Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

and dandelions. “ Datt sent me to the pasture with the halter to get Sally while he put straw in her stall. He knew she was going to have her colt and it was time to bring her in.”
    Sarah looks nervous about retelling the story to me, an outsider, so I do my best to put her at ease. “What did you name your colt?”
    “Jim.”
    “How old is he?”
    “Six months now.”
    I nod. “So this happened six months ago?”
    The girl nods. “When I walked into the pasture, Sally was grazing by the road, where the grass is thick and there’s lots of clover. I walked over to her and when I was putting the halter on her, I saw Mattie Borntrager standing on the road, talking to a stranger.”
    “Was the stranger a man or woman?”
    “Man.”
    “Did you recognize him?”
    Sarah shakes her head.
    “Was it Mr. Borntrager maybe?” I ask.
    “No. He was a lot taller than Mr. Borntrager.”
    “Was he Amish or English?”
    “Amish, I think. He was wearing a hat. And he had a beard.”
    If the man was Amish, the beard indicates he was married. “Do you remember what time it was?” I ask.
    “I don’t know. The middle of the night, I think.” The girl looks at her mother.
    “The horse began her labor at about two A.M. ,” Martha tells me.
    I turn my attention back to Sarah. “What were they doing on the road?”
    “Arguing, I think.”
    “Their voices were raised?”
    “Well, just the man. He sounded all mad and mean.”
    “Do you know what they were arguing about?”
    “I’m not supposed to listen to grown-up talk, so I just put the halter on Sally and took her to the barn.”
    “Did the man touch Mrs. Borntrager?”
    “I don’t think so, but it was pretty dark. Mrs. Borntrager was all upset.”
    “How do you know?”
    “She was crying.”
    By and large, Amish children’s lives are more sheltered than their English counterparts. They’re not exposed to movies or pop culture. There’s no sex education or social media or Internet. Most of the things kids learn come from within their own family circle. As they enter their teen years and make friends outside of their family, they begin to see other perspectives and, perhaps, learn things their parents may not want them to learn.
    I suspect Sarah’s witnessing an argument between two adults in the dead of night was discomfiting. “Did you see anything else unusual?” I ask.
    The girl shakes her head. “That’s it.”
    I put my hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Sarah.”
    She looks at her mother. “Is Mrs. Borntrager in trouble?”
    The Amish woman shakes her head. “Chief Burkholder is just investigating that terrible buggy accident.”
    “Oh.” The girl nods solemnly. “I miss seeing Sam and Norah. I used to wave to them. They were sweet.”
    Martha licks her thumb and uses it to clean a smudge of dirt from her daughter’s chin. “Now you just forget all about Mrs. Borntrager, you hear? It’s time for the midday meal. Go make sure your brothers and sisters washed their hands. I’ll be inside in a few minutes.”
    Snatching up the puppy, the girl hightails it toward the house.
    I snag Martha’s gaze. “Do you have any idea who Sarah saw that night?”
    “No.”
    I try something open ended. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
    She waits so long before answering that I think she’s not going to respond. Then she bends and picks up the trousers and pins them to the clothesline. “I think the men like looking at Mattie Borntrager a little too much. Even Amish men. But that’s men for you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t play dumb with me, Katie. You know how it was with her when she was a girl. Well, it hasn’t changed all that much.”
    I think about the rivalry between Martha and Mattie and the fact that, in the end, Paul Borntrager chose Mattie. I know it’s cynical, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s what this is about, at least in part. Back when we were teens, Martha tolerated me and my antics. But she had no tolerance for Mattie. I wonder if her indictment of Mattie is the result of some long-standing jealousy that’s festered into something ugly over the years. I wonder if this woman has an axe to grind.
    “You mean with her being pretty?” I ask.
    “Pretty. And she knows it, too, doesn’t she?” She huffs, a sound of disgust that broadcasts something stronger than dislike for Mattie. “All I’m saying is that her being married in the eyes of God didn’t change the way men