SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (6 page)

“Pete’s sake, Merry,” he said. “Can’t you leave your dumb cats home alone for once?”

“It’s not the cats.”

His fork hung in midair. “Oh, I get it. You think you might hear from Lissa again?” He paused. “Maybe you’re right, Mer. Maybe you should stay home.”

I couldn’t believe how easy that was. The second he pulled out of the driveway, I raced to the fridge, slapped leftovers onto a plate, and tossed them in the microwave. Poor Lissa. Not only was she beat up, she was probably dying of hunger, too. By the time I got upstairs with a plateful of hot goulash, she was gobbling granola like crazy.

I sashayed across the room, singing a silly song. “Are you lookin’? It’s home-style cookin’!” I waved the plate in front of her nose.

“I can’t wait,” she said, reaching for the fork.

Just as she opened her mouth, I stopped her. “You oughta thank God first.”

“But I’m starving!”

“Still, you can be thankful.”

“Will
you
pray?” she asked.

“Sure.” I took a deep breath. “Dear Lord, please bless Lissa’s supper. And I need your help tonight, Lord. I know some of what I’ve done may not make you very happy…especially the deceitful part. Please forgive me for that. Amen.”

Lissa studied me before digging in to her supper. “It seems like you really know Jesus, Merry. The way you talk to Him, I mean.”

“You can know Him that way, too,” I said. “He’s always there for you. Like a best friend, or…like a big brother. And you can always count on Him.”

The tears came again and she brushed them away as she began to eat.

I hated to leave so abruptly, but time was wasting. “I have a quick errand to run now, but if you stay in my room, you’ll be safe,” I assured her. “I’ll be back in no time.”

“Where are you going?”

“If things work out, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.” I felt prickles pop out on my neck.

Her eyebrows knit together into a hard frown.

“Oh, before I forget, our cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” I said.

“For how long?” Lissa asked, scraping her plate clean.

“She’s thorough,” I said. “It’ll take her till around lunchtime. Especially when I tell her we’re having company.”

Lissa groaned. “Will I have to stand in your coat all day?”

“Trust me, you won’t.”

Lissa’s shoulders straightened a bit. “Anything’s better than going home.”

I grabbed my jacket and locked up the house before I left.

Outside, a red moon wore a shawl of lacy clouds over its shoulders. Woodsmoke hung in the air as I hurried down SummerHill Lane. I turned off at the willow grove, making every step count. Pushing my way over the hard ground, I found the shortcut between Rachel Zook’s house and mine.

A chill wind whipped through the willows, and I pushed their swaying branches away from my face. Two crows flew high in the November sky,
caw-caw-caw
ing back and forth.

Over the crest of an embankment at the edge of the willow grove, Zooks’ pond sparkled in the moon-drenched light. I’d saved Levi from drowning in that pond. Hurrying, I came to a white picket fence and climbed over, then scurried across the meadow, dodging a few cow pies. I pinched my nose shut.

Like the fence, all the outer buildings on the Zooks’ farm were a bright, clean white. The woodshed, the milk house—even the old outhouse. The fresh paint meant a wedding was coming.

The light up ahead in the Zooks’ kitchen looked warm and inviting. At the front of the house, small kerosene lanterns twinkled in the living room. It was a large house, built by Rachel’s grandfather years ago. Large enough to hold 250 or more wedding guests.

A long porch framed the front of the house. As I ran up the steps, I heard someone tooting out “Oh, Susannah” on the harmonica. Anxious to talk to Rachel, I knocked on the door.

“Wilkom, Merry,” Abe Zook said as he opened the door wide. His bushy beard, beginning to gray in spots, spread from ear to ear, and tan suspenders held up his black trousers. “Look who has come,” he called as Rachel came in from the kitchen to greet me. The smell of brewed coffee wafted through the house.

“
Mam
has shoofly pie,” Rachel said, leading the way through the living room and dining room, where brightly colored china decorated the shelves.

Amish life revolved around the home and the kitchen, especially in winter. I felt the heat pouring from the large stove in the center of the kitchen. With no central heating, the stove provided enough heat for this room and the bedroom above it.

I couldn’t remember visiting Rachel’s family and not being offered more food than I could hold. This time was no different. An enormous pie and some sliced bologna and cheese graced the long wooden table in their spacious kitchen.

Rachel’s father wandered back to his straight-backed rocking chair near the gas lamp in the corner. A German Bible, its pages brown with use, lay open on the reading table near his pie plate. But it was the pie he reached for.
“Des gut.”
He licked his lips.

Levi and his little brother, Aaron, played marbles near the stove. Levi glanced up at me, but I quickly looked away.

Nancy, Ella Mae, and little Susie, Rachel’s younger sisters, played checkers on a table in the ring of light near their father’s reading lamp. Their rosy-cheeked faces shone when they looked up to greet me.

Only Curly John was missing. I didn’t have to ask where he was. With just two days before his and Sarah’s wedding, they were probably out under the moon, riding in his open-topped courting buggy.

Rachel’s mother stopped braiding a rug to dish up a hefty serving of pie. “What do you hear from your parents?” she asked.

“They’ve called several times,” I said, wishing they were here now. “They’re excited about bringing suitcases filled with study Bibles into China.”

She placed the pie in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, sitting at the table beside Rachel. I felt guilty being here, enjoying the peaceful Amish evening and the delicious after-dinner treats while Lissa was locked away in my room, waiting for my return.

And there was Skip. What if he decided to come home early after the hayride? I glanced at my watch, wishing I could arrange to talk with Rachel in private.

When I finished the gooey molasses pie, I wiped my sticky lips with a napkin. “Can you show me the pillow you’re making for Curly John and Sarah?” I asked Rachel. It was the only way to get her alone.

“We must go upstairs a bit,
Dat,
” she told her father as we slid out from behind the wooden table.

“Do not delay,” he answered, and I knew it meant Rachel must not go off for long with her English cousin, excluding the other members of the family. Evenings were together times, and individualism was frowned upon.

Rachel carried a small kerosene lantern in one hand and held up her purple dress in the other as we climbed the stairs. I trailed close behind. When we got to the bedroom she shared with twelve-year-old Nancy, I closed the door. She placed the lantern on her antique maple dresser.

The room was scantily furnished with only a double bed, a small bedside table, the dresser, and a long wooden chest—Rachel’s hope chest. None of the furniture pieces matched. She opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a green-and-pink hand-stitched square pillow.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, admiring it closely.

“I can make one for you, Merry,” she said, smiling.

“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to,” she answered cheerfully. “For your hope chest.”

I touched the ruffled edging. “Okay,” I said, ignoring the fact that I didn’t even own a hope chest. Right now, I was more concerned about hiding Lissa. “I have to talk to you, Rachel. Friend to friend.”

Rachel’s smile faded. “What is it?”

“I need your help,” I whispered. “We’re having company tomorrow night and I need a place for a friend of mine to stay. Just until Thursday, after Curly John’s wedding. But we must keep it a secret.”

Rachel hesitated. “From Dat and Mam?”

“Yes, even from your parents.” I watched her face, desperately hoping that she’d consent.

“I cannot lie about anything,” she said. “I must always tell the truth.”

“You won’t have to lie.” I felt bad about putting her in such an awkward position.

Rachel adjusted the waist of her long black apron. “I know Dat and Mam will say your friend is our friend, too.” She paused for a moment. “Please—I
must
tell them.”

Lissa’s secret was serious business. I couldn’t take any chances with her safety. Rachel simply couldn’t tell her parents or anyone else. She’d have to hide Lissa, just the way I’d been hiding her.

Then it hit me—the Amish had very little contact with the outside world. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal for Rachel to tell her parents. I studied her, half holding my breath. “Okay, Rachel, you may tell them. Just please don’t spread it around.”

Rachel nodded. “Jah, good. Your friend can stay in the
Grossdawdy Haus
.” She was referring to the large addition to the main house where her grandparents lived. “
Grossmutter
and Grossdawdy have a spare bedroom. Jah, that will be good.”

“What about Curly John’s wedding? Can my friend come along, too?” I asked, feeling more and more confident that I’d made the right choice.

Rachel’s cheeks were pink in the dim light. “Jah, your friend must come. With you and Skip.”

My eyes caught the wooden clothes rack on the wall. Rachel’s clothing—for work and “for good”—was hanging there. The Amish had certain clothes they wore only for doing farm chores, and the good clothes were worn on Sundays or other dress-up occasions like weddings and singings. “My friend should come Plain to the wedding,” I said, overjoyed with this perfect solution to Lissa’s problem.

“English don’t dress Plain,” Rachel argued.

“This is
very
important. I promise to tell you everything later,” I assured her.

Thanks to our family connection, Rachel and her family considered me a close friend, even though it wasn’t too common for the Amish to associate closely with outsiders. Once Rachel entered her
Rumschpringe,
the Zooks would allow their oldest daughter much more freedom in her choice of friends. Later, she would be baptized into the Amish church if she decided to follow the teachings of the Ordnung. After that, her association with English friends would be more limited.

“Is there trouble, Merry?” she asked.

“No trouble.”
Better not be trouble.
I remembered the way Officer Rhodes had stared at Lissa’s yellow hair ribbon on Abednego’s neck.

“Good, then,” Rachel said.

“Is it all right if I borrow your dress for my friend?” I asked.

Rachel reached for the green dress and a black apron and bonnet hanging on the wooden pegs, her eyes searching mine. “I can help you, cousin.” And by the way she said it, I knew she still suspected something.

I folded the handmade garments carefully, zipping them into my jacket for safekeeping. “When can I bring my friend to the Grossdawdy Haus?”

“The door is always unlocked. Come on over any time,” she said.

“Thank you very much, Rachel,” I said, relieved. “We’ll probably be over first thing tomorrow.”

She reached for the heavy black shawl hanging on the farthest peg. Her innocent face glowed in the lantern’s golden light. “
Da Herr sei mit du
—the Lord be with you,” she said, handing me the wool wrap.

I chose the shortcut home. Hurrying over the picket fence, I could see ripples of wind making swirls on the pond in the distance. Up ahead, the willows cast eerie shadows as I slipped through the grove. Pressing my jacket against my chest, I hurried onto the dirt lane toward my house. The Amish clothes were safe inside my jacket, and I smiled at the success of the evening.

In the distance, I heard the sound of singing. I recognized Skip’s strong baritone over the other voices. Peering down the lane under the light of a winter moon, I spotted a large wagon on the crest of the hill. It was scattered with several bales of hay. Streams of light bounced around as the kids swung their flashlights.

They’d be passing my house in a few minutes. Yee-ikes! If my brother spotted me, he might get suspicious. I couldn’t let that happen!