The Imposter (20 page)

Jesse picked up a broom and began to sweep the buggy shop when a
clank!
rang out and he froze. His nerves shot back up to high alarm, the threat of goons never absent. Fumbling for the brass knuckles in his side pocket, he stopped when he got a full look at what had made the noise.

Hank squatted down to pick up a tool he'd dropped. “Something's not quite right around here. You've got ears like a mule deer when it comes to what's going on in this town. Catch me up.”

Jesse hesitated. He dreaded any direction this conversation might take. Exactly what kind of “not quite right” did Hank mean? There were all kinds of rumors racing through town. A word here. A word there. It could come from anywhere. Rumors were things with wings.

Did he mean the news of his sister's unwed venture into motherhood? He'd barely been able to digest the shocking news himself. His father had told them all Sunday evening. “Girls, you're going to be an aunt, and Jesse, you'll be an uncle. Katrina and her little one will need all of us.” The twins were ecstatic, as was Molly. After they went to bed, his father had something else to say to Ruthie and him. “Our family is going to face a storm over this. Katrina, especially. We need to stay strong, to not let hurtful words affect us. Trust me, words will come at you that will feel like darts.” He had been looking pointedly at Ruthie when he said that. “But I don't want either of you to defend our family. We will let the Lord be our shield.”

His father's words had been a portent. The news about Katrina Stoltzfus, the minister's wayward daughter, was spreading like wildfire through town, thanks to the wagging tongues of the Glick wives.

But Jesse doubted Hank would join in with the town's gossips. More likely, he was referring to something that hit closer to him, such as the bill collecting income that Jesse had lost due to the absence of Yardstick Yoder in a critical race. A prickle of inevitability started climbing up his backbone. Smiling thinly, he blinked at Hank with innocent eyes. “What exactly do you mean?”

Hank went to the point. “I've heard rumors that the church might split into two.”

Ah,
that
. Jesse had heard similar grumblings and murmurings. Still, he met Hank's report with uncertainty.

“The progressives and the conservatives. We're already half the size we used to be, so even if it's an even split, right down the middle”—Hank made a slashing gesture—“that
means that each church would be down to a quarter. Or something like that. I've never been good at subtraction.”

“Fractions,” Jesse said distractedly. “And you did just fine.”

“SO . . .” and Jesse jumped at Hank's loud tone. You'd think he'd be accustomed to Hank's erratic bellows by now. “What about the split? Is it going to happen?”

“Hank, I honestly don't know.”

“But you're Jesse Stoltzfus! The minister's son! You're supposed to know everything that goes on in this town.”

Yesterday morning, he would have thought the same thing. Today, he was surprised by everything that went on without his knowledge. He was slipping.

It was past seven in the morning. Katrina rustled through the straw in the roosts of the henhouse, searching for eggs. She found one and added it to the two she already cradled in her apron. It was slim pickings today. Thelma's henhouse was home to a dozen Rhode Island Reds, good laying hens for a backyard flock, but one or two were always slipping away to hatch a clutch of chicks. Mostly, if they left the safety of the henhouse at night, they met an untimely demise. A fox, a raccoon, a dog. Enemies.

A shiver went down her back. That's just what the bishop said would happen, in yesterday's sermon, if anyone were to leave the Amish community. Perhaps nothing as dramatic as an untimely demise, but surely, the world outside would be a lonesome and fearful place. Full of enemies.

Oh, why was she filling her mind with such grim and dour thoughts on this beautiful morning?

She hurried back across the yard, one hand cradling the
eggs in her apron, the other swinging out for balance. The wind filled her skirts like sails, pushing her along. When she came into the house and didn't see Thelma in the kitchen or living room, she crept down the hall to her bedroom and found her door slightly ajar. The older woman was still buried in her covers, snoring lightly. Katrina left her alone and decided that she would walk the hillside without her.

The morning was perfect. The word “splendid” wafted through her mind, lit from behind with sunshine. The sky was clear as far as she could see, stretching over the rolling green fields. A pair of hens waddled behind her, as if in deep conversation, and the sound of them made her smile. What did they have to talk about, those hens? Bordering the vegetable garden, the hives were alight with buzzing bees and Katrina gave them plenty of space. She wondered how anyone got used to handling something that could, and most likely would, hurt you. Sting you. She'd have to figure that out, she realized, if she were to stay here.

Was
she going to stay?

As she walked along a path that Thelma and Elmo must have made over the years, Katrina realized she could seriously imagine living here, that somehow she would find a good life here. She crested the hill and turned around in a slow, easy circle. She looked at the sky, at the little house below, at the small barn and greenhouse, and finally at the sea of rocks and moss. It felt so . . . familiar, so welcoming, so safe. This place was becoming her home. Yes. Yes! She was going to stay.

She went back down the hill and noticed that the doors to the greenhouse were propped open. She gave a whistle and Keeper bounded out, running to her for a greeting. Soon, as she expected, Andy emerged from the greenhouse. “Good
morning,” he said cheerfully. His hair was tamped down beneath his hat this morning. “What are you up to?”

“Andy, I'm going to ask Thelma if I can buy her property.” Not that she had any idea where she would procure the funds for such a buy.

He didn't speak for a moment. “Really.”

“I know, kinda silly, since I have no idea what I'm doing, but I really want to do it.”

“Not silly at all.” But he didn't sound convinced. Or look convinced. In fact, he looked as if a sudden headache came over him.

Maybe she was as scatterbrained as everyone said.

And maybe this was a scatterbrained idea too.

Her confidence started wobbling, until she took a deep breath. “I think I might be able to make this work, for me and for Thelma. I think I can take her ideas, like the one about the gift shop in the shed, and actually make it work. I can see it in my head, as if it's just waiting for us.” She stopped, watching carefully for a sign of encouragement from him. Anything. “From the look on your face, you think it sounds crazy.” And he would be right. What did she really know about this moss business? Her knowledge was an inch deep, like the substrate used for transplanting moss.

He looked straight into her eyes. “I think . . . I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”

She smiled, slowly at first. “Andy, I think this could be a place I can stay, a place I want to stay, make a home for me and the baby.”

What she didn't know, she could learn. She
would
learn. “And here's something else. I think we should rename the greenhouse. I think it should be called the mossery.”

“The mossery? So be it.” His eyes lit up with amusement. “Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders in a companionable way. “Let's go have some breakfast with Thelma and enjoy the day. There's time.”

The next time Katrina had a reason to go to town, she made a point to visit the public library. Andy had made a casual comment about the environmental solutions that moss provides and she wanted to do some research on her own. To her surprise, she discovered all kinds of information about moss that she didn't know . . . but should. She read about a new trend in having a lawn of moss instead of grass. She'd always assumed that moss only grew in the shade, and only facing north. Not true. There were varieties of moss that grew in sun and in most any area. Sogginess was the only thing it couldn't survive. No wonder Thelma's steep hill provided ideal conditions for natural moss to grow.

Something else Katrina learned: Once certain mosses were established, they could withstand extreme temperature—high winds, heat, and cold. They required no chemicals, no fertilizers, no pesticides, which meant no runoff that could affect groundwater. And no mowing. She could hear her brother Jesse shout out, “You've sold me!” on that piece of news.

Moss doesn't have a dormant period and doesn't die back during winter. She smiled. Imagine a green lawn of moss during a bitter cold January in Pennsylvania.

Then she came across a news story that made her gasp loudly and brought a frowning look in her direction from the head librarian. “Green Roofs Are Gaining Support around
the World” proclaimed the headline. In Europe, moss was being used on roofs and finding great success—it was a trend that was spreading in the United States, though there weren't enough suppliers.

She read on about the benefits of a green roof: moss provided excellent insulation. Because moss doesn't have roots, just rhizoids, the required soil needed very little depth. “Engineering concerns for weight load were virtually eliminated by using moss,” she read.

Moss Hill could do this! There was already an established need and they—well, Andy, anyway—could figure out how to fill it. She made a copy of the article and hurried back home to share it with Thelma and Andy.

She felt happier and more excited than she had in a long, long time. This moss farm—
moss
, of all things—it meant something to her.

As she climbed into the buggy, she drove down Main Street and thought she caught sight of Andy in her rearview mirror. He was crossing the street, talking to an English man she didn't recognize. But then she realized that was impossible—Andy was working in the mossery when she left for the library. She had the buggy. And Keeper wasn't with him. Keeper was
always
with him. Plus, he wouldn't leave Thelma alone on the hill if Katrina were in town. He was very protective of Thelma.

And then she wondered why she was thinking about Andy so much. She was conjuring him up in places he wasn't! What was
wrong
with her? Hadn't she decided that a romance was not a good idea right now . . . for oh-so-many reasons?

When she drove up the hill to Moss Hill, Keeper greeted her halfway down the hill, barking his big, deep bark, wagging
the whole back half of his body. She drove the buggy to the hitching post by the barn, with Keeper trotting along beside the horse. When she climbed down and tied the reins to the post, she turned to the dog and said, “Hey, buddy,” and held her hands out, waiting.

He sat politely, his feathery red tail sweeping back and forth across the ground. “Good job.” She gave him the reward of her hands on his body, scrubbing his back, rubbing his ears. “You're the best. But even you couldn't have gotten a smile out of that cranky librarian.”

Where
was
Andy? And then she saw him, striding out of the barn with his work gloves on. “I'll put away the horse for you,” he said. “You've got company.” Only then did she notice a horse and buggy waiting by the far side of the barn.

“The bishop and his shadow are waiting to talk to you.”