Free Shunning Sarah by Julie Kramer Page A

said.
    “I know,” I replied. “But this case has been unusual from the start. Now let me talk to Dad for a minute.”
    My dad had friends everywhere. And he never forgot a name. “Do you know any Yoders around Harmony?”
    He didn’t, but he said he wasn’t in touch with the Amish so much anymore, not like when he was actively farming.
    “There used to be an Amish family who lived just a few miles east of us, but they moved years ago. You were just a little girl and probably don’t remember them.”
    I wished I did. “Do you know any leaders in the Amish community now?”
    He replied that one of the bishops around Harmony used to be an Abram Stoltzfus. “Not sure if he’s still around or not. My recollection is they serve for life.” Then he expressed regrets that his bad knees kept him home more than he’d like or he’d come along with me.
    I thanked him, and then rushed from my office to the newsroom, trying to figure out how to sell Bryce on this new Amish angle.
    “This story is ours,” I said. “We broke it first and we need to stay on top of it.”
    He responded that we already had the news of the day: Sarah Yoder’s name. “What more do you expect to learn?”
    “Who Sarah was, for starters. People around here are fascinated with the Amish. This murder is going to attract enormousinterest. The network may even want our video. Do you want to be the one to tell them we don’t have any?”
    That argument had some impact. Bryce probably hoped to be running the news division at the network someday.
    “This is a case where cold calling won’t get us answers,” I said. “The Amish don’t answer phones. To find sources for this story, we need to door-knock and win their trust.”
    The new boss stared at my face until he was certain we had eye contact, then told me to get moving. “Remember, Riley, I did this for you. I expect your cooperation when I need it.”
    To my relief, he also let me bring a photographer for the trip—something I would never take for granted again. I made Malik drive so he would stay awake and I could brief him on what to expect.
    “We’re not going to be able to show faces of the Amish,” I told him. “So much of the video is going to have to be generic—shot from behind. Backs of buggies are fine, too. Barns. Clotheslines. Faces shrouded by hats or bonnets. Men harvesting crops, again as long as we’re careful about identifiable faces.”
    “No faces. Got it.” He sounded a bit peeved, and I realized I was repeating myself.
    “Sorry, Malik. I just don’t want us locked out of the story over some misunderstanding about the camera. We may have to continually assure our Amish subjects that we’re being respectful of their beliefs.”
    “If they don’t watch TV, Riley, how are they going to tell whether we broadcast faces?”
    “They might not know right away,” I said. “But word usually gets out from others in the community. If we make them a promise, I want to be able to truthfully tell them we kept our word and keep them as sources.”
    My cameraman turned on the radio, tuning me out. I thought about offering to drive so he could sleep. Maybe a nap would improve his mood. I purposely didn’t bring up the one-man-band issue because I didn’t want to provoke more tension.
    Malik was making a better transition to reporter than I was making to photographer. I had tried convincing him that if he was too successful, we’d be stuck with one-man bands. And that would hurt our news product.
    “You need to start stammering or swear on air,” I teased. “It’s like throwing a game. Do it for the cause.”
    What I really meant was do it for me. But I wanted him to decide that on his own. Realizing there was no way for me to verbalize that thought without sounding selfish, I kept quiet. Trouble was, I could tell he liked being on camera. He was a good-looking guy. Plus, his Middle Eastern genes gave the station some much needed diversity.
    An attractive young