Something Old

by Dianne Christner

  © 2011 by Dianne Christner

  Print ISBN 978-1-61626-231-0

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-544-1

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-545-8

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  For more information about Dianne Christner, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address: www.diannechristner.net

  Cover design: Mullerhaus Publishing Group

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Katy’s Journal

  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  To my mom, who has a good word to say about everybody. Even during a season of intense physical pain, she spread the word about my books. To my mother-in-law, who also experienced a rough year. Yet Anna repeatedly asked, “Is your book out yet?” Finally, I can place it in her lap.

  Thanks to my agent, Greg Johnson, who believed in my writing and persevered, opening doors of opportunity that led to the Plain City Bridesmaids series. Thanks to Becky and the superb Barbour Publishing team for enhancing my manuscript throughout editing, marketing, and production.

  Dad, thanks for your prayers and my Mennonite upbringing. Jim, I appreciate your daily love and devotion. Rachel, you are my encourager. Leo, you are hers. Mike and Heather, you are patient, especially before deadlines. Kathy and Chris, I cherish your supportive e-mails. Timmy, thanks for your website assistance. Gkids, want to see your name in print? Hi Makaila, Elijah, Vanson, Ethan, and Chloe!

  Reader, I’m humbled you picked up Something Old and ventured into Plain City to spend time with Katy Yoder and her friends. I hope our paths cross and invite you to meet with me on my website: www.diannechristner.net.

  Most thanks go to God, my helper and highest inspiration.

  PROLOGUE

  Ouch! Stop it!” Ten-year-old Katy Yoder howled, her head pinned to the back of the car seat until she could uncoil Jake Byler’s fingers from her ponytail. She glared at the unrepentant boy—though she secretly relished the attention—and flipped her hair to the front of her buttoned blouse. In return, he flashed her a lopsided grin.

  With Plain City, Ohio, one hundred miles behind them, the van continued to eat up the asphalt and soon veered off the interstate onto a dusty road that could churn soda pop into butter. The boys whooped, but Katy’s stomach did a little somersault. Under normal circumstances, curvy roads turned her green, but she was also fretting over the unknowns of her first camp experience.

  The driver shut off the ignition in front of a rectangular, log building. With ambivalence, Katy scrutinized the green-lettered sign identifying Camp Victoria. The side door slid open, startling her as the boys scrambled over her, all elbows and knees, to exit the van. She squealed a protest and piled out after them. Then the children jostled into the parking lot and remained in a cluster like a group of balloons, where they drew attention, not for their festive splash but for their plainness.

  Jake, who had pulled Katy’s ponytail twice on the road trip, curled his lip and elbowed Chad Penner. Katy turned to see what tickled them. Her cheeks flamed to watch the boys act like first graders over some girls in shorts and brightly colored Ts.

  She tossed her black ponytail and nudged Megan Weaver. “Stupid boys. Act like they never saw shorts before.”

  “Probably not on church girls,” Megan replied. “Those girls are looking this way. Should we go talk to them?”

  Lillian Mae Landis, the third friend in their tight trio, frowned at her navy culottes. “I wish my mom would let me wear shorts.”

  For Katy, her homemade culottes afforded more freedom than her normal below-the-calf skirts, and she would die before she showed her legs. She smoothed the cotton folds that clung to her legs and studied the other girls. “I hope they’re nice.” She gently bit her lip, wondering if they knew how to play Red Rover. Or would they take greater pleasure in calling her ugly names like “Plain Jane"? One of the shorts-clad girls waved. “Let’s go,” Lil urged.

  To Katy’s relief, it turned out that a girl in green shorts had a cousin who lived in Plain City. The common acquaintance gapped the bridge between the Mennonite girls in shorts and the more conservative ones wearing culottes, which was fortunate since their sleeping bags and duffels all landed in the same cabin.

  After participating in a long morning of organized activities, the Plain City girls took advantage of a few minutes of relaxation. Katy squinted up through glistening leaves, trying to locate an angry, chattering squirrel.

  Lil propped an elbow on a bare, chubby knee. “Let’s name ourselves after something that comes in threes.” Their counselor had just divided their cabin in teams of three and given them fifteen minutes to name their group.

  Katy gave up on the squirrel and tried to ignore the tight-fitting shorts Lil had already borrowed from a cabin mate. Things that come in threes. She twirled her long, black ponytail and thought about the picture books she’d read to entertain her younger siblings while her mother shelled peas. “There’s the three bears, three Billy goats, three little pigs—”

  “Nah.” Lil tilted her leg this way and that. “Everybody’ll think of those.”

  “How about the Trinity?”

  “Yeah, I like it,” Megan’s face glowed. Katy wasn’t sure if Megan was excited about her suggestion, or if she sported a sunburn. She was the only person Katy knew whose skin was as pale as white chinaware with hair as light as yellow thread. Lil was light-complected, too, but her freckles camouflaged it.

  With a scowl, Lil said, “No way. Too holy.”

  “She’s right.” Megan reconsidered, nibbling at the tip of one of her blond braids.

  Lil’s blue eyes lit with cunning, and Katy inwardly cringed. “Three Bean Salad! Nobody else will pick that name.”

  “Huh?” The other two scowled. Leave it to Lil to think of food, Katy thought.

  “Don’t you see? It’s perfect. Megan is the green bean since her parents ar
e always talking about stewardship and recycling. I’m the garbanzo.” Lil shimmied her shoulders and singsonged, “Gar—ban—zo.” She pointed at Katy. “And you can be the kidney bean.”

  “What? I hate it. Do you even know what a kidney does?”

  “You’re just a kid with a knee. Get it?”

  Katy watched Lil pat her bare knee again. “That’s stupid. My knees never show.” She hoped Lil got the point that at least she was a modest person.

  “Sometimes they do in your culottes,” Megan remarked. Katy’s ears turned pink. “What?”

  “I only saw them once in the morning relay.” Megan sighed. “Never mind. Would you rather be the green bean?”

  “Red’s her favorite color,” Katy tossed her head toward Lil and pulled her culottes down below the middle of her shins. “If Lil’s so set on it, let her be the kidney bean.”

  Megan turned up her palms. “Will you two stop arguing? We’ll be three peas in a pod; then we can all be the same.”

  Lil rolled her gaze heavenward. “It’s two peas in a pod, and we’re not the same at all.”

  “Got that right,” Katy grumbled, thinking about the giant dishpan full of green pellets her mother had shelled. She didn’t want to be a pea, either. She’d rather be a bear or a musketeer or even a stooge. What were her friends thinking?

  All ten years of their lives, the girls had done things together. They sat in pews at the same Conservative Mennonite church, learned their multiplication tables at the same blackboard, and played tag with the same ornery boys. But their personalities were as far apart as the tips of a triangle. They went to all the same potlucks, but their plates never looked identical. And although Lil and Katy hardly ever agreed on anything, they loved each other something fierce. When they didn’t remember that, Megan reminded them.

  “Why not three strands to a rope? That’s cool.” Megan fingered her braid. “Like this.”

  Lil crossed her arms and wouldn’t budge. “Three Bean Salad.”

  Katy glared. She could blackmail her, threaten to tell Mrs. Landis about Lil’s shorts, but Megan would never permit it. So because their leader chose that moment to blow her pink whistle, Three Bean Salad it remained for the rest of the week.

  The campfire events rocked. A new word Katy had learned. As the highlight of each day, it opened Katy’s eyes to a world that existed beyond her sheltered home life. She didn’t miss how Megan leaned forward with starry eyes during the mission stories. When they lay in their bunks at night, while Lil and their leader, Mary, did sit-ups on the cabin floor, Megan chatted about Djibouti and Tanzania.

  For Katy, the singing rocked most, even though she knew she sang off-key. The words expressed her heart, and she felt like she might burst with love for Jesus. She wished the world could share her happiness. It saddened her to watch Lil mimic the other girls from their cabin.

  She glanced sideways now. Lil’s freckles practically glowed in the firelight. She was happy, but Katy wished she could hug her friend to her senses. Lil pulled her blue sweater tight around her shoulders, her gaze wistfully trailing the kids now breaking the circle, some heading toward the cabins. “I never want this week to end,” she murmured.

  “Me either,” Katy whispered.

  Lil glanced into the shadows where their leader stood talking to another camp counselor. “She’s so beautiful.”

  Megan and Katy leaned forward and looked to their right at Lil.

  “Who?”

  “Mary.”

  “Oh.” They leaned back. All three girls had fallen under Mary’s spell. She was kind, patient, and told great Bible stories. To Lil’s fascination, she was also beautiful and planning a wedding.

  Lil clenched her fists. “I know how we can make this last. Let’s make a vow tonight that when we’re Mary’s age we’ll all move in together. It’ll be like camp. Only forever.”

  Katy furrowed her brow. “We’ll probably get married.”

  “Just until we marry. And we’ll be each other’s bridesmaids, too! Oh, swear it!”

  Feeling sad that Lil caught so little of what camp was really about, Katy frowned. “You know Mennonites don’t swear or take oaths.”

  Lil placed her head in her hands and stared at her borrowed jeans.

  Megan, who was seated on the log between them, reached out and clasped each of their hands. “The Bible says where two or three are gathered and agree on something, that God honors it.”

  Twisting her ponytail with her free hand, Katy frowned. “What?”

  “Sometimes my parents remind God about it when they pray.”

  “Really?” Katy asked, amazed.

  Megan nodded, and her voice grew grave. “We can agree, but we must never break a promise.”

  Katy swallowed. Her heart beat fast. Lil’s gaze begged. “I promise.” Katy squeezed Megan’s hand. “And I already know who I’m going to marry.”

  The other two whipped their gazes to the left. “You do?”

  “Jake Byler. He always lets me cut in front of him in line.”

  Over the next decade, Katy wondered if Lil had made a second oath that night. She must have vowed to never let them break their promise to each other.

  CHAPTER 1

  Ten years later

  Katy Yoder skimmed a white-gloved finger across the edge of the fireplace mantel. The holiday decorations, such extravagance forbidden at her own home, slowed her task. It wasn’t just the matter of working around them; it was the assessing of them. Feeling a bit like Cinderella at the ball, she swiped her feather duster, easing it around the angel figurines and Christmas garland. A red plastic berry bounced to the floor, and she stooped to retrieve it, poking it back into place with care.

  Her mother, like most members of her Mennonite congregation, shunned such frivolity. Gabriel of the Bible, the angel who visited the Virgin Mary, probably looked nothing like these gilded collectibles. Nevertheless, the manger scene caused warm puddles to pool deep inside her heart, a secret place of confusing desires that she kept properly disguised, covered with her crisp white blouse and ever-busy hands.

  The pine-scented tree occupying the corner of the room moved her with wonder. Not the ornaments, but the twinkling white lights, little dots of hope. The cheery music jingling in the background was not forbidden. She mouthed the words to “Silent Night.” In December they often sang the hymn at her meetinghouse. But her singing was interrupted mid-stanza as her employer’s gravelly voice brought her out of her reverie. Instinctively, she lowered her arm and whirled.

  Mr. Beverly’s lips thinned and his white mustache twitched. “Katy. We need to talk.” Bands of deep wrinkles creased his forehead. “I have bad news,” he said. His petite wife stood at his side, twisting her diamond ring.

  Apprehension marched up Katy’s neck. Could it be a terminal illness? In their late seventies, the couple kept active for their age, always off on golfing vacations. Katy had grown fond of them. Smiles softened their conversation, and their hands were quick to hand her trusted keys and gifts. They even bought her a sweater for her birthday, made from some heavenly soft fabric. Katy gripped the duster’s handle with both hands. “Oh?”

  “We’re going to have to let you go.”

  Her jaw gaped. Never had she expected such news. “But…but I thought you were pleased.” Her mind scrambled for some slipup, some blunder.

  Mrs. Beverly rushed forward and touched Katy’s white sleeve. “No. No. It’s nothing like that. Our son wants us to move to Florida.” She glanced at her husband. “At our age, it’s overdue.”

  Katy propped the duster against an armchair and smoothed the apron that covered her dark, A-line skirt. “But is this what you want? Is there a problem with your health?”

  Mrs. Beverly glanced at the beige shag carpet and back to Katy’s face. “Just the usual, but we’re not getting any younger.” Mr. Beverly squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We’ll give you a good reference.”

  Katy didn’t need a reference. She needed a job. This partic
ular job. Her best-paying, two-day-a-week job. To Katy, the tidy, easy-to-clean house classified as a dream job fast becoming a nightmare, if she was to lose it just when the doddy house came up for rent. Forcing a smile, Katy nodded. “I appreciate that. When will you leave?”

  “Right away. We’re turning the house over to a Realtor. Our son is coming to help us sell some things. There’s really no need for you to come again. I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more notice. But we are giving you a Christmas bonus.”

  Katy patted Mrs. Beverly’s manicured hand. “Thank you. You have

  enough to worry about; don’t concern yourself with me.” She bit her lip, thinking, I do that well enough for the both of us.

  “We’ll leave you to your work, then,” Mr. Beverly cut in. He nudged his wife’s elbow, but she looked regretfully over her shoulder at Katy. “Come along, dear,” he urged. Then to Katy, he called, “Your money’s on the counter as usual. Please leave us your house key.”

  “Yes sir,” Katy replied, watching them depart through an arched entryway. Mr. Beverly paused under the mistletoe to peck his wife’s delicate cheek before they headed out for the mall. The tender gesture gripped Katy. It never ceased to amaze her when folks who never went to church loved like that. At least she assumed they didn’t go to church, for she dusted their wine collection, R-rated DVDs, and sexy novel flaps without noticing any evidence of Christianity in their home except for one solitary Bible. It always stayed put, tucked between Pride and Prejudice and Birds of Ohio Field Guide. That’s why the Beverlys’ consistent kindness and loving behavior was so disturbing.

  As usual, anything romantic always reminded Katy of Jake Byler. Growing up, she was sure they’d marry, and because of his daring, often reckless behavior, she had dreamed of sharing an adventuresome life with him. In their teen years, he stared at her with an ardor that melted her toes through her black stockings. He’d give her a dimpled grin or a wink, never embarrassed. Every autumn at the youth hayride, he’d claimed her hand. And after he got his own truck, he took her home from fellowship functions and stole kisses at her back door. She’d always loved him.