The Imposter (15 page)

About halfway home, he discovered that Katrina
had
invited this woman to his house for dinner. It took until he reached the hill that led to his driveway for it to dawn on him
why
his daughter had invited this woman to his house for dinner. Hank Lapp's infamous letter to the newspaper.

And by the time he walked into the house, he was silently seething, then shocked by the sight of Birdy cooking at the old gas stove in his kitchen—she looked so
right
there, so comfortable and at home—and in the next second, he was filled with joy by the sound of his daughters' laughter. Laughter! How wonderful to see his girls smile—really smile, eyes and all. To laugh with ease. When had he last seen it?

He unlocked his arm from Mabel's, Monika's, May's?—
Arrgh
, what is her name?
—and rubbed his sweaty palms off on his pants.

“Hello, Mary,” Birdy said. “We met at church last Sunday.”

Mary!

Before anyone had a chance to say another word, Jesse tumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, the door swung open and in came Katrina, Thelma, and her new farmhand, Andy. Trailing behind those three was a big yellow dog, thumping his tail. And for the next few hours, the kitchen was filled with happy, noisy chaos.

It was the best turkey dinner David had ever eaten.

Katrina woke up and felt pretty good. Better than good. Great. Today, she felt great. The churning stomach she'd been suffering from wasn't bothering her, at least not like it had been. She had slept well last night too. She grinned. Maybe it was Molly's cooking. Or maybe her father was right—she'd had a lingering flu bug that was responsible for making her feel so poorly. The relief she felt over that thought made her want to skip and shout for joy. And on its heels came another happy realization: her father and Mary Mast seemed to have hit it off. He even offered to drive Mary home last night.

Katrina stopped by the Bent N' Dent to pick up a few things and was pleased to discover that Mary Mast had already dropped by and brought lunch for her father. The store smelled of that heavy vegetable soup smell, when the cook put in too much cabbage.

“Mary Mast's really something, isn't she?” Katrina said. From behind the front counter, her father nodded, his head bent over some papers.

He glanced up. “How come you didn't mention she was coming to dinner last night?”

“Didn't I? I guess it slipped my mind.”

He went back to his paperwork.

“I noticed the moon was full last night.”

“Was it? I hadn't noticed.”

“Well, a buggy ride home under a full moon sounds awfully romantic,” Katrina said in an encouraging tone.

Her father lifted his head and rolled his eyes. “Stop it.”

“I mean it,” Katrina said, “it does sound romantic. Dad, give her a chance. You never know. You might end up falling in love.”

Her father looked up at her, shocked. “Don't be silly. I've got six children to raise, a store to run, and a church to care for. I don't have time to fall in love. I don't want to fall in love.”

Katrina smiled. “Love isn't always about what you want. Sometimes it just is.”

“Haven't I always said to let God write the love story?”

“Yes. Thousands of times. But who's to say that a little help now and then isn't in order?” A mischievous little smile bowed her lips. “After all, that's why they call it falling in love, because sometimes you just can't help yourself.”

Her father made an exasperated noise and went to the storeroom.

Katrina opened the door for some fresh air—that cabbage smell was revolting—and she noticed some students riding scooters past the store and realized that school had been dismissed for the day, so she hurried over to the schoolhouse. “It went well, don't you think?” she said when she found Birdy at her desk.

“Molly's turkey was delicious,” Birdy said. “She seemed so pleased. All day today, she looked happy. I think having a success was just what she needed.”

“Molly? Oh, well, I suppose so. But I meant the sparks that flew between Mary Mast and my father.”

Birdy looked confused.

“Today she brought him soup for lunch at the store. Homemade vegetable beef soup.” She wrinkled her nose. “Lots and lots of cabbage.”

Birdy didn't seem at all impressed by that. “Sometimes, soup is just soup.”

“Sometimes, but not this time.” Katrina rubbed her hands together. “I think there's something brewing there. Love.”

“Don't you think she's a wee bit forward?”

That was certainly true. Mary Mast sat right down next to her father, in her mother's chair—which no one
ever
sat in. “My father—he needs someone like Mary. Someone who won't give up. He can be a little obtuse about matters of the heart.”

“I suppose,” Birdy said, though she seemed distracted.

“I should go before Thelma wonders what happened to me. I just stopped by to ask you for a favor. There's a lecture at the public library tomorrow night about astronomy that my father wanted to go to. When Thelma heard about it, she wanted me to take her—though I don't know why anybody would want to sit through a lecture about stars. Ruthie and Jesse wanted to go too.”

Birdy leaned forward in her chair. “Why, it sounds wonderful!”

“Mary Mast certainly thought so. She invited herself along. So . . . I was wondering if you might—”

“I'd love to!”

“You wouldn't mind? Really? You don't mind babysitting Molly and the twins?”

Birdy did not move. “There's nothing I'd rather do,” she said, though Katrina thought her voice sounded strange. Sickly sweet.

And she was suddenly, overwhelmingly nauseated.

On Saturday night, when Birdy arrived at the Stoltzfus house to babysit, she found Molly grating a ginger root. “What are you making?” she asked as she put her coat on the hall stand.

With surgical precision, Molly filled a tablespoon with the grated ginger. “Gingersnap cookies.” She lifted the tablespoon to tip it into the batter.

“Wait!”

Molly froze.

“Ground ginger is what you need,” Birdy said. She opened cupboards to search for spices, hunting through little jars and containers until she found ground ginger. “Grated ginger will make sweet cookies taste like soap.”

Molly's eyes went big. She took the ground ginger from Birdy and started to fill the tablespoon with it. Birdy grabbed the container from her. “Just a teaspoon will do. Ground ginger is rather powerful.”

David stood by the kitchen door, an amused look on his face as he slipped his coat on. “Thank you,” he mouthed to Birdy.

“My pleasure.” She watched him walk down the pathway to join Jesse and Ruthie, waiting in the buggy, and tried not
to give in to feelings of self-pity. A sin. And then feelings of envy for the lovely Mary Mast. Another terrible sin.

“Teacher Birdy?”

She forced a smile on her face and spun around. Molly held out the bowl of butter and sugar, whipped so much it looked like cream. “Does this look stirred enough?”

“Perfectly blended. I'd hardly know the eggs are in it.”

Molly blanched. “Eggs?”

“Where is the recipe?”

Molly pointed to a splattered, worn index card. Birdy picked it up. “Is this your mother's handwriting?”

Molly nodded. “Some of the ingredients are splotched.”

Birdy looked carefully at the weathered index card and the slanted, loopy handwriting. She would have expected it to be perfect, but it was dashed off, careless and sloppy, as if the writer was in a hurry and had someplace better to go. It made her like Anna more, to feel less intimidated by her memory. “There it is, I think.” She pointed to a blurry spot. “Two eggs, beaten.”

Molly rummaged for the eggs, so rather than look out the window again, Birdy headed into the living area, sat down on the couch, and patted on either side for the twins to come join her. Emily sat on the far side, but Lydie snuggled next to her, looked up and linked her arm through Birdy's. “Why don't you have any children?”

Molly was in the kitchen, starting to bake the cookies. She poked her head around the doorframe and scolded, “Lydie! That is not a proper question to ask your teacher!”

Scowling, Lydie lowered her head. Birdy had to smile. In features and coloring, Lydie was the spitting image of her sister Katrina and had the makings of her brother's boldness
as well. Emily, who kept inching closer to Birdy, had quieter looks and a quieter personality, more like Ruthie. Molly didn't really look like any of her siblings, other than her flaming red hair. Molly was just . . . Molly. “That's all right, Lydie. I take no offense.” Birdy looked down and smoothed the little girl's hair. “You asked that because it seems as though I'm old enough to be a mother. Is that correct?”

Lydie shot Molly a guarded look, then nodded.

“Well, you're right,” she continued. “I am old enough to have children. But the reason I don't is because I've never married.”

Already seeing another question forming in the girl's mind, Birdy hoped it wasn't going to continue down that particular road.

“Why don't you get married?”

“Lydie!” This time embarrassment tinged Molly's scolding.

“It's all right,” Birdy said with a wave of her hand. “She's just curious—which means she's thinking.” She couldn't blame the little girl for curiosity, not when she possessed the same trait herself. Birdy was surprised at the warmth rising to her cheeks, and at how difficult the next words were to say aloud. “To tell you the truth, I've never had a man ask to marry me.”

Lydie's brows pinched together and Birdy tried to imagine what question was coming next. “Do you love somebody?”

“Lydia Stoltzfus!” Molly shouted from the kitchen. “Come in here and wash dishes for me!”

Lydie sighed a grievous sigh, climbed off the couch, and trudged into the kitchen to get chewed out by her older sister. Grateful for the reprieve from such personal questions, Birdy patted the empty spot where Lydie had been and Emily
scooted closer to her on the couch, not talking, just content to look through a book as she snuggled up. The crackling of the logs burning in the fireplace and the distant clank of pans in the kitchen sifted through the silence. Birdy's attention was drawn to the open window. Though dusk cast its purplish spell, it was still light outside.

This was what Birdy had imagined her life to be. Surrounded by children, loved by a fine man. She'd relinquished that hope years ago—or liked to think she had. Her gaze swept around the room, to David's desk in the corner of the room, piled haphazardly with thick books, to his winter coat that hung on the coat stand by the door. In moments like this, the distant heartbeat of the mother and wife she might have been started up again.

In the kitchen, she heard a frenzied conference of whispers between Molly and Lydie. Apparently, Birdy's lovelorn status was an issue Lydie wouldn't drop. In a loud voice, she finally said, “All I was going to say is that if she loves somebody, she should tell him so!”

Molly's voice went up an octave. “It's not your business who anybody loves or doesn't love!”

By now, Lydie was furious. She stomped upstairs. At the top of the stairs, she turned and yelled, “How's a body supposed to know if nobody tells 'em?”

Emily looked up from her book, mildly interested in her sisters' heated discussion. “Dad says Lydie and Molly can make mountains out of molehills, but I think they make molehills out of mountains.”

“I think,” Birdy said, “I think you both may be right.”

Mary Mast had made no secret of her interest in David. He was flattered, though her persistence made him feel uncomfortable. Shouldn't the man pursue the woman? Mary dropped by the store nearly every day now to bring him treats. Sometimes, David felt like he had been tagged like a deer by a hunter.

But then, maybe he should take Katrina's advice and ask her out. Even Ruthie had been pushing Mary Mast at him last night.

What did people do on a date anymore? He hadn't been on a first date since he was twenty years old. And when would he even find time for a date? He had an entire church to worry about.

Of course he might not have a church much longer.