrock is strict with regard to dress, I don my longest black dress and black winter head covering and strike out at nine A.M. with the hope that I don’t bust my ass on the way.