A Deputy in Amish Country
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Patricia Johns
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CHAPTER ONE
THE OHIO COUNTRYSIDE was a patchwork of green and gold, and Annabelle Richards watched the summer wind bend the crops in the fields, rippling across the heads of wheat and oats like waves on a lake. The hot scent of grain baking in the sun came into the SUV through their air-conditioning vents, and Annabelle found her gaze moving back to that side mirror. No one followed them, the stretch of black asphalt winding out behind them reassuringly empty.
The Amish farms slipped past them, laundry fluttering on clotheslines and flourishing gardens stretching out beside neat white houses. Every once in a while, a buggy would come trundling by, the muscular quarter horses plodding along at an even pace. The drivers didn’t look at them as they passed.
Annabelle used to come out to Amish communities to wander through shops and buy some local produce, but she’d never come in this direction before. These roads were far from the tourist attractions, the corn mazes, restaurants, craft shops... Here were just Amish people living their lives, and this gas-powered SUV seemed like an intrusion into their world. It felt almost rude to be coming here to disappear, a stranger in their midst.
Conrad Westhouse, the bulky, muscular sheriff’s deputy who was assigned to her protection, wasn’t exactly a stranger. They knew each other a little bit from volunteering at the Wooster, Ohio, soup kitchen that provided free hot meals for needy families three times a week.
Annabelle forced a smile. “So...do we keep this professional and I call you Deputy Westhouse? Or are you Conrad, like at the soup kitchen?”
“Conrad is fine.” He cast her a smile. “I’m the same guy, you know.”
“The uniform does change things,” she said.
“It’s supposed to, I guess,” he agreed. “But I’ll try to keep this whole process as painless as possible. I promise.”
“I’m curious about the ranch,” she said. “You said it’s family land? Were you raised there?”
Conrad shot her a look, and for a moment, he was silent.
“The thing is, this is all really intimidating,” Annabelle said. “Three days ago, I was just a bank teller doing my job and wondering if I should get a rescue dog. Today, I’m in protective custody so I can be a witness in a murder and robbery trial. This is a lot!”
“You look really scared,” he said, his voice softening.
“I am.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We protect our witnesses, I promise you that.” He cleared his throat and said, “I live with my brother.”
“Oh?” Annabelle still wasn’t comfortable around this big man, although he seemed to be trying to help her to relax.
“His name is Wilder. You’ll meet him when we get there. He does a lot of the ranching work while I’m away at my job, so... You’ll see him. He’s a decent guy.”
He tapped his hand on the top of the steering wheel. He didn’t look inclined to say more.
“And I’ll be living with two men for three weeks?” She’d assumed that she and Conrad would be alone. That was the implication—out there in the country, tucked away from any undue attention. But if she decided to slip out of Conrad’s custody, how difficult was that going to be?
Annabelle had agreed to testify, but she had good reason to rethink that now. She’d seen the robber’s face, yes. And she’d picked his photo out of a series of mug shots easily. But it had been that easy because she knew him, a fact she hadn’t shared with the deputy taking her statement.
Conrad cast her a sympathetic look. “I could see if a female deputy could be assigned to you as well, if that would be more comfortable. We were working pretty fast to figure out a solution until the trial—there wasn’t a lot of time to plan, and the sheriff figured you’d be safer right under my nose than anywhere else.”
“Is this really necessary?” she asked. “I mean, how bad is Stephen Hope?”
“He’s got connections to some gangs, and in the past, witnesses have disappeared.”
“How many?”
“Two.” He cast her an apologetic look. “And others have simply declined to testify. So we’re going to take this very, very seriously, and nothing will happen to you.”
She considered that. If the sheriff thought that Conrad’s ranch out in Amish country was the safest place for her, who was Annabelle to quibble? She wanted the same thing—safety. But what was the best way to stay safe? With the police, or on her own as far from Ohio as she could get?
“This is pretty overwhelming,” she said.
“Yeah, I get that.” His tone softened again.
“And I’m about to spend three weeks with you,” she said. “I know that you’re a pretty good cook from the soup kitchen, and we’ve chatted a bit, but I don’t know you very well. So if I could get to know you a little bit better, it would go a long way to calming my nerves.”
“This is pretty different for me, too,” he said. “I’ve never had a witness in my home before. The thing is, I normally try to keep my professional and personal lives completely separate.”
“Why did you change your mind for me?” she asked.
“You’re a good person.”
“What makes you so sure?” she asked.
He smiled faintly. “I have a good sense of these things. And I’ve watched you, too. You work hard at the soup kitchen. You treat everyone with respect. You’re decent, Annabelle.”
He’d been noticing her? She stole a look at him, but his gaze was locked on the road in front of them.
“Thanks,” she said.
“And I can see that this is weird for both of us. So in the spirit of making it less weird...” Conrad slowed for an intersection and came to a stop. He glanced over at her. “The land belonged to my great-grandfather and then my grandfather. My uncle inherited the place when he died. He ran the ranch for the last forty years or so. He and my dad were estranged for a lot of my childhood. My dad bought a large acreage, but there were hard feelings about that inheritance. He and my uncle didn’t get along real well.”
He signaled a turn and stepped on the gas.
“That happens sometimes,” she murmured.
“Anyway, Uncle Gray never did have any kids, and when he found out he had lung cancer, he wrote my brother and me into his will. I guess the rest is history.”
“Did he reconcile with your dad before he died?” Annabelle asked.
Conrad shook his head. “Nope. We didn’t even know he was sick. That’s part of the reason why I’m willing to work the ranch with my brother. We’re pretty different, but family has to count for something. So I’m trying to have fewer regrets than the generation before us.”
“How...um...different is your brother?” Annabelle surveyed the big man next to her—his clean-shaven face, strong jaw and bulky muscles. He looked relaxed enough, but there was something about him that felt like a coiled spring. He wasn’t like this at the soup kitchen. The uniform definitely changed him.
“I’d trust him with my life, if that’s what you’re asking,” Conrad replied. “He’s the free spirit, where I’m...” He angled his head to one side. “I guess I’m the stickler for doing things right. You’re safe with the two of us—I can guarantee that.”
If it came down to a fistfight, she had no doubt that she’d be well protected. Conrad was an intimidating-looking man—the human equivalent of steel and concrete. But even a muscle-bound cop was vulnerable to bullets. An image flashed in her mind of the security guard slumping to the ground and the masked man with his finger still on the trigger. The two masked accomplices had looked surprised and started hollering at each other. It had only taken a second. She hadn’t known then who the shooter was. It had only been later, after everyone was on the floor with their hands behind their heads, that she’d seen him lift his mask, just for a moment, and she’d known who he was. Stephen had met her gaze and winked. He’d pulled out her key—one from the set with the Snoopy key fob that had gone missing two days earlier—opened up the door that led into the vault, and her heart had almost stopped. Where had he gotten her keys? She’d been searching everywhere for the set. Had it dropped from her bag? Had he lifted it off her in a store or something? In that moment, she knew that life as she knew it was over.
Could you describe the man you saw?
A little over six feet tall, dark hair, kind of a long nose. He looks friendly—but he’s not. You know?
Even after shooting a man, Stephen had that cordial look about him that made her blood run cold. Death meant nothing to him, and apparently money was worth a life.
I wonder if you could look at some mug shots for us...
Annabelle hadn’t known that Stephen had a criminal history when she met him two years ago. He’d just been a guy she’d briefly dated who’d had a scary temper. But his picture had been on the fourth page of the mug shots.
There. That’s him.
How sure are you?
A hundred percent. That’s him. I looked him right in the face. Can I go now?
She’d figured she would head to Texas, where she had an aunt, to hide out, and she’d find a job down there. She’d change her hair and put on some weight...but the sheriff’s department hadn’t let her leave.
I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to stay with us until we have the suspect in custody. And then it was I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re in a vulnerable position right now, and it’s our job to protect you. And now she was headed out to Amish country with a deputy and a suitcase.
How safe was she while she remained in Ohio? Because Stephen had texted her before Conrad picked her up to hide her in the country. He’d said if she said anything, he was bringing her down, too. And now Conrad had her cell phone, and she was being hustled off to some farm outside of town.
“Annabelle?”
She startled. “Sorry—what was that?”
“I asked if you enjoy visiting Amish country,” he said.
“Oh.” She nodded. “Yeah, I do. To check out the shops and just relax. It’s a slower pace.”
“It is,” he agreed. “It’s like a different world out here.”
“Are there many non-Amish farms and ranches in this area?” she asked.
“Not too many,” he replied. “In fact, I get the feeling that the Amish are just waiting for us to sell. They run smaller farms than the rest of us do, because they have to do all the work with horses and wagons. So our ranch could probably be split up into two or three Amish farms.”
“Do you know your neighbors well?” she asked.
“My brother and I have only had this ranch for two years, so we haven’t been around long in the local estimation,” he replied. “But we’re on friendly terms. They’re nice people.”
The Westhouse ranch had a big wooden sign over the drive, and wooden rail fences stretched out on either side. Conrad turned into the drive and she noted how he watched his mirrors, his attention fixed on a truck that went rumbling past.
Would anyone outside of law enforcement know where she was for the next three weeks? Well, besides her best friend, Theresa. She’d told her where she was going, but Theresa could be trusted.
Several trees, leafy and heavy with large green apples, hunkered down along the gravel drive. Beyond the trees and past a vast lawn that looked like it needed mowing was a low ranch-style house. Three pickup trucks were parked beside it, two in various states of disrepair, and a man in a grease-streaked white T-shirt stood next to the open hood of one of the more beaten-up vehicles.
The man turned, looking mildly surprised to see her in the front seat of the SUV. He shoved a tool into his back pocket and eyed them as Conrad pulled to a stop.
“I wasn’t going to trust this to a phone call,” Conrad said. “Give me a minute to fill my brother in, would you?”
She nodded, and Conrad hopped out. He headed over to his brother, and she watched the silent conversation for a moment. Then she looked out her window. There was a small red barn with a corral. On the far side of the farmyard was a squat stable with its own corral, where a glossy chestnut horse stood with a colt beside her. The colt looked young—gangly, slender, sticking close to his mother. And beyond that corral and a few yards of long grass there was another property that looked Amish—a two-story white house, a clothesline with Amish dresses and pants rippling as the wind strummed across them. She’d never been quite this close to an Amish home before, and she was intrigued.
The SUV was getting stuffy, so she opened her door and got out into the fragrant summer air. There were some fruit trees in the Amish front yard, and a black buggy was parked next to the house. The shafts that would attach to a horse’s breeching were resting on blocks of wood. A window had been raised and the front door propped open with another piece of wood. She could hear a child’s laughter from inside. The difference between these two properties was immediately obvious, from the style of house to the mode of transportation sitting outside. But she had to admit that she was intrigued to spend some time here.
The horse in the corral nickered, and Conrad looked up at the sound of her door shutting.
“I want to introduce you to my brother,” Conrad called.
Annabelle headed over to where the men stood, and the second man eyed her with a curious expression.
“This is Wilder,” Conrad said. “I’ve filled him in on the basics—you witnessed a crime, and we’re keeping you under wraps until the trial.”
But he wasn’t telling his brother which crime, it would seem. Wilder wiped his hand on his jeans, then shook hers.
“I’m Annabelle,” she said, and when he released her fingers, she resisted the urge to wipe her hand off.
“Wilder,” he replied, then looked down at her hand. “Sorry.” He grabbed a rag and gave it to her. “I didn’t know we’d have company, so I didn’t clean the place up. But you’re very welcome to stay as long as you need. Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll grab your bag,” Conrad said, and he headed back over to the SUV. He paused, scanning the road again.
Annabelle glanced over at Wilder, and she found him watching his brother, too, his brow furrowed. Conrad pulled her suitcase out of the back, as well as the shopping bag of toiletries, and as he closed the hatch, he scanned the property one more time.
“He’s scared, isn’t he?” Annabelle said quietly.
Wilder’s gaze snapped over to her, and he smiled faintly.
“Nah, he’s just cautious. It’s in his nature. It’s fine.”
“He and I both volunteer at the soup kitchen, so I know he’s capable of relaxing more than this,” she said. “I’ve seen him joking around with the guys there.”
Wilder chuckled. “Well, you’re on the other side of things now. This is Work Conrad. He’s a real watchdog. Trust me, you’ll be fine so long as he’s prowling like that. Come on inside. I was going to open a can of soup for lunch, if you’re interested.”
“Thanks. That sounds good.”
Conrad rejoined them, the suitcase held easily in one hand, the shopping bag in the other, and he nodded for her to go ahead of him. She followed Wilder through the side door that opened into a kitchen that looked like it was last updated in the eighties—brown everything. But it was clean enough, all but a pile of dishes in one sink, and a few boxes of cereal lined up haphazardly on the counter. Wilder headed over to the cupboards and took out some bowls.
Conrad let the screen door bounce shut behind him. “So let’s just set up a few ground rules.” The gentler man from their ride over seemed to be gone again, and he was back to granite. “No phone calls out to anyone. This is important. I know I have your cell phone, but I still think it’s important to say it. We can’t let anyone know where you’re staying—anyone. A friend could breathe a word, and then your location is blown. You are officially off the map until that trial is over. You already told your family you’d be unavailable for a few weeks, and anyone close enough can hear through them.”
His voice was brusque, and she nodded. She’d told Theresa that she’d be at a nearby farm, but not specifically where. It had been one of those moments where she wasn’t thinking about the dangers. She wouldn’t tell anyone else.
“Okay.” She swallowed.
“No answering the door. Stick close to me at all times when you’re outside. I’ll give you privacy in here, but once you walk outside this house, you need to be with me. No exceptions.”
“I thought it was safe out here,” Annabelle said, trying to sound like she was joking. “Amish farmland, horses and buggies.”
Conrad cast her a flat look, then continued. “You aren’t Amish, are you? And they aren’t witnesses to a case. If you see anyone on this property besides me or Wilder, let me know. If anything seems odd or suspicious on a gut level, let me know that, too.”
The air was warm, but a breeze filtered through the window and worked through the kitchen toward the screen door. She plucked at her tee, holding it away from her collarbone.
“I’m going to need a little bit of personal space,” she said. “If no one knows I’m here, we should be fine. If we have three weeks of me being glued to your side, you and I are going to hate each other by the end of it.”
His intense gaze caught hers, and she saw something simmer there, a challenge, maybe? Her breath caught.
“I have phenomenal self-control,” Conrad said dryly. “I think we’ll both survive. We’re clear on the rules?”
She felt mildly chastised. “We’re clear.”
“Good.”
So this was going to be her life for the next few weeks. No internet, no phone, no connection to her life...just this big, tough, by-the-book cop who was intent on getting her back to court to do the right thing.
If she decided to forget about the right thing and just save her own hide, what were her chances of getting out of here without Conrad or Wilder noticing?
CONRAD’S BOOTS ECHOED down the hallway as he carried Annabelle’s suitcase and toiletries to the spare bedroom. He and his brother had moved in a couple of years ago, and the spare room still had a few boxes stacked in the closet, a twin-size bed in one corner and a couple of shelves filled with their late uncle’s fishing trophies. The rest of the contents they’d carried off to the dump, but a man’s trophies... Those felt wrong to trash. Uncle Gray might not have been a real friendly sort, but he’d been family, all the same. The room had that slightly musty, old-house smell that he’d always found rather comforting.
He set the suitcase and bag next to the bed.
“I’ll grab some sheets and make up your bed,” Conrad said. “I’m going to have to ask you to sleep with your window shut for safety. We’ll set up a fan in here to cool things off a bit.”
The window overlooked the flourishing, albeit rather weedy, back garden. Round green pumpkins were starting to blush with orange, and a row of green beans were already going to seed. There was a patch of kitchen herbs—dill, thyme and oregano—and a row of petunias that had spread and blossomed like a fuchsia carpet. Neither he nor his brother had prioritized keeping the garden this year, and he felt a little bit embarrassed about the state of it now.
“I’m going to be in the way here,” Annabelle said, and she tucked her chin-length blond hair behind one ear.
“In the way?” Conrad shot her an incredulous look.
This woman had no idea how seriously he took his work. His job as a deputy filled all his thoughts and waking hours. And she was different, too. He’d noticed her at the soup kitchen, and he’d thought she was an attractive woman. They’d chatted a little bit, and he’d considered asking her out a couple of times, but he’d wanted to be sure she was single first. Besides, she was younger than he was, and less battered by life. After getting an up close and personal view of his brother’s divorce, he hadn’t been in a rush to punch above his weight.
“It’s not like you chose this,” he said. “And that shouldn’t be your worry. You are officially my full-time job now. I need you underfoot—that’s the deal here. Don’t feel bad about it.”
“I appreciate it.” Annabelle’s expression was still veiled, though.
Conrad wanted to make her feel better. The thing was, he’d requested to be her bodyguard for the next few weeks. When he’d seen her stricken face after the robbery, he’d known that he wouldn’t sleep a wink unless he was 100 percent sure of her safety. He wasn’t normally this territorial, but for Annabelle, he felt something different...
“Your stay doesn’t have to be all misery.” Conrad tucked one thumb into his belt. “We can take you horseback riding, for example. I mean, Wilder and I will be checking the herd, but you can just enjoy a ride in the fields. There are people who pay good money for that experience, you know.”
“That would actually be fun.” A smile touched her lips. “I haven’t been riding in years.”
“I know this is hard,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know you’re giving up your freedom, your home, your routines... I get it. I am, too. But what you’re doing is really important here. Your testimony is the one that will put this man behind bars and keep him there. And Wayne County, Wooster and anywhere else he’d decide to target are all safer.”
He saw some tears mist her eyes, and his heart sank. Maybe he was taking the wrong tack here. She’d been through an awful lot, and the sheriff’s department had made sure that she was safely cut off from everyone else. Conrad was all she had at the moment—and while he had a powerful instinct to keep her safe, he wasn’t great with the emotional side of things.
“Did you, um, talk to the victim’s services people?” he asked. “They have therapists who specialize in helping people who have witnessed crimes.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yep. I talked to a therapist yesterday.”
“Do you need to talk some more?” he asked. She’d seen a man shot in front of her. Even for a seasoned cop, that would leave emotional damage that one chat with a therapist wasn’t going to smooth over.
“I’m fine.” Annabelle’s face was pale, and she had her hands balled up into white-knuckled fists.
Yeah, she wasn’t fine. It was that very look on her face that had driven him to ask for this assignment.
“If you do want to talk about it,” he said, “I’m here. And I’ll understand better than you think. In law enforcement, we see a lot, and we have to go through the steps of dealing with it just like anyone else. So if you want to talk, I will certainly understand what you’re feeling.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
It was something he could offer—a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on. While he tried to stay in his lane and leave the long talks to the people who were trained for it, there wasn’t that luxury here on his land.
Annabelle seemed to notice her clenched fists, and she relaxed her fingers.
“It won’t be so bad,” he said quietly, and in that moment, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to soothe more, her or himself.
“Soup’s ready!” Wilder called from the kitchen.
Conrad let out a breath of relief. “Are you hungry?”
“A bit.”
Conrad led the way back down the hallway toward the kitchen. He grabbed a pile of flyers from the mail pile on the edge of the table, and as his gaze moved past the screen door, he startled. Standing on the porch, looking inside in solemn silence, was his neighbor’s five-year-old daughter. She was dressed in her little pink Amish cape dress—a perfect replica of an adult woman’s dress, except she didn’t have a white apron. But she did have a child’s kapp on her head.
“Hello,” the child said.
“Jane,” Conrad said, “is everything okay?” He went to the screen door and opened it. Jane came inside and she looked around.
“I was looking at the baby horse,” the girl said. “And then I came to say hi.”
“Hi, Jane,” Wilder said, pulling some crackers down from a cupboard.
“How long will the baby be a baby?” Jane asked. “Will you let him stay with his mother forever? Or will you sell him?”
Amish children were farm raised, and the Amish didn’t tend to hide the realities of farm life from the little ones. The colt was only a few days old, and this was the first day they’d taken him out of the stable and into the sunlight.
“We’ll probably keep him,” Conrad said.
“Will you teach him to be ridden?” Jane asked. “Will he like being ridden? Maybe he won’t like it. My mammi said when she was a little girl that an untrained horse stamped on her like this.”
The little girl mimed a rearing horse.
“Oh...” Conrad winced. “That would hurt.”
“I think so.” Jane nodded, her gaze moving around their kitchen and stopping at the microwave. “Can I touch the buttons?”
“No,” Conrad said.
“Oh. Because it’s forbidden,” she said.
“No, because there’s nothing inside. You have to put something inside a microwave, or else you’ll break it if you turn it on.”
“Why?”
“It’s just the way microwaves work.” It was always the same. How had he gotten sucked into another lengthy conversation with this chatty little girl?
“Who’s that?” Jane asked, pointing at Annabelle, who was watching him with an amused look on her face.
“That’s my friend,” he said. Not a lie. They did know each other, even if they were very casual acquaintances.
“What’s her name?”
How much was he going to tell people around here? Couldn’t this child just go back home already?
“I’m—” Annabelle’s gaze flickered up toward Conrad. “You can call me Annie. I’m Mr. Westhouse’s friend. I’m just visiting for a little while.”
Not bad. There were a lot of Annies in Amish communities, too. It just might blend in.
“Do you like baby horses?” Jane asked, bouncing past Conrad and stopping in front of Annabelle. She pulled out a chair at the table and sat down.
“I do like baby horses,” Annabelle replied seriously. “That’s why I came.”
He was impressed by how fluidly she skirted the truth. Maybe Annabelle’s presence would be less gossip-worthy if she were just a city dweller who liked horses. Just another tourist.
“That’s why I came over here, too!” Jane said. “What are you eating?”
“Vegetable soup,” Wilder said.
“My mammi makes sausage-and-potato soup,” Jane said. “It’s the best soup ever.”
“Her mammi is her grandmother,” Conrad said.
Annabelle nodded, but some color had returned to her cheeks and her lips. If nothing else, little Jane was a good distraction.
“Our soup came from a can,” Annabelle said. “It’s very good, but I’m sure your grandmother’s soup is much better.”
Conrad looked out the screen door and saw Wollie Schmidt walking briskly across the narrow stretch of grass that separated their two properties. No doubt he was in search of his daughter. Conrad opened the screen door and shot his neighbor a smile.
“Jane dropped by to say hi,” Conrad called.
“I always know where to check for her first,” Wollie said. “My mamm was frantic looking for her. She’s got to stop running off like that.”
Wollie was tall and solid, and he wore an Amish beard that didn’t include a mustache. His white shirt, rolled up to the elbows, was sweat stained. Wollie poked his head into the house and said a few words to his daughter in Pennsylvania Dutch. Jane sat up straight, but didn’t move.
“I told her to wait for me,” Wollie said, and he angled his head away from the house. “I was going to come by and talk to you anyway. Are you missing any cattle?”
“No, I was out there this morning. We’re fine,” Wilder said. “Don’t tell me you’re missing another calf.”
Wollie sighed. “That’s the second one this week. They cut my fence and snatch them right out of the pasture,” Wollie said. “And they don’t take yours?”
“They aren’t touching ours.” Conrad crossed his arms over his chest. “Is anyone else missing calves?”
The screen door clattered shut, and they both moved a couple of paces away from the door.
“Morty Esh lost one last week,” Wollie said. “And his cousin Elijah lost four the week before. Mose Schrock on the other side of me has lost three so far. They don’t hit the same farm every time, but they don’t seem to touch yours at all. I wonder why that might be.”
Wollie’s sharp gaze caught Conrad’s, then dropped to the ground, where he kicked a tuft of grass with his boot. Was it suspicion? Or just irritability at being picked on?
“Maybe they know that my brother would shoot a man for cattle rustling on his property,” Conrad said. “And an Amish man wouldn’t do that.”
Because the Amish were peaceful people. They worked hard, and they lived by their ideals, even when it hurt. Even when it cost them a great deal.
Wollie let out a huff of breath. “Maybe so.”
There was someone out there stealing cattle and profiting from a peaceful people’s refusal to cause hurt, and that didn’t sit right with Conrad. It was the behavior of not just a criminal, but a bully.
“We’ll help you fix your fence,” Conrad said. “How about after we have lunch? We’ll be done in about fifteen minutes.”
“I appreciate it, Conrad,” Wollie said. “You’re a good neighbor.”
“We try.” Conrad nodded. “And we’ll try and keep an eye out for mischief.”
“I’d appreciate that, too,” Wollie replied. “I can’t afford much more of this.”
If Conrad ever spotted someone rustling the Amish cattle, he’d do what an Amish man wouldn’t. Conrad wasn’t made of the same stuff. His ideals included dealing with bullies head-on. There was a certain type of person who didn’t understand the grace and forgiveness the Amish offered, but they did understand a pair of handcuffs.
