Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

about you,” I cut in, and the words make me sound like a petty, jealous shrew.
    She looks away as if the words shame her.
    “I have a witness, Mattie. They saw you. They saw him. I know he’s Amish—”
    “Sell is nix as baeffzes.” That is nothing but trifling talk. Looking shaken, she sputters the words in Pennsylvania Dutch.
    “Is it?” I tilt my head and lean closer, invading her space, getting in her face. “Wu schmoke is, is aa feier.” Where there’s smoke there’s fire.
    “Please stop.”
    “Someone ran down that buggy and killed your husband and children. I’ve been beating my head against the wall trying to figure out who and why.” I slam the heel of my hand against the jamb next to her head. “And you’re playing games with me!”
    “I’m not…” Her breaths come short and fast, as if she’s in the throes of a panic attack. “I would never…”
    I don’t know if I’m right about any of this. The one thing I do know is that she’s keeping something from me, so I don’t give her a respite. I’m truly angry, but part of my display is calculated. I want her shaken. Even better if she’s furious with me. Because I know Mattie. Pressure is the only way I’m going to get anything out of her.
    “I want the truth and I want it now!” I shout.
    “Please. Leave me alone!” She lowers her head and puts her face in her hands. The cry that follows is so wrenching I feel the hairs on my arms prickle, the threat of tears at the backs of my own eyes. I shake off both.
    I give her a moment to regain her composure, then ask, “Who is he?”
    Her shoulders shake as she sobs uncontrollably into her hands. I wait, letting her hurt, resisting the urge to set my hand on her shoulder. All the while doubt and guilt poke a pointy finger at my back, laughing at me because I’m wrong about this. I’m wrong about her and I’ve destroyed one of my oldest friendships on a hunch I wasn’t sure about to begin with.
    After a moment, she raises her gaze to mine. Her nose is red, her cheeks mottled and streaked with tears. “Please don’t tell,” she whispers. “Please, Katie, I couldn’t bear it if anyone knew.”
    “Knew what?” I snap.
    “Wayne Kuhns. He tried to … He wanted to…”
    I know most of the Amish in and around Painters Mill, but that name isn’t familiar. “What did he do to you?”
    “He didn’t do anything. But he … he wanted to … be with me. He tried to … you know, the way men do sometimes.”
    Surprise is like the slash of claws across my face. I break a sweat beneath my uniform. I’m aware of my heart thrumming against my ribs. I stare, knowing I shouldn’t be shocked, but I am.
    “Mattie, did he hurt you? Did he force you to do something you didn’t want to do?”
    “No. I … pushed him away.”
    “Did you have an affair with him?”
    “No! Of course not. Katie, I’m married in the eyes of God. I would never forsake my vows. I wouldn’t do that to Paul or to myself.” Her mouth quivers. “I can’t believe you would think that about me. Now please, I just want to forget it ever happened.”
    “Are you kidding me?” I choke out a laugh, incredulity ringing hard in my voice. “What were you arguing about?”
    “He wanted to … be with me, and I told him it would never happen. He became upset and began shouting. It was upsetting and very uncomfortable.”
    “Where was Paul?”
    He was at his parents’ house up in Fredericktown. His mamm had just had a stroke.”
    I nod, recalling that Paul’s mother recently passed. “What were you doing outside that time of night?”
    “It wasn’t that late. Still light, in fact. I saw Wayne coming down the lane in his buggy.
    “That’s not what I heard.”
    “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, Katie, but I know exactly what time it was. I’d just put the children to bed.” Mattie cocks her head. “You’ve been talking to that Schlabach girl, haven’t you?”
    “I’m not going to get into that with you.”
    “I don’t want to speak ill of a child, especially a troubled child. But Sarah is known for telling tall tales.”
    I say nothing.
    “Sarah Schlabach makes up stories, just like her mamm used to. You remember how Martha was. She never liked me.” She looks down, presses her hand against her abdomen. “Sarah may have a sweet little face, but she’s a troubled child, Katie. In fact, she was mean to Norah once. They were playing and my sweet little girl came in