The Imposter

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Finally, he looked up at her and gave her a quizzical expression. “Where do I know you from?”

  It was as if she’d known him forever, as if she only had to remember his name. Her heartbeat actually sped up, filled with a sensation like a warm ray of sunlight. She felt a spark of happiness rise up within her. It was the first glimmer of happiness she had felt since the terrible accident. He explained that he was waiting for the store to open because he wanted to post an advertisement for border collie pups on the bulletin board. He was a breeder, he said, new to the area, and was trying to get established.

  He gazed at her for a long time, looking at her eyes and mouth, and a giddiness danced through her. She fell in love just that fast, at first sight.

  Which it was. It was fast and real and true, their beginning.

  John loved her with an ardor, as passionate, as consuming as it was possible for a man to love a woman. That was one of the things she treasured most about him—his fervor, his intensity, his undeniable, romantic, jealous love. “I saw the way all the boys fluttered around you like moths,” John told her once after church, “and I made up my mind to beat them all to the flame.”

  He hated when other boys flirted with her, always feared one would catch her eye. He worried that he was too old for her, twenty-six to her seventeen when they met. When her father decided to move the family to Stoney Ridge, he worried obsessively that she would drift away.

  As often as she could save up the money for the fare, she took a long bus ride to Ohio to see him. Her last visit was eight weeks ago. They’d had a wonderful, romantic weekend together—a picnic at the lake on Saturday, a rainy, lazy off-Sunday morning at her aunt Nancy’s house.

  Then, as John put her on the bus that last Sunday afternoon, he took both of her hands in his and solemnly announced that he wanted to break up. She stared at him, mystified, absolutely shell-shocked. She had given him everything, absolutely everything she had to give, confident of their future together. It made no sense. She’d had no clue whatsoever.

  She’d been completely blindsided.

  The only explanation he gave was that he had stopped loving her. She knew, just knew, that wasn’t true. But it was also true that he didn’t love her enough.

  For the last eight weeks, she had kept checking for phone messages, hoping in some bizarre way that there would be something from John to explain all this, something that would say, “Hey Kat, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m coming for you.”

  Would he ever come for her? Or had he completely disappeared from her life forever? She simply had to believe that somehow, some way . . .

  What? That he’d send a message to her? What would it even say? Sorry, sweetheart, there’s been a big misunderstanding. And she would forgive him and everything would go back to the way it was.

  But, so far, there was no phone message from him.

  What would she do without him? It frightened her to even think of a future without John. It was more than love she felt for him. She needed him, needed him in her life, and it was a need so consuming, it was like needing air to breathe. What would she do without him? The question was so enormous that she shoved it away.

  A crow cawed overhead and another answered back, snapping Katrina back to the present. She stopped in front of a new big wooden sign with MOSS HILL painted in purple and green. Beneath the name were the words NO SUNDAY SALES. Near the top of the hill sat Thelma Beiler’s modest little house. Chickens wandered around the grass yard, clucking in a busybody sort of way.

  Before Katrina reached the steps that led up to the house, the front door opened and a man stepped onto the porch. She knew exactly who he was—Thelma Beiler’s new farmhand. She shielded her eyes from the early morning sun and realized that Birdy had described him perfectly: reserved, aloof, and much too good-looking.

  He stepped farther out onto the porch, until he was standing almost on top of her. His hair was thick, dark brown and curly, too long, and yet it fell perfectly around an extravagant face—shaped into angles by high cheekbones and a hard jaw. He had a dramatic cleft in his chin and piercing blue eyes over which his brows slanted upward like the slopes of a hill. A lock of hair, dark as coal, tossed on his forehead. His body was shaped by years of hard physical labor. Not her type at all, but definitely beautiful.

  “Hey,” he said in a low voice, his eyes locked on her.

  Oh no. She could tell, from the approving look in his eyes, that he found her attractive. No, no, no, no. Not what she wanted or needed right now. She met his gaze with challenge. “So you must be the new farmhand.”

  “Andy Miller is the name.” A slight grin creased his face. “And you must be the one they sent to keep an eye on Thelma. To make sure I’m not a crazy serial murderer.”

  Katrina cocked her head. “Are you?”

  A hint of amusement lit his eyes. “Maybe a little crazy, but definitely not a serial murderer.”

  He was older than she was, somewhere in his twenties, and had a certain world weariness about him. “I’m Katrina Stoltzfus. I’m going to stay with Thelma and learn all about her moss business.” Or until Thelma’s shoulder mends.

  “She’s resting right now. We just got back from the doctor.”

  This stranger seemed territorial of Thelma. Why was that? She would have thought he’d be glad to have someone else tend to the needs of an elderly woman. Most men would be delighted to pass off the tasks. “Don’t let me stop you from what you were going to do.”

  “I’m heading out to gather moss.”

  “I’ve never seen all this moss that Thelma’s talked about.”

  He tipped his hat to leave, then hesitated. “Well, come on then, it’s a sight to behold.” Abruptly, he took her small suitcase and set it on the porch. “Follow me.”

  “Um . . . okay.”

  He took long strides toward a well-beaten path that led up a steep hill, then stopped, as if it occurred to him he should wait for her to catch up to him. “What do you know about moss?”

  “Well, I know it’s green.”

  He gave her a single glance, not quite rolling his eyes. His mouth twitched. Amusement? Annoyance? “And you’re going to learn all about her business?”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m a quick study.”

  “So, I guess there’s no chance that I’d be boring you.”

  Boring her? Not likely, Katrina thought, then caught herself before she said it out loud. Don’t encourage him, she told herself. Keep things strictly businesslike.

  They passed a large vegetable garden in its last burst of summer growth, a small barn, a battered-looking greenhouse with cracked windows, then climbed to the top of a small rocky hill. They passed some trees with branches and trunks covered with moss.

  “Is this it?” she asked.

  “Hardly. You’ll know when you see it.”

  At the crest of the hill, he stepped sideways, out of the way, and gestured with his hand, casting a large half-circle. “Here it is.”

  “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, my.” In front of her was the moss, spread out like giant green pincushions over the rocks that hugged the hillside. A breeze swept over them and made the green hillside shimmer slightly like waves, like water. Moving her gaze downhill, she studied the landscape, enveloped by the grassy smell of the moss wafting over them, the bees buzzing, the sunlight tumbling down over the moss-covered rocks. Reflexively, Katrina put her hands to her face. “Oh, wow.”

  “Told you it was a sight to see,” he said, hands on his hips.

  “It’s . . . stunning.” And it was. She was in awe. But then she realized that Andy was watching her. “Is it always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “The aroma . . . why, it’s intoxicating! Like . . . fresh-cut grass. But . . . better.”

  Amused, Andy gazed over the rocky hillside. “Probably more aromatic because it’s such a warm, sunny day today.”

  “I know this reveals my ignorance, but why would anybody buy . . . moss?
” It was such an odd product to her, almost laughable.

  “Gardeners. Florists. Decorators. Landscapers. It’s an alternative to growing grass. Parks use it for walkways.”

  She bent down to rub her hand along the top of the smooth surface. “I’m enchanted.” She looked up at him and he smiled. The grin started slowly, but when it reached his eyes, it became dazzling. She felt a little disoriented, snared by those China-blue eyes.

  “Take your time,” he said at last. “I’ll tell Thelma you’re here. I’ve got some work to do. I’m trying to get a lead on a reputable breeder of border collies.”

  Katrina did not move. She barely breathed. “I know someone who breeds border collies. Trains them too.”

  His dark eyebrows lifted in interest.

  “People come from all over to get one of his dogs.”

  “Come to my office in the barn when you’re done and leave his info on my desk. I’ll look into it.”

  “Oh, perhaps I should contact him for you,” she said quickly. “He’s got a waiting list . . . but I might be able to help expedite your name to the top of the list.”

  “Okay, sure. Ideally, I’d like a male pup. Neutered. If it’s trained, all the better. But not older than a year.” He gave her a satisfied nod and turned to leave.

  She watched Andy Miller stride back down the hill toward the barn. And she was suddenly, overwhelmingly, filled with happiness. A little spark of hope, fizzy as a bee, suggested that this might be the way back to John.

  As Birdy walked toward the schoolhouse, she sorted out the twist her brother Freeman had thrown her this week and tried to focus her thoughts. Teach school? She didn’t know the first thing about teaching school to a roomful of children. And Freeman must have thought so too, because his own four children as well as Levi’s three children would remain in the old schoolhouse under Danny Riehl’s tutelage, though where they lived, the Big House, was much closer to the new school.

  Birdy never had any desire to teach school but that mattered not to Freeman. And if it didn’t matter to Freeman, it wouldn’t matter to Levi. Freeman was the sort to leap headfirst into a raging river without a care for whether it was deep enough. And where Freeman leaped, Levi followed.

  Birdy loved her brothers, but she also feared them and knew not to cross them, especially now. Since Freeman had become a bishop, he had started to make sweeping changes in the little church of Stoney Ridge, and she knew he had many more plans in the works. David Stoltzfus was the fly in his ointment. He didn’t go along with Freeman’s ideas the way Deacon Abraham, a peacemaker at heart, did. David questioned her brother, pushed back, tried to slow down his pace of change. He was a constant aggravation to Freeman.

  To many in the church, perhaps most, Freeman Glick was only facing reality and helping to preserve the church for a new century. That’s certainly how it appeared, and she hoped he was setting the right path for the church. She doubted it, but she hoped so. But the one thing she knew for certain was that David Stoltzfus must not give up.

  David.

  A year ago, after hearing David Stoltzfus’s very first sermon, she knew she was a goner. He preached in a way she had never heard anyone preach. His words stirred something inside her, something she couldn’t explain. She only knew he made her want to lean closer to God. And she knew David Stoltzfus had a grip on her heart like a balled fist.

  Each church Sunday, Birdy tried to sit on the far side of the bench so she could look at David from the side. Actually, she liked looking at him from any angle. Although heaven help her if he ever knew, if anyone ever knew, what was in her heart. Loving David Stoltzfus was something she kept carefully guarded.

  How handsome he was! David was lean, not even a hint of paunch hung over his pants. His skin was tanned but not bronze, leathery but in a good way, the complexion of a man who spent time outdoors. His hair, like his beard, was ginger, a color that made his warm brown eyes look even warmer.

  This was the man she had been longing for her entire life, despite the fact that thirteen years separated them, or that she wasn’t exactly the type of woman for whom men swooned. She was taller than nearly all of them.

  Birdy was thirty-one years old. She had no prospects of marriage, nor any hope of such on the horizon. And she had accepted that. What was it Freeman always said about her? “Liked by all but loved by none.”

  Her mother, gone ten years now, had tried to encourage her only daughter to be more graceful, more feminine. To improve her posture by walking around the house with a book on her head, to move with more poise, to practice her conversational skills. Birdy had tried so hard to please her mother, but to no avail. Years passed by without any suitors and she saw her mother’s mouth and eyes etch with shame and disappointment.

  No, Birdy had no grand illusions that David would ever think twice about her.

  Sooner or later, some lucky woman would capture David’s heart. He was everything: kind, intelligent, wise, attractive, a wonderful father. However, until such a woman appeared on the scene and stole his heart, Birdy was content with the interaction she and David did have, however awkward those encounters always seemed to be. And they were. On her best days, she was clumsy. Around David, she was thoroughly uncoordinated. He flustered her.

  As she turned down the road that led to the schoolhouse, she pondered how to make this teaching situation a win-win. That was always her aim in every circumstance—to find the bright side of every situation. Such an attitude annoyed her brothers, but Birdy was used to people reacting that way to her. Levi was embarrassed by her relentless good spirits. He would say with a silencing sneer, “Where water is deepest, it is stillest.” But there were things you couldn’t help. She had been born cheerful.

  She’d gone a full two blocks before a wonderful thought occurred to her. As teacher, she would be involved in the lives of David’s younger children—Ruthie, Molly, and the twins, Emily and Lydie. As their teacher, she might have extra opportunities to see and interact with David. It might be as close as she could ever get to him.

  An iridescent bubble of happiness engulfed her, and she nearly laughed aloud.

  David got home later from a hospital visitation than he’d planned. The horse had picked up a stone in her shoe. He was able to dig it out, but the horse kept favoring one leg and so he decided to come home on foot, leading her by the reins, though rain had begun. He removed her harness, washed her down, curried her, fed her, and checked her leg again to make sure it wasn’t swelling.

  He’d barely made it home before the full force of the storm hit. Rain pounded on the barn roof, noisy and furious. He pushed the buggy into an upright position against the barn wall, his mind still on Ephraim Yoder in the hospital.

  A week ago, Ephraim had been stacking fresh hay in his haymow, slipped, and fallen headfirst onto the concrete floor of the barn. His son, Noah, had found him, lying unconscious, his neck broken, and ran over a mile to get help.

  In the emergency room of the hospital, Ephraim was placed on a ventilator with a machine doing the breathing for him. But his mind was clear and he could now communicate short words at a time. He was just hanging on, one day at a time right now, but the future, David knew, and Ephraim knew, was bleak.

  Ephraim’s wife, Sadie, wanted David to read Scripture to him, so he did, staying much longer than he intended. After Ephraim dozed off, he stared at the broken man.

  When David’s wife, Anna, had died, it had been quick. One moment she was driving the buggy home after picking up Katrina, and the next moment a pickup truck had rear-ended the buggy. He was told she’d died before the ambulance had arrived. He prayed it was so, that Anna never suffered agony or even knew what was happening.

  Ephraim knew exactly what had happened to him, and the resignation in his eyes made David want to weep. Ephraim and Sadie had a son to raise who was about the same age as his Ruthie, a boy on the cusp of leaving childhood. It wasn’t fair. But it was.

  God’s ways are not our ways.

  He k
new that. He believed that. But it was hard, so hard, to understand the ways of God.

  He slid open the barn door and peered out into a storm that flung lightning bolts like arrows. The warm yellow light from the house beckoned, but he paused to stare at the dark sky.

  How Anna would love to see this thunderstorm. She had relished thunder and lightning storms. A quick clutch of emotion seized his throat, and he looked away, overcome by a wild sense of loss.

  No, he thought. Anna had left him, but she’d gone to God. His wife knew a better life now, the eternal life, warm and safe in God’s kingdom and the glory of heaven. It was selfish of him to miss her so much. And to be perfectly honest, he felt a little envious of her. There were moments, like tonight, as he sat by Ephraim’s bedside, that he felt tired of trying to navigate through life. More toils, more troubles. The words of King Solomon echoed in his head: “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.” Sometimes, going to God seemed far more appealing than the trouble that this world had to offer.

  But who was he to question the mysterious will of God? Anna was gone but he was here. If only for the sake of their children, he had to find the courage to keeping moving forward in life.

  The emptiness was there, but he would fill it. With mornings full of the flurry of breakfast and lunch making and seeing his daughters off to school. With days spent at the store, where he would cross paths with nearly everyone in the church. And nights when he’d sit at the kitchen table and spread his Bible and books out to prepare for Sunday church.

  David pushed away from the barn door and ran to the house. He yanked off his slicker and tossed it on the porch bench, then made himself smile as he stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. Jesse looked up from the table. “Hey, Dad. There’s some dinner left for you in the oven. Molly cooked tonight. Not sure what it was, but I ate an hour ago and so far I’m not stricken with food poisoning.”