“Morning,” I say as I upend the coffee cup in front of me.

She looks up from her work and grins. “Can’t stay away from my coffee, eh?”

“Or the biscuits.” I slide the cup toward her and tell her about the men on snowmobiles. “I think they were Amish.”

Mary pauses mid pour. “None of the Amish around here use snow machines.” Topping off my cup, she replaces the carafe, grabs a towel from the edge of the sink, and begins to wipe the counter. “It’s against the rules.”

“They were speaking Deitsch,” I tell her.

“Probably not from around here. Or maybe young men on Rumspringa, then. You know how they are when they’re that age.”

“One of them wore a beard.” I lean closer and lower my voice. “One of the men hit the woman in the face.”

Something akin to caution flickers in her eyes. “An Englischer, more than likely. A loose woman. Drinking alcohol or whatnot.”

“Maybe.” I sip the coffee, wondering why everyone is so ready to dismiss such blatant rule breaking. “It was a disturbing thing to see.”

“And what exactly were you doing out in the woods at night?”

“I thought I saw a stray dog.” I shrug. “He looked cold and I didn’t want him to be eaten by coyotes.”

She sends a scowl my way. “You’d best be careful out there all by yourself.”

I watch her work for a moment, sipping my coffee. “I went to see the bishop this morning.”

“The bishop?” She stops wiping and straightens, her gaze meeting mine. “You told him about the boys?”

“I thought he should know.”

“What did he say?” she asks in a low voice.

“Just that he’d look into it and take appropriate action.”

Taking the towel to the sink, she runs it under the tap, twists out the excess water, and takes it back to the counter. I don’t miss the way her eyes flick to the window behind her.

I glance past her and notice the Amish man in the kitchen area. The same one I saw before. Bent slightly, he’s watching us through the pass-through window. I stare back and he looks away, slinking deeper into the kitchen. Eavesdropping.

“I didn’t know the bishop has a daughter,” I say conversationally.

“He doesn’t have any family here that I know of.”

“I just assumed … The girl that answered the door. Her name’s Esther.” I shrug.

She wipes the counter harder, her mouth tightening. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours. Or mine.”

“She’s in the married way,” I say, using the preferred Amish term for pregnancy.

She stops wiping. Giving me a cross look, she sets her hand on her hip. “I’m no fan of gossip, Kate Miller. Or tall tales, for that matter.”

“I just thought—”

“You misunderstood what you saw, is all.”