Hidden in Plain View. Diane Burke

      They pulled out chairs and sat down.

      Dr. Clark spoke from his position at the head of the table. “Sarah is in a very fragile state. She was shot twice in the back, once in the arm and once in the head. She has a long road to recovery, but I believe she will recover. To complicate matters, she is suffering from amnesia.”

      “Will her memory return?” Jacob asked.

      “I’m afraid I honestly don’t know. Only time will tell.”

      The man on Jacob’s left spoke. “Excuse me, sir. My name is Benjamin Miller. I do not understand this thing you call amnesia. I had a neighbor who got kicked in the head by his mule. He forgot what happened with his mule, but he didn’t forget everything else. He still remembered who he was, who his family was. Why can’t Sarah?”

      The doctor smiled. “It is common for a person not to remember a traumatic event but to remember everything else. What is less common, but still occurs, is a deeper memory loss. Some people forget everything—like Sarah.”

      “When she gets better, she will remember again, ya?” Jacob twirled his black felt hat in circles on the table.

      “I hope that once she returns home, familiar surroundings will help, but I cannot promise anything,” the doctor replied.

      The men looked at each other and nodded.

      “There is something else. Sarah is sixteen weeks pregnant.”

      Sam felt like someone had suddenly punched him in the gut. Wow, this woman couldn’t catch a break. As if amnesia, gunshot wounds and widowhood wasn’t enough for her to handle. He raised an eyebrow, but steeled himself to show no other reaction to the news.

      The doctor waited for the men at the table to digest the information before he locked eyes with Jacob. “Mrs. Lapp has informed me that Sarah has had two prior miscarriages.”

      Jacob nodded but remained silent. The information regarding this pregnancy seemed to weigh heavily upon him.

      “I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Lapp, that even though she has made it into her second trimester, she still might lose the child. She has experienced severe trauma to her body, and currently she is under emotional stress as well.”

      “With my son gone, this will be our only grandchild.” Jacob’s eyes clouded over. “What can we do to help?”

      “You can allow me to protect her.” Sam pushed away from the wall and approached the table.

      The bishop’s expression revealed his confusion. “Protect Sarah? I don’t understand, sir. The man who hurt Sarah is gone, ya? She is safe now.” Jacob looked directly at Sam. “Excuse me, sir. We do not recognize you. What community do you call home?”

      Captain Rogers nodded permission for Sam to answer the questions.

      “My name is Detective Samuel King. Standing to my left is my partner, Detective Masterson. To his right is Special Agent Lopez from the FBI. We believe Sarah is in grave danger.”

      “From whom?” Benjamin spoke up, gesturing with his arm to the men sitting on either side of him. “Her family? Her friends?”

      Sam addressed his words to Bishop Lapp. “Since I was raised Amish, Captain Rogers thought it might be easier for me to blend in with your community as Sarah’s protective detail.”

      All three men gasped, then turned and whispered in their native Pennsylvania German dialect commonly known as Pennsylvania Dutch.

      Sam understood not only the words, but also the emotions and objections the men were expressing. The Amish do not care for law enforcement and try to keep themselves separate from the Englisch way of life.

      “With respect, sir,” Jacob said, “although grateful, we do not feel we need your protection, and neither does Sarah.”

      Sam sighed heavily. “You are wrong.” When he had their full attention, he said, “If you do not allow us to help, Sarah will be dead before this week is over, as well as her unborn child and many of the kids who were inside that schoolhouse when the shooting occurred.”

      Samuel noted the sudden pallor in Jacob’s face. He recognized bewilderment in the other men’s eyes and glimpsed hesitation in their body language, but they continued to listen.

      Sam pulled out a chair and faced the men. He explained about the diamond heist and the murders of the other thieves, which led to the shoot-out in the school.

      Matthew Kauffman, the third Amish man in the group, spoke up for the first time. “If you were once Amish, then you know that we cannot allow police to move into our homes. It is not our way.”

      “I understand your dilemma,” Sam responded. “I assure you that although I left my Amish roots behind, I never abandoned my respect for the Amish ways.”

      “You do not speak like us,” Benjamin insisted. “You sound like an Englischer.”

      Sam slipped easily into the lilt of the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect. “Many years of living with the Englisch, and you can start to sound like one, ain’t so?”

      “Why did you leave your home, sir?” Benjamin asked.

      Sam took a moment to decide just how much he was willing to share with these men.

      “In my youth, I witnessed too many things for a young boy to see. I witnessed theft of Amish goods that went unpunished. I witnessed bullying and cruelty against the Amish people, yet I could not raise my hand to retaliate.”

      The men nodded.

      “I witnessed worse. I witnessed drunken teens race their car into my father’s buggy just for the fun of it. My parents did not survive their prank.”

      Several heartbeats of silence filled the room as everyone present absorbed what he’d said.

      “The Amish forgive.” Sam shrugged. “I could not. So I left.”

      “It is difficult sometimes to forgive, to not seek vengeance and to move on with life.” Jacob’s quiet voice held empathy. His eyes seemed to understand that Sam’s emotional wounds had not healed and still cut deep. “I understand how hard it can be. I just lost my only son. But...” He looked Sam straight in the eye. “It is not our place to judge.” When he spoke, his voice was soft and sad. “Judgment belongs only to God, ya?”

      “And vengeance belongs to the Lord, not us,” Benjamin Miller added.

      “I am not talking about vengeance,” Sam said, defending himself. “I am talking about justice.”

      Jacob scrutinized Sam as if he were trying to determine his character from his words. “How do you know whether what you call justice, Detective King, is what God would call vengeance? Is it not best to leave these matters in God’s hands?”

      A sad ghost of a smile twisted Sam’s lips. “I believe God intended for us to love one another, to help one another. I believe He expects us to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Children. Unborn babies. An innocent woman who doesn’t even know the gravity of her loss yet. Isn’t that God’s will?”

      Jacob remained silent and pensive.

      Sam had to work hard to control his emotions. There was no place in police work, particularly undercover police work, to let emotions control your actions or thoughts. But he understood these people. He’d been one of them. He knew they were pacifists who refused to fight back. If a gunman walked up and shot them dead on the street, they’d believe it was God’s will.

      How was he going to make them understand the danger they were in? Or worse, defend against that danger? Jacob was their bishop. He was the one he had to win over. Sam knew the only hope he had of convincing Lapp to go along with the plan was to drive home the pain the man was still feeling from his loss. He challenged him with a hard stare.

      “Are you willing to accept responsibility for the