It was then she noticed that Dylan had moved to a chair only a few feet from Katie. Why had he remained in spite of her request for seclusion?
She avoided his gaze and turned her attention to the primly dressed Katie, wearing the same shade of blue and the black apron she’d observed on several Amishwomen while in Lancaster County last month. In fact, if memory served her correctly, the color was the same hue that Rebecca, her baby’s adopted mother, had worn the day they met in the corridor of Lancaster General Hospital nearly twenty-three years ago.
“Katie, will you consider staying over for the holidays?” she asked, smiling at the prospect.
Before her daughter could respond, Dylan cut in, addressing Katie. “Mrs. Bennett, er, your mother and I would love to have you celebrate Christmas with us.” He turned, delivering an adoring gesture toward Laura as if the two of them were, in all reality, the happiest couple in the world.
“More than anything, I want you to stay,” Laura said, her throat growing increasingly dry as she sat motionless, for all practical purposes, paralyzed. The disturbing, yet not unwelcome tension of the situation—the powerful sense of seeing yet not truly seeing her daughter—left her reeling, breathless.
Dylan seemed eager to dissipate the heaviness in the room. “If you wish, I can have the butler show you to one of our upstairs guest rooms.”
“By all means,” Laura added. “We’ll make you quite comfortable here, Katie.”
At that, the Amish girl lit up. “We’ll get better acquainted, maybe? Jah?”
“Oh, I do hope so.” Deep within her, Laura offered a silent thanksgiving to the Lord for bringing her precious Katie to her … right on time.
On time.
So was afternoon tea. Rosie served it, along with pastry delicacies fit for a newly reunited royal family.
Although a thousand questions flooded Laura’s mind as they sipped tea and buttered their tarts, she refrained from voicing a single one, uncomfortable with the idea of quizzing her travel-weary daughter so soon upon her arrival. Along with that, despite her appreciation for his gift to her, she was feeling somewhat put out with Dylan, who was clearly becoming an intrusion.
If he were genuinely interested in learning of Katie’s prior whereabouts and her past, why was it he continued to veer the conversation away from the very things Laura longed to discover about Katie Lapp? All of it puzzled her, and she felt a panicky sensation come over her, triggering a violent attack of leg tremors.
She cried out, grimacing in pain.
Immediately, Dylan stood to his feet, staring sharply. She was certain he was repulsed, could read it in his eyes in spite of her blurred vision.
When she heard Katie gasp, Laura tried desperately to speak, to smooth over what must be a horrifying moment for the others. But her voice was also shaky.
Nurse Judah took charge. “I’ll see to Mrs. Bennett,” she said, steering the wheelchair out of the room.
Not now, Laura fretted as she was sped away to her bedroom. When they were out of sight, she clutched at her left leg. Please, LordJesus, not now!
Chapter Eight
The housemaids and servants seemed to know without being told. An undercurrent of conversation could be heard throughout the Bennett mansion as hired staff flew about making additional lastminute plans.
“It seems Master Bennett has located his wife’s daughter. They’re getting acquainted in Mrs. Bennett’s suite at this moment,” Selig was overheard telling the head steward.
“By all means, create an additional place setting,” Garrett replied, directing traffic by the mere lift of his brow.
“Anyone laid eyes on the mistress’s daughter?” the butler asked. One of the cooks admonished him with a wave of a spatula. “Talk to your wife. Rosie can tell you what the girl looks like, I’ll bet.”
“The girl?” Garrett said, holding a round tray in midair. A curious smile played across his lips. “How old is she?”
“No one seems to know her exact age,” Selig offered from his post beside the cutting board. “But my bet is she strongly resembles Mrs. Bennett.”
“One would certainly hope so,” said Theodore, who had stepped into the kitchen from the utility room, where he had been observing the banter, rather amused at the playful speculation going on about him. At his appearance, the palaver did not cease; rather, it continued, and little by little, small groups of workers could be heard whispering as they rolled out pies, gathered necessary condiments for the after-dinner coffee, or dispersed clean linens and accessories to the guest room.
Searching out his nephew in particular, he spoke up. “May I have a word with you?” He bobbed his head toward the hallway.
Garrett, preoccupied with the precise arrangement of hors d’oeuvres on a brass tray, continued working. “Can it wait a moment?”
“I’d rather it not.”
His nephew peered up at him, looking rather startled. “Why … Uncle, what is it?”
“Drop everything and come … now,” Theodore commanded, and although he hadn’t recalled speaking so sternly to his only living relative, the truth was, he had need of Garrett.
If only for the sake of extreme curiosity.
Fortunately, Garrett did not take his uncle literally about dropping everything, for the enormous platter was splendidly arrayed with before-dinner delicacies—tantalizing in appearance, and at this point in the planning, quite nearly finished.
Summoning Selig to take over, Garrett hurriedly wiped his hands on a towel and followed his uncle into the hallway. “What could be more important than the hors d’oeuvres?” he asked when they were alone in a corner of the south corridor, far enough removed from the kitchen for privacy and close enough to the butler’s pantry door in case an escape was necessary.
“The hors d’oeuvres can wait.” Theodore leaned forward, glancing about to check for eavesdroppers. “Now, what’s all this fuss about a reunion with Mrs. Bennett and her daughter? I’ve caught nothing but snippets all morning.”
A wrinkled frown hovered on the steward’s brow. “It seems the mistress’s daughter has turned up out of nowhere. Straightaway … out of the blue.”
“Hmm, quite intriguing, I must say.”
“Supposedly, Mrs. Bennett is meeting with the young Amishwoman in her private quarters as we speak.” Garrett glanced at his watch. “I mustn’t delay now, Uncle,” he said, “if tea is to be served on time.”
“Very well.” Theodore scanned the maze of banisters and landings overhead. Wouldn’t do to get caught dawdling in the hallway. Then resting his gaze on his nephew, he dismissed the handsome chap with a wave. “We’ll discuss it later … after tea.”
Which was to say that Garrett would surely pay strict attention while attending to tea in Mrs. Bennett’s suite, after which he would doubtless report to his uncle.
Returning to his own quarters, he mused over the happenings of the past few days. The missus had looked so pale and wan that day he’d driven her to visit the family lawyer. Surely such a reunion—with the daughter she’d lost—would only serve to sap the little strength she had left.
Had the young lady gotten wind of the fortune she was heir to? Doubtless, she had not, with the will so newly altered. Nor, Theodore felt sure, had Master Dylan. What with his comings and goings—of a dubious nature, to be sure—he’d scarcely stepped foot into the mistress’s bedroom of late, not even to inquire after her health. Strange fellow, that.
Still, it wasn’t likely that Laura Bennett would have discussed her private concerns with her husband.
Well, whatever happened with Mrs. Bennett and her daughter was entirely their business. Still, if it was any consolation, the day was young. Plenty of time for snatches of information from Rosie and, of course, Garrett himself. Such revelations might quell his fears for the mistress, or so he hoped.
From the bus station across town, Katherine gazed out over the parking lot to the highway. It looked like a sea of automobiles, with not a buggy in sight. A green-a
nd-white restaurant sign blinked off and on, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in hours. But she wouldn’t reward herself with a steaming hot meal until her chore was done— locating the proper address for the Bennett estate.
Why wouldn’t telephone operators give out addresses? It was the oddest thing and made no good sense, because it seemed to her that if someone could get ahold of a phone number, they should also be entitled to the accompanying address. Unless, of course, there was another reason for the phone company’s strict policy.
She opened the medium-sized telephone directory dangling from a chain in a corner of the bus station. Scanning the listing for Bennetts, she spotted the name: Bennett, Dylan D. Elated, she jotted down the address on a pad of paper and marched up to one of the ticket counters.
The silver-haired man was eager to help. “Everyone knows the Bennett mansion,” he told her. “In fact, any cab driver in town can take you there … blindfolded.”
“Well, that’s mighty good news. Thank you.” She immediately thought about calling a cab. But the idea of heading out to meet her natural mother, stomach growling and with a dizzy head, was much too discouraging.
The bus trip from Lancaster had been a long, tiresome one. An impulsive peek at the cosmetic case in her handbag told her she ought to freshen up before scurrying across the road for a late lunch.
So she headed to the public rest room and splashed water on her face, then combed her hair, still marveling at the way it played in soft waves over her shoulders. No more middle part, with her crowning glory all done up in an ugly bun and hidden away under a devotional kapp.
But that was then, and this was now. Best to put out of her mind the Old Ways and plan her course of action for the whole new life awaiting her.
The restaurant was abuzz with talk, and even after the cheerful waitress served up Katherine’s plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn, she stood around, eager to chat. About the town mayor. About the problems her husband was having at his new job. About everything and nothing at all.
When she paused for breath, and Katherine mentioned that she was planning a visit to the Bennett mansion later today, the waitress perked up her ears. “Really? You’re going out to see the Bennetts?”
“Well, actually it’s Mrs. Bennett I want to see.” She realized she’d lowered her voice and was actually whispering. “I heard she’s been awful sick. Is it true?”
“That’s what’s going around about the poor thing. She’s failing fast … advanced MS, I’ve heard.”
Katherine felt her heart constrict. Ach! She must hurry, must get herself emotionally ready to meet her mother. Before it was too late.
Seemingly encouraged by Katherine’s comment, the waitress continued. “Here lately, there’s been talk that the Bennetts are taking applications for some more hired help.” The friendly server snapped her chewing gum and bent over the table to swipe at a spot of water.
Katherine noticed, too, the woman’s made-up eyes and bright red lipstick and wondered if her own lashes might be in need of a touch-up. Wearing cosmetics was a new, almost frightening, experience, only because she was still learning how to apply it correctly and in the most becoming manner, but she loved every little aspect of it. Occasionally, she even went to bed without removing her face rouge and powder, for no reason other than she’d been deprived of indulging in it her entire life. That and jewelry … and having a beautician cut and style her auburn hair. Oh, glory!
She’d kept these secret desires hidden away all through her childhood and teen years—the longing for such things as fine jewelry, beautiful hairdos, and lovely clothing. Such worldly things, the Amish would say.
Glancing down at her smart silk blouse and wool skirt, Katherine smiled to herself. She’d decided days ago she had much catching up to do. And here she was … on the verge of stepping into Laura Bennett’s elegant modern world.
Still daydreaming, she touched the thin gold chain at her throat, thrilling at its icy coolness beneath her fingertips. What would Rebecca Lapp, her adoptive mother, say if she could see her now, dressed this way? For a moment she felt a stab of conscience, a prickle of remorse over leaving the dear Amishwoman who had loved Katie … Katherine … as her own.
Then she shrugged the troublesome thought aside. No need worrying about what the People thought. Not anymore. The Plain life was behind her, all but forgotten, or so she wished. A path strewn with pain … truly all that was left of her past. Hadn’t all of them— Mamma and Dat and the boys—accepted the harsh shunning without so much as a question, turned their backs as if she no longer existed? They’d let her go—as much as sent her away.…
“The Bennetts seem to need help out there at their place,” the waitress was saying. “You interested?”
Reining in her attention to the conversation at hand, Katherine replied, “What sort of a job would it be?”
“Far as I know, a housemaid’s position.”
“A maid?” Katherine wasn’t sure why she was interested in hearing someone carry on so about the Bennetts, but she was. If truth be told, she felt more comfortable sitting here in this restaurant, while a mere stranger rattled on about Katherine’s natural mother and the estate where she lived, than with the unsettling thought of actually heading out there and meeting Laura Bennett face-to-face.
The late afternoon sun shone boldly on her back as one customer after another left the dinerlike atmosphere. She found herself caught up in conversation with her new waitress friend and ordered some pie with ice cream for dessert, unaware of the sun’s steady descent toward the fading horizon.
The cab driver knew exactly where to take her when she was ready.
In the distance, the sky had already begun to turn a rosy hue in the silent moments before dusk. Katherine was mighty pleased with herself for having stumbled onto the too-talkative waitress, who seemed privy to far more information about Dylan and Laura Bennett than she’d first let on.
Thinking she’d been downright lucky—fortunate without trying, really—Katherine congratulated herself on getting an earful, the lowdown, on the Bennetts from an outsider’s viewpoint. And all this without ever having to reveal that she was related to Mrs. Bennett.
She slid down a bit in the seat behind the driver, craning her head around so she could see out the back window. Then, looking up through the glass, she spotted one star after another making its evening appearance.
How many stars had she and Daniel Fisher counted in the sky over Hickory Hollow one long-ago evening? Two hundred or more, she remembered. But with the recollection came grievous pain, and she sat up, reaching for the handle on the guitar case, determined never to let anything happen to the instrument that had brought Daniel so much joy. Forbidden, true, yet he’d kept it hidden away from the eyes of the bishop and his own father and mother, unlike her own blundering attempts to conceal her rebellion. How he’d managed all the years before his nineteenth birthday, Katherine didn’t know. Yet he had, and because of the circumstances surrounding her shunning, she would never never part with the glorious stringed instrument. It belonged to her—now and forever.
Daniel hadn’t intended to flaunt his disobedience while they were courting—she was mighty sure of that. He had just done his best to follow the music in his heart. Nothing else seemed to matter much, not even the Ordnung, or what the church members set down as rules for living.
That’s just the way Dan Fisher was, all right. Stubborn and bright, all stirred up together into one fascinating, spirited human being. And on top of everything else, what a wonderful-good song maker he was!
She glanced back up at the Big Dipper, thinking that her one true love would be mighty pleased with her quest to find Laura Bennett. Pleased enough to want to write a new song, maybe, if he were alive.
Well, she’d be singing her own song about it soon enough. That was for sure and for certain.
The butler thought it a grand idea to make small talk with Mrs. Bennett’s newly found daughter as they asce
nded the staircase to the Tiffany Room, the finest guest room in the house. After all, here was the mistress’s beloved child, in the flesh, come home for Christmas; no sense being stodgy about it. The girl ought to feel genuinely welcomed and accepted by all the members of the staff.
“Is this your first visit to Canandaigua?” he asked the young Amishwoman with the lovely strawberry blond hair.
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” Fulton carried her luggage into the room and set the pieces down near the large closet. “Help yourself to everything and anything. One of the maids will be up in a few minutes to check on your needs.”
“Denki.”
“That’s Dutch, isn’t it?” he asked, to make polite conversation.
“Jah, for ‘thank you.’ ”
“Ah … so it is.” He noted the newness of the suitcases, curious that they seemed entirely out of place with the rest of her Plain appearance. Without any further comment, he excused himself and left the room.
It was the soft appearance of the woman’s hands that caused Dylan’s alarm. “Amishwomen use their hands for everything from chopping wood to scrubbing floors, or so I’m told. We must do something about these—roughen them up a bit,” he suggested, still studying them. “Everything else is going so well, I’d hate for your hands to be our undoing.”
Alyson Cairns flirted playfully. “My boyfriend won’t be very happy if he finds out about the older man in my life.”
Dylan stepped back, surveying her Amish getup. “Your young man will have you back in good time.”
Her sparkling eyes, devoid of the slightest hint of makeup, tantalized him. “So … when did you rush up here and hide away in the closet?” she asked.
The Confession Page 7