Yet it was the oddest thing—the young woman’s Pennsylvania Dutch accent. If Laura was not mistaken, it sounded far different from the dialect of the Plain folk she’d met in Lancaster last month.
Something else troubled her, something she wished she could grasp more fully—the fact that Katie and she were far from bonding, even after having spent hours together. They simply had not clicked upon first meeting, as she had always believed they would.
She forced away the vague, elusive inclination, praying that her instincts were off. Perhaps the heavy medication was at fault. Yes. That was probably all there was to it.
Laura lay quite still, listening. Was it her imagination, or was someone playing a guitar in the predawn hours? She strained to hear more clearly, thankful that her ears were functioning better than her eyes.
Faintly, she was able to make out the sounds of a human voice—a woman’s voice. Was it her daughter? Was Katie singing?
But, no, the sound was coming from the other wing of the house. The room over the kitchen. The domestic quarters upstairs.…
The haunting music surrounded her subconscious memory with distant recollections of a mother’s soprano voice, clear and true.
How she missed the shrewd yet compassionate lady. And how wise she had been. Charlotte Mayfield had repeatedly warned her about Dylan Bennett, cautioned her while they were dating. “Your father, bless his soul, will turn over in his grave if you end up with that man,” she’d said.
But young Laura, caught up in the romance, had argued repeatedly for his sweet, endearing ways. “Dylan is so handsome … so wonderful. He won’t hurt me, Mother, not the way Katherine’s father did. Dylan’s a gentleman.”
So she’d waited until her mother died, marrying Dylan Bennett against the woman’s wishes. As for Laura’s father, he’d adored her; she’d always known that. Had her parents lived to see this day, they would have thrown a lavish feast. Would have invited as many guests as the mansion could accommodate.
Instead, Laura felt isolated, alone with her joy. She experienced a pulsing void, wishing her parents were here to dote on Katie, to open arms wide to their only grandchild.
Dylan’s hovering annoyed her. Why had he allowed her so little time alone with Katie? Perhaps that was the very reason she and her precious child had not been able to connect, neither emotionally nor spiritually.
At any other time, she wouldn’t have reacted so negatively to Dylan’s constant attention, but time was running out! Too, they were no longer the dearest of friends … or lovers. Hadn’t been in years. Not in any sense of the word. Yet Dylan was pretending they were a couple. A loving husband and wife, welcoming home a cherished child.
She considered the strange situation. Why would he behave in such a way? Was it because he had been instrumental in locating Katie? Because he felt responsible for the reunion going well?
Feeling convicted, she prayed for a sweeter spirit. What if her husband was softening toward her? Attempting to make amends for his past misdeeds in these last days of her life?
Love can change a person, she’d told her mother one night when Charlotte had begun criticizing her fiancé. But the very things that had concerned her mother during the courtship had grown into insurmountable marital problems. Dylan had not changed for the better. On the contrary, he had become even more controlling.
Now, as she lay in her gleaming brass bed, the trappings of wealth and loveliness about her, she remembered Dylan’s countenance as he observed her with Katie yesterday. Was it genuine compassion she had seen in his eyes? Or something else?
Anger welled up. This was the same man who’d tricked her into thinking she was barren, purposely denying her the children she’d always longed for. Repeatedly swindled her out of money, misrepresenting her separate accounts, forging her name on legal documents.
In spite of her husband’s wicked ways, she had never considered turning him in to the authorities, or divorcing him, although the latter had crossed her mind on occasion.
“Love him to Jesus,” Rosie had once said in a fervent prayer. Yes, she’d offered herself up for Dylan, had travailed in prayer on behalf of his salvation. Yet how difficult it was to extend unconditional love and acceptance to a man who’d so wronged her. To a man whose very life seemed driven by domination and deceit.
Had she not known the love of the heavenly Father, the grace of His Son, she wondered how she might’ve responded to Dylan all these years.
In sickness and in health.…
She had made her marriage vow to only one man. She intended to keep it.
Thankfully, the legal problems had been solved by her recent visit to Mr. Cranston’s office. After much prayer, she felt justified in changing her will. Not out of revenge or hatred—it was simply expedient that she do so. This way she could die peacefully, knowing the estate would remain in the family.
Breathing deeply, she allowed the guitar music to soothe her as it came trickling down through ceiling vents, carrying her back to dreamland.
Finished with her bath, Katherine brushed her hair, gazing into the large vanity mirror on the dressing table. She must wind her hair back up into a bun; it was required. Ach, the irony of having to look so plain again, having to wrap a netting around her beautiful curls while living in this fancy place. She touched her hair lovingly before proceeding with the bun and maid’s cap.
She smiled cautiously for the gilded mirror, wondering what might be taking place back in Hickory Hollow today, what with Christmas Eve just hours away.
Were Dat, Eli, and Benjamin out gathering up fresh branches and pinecones for the house? Would Mam be decorating the wide windowsills in the front room with the greenery? And the work frolics … were the women congregating first at one house then another for hours of cookie baking?
She sighed, knowing this kind of contemplation could only cause her pain. Still, she couldn’t resist the memory of Mary Stoltzfus. How was she getting along?
Katherine worried that her friend might think it rude for her to have ignored the thoughtful Christmas greeting. But she knew better. Of all people, Mary most assuredly would understand. After all, there was a powerful-good reason for not sending a letter back to Hickory Hollow. The fear of causing trouble for Mary, on account of the shunning.
Forcing her thoughts back to the usual cheery atmosphere of a Lapp family Christmas, Katherine recalled playful, happy chatter, the brisk ice-skating parties on the pond out behind the house, and the Grischkindlin exchange with Samuel and Rebecca Lapp. Other folks brought gifts, too.
Her mind whirled and in that split second, a crush of emotions sent her spirits spiraling downward. But not for long. Wasn’t she right where she wanted to be? Wasn’t she glad to be finding out who Katherine Mayfield really was? Who she might’ve become had she grown up here in this elegant world?
No, nothing in Hickory Hollow could call her back now, nothing at all. The People had rejected and betrayed her. Her own family, the only family she’d known.
“Today I’m going to meet my real mamma,” she whispered to the oval mirror, hoping it would be so.
Turning sideways, she surveyed her fancy apron and maid’s cap. Done up under the netting, her beautiful new hairdo didn’t show at all. Not a bit. Sighing, she hurried to make her bed and straighten up the room.
Just as she was preparing to head downstairs, the schedule for the domestic staff sailed under her door as Rosie had promised. Katherine gave the page a once-over and determined that the entire staff was obviously shorthanded over the next ten days, during the holidays. What luck! Or was it that heaven was truly smiling on her?
When it came time to serve either tea or the main meals of the day, she would offer her assistance in hopes of discovering the absolute truth about Laura Bennett’s health.
Breakfast was over at the Samuel Lapp home. Rebecca quietly cleared the dishes, rinsed, washed, and dried them, and listened in on her husband’s conversation with Eli and Benjamin.
“What Jake
Stoltzfus does is his business,” Samuel told his sons.
“But what about gut land? Soon there ain’t gonna be enough to go around here in Hickory Hollow,” Benjamin pointed out.
Eli snorted. “What are you worried for? You’ll never have to be thinkin’ about such things as that.”
Rebecca turned sharply to peer at her son’s face. Eli, jealous? What an ugly thing it was, she fretted to herself. She was about to reprimand her twenty-six-year-old son but hadn’t the chance, for Samuel spoke up first.
“Both you boys’ll be getting married, probably, come next November. You’ll be needing a place to farm with your wives and later to raise your families.”
Eli and Ben were silent. Rebecca wasn’t surprised, for it was their custom to keep all engagements secret till the second Sunday after fall communion, when the bishop announced those couples who planned to be married. The special event was called the “publishing” of couples. For her sons, the time was a good nine months off. Still, she knew why it was that Samuel was pushing them for answers.
“I’d hate to think of you headin’ off to Indiana just ’cause Jake’s thinkin’ of going,” Samuel continued.
Why were they talking like this? she wondered. Benjamin needn’t worry about not having enough land to farm. The youngest son usually ended up with his father’s main house and the acres surrounding it. And Eli … surely Eli wouldn’t wanna up and leave.
“Can’t go divvying up the land, Dat.” Eli shook his head. “Ben’s gonna need every inch of your forty-five acres to keep things going here for you and Mam.”
Rebecca noticed Samuel’s concerned look. Her husband didn’t say what she was sure he was thinking. That they’d be moving over to the Dawdi Haus come next fall, so Ben and his bride could settle in here at the main house. Time to be thinking about slowing down some, anyways. Especially since the strangest things had started going on with her here lately.
Samuel knew all about it. He’d caught her playing with the satin baby gown more than once—touching it and talking to it like a precious little infant was a-lying in her arms.
Made her go nearly berserk at times, teetering back and forth between thinking that the little dress—hidden away for her eyes only— was a soothing balm for her soul and, other times, wondering if it hadn’t come straight from the pits of hell.
She dried her hands and left the room to go find it. Growing more and more dear to her every day that passed.
Her Katie … gone. Darling baby daughter of her life … shunned. Living out somewhere in the modern world, looking for someone else to call Mamma.
Well, it was more than she could bear. Missing Katie and longing for her company, her sweet voice, seeing her grow up Amish and then losing her near overnight to a complete stranger had been too awful much.
Once in the bedroom, Rebecca located the tiny satin garment. Inside her pillowcase. She’d been keeping it hidden there, away from Samuel’s eyes.
She headed for her daughter’s old room just down the hall, where nothing ever changed. Things stayed exactly the same in Katie’s bedroom. Her scant possessions, like her abandoned head coverings and choring clothes, comforted Rebecca. They reached out to her in her deep grief. She hadn’t told Samuel just yet, but sometimes, when she held Katie’s baby dress close, she could hear the real cries of an infant.…
How long she sat there, she didn’t know, but when Benjamin hollered up to her, saying a group of women had just arrived to bake Christmas cookies, she near leaped out of the chair.
“Himmel,” she muttered, rushing down the hallway to hers and Samuel’s bedroom. There, overcome with frustration, she stuffed the little dress back into the pillowcase. How could she have forgotten about the holiday work frolic? Wiped the planned event clear out of her mind.
The womenfolk would wonder about it, all right. Call her fer-hoodled, most likely.
She shuddered to think what Samuel might say. How on earth would she convince him this time that she was just fine?
Jah, fine and dandy she was … everything was wonderful-gut. No big thing.
Her face would wear the biggest smile she could muster. Her eyes would sparkle as she greeted her kinfolk and friends.
Still, there was no getting around it. She’d forgotten, but good.
Nurse Judah calculated the morphine dosage and prepared the syringe, uneasy about this powerful narcotic to control Mrs. Bennett’s pain. It was bad enough that the dear lady must endure the baclofen drug pump, implanted into the skin of her abdomen, dispersing a muscle relaxant directly into her system.
“How are you feeling this morning, ma’am?” she asked, helping Laura sit up in bed.
Her patient did not reply at first, so she waited, allowing Laura ample time to put on her dressing gown, with Rosie’s help. “Oh, I’d give almost anything to be rid of this blurred vision,” Mrs. Bennett said softly. “It’s terribly annoying.…” She paused. “I disliked causing such a scene yesterday.”
“Please don’t be upset,” Natalie assured her. “Your daughter is aware of your condition. I’m sure she understands.”
Laura nodded. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want to frighten her away.”
Natalie’s heart went out to the frail lady. Mrs. Bennett’s longabsent daughter had returned just in time for Christmas, and now the poor woman was scarcely able to see the girl, let alone deal with the horribly painful spasms and ever-weakening muscles.
Disappointment was evident in Laura’s pale, distressed face. The flare-up had brought the initial visit with her daughter to an abrupt end.
Later, when the shot had taken effect, Natalie and Rosie helped bathe and dress the mistress of the house. Mrs. Bennett’s fine motor coordination was rapidly deteriorating, and once again, Natalie could see the tenacious grip malignant MS held over its victims.
“Katie will be down for brunch,” Laura mentioned, her eyes brightening a bit. “At least we’ll have Christmas Eve together.”
Natalie frowned. What was Mrs. Bennett thinking? She couldn’t give in to her illness … not yet.
Vague as her perception was—Natalie couldn’t actually put her finger on it—something wasn’t quite right about yesterday’s reunion. It just didn’t add up.
For one thing, Dylan Bennett had hovered about; the man both- ered her to no end. And Rosie had pointed out something else—Katie Lapp’s hands.
One would presume that an Amishwoman’s hands would be callused from gardening and washing dishes and doing laundry. Katie Lapp’s hands, on the contrary, looked like a model’s. Anything but the hands of a hardworking Plain woman.
“After today,” she heard Laura say, “I don’t care what happens. The hospital is certainly an option; I won’t put up a fuss. But … today … I want this day with Katie, alone.”
Rosie’s eyes widened. “But you’re going to have a wonderful holiday. I know you are.”
Putting on a smile, Natalie agreed. “Wait’ll you see what Selig and the others are planning for Christmas dinner.”
“More … more of that coconut custard pie, I hope,” said Mrs. Bennett.
Natalie smiled. Laura wasn’t thinking in terms of dying, not with an appetite for dessert!
She made note of the morphine dosage on the medical chart and replaced it on the top shelf of the linen closet. She could only hope that the narcotic wouldn’t begin to suppress respiration. But she was well aware of the vicious cycle, once it started.
“Where did Selig get that wonderful pie recipe?” Laura asked from her wheelchair.
The woman had turned to face Rosie now, Natalie observed, and from where she stood, it appeared that Mrs. Bennett was fairly comfortable. For the present, no sign of pain or spasms.
“The new housemaid could tell you,” Rosie said. “She’s the one who made it.”
“Oh? A new m-maid? What her n-name?” Laura stumbled over the words.
“Katherine,” said Rosie.
A pained expression crossed Laura’s face and for a moment
, Natalie thought the woman might cry. Rosie must’ve noticed it, too, for she diverted the subject quickly, calling attention to several small gifts under the twin trees in the sitting area.
But it was Natalie who kept thinking about Mrs. Bennett’s apathetic attitude. She’d said she wouldn’t make a fuss about going to the hospital. Seemed so out of character, too dispassionate for the mistress—yet a common psychological symptom of her disease.
This troubled Natalie greatly. The woman had just met her daughter— the only child she’d ever borne. And now she seemed ready to give up her fight? Was the illness taking over?
After brunch, when the dishes and leftovers were cleared away, Katherine sat down at the table to fill out the required application form. Birth date, place of birth, social security number. Simple enough. Quickly, she wrote the information, secretly hoping someone—perhaps Laura Bennett herself—might have a look at it.
When it came to her signature, she paused and glanced at the top of the page, suddenly realizing she had written only “Katherine.” No last name. No middle initial.
It would be dishonest to make up a name. Yet she could not risk losing her job or the chance to determine if Laura Bennett was truly her mamma. So she jotted down “Marshfield,” middle initial “L”—for Lapp.
That done, she was promptly assigned to clean the Tiffany Room—to remake the guest bed, tidy up the bathroom, and lay out fresh linens.
When she knocked on the door, the woman who called herself Katie Lapp was absent from the room. Most likely downstairs with Mrs. Bennett, having a chat—and enjoying a cup of coffee or tea. Katherine would ask if she might help remove the tea service later.
For the present, she was tickled pink to have Katie’s room all to herself. It would give her a chance to look around.
Chapter Twelve
Pausing to catch her breath, Mary Stoltzfus leaned against the windowsill in the Lapps’ front room, watching a fall of heavy, wet snowflakes shower down from a thick gray sky.
The Confession Page 10