Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (4 page)

Then and there, she decided to make contact with Mary. She wouldn't put her friend in jeopardy by writing the letter herself. No, she had a better idea. Rosie, her trusted maid, might be the ideal person to take dictation.

Katherine turned slightly, ready to put her guitar away and call for Rosie Taylor with her plan, when her eyes fell on a bright blue sedan parked off to the side of the circular driveway. Looking more closely, she noticed a single set of footprints, their indentation breaking through to the pavement beneath.

It was then she heard the muffled sound of the door knocker, followed by Fulton's hurried steps. She knelt to place the guitar in its case, a flicker of a memory surfacing as she did. Tired of his share of run-ins with his father, Dan had insisted on giving the beloved instrument to her years ago. "Will you hide it for me?" he'd asked, smiling down on her that sunshiny day.

How could she have refused? " 'Course I will." "You'll take good care of it, won't you, Katie girl?" And care for it, she did. Marched right off to the barn

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and hid it away from eyes that would misunderstand her need--their needto create the prohibited music.

She might've lingered, taking pleasure in the endearing scene from years gone by, had it not been for the sound of her loyal butler, his voice rising to an ever higher pitch. Goodness' sake, the man sounded ruffled. Who on earth could be at the door?

She went to the window but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Must be a traveling salesman, she assumed, seeing only the back of a man's overcoat. Fulton will get rid of him.

How secluded and safe she felt. Sighing, she wondered what it might've been like having servants to wait on you hand and foot your whole life, people responsible for making your existence as sweet as cherry pie. Had Laura kept her infant daughter, she, Katherine, would have experienced such a life. This estate was the home of Laura's parents long before her birth mother had ever conceived and borne her first and only child.

Dismissing the clamor, Katherine went to sit at the petite writing table across the room and searched for her prettiest stationery.

Daniel stepped back, away from the door. "Are you saying.., that Katie Lapp no longer lives here?" His breathing was coming fast.

"Lest I repeat myself, young man--she is gone like so much rubbish," the butler said, his nostrils flaring like an irritated horse. "The no-good woman left on her own accord weeks ago, though I rather regretted not having thrown her out myself."

Daniel shook his head, pained by the man's words. "Is it possible that we're talking about the same woman? You see, it's Katie I wish to see--the Amish girl from Lancaster County. We grew up together, we were sweethearts .... " Daniel made an attempt to demonstrate just how tall Katie

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might be, then mentioned the color of her hair, physical traits--all to no avail.

"Sounds as if the woman's got you fooled, too."

"But I was told she'd come here."

"Come she did ... caused absolute mayhem, too." The butler's face grew red. "Over the holidays, no less."

Dan grimaced at the stranger's disparaging remarks. How could this be? Where was his precious Katie?

Quickly, he had the presence of mind to inquire, "Do you have any idea where she might've gone? The slightest tip--anything--would be appreciated."

"I would expect she returned to New York City, from whence she came."

"Who in the world does she know there?" he said, more to himself than to the distinguished-looking gentleman before him.

"Contacts at a talent agency, I was told." The tall man reached for the door handle. "I don't mean to be rude, but the woman was a phony, through and through. Now, if you'll excuse me .... "

"Uh, I'm very sorry to have bothered you." His hopes

were dashed. "Thank you for the information."

"Good day," said the butler.

Turning, Daniel made his way across the wide snow- dusted driveway to the car. He thought of the Wise Woman, her words of warning. Katie's not the girl you grew up with.

Well, certainly, she would've changed some since their teen years--their blissful courting days. Given the circumstances of the imposed shunning, she may have seemed somewhat rebellious in her coming here, but understandably so.

Despite what he thought he knew about his former girlfriend, this encounter with a stranger--a butler--at the door of Katie's birth mother's estate troubled him greatly. And the information offered made no sense. None whatever.

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The noise from the front door disturbed Katherine. She'd gone to stand just outside the wide French doors leading from her suite to the main hallway. She listened, though no matter how hard she strained to hear, it was impossible to make out the nature of the exchange taking place on her doorstep.

Unexpectedly, two housemaids rounded the corner, nearly bumping into her. Stepping back, she decided against eavesdropping and closed the glass doors behind her.

Preoccupied with her plan to have Rosie write a cordial letter to Mary, she slid open the narrow drawer in the center of the desk. There she found several plain white pages, just right for taking a few notes, making something of a rough draft.

Picking up a pen from the drawer, she began to write an example for Rosie:

Saturday, January 17

Dear Mary,

You do not know me. However, I know something of you.

Stopping to read, to see how the English words looked on the page, Katherine wondered if they sounded affected. Stilted.

"I'll ask Rosie," she said aloud. Mrs. Taylor would know. After all, she was of British descent. In fact, her writing style might seem even more formal than the forced, sophisticated way Katherine was attempting to word her initial thoughts.

She sighed, not sure if she should begin by owning up to the fact that the ul,timate writer--Rosie--knew only of Mary through Katherine. That the Amish girls had been dear friends all their lives, but because of the physical separation caused by the Ban and the many miles between them, they'd lost touch with each other.

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She wrote several more first lines before crumpling those pages, too, into the wastebasket. Clearly, she needed help. Going to the wall, she pulled a velvet rope, the bell that would summon her favorite housemaid.

Rosie arrived quickly, appearing rather puzzled about Katherine's idea once the explanation was offered. "Here, I'll give you an idea of what I mean." She showed Rosie a newly written single-line greeting.

Wide-eyed, the maid read the beginnings of a letter. Sliding her reading glasses down off her nose, she shook her head. "Won't it seem rather peculiar for your friend to receive a letter from a perfect stranger?"

"Maybe, at first." Katherine hurried to her writing desk. "But it's the best way, I think. Wouldn't want Mary getting in trouble. The bishop would never hear of it . . . her receiving mail from me. Never... never."

"Well, if you say so." Rosie, looking a bit stumped, sat down and picked up a pen.

"This might seem a bit awkward, but I think we--you and I--will make a great team," Katherine said. "You see, I really miss talking to my friend. We grew up sharing everything."

Rosie, wearing her prim white apron and maid's cap, nodded. An understanding smile played across her lips. "I fear you've been through too much for one so young."

"I've brought a lot of it on myself." Katherine pulled up a chair next to the desk, staring into Rosie's kind face.

Leaning back in her chair, Rosie sighed, laying the pen on the table in front of her. "Why don't we begin by you telling me about your girlfriend. I would like to know more about Mary." She chuckled. "After all, she and I are soon to become pen pals, right?"

Katherine had to laugh. Then she and Rosie spent the rest of the afternoon talking about her fondest memories of Hickory Hollow and her bosom buddy. She was careful,

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however, not to speak a word about either Bishop John or her long-deceased love, Daniel.

When they finished their letter-writing collaboration, Rosie addressed the envelope to Mary Stoltzfus in her own hand, and the two headed down the long hallway to the kitchen.

At Rosie's insistence, Katherine joined the staff--Selig, the assistant cook, and the other domestic help, including Garrett Smith, head steward and nephew of the grandfatherly chauffeur, Theodore Williams--for lunch. The tasty meal consisted of a fruit and nut salad, tuna casserole, homemade rolls, and a warm mug of cocoa.

This was not the first such occasion. After several days of eating alone in the grand dining room--not much fun at all--Katherine had decided she much preferred the company of her new friends. After all, she'd grown accustomed to sharing meals with family and friends after house church meetings and quilting frolics. Breaking bread and fellowship went hand in hand with community living.

Selig hadn't forgotten Katherine's weakness for sweets, she soon discovered. The noontime dessert was a delicious, moist German chocolate cake. While enjoying a slice, she thought of Mary once again. Her friend's birthday would be coming up in a couple of months. Lifting a forkful, Katherine stared at her plate--Mary's all-time favorite cake. She knew it sure as the day, desperately missing her friend and hoping the unusual letter might not offend or cause trouble.

"Will you drive me to town this afternoon?" she asked Theodore, who was sitting in his usual spot next to the spacious kitchen window.

"Just state the time, Miss Katherine."

"Theodore's got cabin fever, I suspect, what with the weather being so dreary," Fulton spoke up, glancing down the table at the older gentleman.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we got snowed in," Rosie

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observed, at which they all turned their heads toward the window.

"I see what you mean," Katherine said, peering at the

overcast sky. "So we'd better plan to leave right after lunch." "Very well, miss," Theodore replied.

She shook her head. "I wish you'd call me Katherine-- just plain Katherine. I wouldn't mind it one bit if you never addressed me as 'miss' again."

"Consider it done," Theodore replied with a grin.

"Better mark it down," Fulton teased, and Rosie elbowed him playfully.

They continued to eat amidst chatter and laughter. Garrett, at one point, leaned up against the table, looking now at Fulton. "Excuse me, but what was all that racket this morning?"

The butler adjusted his glasses. "Quite odd, I must say. The fellow showed up at the door asking for Katie Lapp. Of all the gall."

"Did you tell him we sent her packing?" Katherine said, glad of it.

"Absolutely, but the man seemed intent, on tracking her down. He persisted with an inquiry as to her destination upon leaving here."

"Did he say who he was?" Rosie asked, no longer smiling.

Fulton was thoughtful, frowning as he placed his dessert fork next to a few chocolate crumbs on his plate. "The fellow never stated his name. But he assured me that Katie and he went a long way back.., to Pennsylvania Amish country, no less."

That brought a volley of laughter from them all, including Katherine, who couldn't help but wonder if the poor fellow had been duped by the impostor, or if he was in fact an actor himself, seeking unlawful employment as the fake Katie Lapp had. "You got rid of him, then?"

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Fulton nodded. "And if I'm not mistaken, the young man seemed quite upset by the end of our conversation."

Katherine didn't feel one bit sorry for whoever had come to call this morning. In truth, she hoped she'd never have to see hide nor hair of that woman.., that obnoxious "Katie"!

A brisk breeze blew as Mary hurried down Hickory Lane, careful not to stumble on icy patches of snow along the roadside. The sky was a vast cloak of gray hanging in heavy folds overhead, nearly close enough to touch. Two crows flew across the road, their black wings flapping hard against the impending sky.

The Hollow seemed deserted this afternoon. Maybe everyone had gone to Gordonville to shop--plenty of stores to buy such things as fabric and sewing supplies. On Saturdays, Amish folk often hired Mennonite van drivers to take them places, shopping, and such. Folks liked to get out and about, even in the middle of winter, especially if the roads were fairly clear of snow. And they were this afternoon, although the darkening clouds held the threat of a winter storm. Best to get out before the weather turned nasty.

Not a quarter of amile away, the bishop's enclosed gray carriage was parked off to the side, by the grove of trees, just as he'd promised.

"Glory be," Mary whispered as she quickened her pace, willing her heart to resume its normal pace, but to no avail.

Several yards away, as she approached the buggy, she slowed to a proper walk, not wanting to give the bishop the notion that she was too eager.

John surprised her by jumping out of the carriage. "Wie geht's, Mary?"

"Hullo, John."

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They fell silent straightaway, Mary keeping her head down, wondering what to say next.

He coughed a little. "Trouble gettin' out today?"

She knew he was asking if anybody might be privy to their planned rendezvous. "Dat has no idea." Careful not to mention Mamma's womanly intuition, she changed the subject. "A wunderbaar schee day, jab?"

"Nice, it is, though a bit nippy and gra?T.'' He offered his gloved hand, helping her into the carriage, then hurried around to the other side to get in.

More than anything she wanted this--her first time alone with John--to go real smooth. Without a hitch in conversation, deed, and thought. The lovely moments must pass perfectly. Yet her heart thumped hard against her woolen shawl.

The bishop flapped the reins, and the horse moved out onto the road, into plain view. They rode for miles and miles without saying a word, the sleek bay mare steaming in the cold, clip-clopping along at a comfortable trot.

At last John broke the silence, speaking of his eldest son, young Hickory John. "The boy's leanin' hard toward learning a trade instead of farming. Said it just this mornin' . .. wants to be a blacksmith like his old Daed."