Rebecca hurried around the side of the house toward the attractive young woman even as Ella Mae’s earlier call for prudence crossed her mind.
“Willkumm,” Rebecca called, finding her voice. “You must be Jenny Burns.”
“Yes, and you’re Rebecca Lapp, aren’t you?” The girl’s sweet face lit up, and she let go of the suitcase and stuck out her hand to shake Rebecca’s.
“I surely am,” Rebecca said, then looked up the road. “I ’spect Marnie will stop by any minute.”
“Oh, I hope so.” Jenny’s light brown eyes shone as she took in the adjacent countryside. With a great sigh, she said, “It’s perfectly gorgeous here, Rebecca.”
“Samuel and I think so. The Lord’s beauty everywhere ya look, ain’t?”
Jenny nodded enthusiastically.
Rebecca asked, “Can I help you with one of your bags?”
“Thanks, but I packed as light as possible, knowing I’ll be sewing some Amish clothes.” The girl frowned at her own large suitcase. “It really doesn’t look like it, though.”
Smiling, Rebecca said, “That’s quite all right. You’ll have plenty of room upstairs for all your things.”
“I can’t express my gratitude to you enough, Rebecca—and to your husband. I am truly thankful.”
Jenny Burns looked as modest, even as Plain, as many of the Mennonite ladies Rebecca encountered at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market. She didn’t ask but assumed Jenny meant she wanted to start dressing Amish right away. “Well, kumme mit, and I’ll show you where you’re goin’ to stay.”
Jenny beamed as she said, “You’ll have to overlook my enthusiasm. I’ve been living for this day for a long time.”
Never before had Rebecca encountered anyone so thoroughly taken with the notion of Amish life. Already she liked Jenny very much. She just hoped the young woman wouldn’t be disappointed. Had she set the People up on a pedestal, like so many Englischers did? And, as pretty as Jenny was, why on earth wasn’t she already hitched up? Guessing such information might be forthcoming, she led Jenny into their hundred-and-fifty-year-old farmhouse, built by Samuel’s forebear Joseph Lapp and his stonemason friend.
It’d be right nice, Rebecca decided, if she had a manual to follow. She wondered, for instance, how long she was expected to converse in English with Jenny. And was it her place to start teaching Deitsch? After all, if Jenny was serious about becoming a convert, she’d have to learn the language.
For now, though, Rebecca simply led the way upstairs to the room Katie had occupied for twenty years, prior to leaving Hickory Hollow. Her heart sank to her toes as she remembered those happy, happy days, raising her darling girl there on the farm.
Ach, she thought. Why hadn’t she considered this situation more carefully, consenting to having a stranger stay in this very special room? All of a sudden, she felt downright disloyal to her adopted daughter.
What have I done?
———
Jenny tiptoed as if walking on holy ground. How could she not stare as she passed through the surprisingly modern-looking kitchen, into the large sitting room, toward the steep stairway? She assumed the appliances were gas powered, yet they looked like something one might buy at a regular kitchen store. Interesting!
The hallway walls were the delicate gray color she’d expected—not drab at all in person—and the wide-plank floorboards had a quaint hammered look, possibly original to the old farmhouse. Jenny shivered with pleasure. She was here, settling into an Old Order Amish house and making it her home for the foreseeable future.
Inside the airy bedroom, she admired the rich wood molding on the doorjamb and took note of the dark green shades neatly rolled up on both windows. The hand-stitched navy, green, maroon, and yellow bed quilt was definitely the Double Nine Patch pattern—she recognized it thanks to a similar quilt that once hung in the antique shop back in Essex, where she’d lovingly eyed it for weeks until it was sold.
There was something tangibly beautiful in the atmosphere. Was it just her? Or was there truly something special about finally being here? She could not keep from smiling.
Jenny could hardly wait to join the ranks of Amishwomen. She envisioned the many canning bees and quilting frolics. The cordial gossip and close friendships to come. She felt her burdens lifting and sighed gratefully.
All is well, at last!
Marnie Lapp assumed it was best in every respect to give Jenny time to settle in with Aunt Rebecca. But it was all she could manage, making herself stay put at home with Mamm with her friend so near.
“I do hope someone’s alerted Bishop John ’bout all this,” Marnie’s mother said while they crimped peanut butter cookies with forks. Mamm’s tone suggested she was skeptical. “Don’t ya think it’s unusual, really? I mean, just think of it.”
Marnie repeated what Aunt Rebecca had said about Bishop John and Uncle Samuel talking things over recently. “Why not trust the Lord God and the ministerial brethren, too?”
“So then, Bishop John’s all right with this?”
“From what I’ve heard. He says it’s up to Jenny Burns to live Amish and learn our ways for the time being. When she finishes her Proving time, we’ll know better where things stand.”
“Well, someone’s got a lot to teach her—how to dress, how to speak our language, and the rules of the Ordnung. Why, she probably doesn’t even know how to hitch a horse to a carriage!” Mamm’s blue eyes widened. “Has anyone even considered that?”
Marnie nodded.
“So are you thinkin’ of teaching her, then, Marnie?”
“Me?” She laughed, knowing full well she was not the best choice, at least for the hitching up. Not with her own clumsiness when it came to horses, buggies, and other moving things. “Maybe Uncle Samuel can help out—with the hitchin’, anyways.”
“Well, I’d be careful ’bout assuming that.” Her mother looked too pink in the face. “Your uncle is awful busy running his big dairy farm.”
“Maybe Cousin Andrew’s a better choice, then.”
“Oh, ya want Andrew to show her, do ya?” Mamm’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Puh, he’s got enough to worry ’bout, much less a wannabe convert—a single one at that! An Englischer’s the last thing he needs.”
“I’m not sayin’ anything ’bout courtin’, Mamm.”
Marnie sighed. She certainly couldn’t argue the point. And she had been straight with Jenny that finding a husband, if she was so inclined, would be very difficult considering just about everything. After all, most young Amishwomen were married in their early twenties, if not earlier. Jenny was already past the normal marrying age, and it would be some time before she could be baptized. Marnie wondered how Jenny Burns would be accepted by any of the older single fellows, as well as by Marnie’s own family. Especially Dat.
Marnie’s father was particularly apprehensive where the English were concerned. He disliked having much to do with them, even though more and more Amish were interacting with the world nowadays, working alongside them out of necessity, due to dwindling farmland.
“Have you told Dat ’bout Jenny’s comin’?” Marnie ventured.
“Just yesterday,” Mamm said, wiping her hands on her work apron. “Waited till the last minute, I guess.”
Marnie understood. “Maybe Jenny will change Dat’s mind about fancy folk.”
Mamm waved her hand. “Not likely.”
“You don’t know her like I do. She’s serious ’bout all this,” Marnie said. “Jenny even discussed with me how she oughta dress today, when she first arrived.”
“Did she, now?”
“She wanted to start off on the right foot. She even sold her car.”
Her mother’s head turned quickly. “Well, it sounds like she’s mighty sure of herself.”
“Oh, she is, believe me. This is everything she wants.”
Mamm went to the oven, opened it, and removed a pumpkin pie.
“Smells awful gut.”
“You always say that, Marnie.”
Mamm smiled. “Never fails.”
“What could be better than pumpkin goodies in autumn?” Marnie loved October more than all the other eleven months wrapped up together. She’d felt that way since she was a wee girl, watching the trees, anxious to see the green turn to red, orange, and gold. So she marked this wonderful-good fall day and excused herself to head down Hickory Lane. “I’m itchin’ to see my English-turned-Amish friend.”
“I assumed so,” Mamm replied, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “But you’ll return to help with supper, ain’t?”
Marnie promised to.
“And just in case you get any ideas ’bout bringing her back here today, I think Rebecca’s the best one to help Jenny get situated. All right?”
“I want to check on her, is all.”
“Like I said, Rebecca can acclimate her just fine.”
Goodness, but her mother sounded adamant. Marnie almost wished she’d told her mother more about the letters she and Jenny had written over the years. But, no, it was all right to have a few secrets.
“I won’t be gone long,” she told Mamm and went out the back door.
Jenny must be having the time of her life, thought Marnie, wondering if it was smart to pave the way too smoothly for a seeker. Any seeker, really. Jenny’s struggle to adjust to the Plain life and insight would ultimately make her niedrich—humble—and stronger spiritually. She’ll have to look to God each and every day, Marnie mused, hastening her step. Just as we all do.
Chapter 5
While unpacking, Jenny added several more things to her mental checklist. High on the list was asking Rebecca about the requirements for the Proving. That, and what things would be asked of Jenny at her baptism, some time from now. The day could not come soon enough.
Jenny went to the oak dresser and slid open a drawer. There was plenty of space for her undergarments there, as well as room beneath the wooden wall pegs for her plain black shoes. And her sneakers, which were appropriate for daily wear, since she knew that Marnie wore them, too. While Jenny hadn’t brought along any makeup, she couldn’t resist packing some light perfume, which she presently placed on a small tray on the dresser.
Enjoying this time to herself after the hectic day of travel, she opened her daily journal and turned to a fresh new page.
From this day forward, I, Jennifer Burns, will faithfully attempt to mimic Rebecca Lapp and the other Amishwomen here in Hickory Hollow for my Proving. My clothes, hair, and manner must reflect Gelassenheit—a compliant and submissive spirit. In short, I will give up my own wants and desires and yield to the ways of the People. And to God.
I promise to abandon the English world and its modern conveniences, including driving a car, using electricity, and anything related to the World Wide Web, among other things. All in favor of the Anabaptist life and the Old Ways.
With the help of my heavenly Father, I write this with a reverent heart.
—Jennifer Burns
Jenny reviewed the entry. It was rather formal, much like her own mother. Even the navy blue journal, hardback and with thick, high-quality pages, seemed to lend an air of sophistication not in keeping with simplicity.
She sighed, realizing the challenges that lay ahead, especially when it came to romance and the prospect of marriage. Marnie had made it clear that finding an Amish husband would prove difficult, if not impossible. Unless Jenny was willing to marry one of the widowers with children, most eligible men were already taken.
To think I’m nearly an old maid!
But Jenny could readily admit, if only to herself, that she hoped to be the exception to the rule. If not, and she was to live a Plain and single life till the end of her days, then so be it. Becoming an Amish convert had never been about finding a husband, but she certainly desired to share her life with someone. And she sincerely believed that with God, all things were possible.
Jenny admired matronly Rebecca in her blue dress and full black cape apron as they sat happily in the adorable little sewing room on the upper floor. The afternoon light sifted in through the west-facing windows, making the room even more pleasant. Their conversation about homemade dress patterns might have been anything but fascinating to someone outside Hickory Hollow, but for Jenny, this was what she’d dreamed of doing here—and so much more.
Creating her own pattern was something she hadn’t really considered, although she fully intended to make her own clothes. She’d taken quite a few sewing classes and believed she was up to the task. Using a treadle sewing machine will be interesting!
Rebecca raised her own well-worn pattern for Jenny to inspect. It was obviously much too large for Jenny’s slender figure. The only thing missing in this sweet, homey moment is a cup of espresso, Jenny thought as the afternoon slump began to set in. Her day, after all, had started very early when she’d caught a cab to Old Saybrook, where she had boarded the train at a little past eight o’clock. Then, close to noon, she’d transferred to the Philadelphia train and traveled on to Lancaster, arriving in just five hours total. Without a car, it was the most direct route.
After they’d discussed dress patterns and appropriate colors, Jenny asked, “What requirements must I meet to be baptized, after the Proving time?”
“Well, Samuel met with our bishop ’bout this. He says there are a number of expectations—and spiritual qualities—to fulfill.”
Jenny was anxious to know.
“The church ordinance, what we call our Ordnung, must be followed at all times,” explained Rebecca. “These are the unwritten rules determined by the membership and the bishop himself. That includes everything from how we dress and work to the order of the Preachin’ service every other Sunday.”
Jenny was familiar with this from her previous study. “What else?”
“You must learn to speak Deitsch, our German dialect; hitch up a driving horse to a carriage and be able to handle the horse well on the road; and attend work frolics and canning bees—in other words, fit in with our womenfolk. And like all of us, you must live in a way that exemplifies the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount.”
Jenny listened carefully.
“You prob’ly know there’s no jewelry, including rings and fancy wristwatches, although some wear plainer-looking watches.”
The list was growing as Rebecca continued. Flying in planes was prohibited, as was joining secular organizations, filing a lawsuit, riding in a car on Sunday, and worldly pleasures such as TV, radios, and going to movies. Yet none of this was a surprise to Jenny.
“In all you do, keep yourself separated from the world and adhere to the collective wisdom of the People . . . and the Lord God,” Rebecca said. “We teach our little ones to bend their will—give it up in complete submission.”
Gelassenheit, Jenny thought, remembering what she’d written in her journal soon after arriving. She’d read about this, but hearing it directly from one who lived by that principle brought it home loud and clear.
Can I lay down all of my own wants and wishes for the sake of the People? she wondered.
“You’ll be under the covering of Samuel and me,” Rebecca added. “At least for the time of your Proving.”
“Like a daughter?”
Rebecca’s face flushed. “Well, not exactly, but looked after, for sure. Bishop John believes his wife, Mary, will be a gut mentor for you, as well.” Rebecca paused. “She’s in need of a mother’s helper every so often, so as I understand it, you’ll be over there occasionally. Marnie said you’re trustworthy, so that’s why you got the job.”
“I’ll do whatever the bishop thinks is best.” Jenny recalled what Marnie had shared by letter about the Hickory Hollow bishop. The man was younger than most bishops, but John Beiler was apparently as strict as any bishop in the region. If you look guilty, you are guilty, Marnie had written. Jenny thought it was a strange stance on things, and sincerely hoped she would meet with his approval.
“Your Proving can be as short as six months and as long as two years.
It’ll depend on how quickly you consistently demonstrate the attitudes and skills I mentioned,” Rebecca said.
Then, as if a light had gone off in her brain, Rebecca leaped from her chair. “Ach, how could I have forgotten? Our Katie’s dresses and aprons might just fit ya, Jenny. Kumme mit!” She waved her into the hallway and toward the master bedroom.
Following closely, Jenny was perplexed. Why would Rebecca offer her daughter’s clothes? Had Katie outgrown them? But Jenny was sure Marnie hadn’t mentioned any children still living at home.
Not wanting to be meddlesome, Jenny was quiet as she waited in Rebecca’s spacious room, where the older woman leaned down to open the large cedar chest at the foot of the bed.
“Ah, just lookee here.” Rebecca pulled out a royal blue dress, holding it up momentarily before setting it aside almost reverently, draping it over the polished footboard. Then another long dress appeared, this one a deep green, and soon another—a fairly dull gray, and finally, a plum-colored dress. Had this Katie passed away, by chance? Why else were the dresses tucked away so lovingly in the beautiful chest?
“Why don’t ya try these on?” Rebecca said. “It’ll save ya from sewin’ up some right quick.”
“Are you sure?” Jenny was stunned yet pleased. Then again, she wasn’t all that certain, second-guessing how she should react. Could she actually bring herself to wear a deceased woman’s clothing? A strange lump nearly choked her as she struggled with the thought.
Rebecca handed her the dresses. “They’ll need pressing, of course. You won’t want to be seen in them publicly till ya do.”
“Thank you, Rebecca.” She looked at the dresses, limp on her arm. I guess . . .
“They’re yours to wear, if they fit.”
After trying on the blue dress, she returned to Rebecca’s bedroom, still feeling a little queasy. She was very anxious to know about the former owner of these dresses but didn’t want to offend her helpful hostess. Rebecca began to show her how to position and pin twenty-seven straight pins—no more, no less—to attach the top half of the apron to the waistline of the bottom half.
The Secret Keeper Page 3