The Secret Keeper

by Beverly Lewis

  Jenny had been home for only a few minutes when she heard a knock at the back door. Looking out, she saw Andrew Lapp with a wrapped package in hand. She opened the door. “Hello, Andrew,” she said, hoping she didn’t seem overeager to see him.

  “I have something for ya,” he said, inching the present toward her. He was dressed as if he were going to church.

  “Is it my birthday?” She laughed a little, feeling awkward but pleased.

  “Just got to thinkin’ you might be a little homesick, ya know . . . today.” He looked quite serious. “I hoped I’d catch ya before Samuel and Rebecca returned home, maybe.” His smile was as addictive—if not more so—as the fast-moving game at the Beilers’ earlier.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she replied.

  “You don’t have to say anything—just accept it.” He grinned.

  “Denki, Andrew.” How sweet is this?

  “I’d invite you in, but . . .”

  He agreed and nodded. “I understand, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Oh, before you go,” she said, “do you happen to know where the nearest phone shanty is located?”

  He removed his black felt hat, then glanced back at her, eyes twinkling. “You know what? What if I just took ya over there?”

  “Oh, would you mind?”

  “Gaar net—not at all!”

  “Okay, I’ll just grab my coat.” She set the gift on a small table near the door.

  “All right, then.” He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, then stepped back and headed for the waiting horse and buggy.

  Closing the door, Jenny donned Rebecca’s old coat and outer black bonnet. She tied it quickly beneath her chin and looked curiously at the gift with the card attached. I’ll wait to open it, she decided before hurrying outside.

  Jenny felt each movement of Andrew’s trotting mare. Or is it a gallop? Certainly the horse was going faster than any she’d encountered before. Maybe it was just Andrew’s way of showing how adept he was at handling his beautiful ebony horse.

  “I should’ve opened your present back there,” she blurted out. “I’m really sorry.”

  Andrew shook his head and smiled at her. Always smiling. “No hurry. It’ll still be there when you return.”

  She thought of his sister’s strange butter-making shortcut and almost asked Andrew if he’d ever heard of such a thing, then thought better of it.

  He turned off Hickory Lane and headed north a little ways before pulling over onto the shoulder. The horse came to a halt close to a thick cluster of bushes that nearly obscured the phone booth. “Here ’tis. And if you plan to make a call out of state, you’ll need my code.” He explained that he would receive the bill later, and she could pay him back at some point. “Least if it’s a long chat.” He winked at her.

  He suspects what I’m up to!

  “Oh, I’ll reimburse you, no matter what.” Thanks to his flirting, she felt like a schoolgirl.

  As she made her way around the bushes, Jenny suddenly wondered if making the call was a good idea after all. Besides, why would she risk spoiling such a wonderful day?

  In spite of that, she felt compelled to place the call. She opened the wooden door and slipped into the narrow space, where she picked up the receiver and gave the code, then dialed.

  Her heart in her throat, she nearly hung up at the sound of the first ring. One . . . two . . . and three.

  Where was everyone? Hadn’t they had their usual celebration?

  Then, just as she was feeling dejected to be missing out on whatever it was her family was doing, Kiersten answered. “Burns residence.”

  “Hey, sis . . . it’s Jenny.”

  “Jenny who?” Kiersten laughed.

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” she said. “Just wanted to greet you and everyone.”

  “Cool . . . thanks.” Kiersten paused. “The same to you, Jen.”

  “Did the family get together?”

  “Yep, and Cameron’s here with his new girl and her baby.”

  “A child?”

  Kiersten sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, I hope he’s happy.”

  “Yes, and happiness always counts, doesn’t it?”

  “I mean it,” Jenny said.

  Kiersten seemed to whisper to someone else. “It’s Jen, calling from Amishville.”

  Feeling strange at this, Jenny said, “Kiersten, is Mom there?”

  “She’s in the kitchen, but I’ll get her. And don’t break her heart again, okay?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You should know—you wrote the letter, right?”

  “Kiersten . . .”

  “Well, I hope you’re calling to say you’re done with your super-crazy stunt.”

  Jenny couldn’t speak. Was it always going to be like this? It was all she could do to remain meek and mild with her sister. Like boot camp for the emotions, she thought.

  “You are coming home, aren’t you?” Kiersten added.

  Maybe for a visit someday . . . if I survive this call.

  “Jenny? Are you there?”

  “Jah . . . er, yes.”

  “Oh, that’s just great—now you’re talking Amish, too?”

  “Kiersten, just please get Mom, okay?” Talking to her sister was as exhausting as she remembered.

  There was a silence broken by muffled talking here and there, and what seemed like an endless wait for her mother. Was Kiersten filling Mom in on everything she’d just said?

  At last, Jenny heard her mom’s voice. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

  “Hi, Mom. Yes, I’m fine. It’s wonderful to hear you. And happy Thanksgiving!”

  “The same to you. How nice of you to call.”

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Kiersten said you received my letter.”

  A long pause. Then, “It was a complete shock. No matter how you look at it, Jenny, I never saw it coming.”

  You should have . . . all my life. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She thought she might choke up. “I wanted you to know where I am . . . that I’m safe and very happy.”

  “Just not here, honey.” Her mother sighed into the phone. “Pamela and Dorie seemed to think you were . . . well, doing okay.”

  “I wish you hadn’t sent them, but it was good to visit.” She forced a laugh. “I think they were sorry they came, though.”

  “Oh no . . . no. They never said that.”

  They reported back?!

  “Jenny, darling, when are you coming home?”

  “I don’t plan to, Mom.” Hadn’t she made this clear in the letter? “Not if I’m accepted as an Amish convert.”

  “What are you thinking, dear?” Her mother sighed. “You’re not Amish.”

  “Not yet, no.” Jenny’s patience was being put to the test. “I’m sorry this is upsetting to you, Mom.”

  “More than you know, honey.”

  “Is Dad upset, too?” She had to ask.

  “Oh, you know your father. It takes a lot to trouble him.”

  “Well, tell him I called, okay?”

  “Sure, dear. And please keep in touch.”

  Jenny nodded, tears threatening as she squeaked her response.

  “Call anytime,” her mother said. Then, before Jenny could fully find her voice, “Good-bye.”

  What a disaster. Gently she put the receiver back, buried her head in her hands, and sobbed, glad for the privacy of the closed door. For all the years Jenny had tried so hard to be known and accepted, she wept.

  Chapter 35

  Jenny wished she’d had the sense to carry a hankie under her sleeve, like Rebecca. She had no other option but to lift her apron hem and wipe her eyes and face on the back, then dab at her nose. “I’m a mess,” she muttered. She’d indulged her pity party for too long.

  Once she felt more composed, she pushed the phone shanty door open and was startled but pleased to see Andrew a few yards away, looking concerned. “Gues
s my call took longer than planned,” she said with a weak smile.

  “Jenny?” He tilted his head, eyes searching hers. “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t tell him without more tears, so she shook her head and moved out of the phone booth. She fell in step with him out to the road, where he accompanied her to the opposite side of the buggy and helped her up, holding her hand. “Denki,” she said when she was in and straightening her black apron.

  Andrew hurried around the front to hop in on the driver’s side. “How ’bout a short ride—see the area?” He seemed to read her and know that she needed some tender care.

  “Sure, but I don’t want to take up your time.”

  “No problem. I took off work for Adam and Susannah’s wedding—same one Samuel and Rebecca attended.” He looked at her then, a concerned expression on his face. “I’d really like to make ya smile today, Jenny . . . somehow or other.”

  She felt her cheeks redden. “That’s very nice of you.”

  “I’m not just sayin’ that,” he added.

  Jenny felt the familiar thrill of being pursued—and wasn’t Andrew doing just that? She was comforted by their small talk as they toured Hickory Hollow. Oddly, all of this seemed more real to her than the frustrating phone call home. And far more pleasant.

  “Adam Miller, the groom, is a cousin to Tessie, a relative of mine. Tessie was also at the wedding with her four older sisters and all their husbands, and she was askin’ about you, Jenny. Awful curious, I daresay.” He shrugged sheepishly before adding, “Anyhow, Tessie’s wonderin’ if there’s anything she can do to help you get better adjusted here. She’d really like to.”

  “That’s so thoughtful—please tell her I appreciate it.”

  “Why don’t you tell her? She’ll be at the quiltin’ bee over at Mary Beiler’s next week.”

  “Perfect, then, I will.” Jenny was dying to ask why his own sister wasn’t as considerate. “I had dinner today with the bishop’s wife and children at David and Mattie Beiler’s house. Ella Mae was there . . . Emmalyn, too.”

  He nodded as if he’d known.

  “It was Ella Mae’s idea to cook a Thanksgiving Day feast for me,” she explained.

  “Not surprising.”

  Jenny agreed and folded her hands. “Everyone likes the Wise Woman.”

  “Well, and you can see why.”

  She really wanted to talk further about Emmalyn, but since he didn’t go there, she dropped the idea.

  They rode all the way up past the Hickory Hollow schoolhouse on the right side of the road before getting to Route 340. “I want to show you the school where I attended as a boy,” Andrew said, slowing the horse to a stop. “Several of my girl cousins were in the grades below me, but they were more like sisters. And growin’ up around so many girls and other young women in the church district, I had plenty of opportunity to get to know them. But none of the suitable girls appealed to me . . . for a bride.” He was quiet for a moment, his head forward, eyes on the road. “I’ve been accused more than once of bein’ too picky.”

  She wondered where he was going with this, and there was a long moment as he seemed to measure her, as though judging whether he should continue in a similar vein. “Do you mind if I’m frank with you, Jenny? I mean, I don’t want to offend you . . . or give you the wrong idea.”

  “Honesty’s good,” she managed to say, suddenly feeling a bit tense.

  Andrew coughed nervously. “I respect your courage . . . actually everything about you.” He turned to face her. “I admire how you stick to your chores and practices that have to be foreign to you, doin’ so with kindness—and even gut humor. But most of all, with a gracious spirit. Truth be told, you’re the kind of girl I’ve been lookin’ for.” He stopped for a moment, frowning a bit. “But you prob’ly won’t be here a year from now, will ya?”

  She was completely taken aback and had to scramble to gather her wits. “Only if I don’t learn to bake a better loaf of bread.” She tried to laugh but it came out as a sigh. How had they arrived at such a serious discussion? “You know, all the other girls around here can cook and can and bake and think like an Amishwoman. They have me beat hands down.”

  “But they don’t have your sweet personality, or your determination—least not the girls I know.” His expression was solemn. “So many of our young folk are mighty curious about the modern world, tryin’ to get out of the church. And here you are, trying to get in.”

  “Maybe they’ve taken their Plain heritage for granted.” She looked at the barns and the dairy cattle, envying anyone who’d grown up here. “I have so much catching up to do, beginning with the language.”

  “But that’s comin’ along much better.”

  “Well, slowly.”

  “And you’re learnin’ to hitch up, ain’t so?” he said kindly. “For that matter, I’ve been thinkin’ we could have ya try hitching up a pony to a pony cart, to make things easier. What do ya say?”

  We . . .

  “Whatever works best for someone who’s all thumbs with a harness,” she replied, pondering this. “Any ideas on bread making, as well?”

  He chuckled. “Whoever said a girl has to be an expert in the kitchen?”

  “Amish girls, of course!” Now she was laughing with him.

  Andrew looked down at her folded hands and then back at the road. “None of the things you mentioned are as important as a person’s heart,” he said, pausing. “I’d like to get to know ya better, Jenny . . . if that’s all right.”

  The day of her baptism had never seemed so distant. “You’re not one of us,” Emmalyn had pointed out that day at market. “As a friend?” she asked softly.

  “Of course.”

  “Will it be a problem for you, spending time with a seeker like me?”

  “If young couples see each other secretly, why can’t we?” He smiled at her, so striking in his black felt hat and black coat. “We could meet at the springhouse once a week . . . to pray, then to talk or walk, depending on the weather.”

  She thought again of Emmalyn. “I probably shouldn’t say this. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Say whatever you like, Jenny.”

  Her heart warmed to this thoughtful man. “Your younger sister seems leery of me.”

  He nodded, his expression reflective. “S’pose she is, jah.”

  Jenny held her breath. Had she spoken out of turn?

  “I take it Emmalyn hasn’t told ya why.”

  Jenny shook her head. “We did chat this afternoon while watching Ella Mae’s great-grandchildren playing outside.” And she was nicer today. . . .

  “I may tell you ’bout all that someday,” Andrew said quietly. “When you and I know each other better.”

  Jenny acquiesced but remained very curious.

  When Jenny saw that Samuel and Rebecca were already home, she suggested Andrew let her out on the road. She thanked him for the ride and for the gift, promising to go in and open it right away.

  “Will ya meet me next Thursday evening at the springhouse pond, then?”

  She smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Till then,” he said, getting out of the carriage to help her down. His smile touched her heart, and he released her quickly before she hurried through the front yard and around to the back of the house.

  Her heart fell when she stepped inside and noticed the present was missing. Had Rebecca found it? Oh, Jenny wished she’d taken it directly to her room. What was she thinking, leaving it out?

  Going into the utility room, she removed her outer clothes and hung them on the specified wooden pegs. Then she looked to see if Rebecca was anywhere in the kitchen, which thankfully remained empty. Tiptoeing in, she spotted Andrew’s gift on the kitchen table, the card still tucked under the ribbon, with only her name printed on the front. Whew, she thought, taking it upstairs to her room and closing the door.

  What will I tell Rebecca if she asks?

  An impious thought crossed her mind. Af
ter all, she was keeping Rebecca’s secret, so wasn’t it fair to expect her to do the same?

  Jenny unwrapped Andrew’s gift and was tickled to see a hardcover devotional book, Streams in the Desert. She opened to the front page. Andrew had written an inscription: To Jenny Burns. May God grant you the peace your heart craves here in Hickory Hollow—for always. Sincerely, Andrew Lapp.

  “For always,” she whispered, realizing it was his way of saying that he hoped she would still be here in a year, if not forever.

  “How considerate,” she murmured as she paged through the devotional book. It surprised her that he seemed so in tune with her spiritual yearnings. He, too, enjoyed communing in prayer with God.

  Andrew’s card was next, and she purposely hesitated to open it. Didn’t she already care too much for him?

  She held the envelope and stared at her name in his strong, flowing handwriting. What could he possibly have written inside?

  Chapter 36

  You simply cannot do it!” Marnie’s friend Tessie Miller said, shaking her head as they walked home late that night from the barn Singing after Susannah’s wedding. “You’ll be sorry—I just know it.”

  Marnie refused to cry, afraid her tears would freeze on her cold cheeks. “But I love him. I’d follow Roy anywhere.”

  “To Bird-in-Hand, then? To his progressive church?” Tessie bit her lip. “You’ll be the next Katie Lapp.”

  “Naomi Beiler and I might share a room over at Fishers’, till we’re able to get out on our own.”

  Tessie wrinkled her pretty little nose. “You mean till you’re married. But why not just stay home till then? It’d spare your family the heartache.”

  “Oh, Tessie . . . I’m in a fog. No matter what, I’m cooked.” Marnie wrapped her scarf closer to her mouth and tried not to breathe in the frigid air. A half moon glistened in the heavens. “Since the preacher knows—and the bishop, too—soon everyone will. I don’t think I could bear bein’ looked down on.”

  “Just be thankful you can’t be shunned.” Tessie shivered noticeably.