SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (23 page)

Although I pondered the situation, it was impossible to come up with a solution. Unless…

“Mom, can nearly drowning or a trauma like that alter someone’s speech patterns?”

She sat across from me on a chair beside the hearth. Turning to face me, she frowned for a second. “Are you worried about it, Merry?”

I shrugged. “It seems so odd that I would alliterate almost without thinking.”

She got up and came over to sit in her prized Boston rocker, handcrafted in the late eighteenth century. “Honey, the human brain is a complex and wondrous creation of God. I honestly don’t think you have anything to be worried about. The doctors checked you out thoroughly in the hospital—neurologists, you name it. Your father saw to it that you had the very best doctors in all of Lancaster County.”

“So you don’t think I’ll be alliterating like this the rest of my life?”

She reached for my hand. “We’ll pray, if you’d like.”

“I’ve already been talking to the Lord about it,” I said. “Told God all about my accident and the awful, aimless aggravation—”

“Merry?” Mom had stopped me on purpose. “Take a deep breath and start again.”

I groaned. “What’ll I do? I mean, what if I keep this up? Alliteration isn’t addicting at all, is it?”

The look on my mother’s face spelled apprehension. Sure as anything, she must’ve thought I’d lost it.

There was only one thing left to do: I would simply have to make myself remember everything I could about Jonathan Klein and his wacky word game.

It was dark by five-fifteen on Christmas Day evening. Mom went around lighting all the candles on the main level of the house. The fireplace mantel was aglow with soft, golden light.

After insisting that I bundle up in an afghan and my furriest slippers, Mom was finally satisfied that I was cozy and warm enough to be abandoned briefly while she went to make a simple supper.

I thought about Chelsea. Poor girl. Alone this Christmas season without her mom. She’d promised to call and fill me in on the first visit to the rehabilitation center.

But when my friend hadn’t called by the time we finished eating the main course, which was mostly leftovers from noon, I began to fret. “It’s not like Chelsea,” I said as Dad and Skip cleared the table. “She said she’d let me know how things went with her mom last night.”

Dad stood behind his chair, pausing to reflect. “Well, I certainly hope there was a counselor on hand when Chelsea and her father visited. The initial face-to-face encounter is often upsetting…for all concerned.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, I hope everything went okay.” Then I remembered the Christmas gift Chelsea had planned to give her mother. “Do you think the pictures I took might’ve upset Mrs. Davis?”

Dad pulled out his chair and sat down. “You wouldn’t think such a thing would be troubling, but in brainwashing cases—especially those involving a cult—it’s often difficult to say what may trigger emotional problems.”

Now I was really worried and decided I couldn’t wait any longer to talk to Chelsea. As soon as dessert was finished, I’d give her a call.

Mom brought over a tray of coffee for Dad and hot chocolate for Skip and me. She sliced one of the pumpkin pies. “Do you feel up to having sweets?” she asked me, picking up the whipped cream.

Dad grinned and reached across the table, squeezing my elbow. “Bring on the goodies, dear. Our girl is recuperating quickly.” He looked at both Skip and me. “We have so much to celebrate this year!”

Skip nodded—one of the first times I’d ever seen him remotely acknowledge that his “little Merry” was worth her salt. My brother’s genuine smile warmed me to my croupy soul.

Once again, I was excused from kitchen cleanup. Hurrying to Dad’s study, I closed the door and phoned Chelsea, hoping and praying things were all right with her.

“Hello, Davis residence” came a stiff response.

“Mr. Davis,” I said, “this is Merry Hanson calling. May I speak to Chelsea, please?”

“Well, I believe she left to go caroling with some friends. But I’ll sure have her return your call.”

“Thanks,” I said, getting ready to hang up.

“Uh…wait just a minute, Merry.” He coughed a little. “I heard you took quite a spill on Zooks’ pond last weekend. Just wanted to say that I’m mighty glad you’re feeling better now.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Davis. That’s very kind.”

He sighed a bit. “Well, I’ll give Chelsea your message when she comes in.”

“Okay, and thanks again. Good-bye.”

We hung up, and I was surprised at how friendly Mr. Davis had seemed this phone call.

“Everything all right?” Dad asked as I passed him in the hall.

I stopped to tell him what Mr. Davis had said. “But I didn’t get any new info on Chelsea’s mom. I guess Chelsea’s out caroling somewhere.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.” Dad headed for his study, and I went back to enjoy my Christmas gifts in the living room—specifically the new photography books.

While I thumbed through them, I thought about Jon Klein. What was it about him that made me so curious? From what I’d learned of him in the days since my accident, he and I shared a whole slew of common interests. But what about
before
my memory lapse? What had gone on between us then?

Speaking in alliterated sentences seemed terribly important to him for some reason—almost a preoccupation. The more I thought about it, the more baffled I became. I was more anxious that ever to interrogate Chelsea, getting her to tell me everything she knew about Jon.

My mind wandered back to the conversation with Chelsea’s father. Mr. Davis had said she was out caroling with friends. But my friends were her friends, so why hadn’t I heard about this?

The answer came swiftly, almost on wings. The doorbell rang, and when Dad opened it, I heard singing. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!”

I listened for a moment. The clear sound of Chelsea’s soprano voice was evident. So
that’s
why I was kept in the dark! Maybe it was intended as a surprise.

Dad called from the foyer. “Merry, some friends of yours are here.”

Mom got out of her chair and scurried to the front door to greet them. “Come in, come in,” I heard her say. “Merry Christmas to all of you!”

Chelsea and a group of our mutual friends from church came into the living room, greeted me and then went over to stand by the hearth to warm themselves. Soon they were sipping hot chocolate, compliments of Mom, of course.

“We came to cheer you up,” Chelsea said, grinning first at me, then at Lissa Vyner, Ashley Horton, Jon Klein, and his sister Nikki, along with three other teens.

I tossed the afghan aside. Having carolers come indoors on a freezing-cold night, especially when they were dear friends, brightened everything. Especially my outlook. “Happy to have a houseful,” I said. “Sing some more songs.”

Jon smiled broadly, and I noticed that he turned to Ashley and poked her. “See, that’s what I mean. Merry’s supreme,” he said.

I felt uncomfortable. But Jon’s comment didn’t seem to bother anyone else. Soon they were singing again—“Angels We Have Heard on High.”

Chelsea came over to sit on the throw rug next to the couch. “How are you doing?” she asked as the group continued to sing.

“I’m okay, but what’s with Jon?” I whispered.

“Don’t freak out,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Ashley’ll never catch on to his ridiculous game. He thinks you’re tops.”

I didn’t exactly understand what had just happened, but I assumed she’d explain later. What I really wanted to know was how the visit with her mom had been. I was resigned to wait to bring it up, though, until she and I could talk privately.

The angel song came to a lilting climax. Dad started the applause. Mom, Skip, and I followed suit.

“What’s your favorite carol?” Lissa asked. “Maybe we could sing it for you.”

“If all of us know it,” Ashley piped up, smiling at Jon.

“Oh, it’s an easy one,” I said. “Do you know ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day’?”

Jon and two other boys were nodding that they knew it and began testing their baritone and tenor ranges just for fun. Someone said it was getting too toasty by the fire, so they all sat down on the floor while Mom went to find an old hymnal. Ashley and Lissa ended up finding the right pitch for the group, and they began to sing, sharing the hymnal as best they could.

Sonorous but sweet sounds filled the room. They sang mostly in harmony, four part on certain phrases. During the last verse, Mom disappeared from the room again, only to return with two large serving plates of cookies—the snickerdoodles from Miss Spindler and Mom’s own specialty, rich chocolate chip.

Chelsea stayed close to me throughout the visit. In between cookie munching and sips of hot chocolate, the casual choir of carolers entertained us with a cappella music.

Skip even joined in on several choruses, clowning around with his old girlfriend, Nikki Klein, who seemed mighty happy about seeing him again.

All in all, the evening was entirely too short.

“It’s getting late,” Ashley said, glancing at her watch.

They got up and were milling around, some of them going over to ooh and ahh at Mom’s splendid angel decorations on the tree.

When Dad offered to drive them back to Chelsea’s house, she graciously declined. “Thanks anyway, but we want to make a quick stop at Miss Spindler’s.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Mom said, getting up to collect the empty mugs.

“After Old Hawk Eyes’ place, where are you headed?” Skip asked.

Mom looked startled at Miss Spindler’s nickname, but Skip wiggled his head comically, grinning back at her. “It’s okay, Mom. Really.”

Nikki giggled. “You should come along,” she invited him.

The twinkle in Skip’s eyes gave him away. Going off to college hadn’t wiped away his memories of Jon’s pixie-faced sister.

“We’ll probably end up at the Zooks’ house last,” Chelsea said. “I want to personally thank Levi for saving Merry’s life.” She smiled sweetly at me.

When I glanced back at the group, astonishment was written all over Jon’s face. He began to rub his chin, looking puzzled. “No one said anything about singing for the Amish,” he muttered.

“Oh, you don’t have a thing to worry about,” my brother said. “The Zooks are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Right, Merry?”

Jon glanced at me again at that juncture, as well as Skip. The big question marks in Jon’s eyes made me nervous.

Ashley—the dear girl—corralled Jon into the hallway just then, where Dad’s voice could be heard assisting the carolers with the location of jackets and other personal things.

Chelsea got up and leaned down to speak to me. “Hope you liked the surprise, Mer. Happy Christmas.”

“Thanks. It was really great,” I said, gazing over my shoulder. “And it was especially fun watching Jon and Ashley together.”

“I think he’s got an alliteration agenda. Something about that word game of his.”

“Really? How do you know?” I said, wondering why I should even care.

She straightened her thick sweater. “I overheard Jon saying it was time to teach more of his friends how to speak alliteration-eze.”

“Meaning Ashley?” I said. “Think she can do it?”

Chelsea frowned. “Do you remember disliking her…from before?”

“I never disliked Ashley.
Never
.” I studied my friend. “Did I?”

Chelsea was nodding her head and making groaning sounds.

“Well, I can’t imagine why. I mean, Ashley’s got a lot going for her.”

Chelsea grabbed my hand. “If you don’t get your memory back pretty soon, Mer, she’s going to have a lot more going for her!”

I didn’t ask her to spell things out. I was sick with a lousy cough and a faulty memory, but I wasn’t ignorant. Anyone could see how Ashley felt about Jon.

“Call me the minute you get home,” I pleaded. “We have to talk—tonight!”

“I’ll call, but don’t hold your breath about Ashley. She may not be Jon’s intellectual equal, but she likes him. And I mean a lot!”

I almost told her that it didn’t matter, that
I
liked Levi Zook a lot. But knowing Chelsea, she’d only remind me that Levi wasn’t the one for me. Or something like that.

“I really don’t know what to tell you about Jon,” Chelsea said later when she called. “But I know one thing—before your accident you really liked him. And that’s the honest truth.”

“What about Levi?” I asked hesitantly.

“I don’t think you were all that excited about seeing him this Christmas. I tried my best to read the end of his last letter, but you snatched it away, like it was private or something.”

“There’s a letter from Levi? Where?”

“You hid it. Probably with all the others.”

I could hardly believe this. “You mean Levi’s been writing me? Oh, Chelsea, this is such wonderful news!”

She was groaning now. “Listen, Mer, this entire conversation is hopeless. I mean, you really can’t decide anything about either guy until you get your memory back. Don’t you see?”

I didn’t want to talk logic. Not now. “So you want me to move slowly because you think I had a crush on Jon, is that it?”