The Confession

by Beverly Lewis

  She wondered if Katie might not be doing some of that same kind of praying this very night. Down Hickory Lane, one buggy mile away….

  Come morning, Mary awakened with a vexed feeling. She’d dreamed about her friend all night, nearly. What did it mean? That she should go ahead and write a letter to Katie?

  After her bread making and baking chores were done, Mary slipped away to her bedroom, where she located her favorite stationery and a fine-tip pen in her dresser drawer. She sat on a cane chair near her bed, glanced out the window, and daydreamed for a bit.

  The tall, deep window was the same one where she’d pressed her fingertips on that sad, sad day just last month when Katie had come to see why she’d not attended Sunday preaching. Not being allowed to speak to her friend, the loving, yet agonizing gesture was all Mary knew to do, hoping against hope that Katie would see with her own eyes how very helpless she felt.

  In a wink, thinking back to the dreadful scene, she went all tense, almost as if she wasn’t able to get enough air to keep herself breathing.

  “Oh, Katie, stubborn girl,” she murmured. “Why’d ya do it? Why’d ya go and get yourself shunned?”

  She stared at the crooked old tree outside. And then … obedience to church rules went out the window as she picked up her pen and began to write.

  Wednesday, December 17

  Dearest Katie,

  I’ve thought a hundred times or more of an excuse to write you,dear friend. I guess I thought maybe it would be all right if I justsent a Christmas card and short note. It’d probably be best, though,if you didn’t say anything about it to anyone.

  These days without you have been downright hard on me,Katie—not being able to see you anymore. It’s all I can do to keepmyself from sneaking off down the lane for a visit. But you knowmy heart, don’t you? You know I miss you and wish there could bea way for you to come back to us someday.

  This whole idea of dropping a line to you may not be the rightthing. I can’t be sure. Well, anyways, Merry Christmas!

  Good-bye for now.

  Your truest friend—

  for always,

  Mary Stoltzfus

  P.S. Please forgive me for not using your “new” name—Katherine. For some reason or other, I just can’t seem to think ofyou with a fancy name like that. You’ll always be Katie to me.

  Mary put down her pen and reread the words, glancing over her shoulder. Quickly, she addressed the envelope, copying the Millers’ address, then licked the seal, pressed it shut, and ran outside to slide it into the large metal mailbox. She’d timed her letter just right, it seemed, for here came the mail carrier down the long, snowy lane.

  Mary smiled to herself, knowing full well she’d be reprimanded for this deed if caught. But how could that happen with the mail getting picked up right this minute?

  “Good mornin’, miss,” the postman greeted her.

  “Hullo,” she replied, her eyes downcast.

  “Have a good day, now.” He took her letter and placed the Stoltzfus mail in her outstretched hand. With a flick, he pushed down the red flag and was on his way.

  “Denki,” she called. Then in a whisper—“And thank you for takin’ my letter to dear Katie.”

  Sleet fell on Hickory Hollow later in the day. It pitty-patted on the snowy birdbath behind the screened-in back porch of the Millers’ house and on the windowpanes out front.

  Twenty-four hours had come and gone since Katherine had braved repeated calls to the operators in northern New York. She sat in the corner window of her rented room and watched the weather worsen.

  The gloom outdoors matched her mood, and she was thankful for the warm house. In spite of all she could do to ignore the dismal sky and bleak, raw day, the darkness pushed in upon her. Why hadn’t her natural mother returned the call? she wondered. What was keeping her?

  A troubling thought haunted her. What if Laura’s husband hadn’t given his wife the message? He’d seemed a bit reluctant, she remembered. And his voice had sounded so very … cold. Like an icicle.

  Was that the reason she distrusted him?

  Katherine decided, right then and there, she’d best be talking things over with Peter and Lydia just as soon as they returned.

  Meanwhile, she went downstairs to the kitchen and set a pot of broth on to simmer, adding potatoes, carrots, celery, and other vegetables and seasonings. Next, she gathered the ingredients to make whoopie pies—one of her favorite Amish desserts. Wouldn’t Lydia be surprised?

  More than anything, Katherine wanted to help out. She missed working alongside her mamma, but she knew she daresn’t dwell on that subject much or else she’d be of no use to anyone. Memories of her life with Samuel and Rebecca Lapp brought certain tears all too often. Dear, dear Mamma and Dat—how she missed them!

  If it hadn’t been for Lydia and Peter, she figured by now she might’ve gone wiedich—mad! What with missing her family and her dearest friend, she felt disabled at times, like someone with a crippling disease. Especially when she thought about getting on a bus and heading for that strange-sounding city—Canandaigua.

  Oh, she could see herself storming the door of the Bennett estate— but only in her mind. When it came to actually going there, knowing she would be seeing her birth mother face-to-face, well, that was the part that scared her, but good.

  Still, something deep inside, something probably connected hard and fast to Laura Mayfield-Bennett, pushed her onward, giving her the pluck to do what she knew she must do.

  So in the middle of salting and peppering the stew, Katherine decided she would allow one more day, and at the most two, for a long-distance call to come in. If she heard nothing back from Laura after that time, she’d consider using some of her former dowry money to take a bus and head north.

  After a whole day and a half, Katherine had not received a single telephone call. “What do ya think I should do?” she asked Cousin Peter at breakfast.

  “Well, if ’twas me, I’d probably head right on up there,” he spouted off.

  Lydia patted his hand, smiling. “But Katie … er, Katherine’s not you, honey. She’s a sensible young lady.”

  “I honestly don’t know how sensible I am anymore,” Katherine remarked. “Sometimes I wonder if I oughtn’t to just call up that number again, ya know?”

  Lydia nodded, looking a bit worried. “I certainly hope your Laura hasn’t …” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Katherine admitted. “If she’s dying, like Mamma said she was … well, there’s no tellin’ how long she has to live.” She rose and dished up seconds for herself and her relatives. “Seems to me I oughta think about getting up some courage. I’d hate to miss seein’ her alive. Really I would.”

  Katherine paused, glancing out the window for a moment. “I guess I’m thinkin’ that if someone as powerful-close to you as your own birth mother dies before you can ever make peace with her, well … fer die Katz. It’s no good. No good at all.”

  Lydia sighed. “Far be it from me to disagree.” She adjusted her glasses. “So are you saying you might be leaving us?”

  Before Katherine could answer, Peter spoke up. “Don’t you think somebody—a relative or someone—oughta ride along with you, if you go?” His blue eyes were wide with near-parental concern. “Seein’ as how the rest of your family—” He stopped short of uttering the dismal word.

  Still, Katherine knew exactly what the tall, blond man was about to say. He was right, of course. She was a shunned woman with no moral support whatsoever. Except for Mary’s Christmas card and that sweet but awkward note, Katherine had heard nothing from the Amish community.

  She wasn’t surprised. This was the way shunnings were. The transgressor went into a tailspin, fretting over his or her loss of family— and the ability to buy and sell from anyone in the community, too. Lots of times, the frustration alone was effective enough to bring a sinner back.

  Katherine noticed Lydia’s head covering was slightly askew. �
��There’s no rush, really,” said Lydia. “You could stay here over Christmas … and be thinkin’ about what to do after that.”

  “There is a rush, ya know,” Katherine reminded her, settling down at the table with her second plate of scrambled eggs. “But thanks for your kindness.”

  “I’ll drive you into town whenever,” Peter volunteered. “You just say the word.”

  “Monday.” The word spilled out almost before Katherine realized what she was doing. “I’ll call tonight and see about bus fare.”

  “At least, you’ll have Sunday with us,” Lydia said, smiling.

  Katherine was genuinely glad for that. The Millers’ church meeting and Sunday school was like no other. What singing! And, oh, how the people got up and testified. It was like going to heaven before you died.

  When Peter offered to help purchase her ticket, she declined. “I still owe you money for all the telephone calls.” She paused, looking at one, then the other of her relatives-turned-friends seated across the table. “I owe you both so much,” she whispered. “Denki for everything.”

  “You know you’re always welcome here,” Lydia said, and Katherine saw that the corners of her eyes glistened.

  “I know that, and it means ever so much.” She stared at the black coffee in Lydia’s cup and struggled to control her own tears. The Millers’ kindness and that of her Amish friend—the secret card and note from Mary—were almost more than she could bear.

  Quietly, she excused herself and left the table.

  While her baby slept in his cradle nearby, Annie Lapp thumbed through a pile of Christmas cards. The one from her husband’s parents stood out as the loveliest of them all, but when she opened to the greeting, she realized how very odd the signatures looked to her. Ach, there wasn’t one thing wrong with the way Rebecca Lapp had signed hers and Samuel’s names, and the boys—Eli and Benjamin.

  It was Katie’s name that was so obviously missing, and that fact alone made Annie remember the events of her sister-in-law’s excommunication from the church and the shunning, too—all over again.

  She arranged the cards on a string she’d put up across one side of the front room and couldn’t help thinking of her dear brother, Daniel. Another Christmas without him.

  She sighed. If he just hadn’t gotten himself drowned … maybe, just maybe, Katie would still be here in Hickory Hollow where she belonged. Instead, word had it Katie was living with Mennonites down the lane, paying rent to them, of all things. Lydia and Peter Miller. Jah,gut folk. Just ain’t Amish, she thought with a sad shake of her head.

  She got up and went to the kitchen, stoking the woodstove, wishing that none of the bad things had ever happened, starting with Dan’s death and ending with Katie’s shunning—every bit as divisive.

  Chapter Six

  On Sunday, while sitting on a cushioned pew between Lydia and Lydia’s daughter-in-law, Edna Miller, Katherine was glad to experience another taste of morning worship at the Hickory Hollow Mennonite meetinghouse.

  She sat quietly, reverently, as she had been taught as a child, paying close attention to the still-unfamiliar church trappings about her. All worldly, indeed, her People would say. Running a hand across the soft cushion beneath her, she thought what a stark difference—a nice change, really—from the hard wooden benches she’d been accustomed to while growing up. In front of the church, on a raised platform, stood a simple, lone pulpit, centered in the middle. She had known even prior to last Sunday—her first time as a visitor—that the preacher would stand behind the pulpit when he gave his sermon. She’d learned this tidbit of information from Dan years ago when he’d described the inside of several Mennonite churches. This, after having slipped away to an occasional non-Amish meeting himself.

  “Oh, such a joyful time,” he’d said about the forbidden services. “The people sing and testify. It’s so wonderful-gut, Katie, really ’tis.”

  Of course, Dan had never gone on to say, “You should really go and find out for yourself,” or “I’ll take you along with me sometime.” None of that sort of talk. Dan had been careful that way, not willing to risk getting his sweetheart in trouble just because he was restless in their cloistered society. Or so she figured.

  Still, she thought of Dan as she sat there, the light spilling in through the tall windows on both sides of the church like a divine floodlight. Katherine remembered her darling with an ache in her heart, wondering if they might’ve ended up Mennonite one day. If he’d lived long enough to marry her, that is.

  When the song leader stood up before the people, he tooted softly into his pitch pipe, and the congregation began to sing out spontaneously in a rich four-part harmony.

  Under Katherine’s satiny sleeves, goose pimples popped out on her arms. Once again, all heaven came down, pouring right in through the lovely, bright windows. A foretaste of Glory filled the place, accompanied by the rapturous sounds of the a cappella choir.

  Two rows up and just to the left of the center aisle, four young women sat shoulder to shoulder, wearing matching white organdy head coverings. The teenage quartet unknowingly captured her attention, and although Katherine didn’t recognize more than a couple of the hymns, she could see that the girls, who seemed to be sisters, certainly sang with sincerity and total abandon. Hardly even glanced at their hymnbooks, they knew the song so well.

  Sharing the hymnal with Lydia’s daughter-in-law, Katherine was once again captivated by the musical notation and noticed something else while turning to find the next hymn. The book included gospel songs, too.

  “We only sing those songs on Sunday nights or at midweek prayer meeting,” Edna explained in a discreet whisper.

  Nodding as if she understood, Katherine stared at the key signature of the song they were singing, “Glad Day.” She wondered why it was all right with God for Mennonites to write down their music but not Amish. Least not Hickory Hollow Amish folk.

  She also wondered why some women in the church wore veiled coverings and others didn’t. Why some women dressed in long print dresses with plain-looking white or navy blue sweaters and others looked like tourists and other English folk.

  None of it made sense.

  She tried to sing along, conscious of the sound of Cousin Lydia’s hearty alto voice and Edna’s wavering soprano. Each time they came to the refrain, the words this is the crowning day stuck in her throat. She’d been taught all her life that no one could truly know the assurance of salvation while alive. You only hoped that the Lord God heavenly Father would welcome you into His eternal kingdom on Judgment Day. But to say with all faith you were saved—or to sing words to that effect—was nothing short of boastful.

  Pride. The deadliest of sins.

  As if to dispute her thoughts, the Mennonite sisters, all four of them, sang the words about going to heaven and what a glad day that would be. It seemed to Katherine they lifted their voices with complete confidence in what they were singing. And she wondered what made the Ordnung so much more important—in Amish eyes—than the Bible itself.

  As a child it had all seemed acceptable and right—those regular teachings of the bishop and other preachers. Katherine’s best friends were her first and second cousins and classmates at the one-room Amish school—girls and boys in her own church district. Girls like Mary Stoltzfus, who knew her nearly inside out. They dressed alike, wore their hair the same, spoke the same two languages—English and Pennsylvania Dutch—and thought pretty much alike, too.

  None of them, except some of the carpenters and furniture-makers in the community, ever had to associate with outsiders, and they’d been taught that Mennonites, Brethren, and other Christian groups around them were living in sin. If you weren’t Amish, chances were good that when you died, you’d be thrown into Outer Darkness or cast into the Lake of Fire. Both, probably. So who’d want to be friends with wicked folk like that?

  The Ordnung ruled—shunning or no. And even on this bright and shining day—the blessed Lord’s Day before Katherine planned to step into
her future, her fancy English future—the Old Order reached out to discourage and dismay her.

  “Tell me one of your stories, Rebecca,” Annie Lapp said as she and her mother-in-law sat together in Annie’s kitchen.

  Rebecca’s knitting needles made a soft, rhythmic clickity-click pattern in the silence, but she did not speak.

  “It’s been ever so long since I heard one of your stories,” she pleaded.

  Still Rebecca declined, shaking her head.

  “Storytellin’s a gut thing,” Annie insisted. “For the teller and for the listener, ya know.”

  Sighing audibly, Rebecca folded her hands, staring at her knitting. “Jah, I reckon.” Yet she made no attempt to start up one of her stories.

  Something was terribly wrong with Katie’s mam; Annie could see that. The pain in Rebecca’s eyes, the bend of her back, ach, how she’d aged. And in such a short time. Annie supposed it had to do with Katie, but she dared not mention the wayward woman’s name.

  Elam, Annie’s husband, had taken a firm stand against anyone referring to his shunned sister about the house—or anywhere else, for that matter. He’d gotten the idea from his father. Both men had decided that neither the immediate family nor the extended family must ever mention her again. Which turned out to be a whole lot of folk, so interconnected were they, what with all the marrying and intermarrying amongst themselves.

  Fact was, it had gotten so, here lately, that nobody was talking about Katie Lapp anymore. Truth be told, Annie felt like the People were trying to put the agony—of losing one of their own to the devil—clear behind them. Not out of anger or hatred, no. They were simply trying to go on with the life God would have them lead in Hickory Hollow.

  With or without Katie.

  “What if I tell you a story this time?” she spoke up.

  “Gut, des gut,” Rebecca replied.

  Annie rocked her newborn bundle in her arms, telling her mother-in-law the story she’d never shared before. Not even with Elam.