I take the same route the Gingeriches took yesterday and it takes me just ten minutes to reach the mouth of the lane. The gravel is too rough for the scooter, so I park it on the shoulder and strike out on foot. There are several inches of old snow striped with buggy wheel marks. Around me, the woods echo with birdsong and I hear the whistle of a hawk in the distance. I pass by the clapboard schoolhouse and the barn where worship services were held the day before. An Amish woman in a gray dress and black coat is sweeping the concrete beneath the covered porch.

“Guder mariye.” I wish her a good morning as I approach.

She responds in kind and I’m relieved to be greeted with a smile. “Wie geth’s alleweil?” How goes it now?

“I’m Kate Miller. We met yesterday at worship.”

“You’re the young widow from Ohio.” She bows her head slightly. “What brings you here this morning?”

“I’m looking for the bishop.”

She blinks and I detect surprise in her eyes. “Is he expecting you?”

I smile. “Do I need an appointment?”

“Of course not, but if he’s in counsel…” Letting the words trail, she looks at me with a little more scrutiny. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I just need to speak with him about something that happened last night.”

Curiosity flashes in her eyes. I smile inwardly. The Amish may be pious, but they share all the same human weaknesses as the rest of us, including a propensity for nosiness.

“Something that will concern him?” she asks.

I lean a little closer. “I saw two young Amish men on snowmobiles.” Looking in both directions, I lower my voice conspiratorially. “They were with women. Englischers, I think.”

“Bishop Schrock has been known to be a little more lenient with the young men,” she tells me, “especially if they’re on Rumspringa.”

“These men are older. I think one of them wore a beard.” I don’t know that for fact; I couldn’t see his face because of the ski mask. But a married Amish man gallivanting with strange women makes for a more interesting story and will hopefully expedite access to Schrock—and get the tongues wagging in the process.

She presses her lips together. I can’t tell if she’s displeased by the news or with me for relaying it. “What makes you think that’s something he’ll be interested in?”

I laugh outright. “They were riding motorized vehicles. I’m sure that’s against the Ordnung.”

Stepping away from me, she goes back to her sweeping. “I don’t see why that’s any of your concern. You’re not a member of the congregation yet, are you?”