The Confession

by Beverly Lewis

  He remembered the Neilicht—new moon—shining its crescentshaped light down on the barn, ’cause he kept peering out through the loose, rickety boards every chance he could, looking for her. Looking and waiting … wishing there’d been a big yellow full moon high in the sky to spotlight beautiful red-haired Katie.

  Ach, the Mennonites had yard lights—made perfect sense to him. ’Cept he was Amish and none of that kind of thinking was bound to do a body good. Electricity was wicked, in any way, shape, or form.

  Ach, Katie, he thought. Where are ya? What’s takin’ your brotherso long?

  When would Ben ever figure out how to gallop that young driving horse of his? Puh, he’d best be taking some lessons, and from somebody who knew how to get a pretty girl to Singing on time.

  Pacing back and forth, trying to pretend nothing special was on his mind—least not one certain girl—he picked up a long piece of straw, stuck it in his mouth, and sauntered over to yak at Chicken Joe. Now, here was a boy who never seemed to have a speck of trouble finding a girl to talk to or take home after Singings.

  “What’s got ya frettin’?” Chicken Joe asked.

  “Didn’t say nothin’ was.”

  “Mighty restless you are.”

  “Not any more than anyone else around here.” He glanced over his shoulder at the young men milling around, probably fifty or more of them. All wearing wide-brimmed straw hats, which they never took off, not even in warm weather.

  Chicken Joe grinned, showing his upper gums. “She’ll be comin’ soon. You know she will.”

  Daniel bristled at the comment. Chicken Joe had no right to say anything like that. To pop out with something so bold. The fellow was brazen and even worse, a flirt. Biggest one around.

  For himself, Dan had decided long back, about the time he was turning fourteen, that he wouldn’t so much as wink at a girl lest he liked her enough to kiss her. ’Course, he wouldn’t go doing any such a thing for a long time from now. Still, he knew exactly how he planned on treating Samuel Lapp’s daughter. Treat her right fine, like the vivacious beauty she was.

  Standing next to a hay baler, he and Chicken Joe talked up a storm for the time being. They’d worn their “for good” clothes, all spiffed up with tan suspenders, white shirts, and black trousers. Only one reason for it—two, really. First off, ’twas their Old Order custom. That, and dressing nice made the girls look twice.

  A group of boys scuffled around in the haymow overhead, stirring up dust. Dan figured they’d had a drink or two before coming. Bishop John would frown mighty hard if he got wind of it, because Hickory Hollow’s bishop was stricter than most, no getting around it.

  When Katie did finally arrive, he stood back, waiting a bit impatiently for the Singing to get underway. Then, sitting on a hay bale in the farthest corner of the barn, he watched Benjamin’s sister without ever being noticed. Watched her good, as discreetly as possible, of course.

  A group of young married couples sat in one section of the barn. They got the songs going, starting out with one of Dan’s least favorite, a slow hymn from the Lieder Sammlungen, a small songbook for such an occasion. Thing was, the hymn lasted a good eleven minutes, and he hoped it would be the only one like that. Jah, he liked attending Singings, and not just to see all the pretty girls in his church district and SummerHill’s; he enjoyed the music. More than most. Raising his voice in unison with a hundred other Amish young people was good enough reason to come any day, to his way of thinking.

  Still, Katie was the main reason tonight. Sitting over there under the hayloft with the other unmarried girls, smack-dab next to one of her cousins, why, Katie looked almost angel-like. ’Course, he’d never so much as laid eyes on a heavenly creature, but that didn’t mean she didn’t look like one all the same, wearing her good purple dress, same color as the whole row of girls with her.

  On second thought, maybe it was the color of her hair that made Katie special. He hadn’t quite figured out just exactly what attracted him to her, really. It was simple to see that her hair was as close to the rust red of a robin’s breast as hair could be, even though he’d overheard her telling Elam, her oldest brother, that it was not red, it was auburn. And she’d been mighty firm about it, too. The girl had a powerfulstrong personality, he’d noticed. But that didn’t stop him from liking her. Maybe even made him fancy her more.

  Daniel chewed on his straw and grinned to himself. Any girl spunky enough to voice an opinion about her own hair color, now, that was the type of girl he’d want to invite for a ride in his new rig. Reason being, there’d be plenty to talk about with a young woman like Katie Lapp.

  And talk they did. That warm summer night, with honeysuckle wafting through the air, that night of Katie’s first Singing, he took her home. Many more buggy rides were to follow. Occasionally, another boy might beat him to it, talking to Katie first, asking her to ride home. But it didn’t take long, maybe two months or so, for him to latch on to her. ’Cause once he took notice of her head bobbing to the rhythm of the songs, her brown eyes bright with the melodies, from then on, he knew she was the one he wanted for his girl. And someday, his wife.

  Music made her smile, same as him. Which was saying a lot, ’cause when Katie smiled, the whole world lit right up. Like a hundred and one fireflies. And oh, so much more.

  Feeling right at home in the kitchen, Katherine accomplished a great deal while the butler and his sidekick were absent. The trappings of a place like this spurred her creative abilities and, with no coaxing from anyone, her hands had found plenty to do. She’d put together several pies—a coconut custard pie, for one—and had them tucked away in the oven when Fulton Taylor reappeared.

  “Goodness me, are you still here?”

  She hoped he wouldn’t force her out; she’d been right good help, if she did say so herself—especially with whatever strange things were going on in the Bennetts’ lavish dining room. “Mrs. Bennett’s daughter … uh, Katie, I believe … well, I just wondered if she might be wanting a taste of a real Amish dessert. Something she might be accustomed to back home, you know,” she explained her secret conniving.

  “Amish, indeed.” The butler’s smile didn’t quite manage to reach his eyes. “What recipe did you follow?”

  Katherine tapped her temple. “Oh, one I seemed to have remembered from childhood.” Now, why had she gone and said a thing like that? Next he’d be asking where she’d grown up, where she’d come from.

  But the butler surprised her by saying instead, “What an excellent idea!” His eyes softened as he spoke. “How very kind of you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Hopefully, he had seen how proficient she was, how completely at ease she was in the kitchen. Now maybe he’d agree to hire her.

  Rosie swept into the room just then, wearing an equally astonished expression on her face as she sniffed the air. “What is that glorious aroma?” Switching on the oven light, she peered through the glass door. “Quite amazing … the pies look and smell absolutely scrumptious.”

  Fulton spoke up. “And authentically Amish.”

  Katherine thought there was a smidgen of satisfaction in the butler’s voice. She held her breath, hoping against hope that she might be allowed to stay on, might be hired as the housemaid they seemed to need so desperately.

  Neither one of them inquired as to how she had come upon the pie recipes. However, they did say they were willing to accept the extraordinary desserts as a token substitute for the “proper” agency referral.

  Grinning, Rosie opened a drawer nearby and handed her a frilly apron, headpiece, and hair netting. “You’ll wear these at all times … while on duty, of course. It works best to wind your hair up in a knot under the netting.” Then explaining that her husband, Fulton Taylor, was the final authority on employees, Rosie suggested she fill out an application “first thing in the morning, when things have settled down a bit.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

 
“Now”—Rosie glanced over her shoulder—“while your pies are baking, I’ll show you to your room.”

  Katherine thought about the song she was sure Daniel would want to be writing about now. Up in the heavenlies … Clutching her suitcase and guitar, she followed Rosie Taylor to the long, beautiful staircase.

  Daniel pulled out a piece of linen stationery from his desk drawer and pondered what he might say. Annie would be shocked to receive a letter from her dead brother, no doubt. He feared the poor girl would collapse.

  He would state clearly that she keep the letter confidential, not show it to Dat or Mamma. There was much to be arranged before they should be told their son was alive.

  Tuesday, December 23

  Dearest Annie,

  For several years now, I have wanted to write a letter to you.

  He reread the first line and decided it didn’t suit him. Shouldn’t he warn his sister to sit down? Tell her that what she was about to read might startle her?

  Annie had always been a sensitive sort of girl, so perhaps it was a mistake to approach her this way. The wheels began to turn, and he realized he ought to determine, at least, if she was still living at home. Whether or not she was married. He would have to investigate. Surely someone would know the status of his only sister.

  And while he was at it, he might as well inquire about Katie Lapp. Darling Katie … the girl he’d loved so long … now a woman.

  Rethinking the notion, he realized anew that he couldn’t bear to have word of Katie. Was it possible she had remained single all these years?

  Better off not knowing, he decided.

  With a vengeance, he crumpled the beginnings of his letter and pitched it in the wastebasket next to the desk.

  As rooms go, the one directly above the kitchen was snug and cozy—elegant, too. A timid flame burned in the white-tiled fireplace behind an ornate Victorian fire screen.

  “You may hear a bit of kitchen noise occasionally,” Rosie commented, “but not much more than you’ll be making down there yourself. Which is to say, the live-in staff are up and about early, at the crack of dawn, so to speak.”

  Katherine nodded. “I don’t mind early rising. I’m used to it.” She realized she’d done it again—opened herself up for questioning. But good-natured Rosie only smiled back.

  Katherine was informed of her duties and told that the schedule for the day of Christmas Eve and the rest of the week would be set in the morning. “Fulton will slip the docket under your door before you’re up and about. He’ll also give you final word on employment here—after he reviews your application.”

  “Thank you again for giving me this chance to prove myself.” Katherine wanted to embrace the dear woman, whose hair had begun to gray at the temples. Embrace her and tell her how very grateful she was. But she kept her composure, as well as a respectable distance.

  It was then that Rosie’s eyes caught hers, and for a moment the two women were silent. Awkward seconds passed before Rosie whispered, “I do believe you’re a godsend, Katherine.”

  “I’ll try to be useful.”

  Rosie continued to probe deeply with her clear brown eyes. “I’m counting on it.” And then she was gone.

  Relieved beyond words, Katherine stood at the foot of the black iron bed, observing layers of homespun linens and colorful quilts neatly placed over the sheets and bedskirt. Several handmade damask-napkin pillows were scattered over large, plump shams. She ran her fingers over the gilding highlights on the footboard.

  “I’m a princess in a castle!” She spun about, hugging her arms to herself.

  Aware of a delicate scent in the room, she instinctively went to the refinished antique pine dresser. Opening the top drawer, she spied two sachets of potpourri—one in each of the front corners.

  “It’s lavender!” She held one of the tiny cloth bags against her face, letting it linger there, recalling the very first sachet she’d made as a girl, for her own dresser drawer back home.

  Then spurred on by the discovery, she opened each of the four drawers in the old dresser, removing two sachets at a time. Carefully, she spread the tiny potpourri pillows across the wide bed, remembering that as a girl, she had often lined up her faceless Amish dolls this way, humming or singing as she played.

  Scurrying across the room to the highboy on the opposite wall, she found, to her heart’s delight, seven additional drawers’ worth of the dainty, lovely things. Caught up in the thrill, she scattered them on the dresser top, one by one—touching, smelling, examining each little treasure. They were all different in color yet similar in fragrance, and she decided after a closer inspection that the hands which had lovingly created her satin infant gown nearly twenty-three years ago surely had sewn these sachets.

  Taking a backward step, she felt for the edge of the bed and sat down—Katherine Mayfield, the brand-new maid in the Bennetts’ wonderful-good mansion. Caressing one of the little lavender cushions, she allowed herself to recline fully and stare at the ceiling, at the decorative molding high above her head. How far she’d come for this moment. And how far she had yet to go.…

  Finding the sachets—a beautiful link between herself and her natural mother—helped ease her apprehensions somewhat. Had she stumbled onto something, something better than ever? If, of course, the mistress of the house was her true mamma.…

  Ach, she had scarcely anything to go on, nothing tangible, really. Even the sweet-smelling little pillows weren’t proof enough; lots of folk used such pretty things to freshen up their closets and drawers.

  Pressing the miniature bag to her face, she wondered if she had in all actuality come to the right place. She continued to wonder, stewing over past events as she lay there, eyes boring a hole in the brass chandelier centered in the ceiling.

  One thing she knew to be true. Only one. Laura Mayfield-Bennett had once come to Hickory Hollow looking for a young woman named Katherine. Yet how many Amish communities were there in Pennsylvania? Hundreds? Maybe more?

  How had Laura known where to look in Lancaster County? She hadn’t, of course.

  Jumping to conclusions, Katherine allowed a bothersome thought to make a home in her head. What if I’m the impostor? What if everythingup till this moment has been nothing more than a dream?

  Urgency swept her inside out, and she longed to find out who the mistress of the house was, really. She must know, too, once and for all, if she or the woman named Katie Lapp belonged to Laura Bennett.

  Nothing … nothing must keep her from finding the truth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Katherine hoped her guitar playing wouldn’t disturb anyone. She’d waited till the first hint of light had pierced the darkness, had gone into the private bath, drawn the tub water, and closed the door. Sitting on a petite boudoir chair beside the fanciest dressing table she’d ever seen, she strummed softly.

  The tune she created was not joyful, not the kind of melody she’d imagined herself humming in these early-morning moments spent within the walls of the Bennett estate. The morning of Christmas Eve!

  A melancholy refrain poured forth, capturing the emotions of this her first daybreak in the beautiful house. She entertained the same old nagging doubts, asking herself the question: Could there be someone else named Katie Lapp—another Amish girl about her age? But even as she pondered it, she hoped … and as Cousin Lydia would say, she prayed it wasn’t true.

  Laura had gone to Pennsylvania, had given a letter to the Wise Woman, Ella Mae Zook, who, in turn, had passed it along to Katherine’s Amish mamma. Rebecca had been the one to tell her of Laura’s terminal illness, that Mrs. Bennett was eager—before she died—to see her flesh-and-blood daughter face-to-face.

  The notion occurred to Katherine that she must inquire as to Laura’s health. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? But, of course, what with all the commotion last night—being mistaken almost immediately for an applicant sent from an employment agency—there hadn’t been a minute to ask.

  Besides, Fulton an
d Rosie had seemed in a dither at the time, tending to their own personal duties and trying to determine, no doubt, why a woman carrying a guitar and a suitcase had appeared on their doorstep without going through the proper channels.

  Should she just assume Laura was her natural mother? Should she also suppose that another young woman was posing as Katherine while calling herself Katie?

  And why would someone go to the bother of dressing Plain, playing a role that belonged to another? Who would want to be Katie, an Amishwoman, when Katherine Mayfield was the name sewn into Laura’s infant daughter’s dress?

  Baffled, she put away the guitar, eager to bathe and dress for the day. Eager for some straight answers.

  Laura dozed, satisfied that the daughter she had so longed to see again was alive. Not only alive but right here under her roof, consenting to remain through Christmas.

  In the haze between sleep and wakefulness, the slightest twinge of disappointment pricked her. She recognized the struggle between her mind and her heart. The dream—what it would be like to finally meet her dear girl, imagining how she would look, what they would say to each other—all of it—had been altered in a single day.

  She felt somewhat let down but assumed this experience was normal. After all, hadn’t they enjoyed a delightful supper hour together? And the surprise dessert—something the newly hired help had created for the occasion. How delicious it had been!

  The taste of the Amish dish still lingered in her memory as did the look of pleasure on Katie’s face when the pie was served. Laura would never forget this evening with her beloved daughter, who was so quaintly dressed in her adorable Amish attire.