Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (12 page)

"I suppose it'll turn up if the Good Lord wants me to find it," she said at last.

Rosie encouraged her not to worry. "I'm sure it's around here somewhere."

All at once Katherine was struck with concern. "Could it be... do you think Dylan knew about Laura's diary and took it with him when he moved his things out?"

Rosie turned quickly to look at her husband. "What do you think of that, Fulton? Is it possible?"

The butler stood tall and, shaking his head, assured Katherine and Rosie that could not be the case. "Certainly not. What use would he have for it?"

"None, unless he thought it might lead him to secret accounts or such things," Rosie added with a groan. "But, of course, that would have been long before Laura had any accounts of her own."

"You're right." Fulton sat in a tufted Victorian chair near the butler's pantry just outside the kitchen. He scratched his

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head, glancing up at the staircase nearby. "I don't believe Dylan Bennett had any idea the young Laura's diary even existed."

Rosie placed her hand on his shoulder. "She must have packed it away safely with other treasures from her youth."

"Should I call Mr. Cranston?" Katherine spoke up. "Would he know anything about it?"

"I doubt it. The diary is over twenty-two years old. I'd have to say there's little chance an attorney would be privy to it."

While Fulton was talking, Katherine had the feeling, once again, that Lydia Miller would wholeheartedly suggest going to prayer over the lost journal. "God cares about every detail of your life, Katie," she'd told her on several occasions.

Still, Katherine continued to look in every closet, search every nook and cranny of the old mansion, not bothering God with such a mundane thing as the lost diary of a teenage mother-to-be, even though that mother had been her very

own.

Four cars were parked in the circular drive in front of Mayfield Manor ten days later: Natalie Judah's and the vehicles belonging to three other women who'd responded happily to the quilting class ad in the Canandaigua newspaper. Katherine was overjoyed with such interest in her free class. In fact, she stood where Fulton usually positioned himself, personally greeting each lady at the front door.

She had all of them gather in the drawing room to get better acquainted before asking Garrett to bring in some hot tea and pastries.

"So good to see all of you here," Katherine said, standing near the fireplace and leaning against the mantelpiece. She introduced herself first, then Leoma, Natalie Judah, Missy

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Braun, Elizabeth May, and Rosie's sister, Ada. "All future quilters," she said of them.

They smiled, nodding. The ladies exchanged pleasantries, and Katherine discovered that Ada and Elizabeth had taken a quilting class together years ago but hadn't run into each other since. "We probably need a refresher course," Ada spoke up, casting a smile at Elizabeth. "But since Katherine used to be Amish, well, maybe we'll actually remember better this time."

Used to be Amish.

The phrase took Katherine quite by surprise. Probably because she'd never heard herself referred to in that way before. At any rate, she stood there, preparing to teach the fundamentals of quilting, when a fleeting memory surfaced and she recalled a month of school days. At just sixteen, she had served as substitute for the regular Amish teacher. Once again she was an instructor, only tonight the topic for discussion did not involve the three R's.

The evening proved to be a lively one, and even though some of these women had come to her as strangers, Katherine felt, midway through this first quilting session, that she really liked these fancy English ladies and hoped there might come lasting friendships out of their time together.

The remaining weekdays were spent attending the training sessions at the hospice. Natalie Judah was always jovial and kind, grateful for Katherine's interest in the hospice. Glad that her birth mother had had the opportunity to know the nurse before Laura's passing, Katherine derived great strength from Natalie. After only a few days, she was also becoming a dear friend.

When Katherine had finished up her two weeks of training and sailed through her exit interview, she was delighted.

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Her schedule was set for Mondays and Wednesdays, two hours each day.

"I'd like you to read to Willy," said Natalie on Katherine's first official day as a volunteer.

She followed a nurse's aide to the common area, eager to interact with one of the patients. Willy turned out to be the blond boy she'd seen on the day she'd inquired about volunteering. He was a beautiful eight-year-old, diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Willy's eyes, blue as they were, filled her with compassion, for she could see the agony of cancer imprinted there.

She sat with him in the sun-filled gathering area, getting acquainted. "What's your middle name?" he asked her after they'd exchanged first and last names.

"I was never given a middle name," she told him. His eyes widened. "Really... no middle name?" "Is a middle name very important?"

"Well ... maybe." He broke into a smile. "I've got two middle names."

"You do? Well, I think that's very nice. What are they . . if you don't mind telling me?"

He seemed more than happy to tell her. "My name is William James Lee Norton. I have my dad's name, my grandpa's name, and my uncle's name."

She couldn't help smiling. She had her birth mother's choice of a name, but that was the extent of it. "I like all of your names, Willy," she commented, wondering why she was so drawn to the youngster.

Later, after they'd discussed favorite colors and foods, and the best kinds of smells, books, and animals, he asked out of the blue, "Are you married?"

She had to chuckle. "Not yet, but I hope to be someday."

"Then will you have lots of children?" His face was full of questions as they sat side by side on the wicker settee.

"If the Good Lord sees fit, I suppose I will."

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"It's one of your wishes, right?" He reached for a small ball with his foot, his legs limp as wilted celery.

"A wish?" she said. "Well, I guess I never thought of having children as being a wish."

Willy asked if she'd help him sit on the floor so they could roll the ball back and forth. Carefully, she lifted him down and got him propped up on the floor with several pillows. Then she sat on the floor opposite the bright but fragile boy and pushed the ball gently, glad she'd worn woolen trousers instead of a skirt.

"My father says that God gives His people :the desires of their hearts," young Willy continued, "if they're linked up with Him."

Linked up with God?

Katherine had never heard such talk. Especially coming from one so young.., one so desperately ill.

On Wednesday, Willy talked even more openly, and Katherine remembered hearing or reading--or maybe it was Dan who'd told her this years ago; she couldn't recall which--that "a little child shall lead them." Honestly, she didn't feel as though she needed to be led anywhere, so she didn't quite know from where such a recollection had sprung. Or why.

As far as she was concerned, she was right where she wanted to be, enjoying every minute of her high-society English life, partly due to Justin Wirth and his many contacts and friends.

Katherine turned her attention back to Willy, and when he'd tired of their checkers game, she slowly wheeled him over to have a close look at the aquarium. Several large blue and green fish caught their interest, and one very fat brown snail, too, which they quickly agreed to name Fred.

When it came time to say good-bye, Katherine was reluctant to leave the boy. With all of her heart, she wished

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she could do something significant to make Willy's cancer go away--and never return.

On the ride home, she forced her thoughts away from Willy, daydreaming of Justin, yet careful to conceal her smile from Theodore's view.

,lust last Friday she had dined with him at Belhurst Castle, a turreted, red Medina stone structure located in Geneva, less than a thirty minutes' drive from Mayfield Manor. It was the romantic setting he had promised her before the crippling snowstorm.

The cordial waiter had chosen a table for two, situated near a window in the banquet hall overlooking the shores of Seneca Lake. The breathtaking vista and sweeping expanse of snow-covered lawns gave Katherine the notion that she was a princess, dining in a real castle.

Justin, dressed impeccably in a double-breasted navy blazer and tan slacks, was very attentive--more so than ever--leaning toward her at one point as they sat across from each other at the candlelit table. "They say an Italian opera singer once lived here. Have you heard the story?"

She shook her head, but her gaze was riveted on the handsome face, the azure eyes, as he told the haunting tale.

"A Spanish don and his ladylove lived here long, long ago." His voice was softer now. "The couple ran away from home . . . an ill-fated romance, some say."

"And they built this castle?" She felt as if she might be the runaway ladylove, especially tonight, so far removed from the cloistered life of the Amish. "They came here to hide?"

"Yes, amidst secret tunnels and buried treasure, they hid here . . . from their own people."

She looked about her at the flagstone floor, the stone walls, the high windows, wondering about Justin's simple story. "Is it really true?"

He smiled, offering her a mischievous wink, and her

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pulse quickened. "No one knows for sure," he said.

When the waiter came back to take their order, Justin was the perfect gentleman, ordering the salmon dinner she chose from the menu. She felt helpless to slow her heart to its normal pace, sitting there, her eyes fixed on his face, his hands--the well-bred, attractive man whose words flowed like warm honey, whose gestures were artistic, as enchanting as this mysterious place.

He had reached for her hand and held it all the way back to Mayfield Manor as they rode in the moonlight. Later, upon their arrival, he got out and opened the door of the limousine, asking the driver to stay put as he walked her to the door. "The castle was the perfect setting for our first dinner out together," he remarked as they made their way to the double doors of her mansion.

"Yes." She could hardly speak past a whisper.

Turning to face her, he took both her hands in his. "I

hope one day we'll return."

"To the castle?"

"As runaway lovers," he said, smiling down at her in the light of the rustic lamppost.

Surprised, she didn't know what he meant exactly, but she liked the sound of his voice in the stillness. So quiet, she felt as if the earth held its breath.

Then he kissed the back of each of her hands. "I'll call tomorrow," he said, smiling down at her.

"Good night," she said, turning toward the door lest he reach for her, sweeping her into his arms unexpectedly. Oh, as much as she might've welcomed it, she was hesitant. Something held her back, though she was not sure what.

"Until tomorrow," he said. "Good night, dear Katherine."

She smiled to herself, hearing his footsteps on the pavement. Turning for a parting glance, Princess Katherine leaned against the heavy door that led inside to her very own

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castle, her heart filled with longing for the next glimpse of her artist prince.

Not until she turned off the lamp beside her bed did she even once think of Dan. And because of that, she assumed she was moving away from the initial shockpushing her pain far away from her, pushing away the realization that out there in the world somewhere her dear first love was alive and well.

In her silent rote prayers, as she had always learned to pray at bedtime, she thought of young Willy, wondering if his wish might come true . . . if he was to have his heart's desire. She tried to pray for the poor, sick boy but felt every bit at odds with it, the same as she'd felt about praying in that way back at Lydia Miller's when she'd first tried.

Once asleep, she dreamed of Justin. He was planning a picnic in the snow.., for her and Willy. Mixed-up and hazy, the wintry, pastoral dream was filled with spicy ferns growing ankle-deep out of a dense snow crust, ending with Daniel Fisher arriving just as they were putting the food away, packing up, ready to go home.

Gasping for breath, she woke with a start and sat up in her bed. "He's still.., in my dreams," she whispered, hand at her throat.

Fully awake, she climbed out of bed, slipped into her bathrobe and house shoes, and made her way through the bedroom to the sitting room. There she stopped and stared at the dying embers in the fireplace, then headed out into the hallway, her steps guided by low-burning wall lamps.

A late-night snack might help her forget the peculiar dream. Oh, she longed for one long night without thoughts of Daniel intruding on her sleep. And one pleasant day without the memory of his eyes probing hers, his words burning into her soul.

"I don't mean to take up much of your time," he had said in her parlor. The scene had replayed itself a thousand times

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in her mind. He wasn't only taking up her time, he was disrupting her life.

"I've been waiting a long time to see you again .... "

She sat at the table where her domestic help always ate their meals, except for the one snowbound night in the library. Clapping her hands over her ears, she longed to stop his voice. More than anything.

Little Willy had said something about God giving His children the longings of their hearts. Well, now was a good time for the Good Lord to start, she decided. Because if God didn't stop the memories, heal her immense pain, how was she ever to focus her romantic attentions on the dashing, very honest Justin Wirth?

She folded her hands in front of her. "Please, dear God, will you make the past die? Make my past go away," she said softly into the darkness of the kitchen.

Then, weeping, she nearly forgot where she was. In the dim light, the enormous kitchen almost looked like her mamma's, and for a brief, intangible moment, she was sitting on the wooden bench next to the trestle table, wishing Rebecca might come and find her out of bed in the middle of the night and make her some warm, soothing cocoa.