The Imposter

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  She startled when she saw him and jumped to her feet as he walked up to her porch. “I’ve been summoned to the Big House,” he said. And it was a big house. It had grown and spread like an Amish family, with attachments to the main house. That’s where Levi’s family lived.

  “Ah, Freeman.”

  “What’s your sense of this one?”

  “He finds all kinds of things to object to.” She laughed. “I always thought that taking on Freeman was like wrestling a carnival bear. You have to cross your fingers that the muzzle doesn’t come off.”

  That was one of the things he was beginning to like most about Birdy—how she could find a reason to laugh at serious things, and suddenly it framed the issue in a lighter, more manageable way. “You do have a knack for saying unexpected things.”

  “Do I?” She snorted, in a very unladylike way, then her face flamed beet red. “I think my brothers would prefer if I said nothing.”

  “They just don’t see you clearly. It’s hard for families to see one another sometimes, don’t you think? My older sisters still can’t believe I’m a minister.”

  She tilted her head. “Do you enjoy being a minister?”

  “Do I like it?” David couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t sensed God’s hand on his shoulder. He had always taken Scripture seriously. He took Jesus seriously. He took prayer seriously. He loved helping people see the truths laid out in Scripture. He enjoyed caring for others who had needs and helping them find comfort in the Lord. Even as a boy, he had practiced giving sermons. It was as if he knew, deep down, he was going to draw the lot one day.

  He couldn’t imagine now not being a minister. Eight years ago, when he opened that hymnal and saw that piece of paper, saw that the lot had arrived for him, it felt like he had found a glove that fit his hand perfectly—a calling to the ministry. “Birdy, there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t thank God for the gift of drawing that lot.” He glanced up at the Glick farmhouse. “Though less so on days when I’m summoned to face the bishop.”

  “That bishop isn’t a tractable man on his best day.”

  “Was he always that way, your brother?”

  Birdy bundled her hands in her apron as she considered his question. “Freeman is the eldest, and our father—well, he was quite the taskmaster. He put a great deal of pressure on Freeman. On the day our father died, Freeman returned from the graveside a different person. All stern and stiff and solemn, very much his father’s son. I suppose . . .” She paused, as if to gather her thoughts. “I suppose it’s all he’d known manhood to be.”

  That thinking made sense to David. Weren’t we all what others expected us to be? A breeze came through the red cedar stands to swirl around them, and he saw her shiver, then rub her upper arms. He also saw her smile.

  “He was sweet to me, Freeman was, when I was a child. More than twenty years separate us, but our birthdays were only a few days apart, and he used to say that I was the best birthday present he ever got. Each year, up until when he married, he insisted that we have a joint celebration. We would even decorate the cake together.” She laughed. “It looked awful, a truly gaudy cake, but I’ll always treasure those memories.”

  David wouldn’t have expected to hear a tender word about Freeman, and it shamed him to think of how quick he was to criticize him.

  “You came here to see Freeman, not to listen to me prattle on. And I have some third grade math tests to correct.”

  “You’re doing a wonderful job as a teacher, Birdy. You seem to have an intuitive understanding of the children.” He knew that his daughters loved her as a teacher, but he was impressed by the quiet control she had over the entire class. He could see that the students respected, even admired her, all the way from the big-eyed first graders to the narrow-eyed eighth grade boys.

  His compliments set off a string of blushes. He wondered if one of the reasons she embarrassed so easily was that she’d never been given many compliments. All at once she clutched his arm hard enough to leave a mark. “Look, dear!”

  This sudden term of endearment caught him by surprise. A mild panic rose. Had she read more into his words or actions than he’d intended? Yes, they were spending more time together lately, but only because he was teaching a Bible class at the school. Good grief—she couldn’t possibly be thinking that he . . . and she . . . why, it was unthinkable!

  Then, thoroughly embarrassed, he saw the deer she meant, several does and fawns flitting through the stand of red cedars in the near distance.

  Over in the Big House, Freeman and Levi sat on a comfortable green couch on one side of the room, David sat on a stiff wooden chair on the opposite side. Freeman leaned forward to begin, his long wiry beard tucked against his chest, his fingers steepled together. “David, I understand that you have been instructing the schoolchildren to meditate.”

  David wondered how word had trickled to Freeman so quickly, because he was certain that news hadn’t come from Birdy. But it didn’t surprise him; Freeman had eyes and ears all over the church. “I gave the students some suggestions about how to memorize Bible verses. Meditating on a particular verse, for example.”

  “And you meditate like this?”

  “Yes. Of course I do.” Oftentimes, as he would read the Bible, he would silently pray, confess, worship, untangle situations, and make resolutions. Sometimes he would just sit and listen. “Don’t you?”

  “I object to the practice altogether.”

  “As do I,” Levi said.

  David was confused. “Of meditating? You object to meditating on God’s Word?”

  “Of letting imaginations wander. Imagination is a gateway to the devil.”

  A gateway to the devil? “The human imagination is an amazing God-given gift. Our world is full of examples of its redemptive use.”

  Freeman wasn’t interested in David’s way of thinking. “You are leading young children down a dangerous path.”

  “By meditating?” David couldn’t keep exasperation out of his voice. “Freeman, there are twenty-four verses in the Bible about meditating, mostly written by King David. It has deep roots in our faith. You’ll never convince me that meditation is wrong. Just the opposite. I think meditating and stillness are antidotes to a hurried, distracted, noisy life.”

  “Meditation is far too advanced a notion for these young schoolchildren.”

  “But everyone starts somewhere. Years ago, when I first read about the idea of sitting still in God’s presence, a good five minutes was about all I could handle. It’s only after years of practice that I can be still for extended periods of time.” These days, David found it didn’t take long to reset his attention to the work of God. Attention on God’s presence in his interactions with others brought a calm that helped him. He found he could be the father, neighbor, and minister he wanted to be—one who loved well. Whenever he found a moment or two, he would welcome God’s presence. “How else do we teach our young people to tend and keep alive the inner fire of God?”

  Freeman rose to his feet. “If you continue to go into the schoolhouse, it is to teach the children Bible verse memorization. Only that.”

  “Or?”

  Freeman sighed. “David, must you challenge every single decision I make?”

  “Yes. Yes, I think I must.”

  Freeman strode to the door and opened it wide. “Good day, David.”

  10

  Andy stayed and helped Katrina clean up the mess she’d made after transplanting moss in the greenhouse for the first time. Dirt was everywhere, moss was everywhere, and Katrina was sticky from the heat of the greenhouse. “Go ahead and get cleaned up,” Andy said. “We got a lot done today. I’ll finish up.”

  She appreciated how Andy seemed to know what needed to be done and took the initiative to do it. She was learning a great deal from him and enjoyed working side by side. Not once did he criticize her, even when she dropped an entire tray of freshly transplanted moss. Sometimes, he almost seemed a little too good to
be true. But then, maybe that’s what knowing John had done to her. Made her suspicious of all men. Maybe Andy was one of the good guys, like her dad. But . . . maybe not.

  As she turned to leave the greenhouse, he said, “Would you like to go on a walk one of these nights? There’s a harvest moon this week.”

  “Maybe,” she said, but not promising. She smiled as she walked up to the farmhouse. But as she walked into the living room to say good morning to Thelma, who liked to start her mornings with a cup of tea by the warmth of the woodstove, she stopped short when she saw what was on her lap.

  “Katrina, honey, you don’t have to hide this. Not here. Not with me.”

  It was the little brown paper bag that Katrina had brought home from the drugstore a week ago. Inside was a pregnancy test.

  Heart pounding wildly, Katrina couldn’t make herself meet Thelma’s eyes. “How did you find it?”

  “I wasn’t snooping,” Thelma hurried to add. “Mornings are cold with the weather changing, so I went looking for my blue crocheted afghan. I keep it in the guest room closet, the room where you’re staying. When I pulled the afghan down, that brown sack fell to the floor.”

  Katrina covered her face with her hands, but for just a moment. “I haven’t had the courage to take it yet.” She didn’t want to know the answer. Then she sank into a chair and let her hands fall to her lap in a single, clenched fist. She glanced up at Thelma, expecting to see a look of condemnation, of judgment. But there was none of that in her eyes. Only compassion and concern.

  Thelma’s face was smooth and serene. “Well, I’ve had my suspicions.”

  Katrina looked up in complete confusion. “What? How? How did you know?”

  She smiled. “You look green as my moss in the mornings and can’t touch a bite of breakfast. You take long naps in the afternoons. I’ve had a baby myself, you know.”

  Unexpectedly, Katrina felt a wave of relief. The secret was out and she was glad. So glad. This was too big to bear alone. “I feel so ashamed, humiliated, sorry. And scared of the future, embarrassed by it.”

  “Honey, you’re not the first girl to have a child out of wedlock and you won’t be the last. Since the beginning of time, girls have given too much. No matter how modern the world becomes, girls still give up too much.”

  Katrina pressed her hands flat against her belly. “This may sound crazy to you, but I’m also a little bit . . . happy.”

  “Happy?”

  She nodded. How could she ever regret the single most perfect gift in her life? The zigzags of life were more puzzling than ever. “The accident caused so many internal injuries that doctors told me I would never be able to have a baby. I think that’s one of the reasons I let things get carried away with John—it almost seemed like I was . . . like I was tempting fate.”

  “Maybe you were daring God.”

  “Maybe.” Yes, exactly that, though Katrina hadn’t realized it until Thelma spoke the words. God had taken so much from her, why shouldn’t she take something from him too? But then, that completely backfired. Her gaze fell to her lap. She put a pleat in her apron with her fingers, then smoothed it out with her palm. “I’ll pack up and move home.”

  “Oh no you won’t! This is where you belong,” Thelma said quietly, her eyes so filled with understanding and compassion that Katrina didn’t deserve that it made her weep. She leaned forward to clasp Katrina’s hand. “But, honey, if you are pregnant, you do have to tell John. He has a right to know.”

  She looked down at Thelma’s knobby hand, covering hers. “He’s engaged to someone else. Apparently, he’s moved on.” I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, she chanted in her mind. He didn’t even know what he’d done to her life. And probably wouldn’t care if he did.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But he deserves to hear the truth before he marries someone else. So go ahead and take that test. Find out for sure if there is something to tell him.”

  “The instructions say to take the test first thing in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow, then.” She squeezed Katrina’s hand. “And there’s something else you should know. God has an uncanny ability to bring good out of the mistakes we make. Trust me on that.”

  Katrina felt a wave of worry wash over her, a wave that ended up—of course—in her stomach. And of course she had to make a quick exit and run to the bathroom, gagging on the way. She was so tired of feeling nauseous, tired of feeling worried and anxious and uncertain, tired of feeling tired.

  First thing the next morning, Katrina carefully read the instructions on the pregnancy test box, did everything it said, exactly right, and waited. And waited.

  When she saw the little pink plus sign emerge on the end of the pregnancy test stick, she sagged, sliding down the bathroom wall until she was sitting on the floor with her legs drawn up tight against her chest.

  It can’t be true.

  But it was.

  It was one thing to think she might be pregnant; it was quite another thing to know she was. She smothered her mouth with her knee and squeezed her eyes shut against the burn of tears, but they came anyway. They poured like hot rain over her face and down her legs. Poured and poured, until she was empty and full, both at once, of tears. For the longest time, she just sat there. Finally, she took some tissue and wiped her face, blew her nose, and slowly rose to her feet, leaning against the wall.

  She was only nineteen years old, but she felt so weary, so worried, and so alone.

  That evening, when she felt calmer, Katrina wrote a letter to John.

  John, I got your message that you’re engaged. I wish I could say that I was happy for you, but that would not be true. What is true is that you and I are going to have a baby. I’m about two months along. Count back and you’ll realize it happened when I came to visit you in July.

  She nodded and tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  I don’t expect anything from you, John, but I want to do the right thing and let you know about the baby. Your baby. Our baby.

  The emptiness inside her burned and burned. She was blinking back tears of—what? Betrayal? Loss? Anger?

  All of the above.

  She put on her coat and hurried down the hill to put the letter in the mailbox. The mailman stopped by early in the morning, and she didn’t want to lie in bed tonight and talk herself out of sending it. It echoed as she dropped it in the yawning mailbox. She snapped the door shut.

  Done.

  From behind her, Andy said, “Want to join us? Keeper wants to walk.”

  She whirled, grateful for the darkness to hide the tears on her cheeks. Keeper sat politely by Andy’s side, his dark eyes somehow steady and wise. She sank to the dog’s level, scratching his chest. “You’re a good ol’ boy, aren’t you?”

  He lifted a paw and put it on her forearm, then leaned forward and very delicately licked her face. “I can see why you chose this dog,” she said to Andy. “He has a big heart, doesn’t he?”

  He thumbed his hat back. “He knows he hit the jackpot. In just a few weeks, he’s already spoiled rotten.”

  She straightened up. “Thanks for the offer for a walk, but I’m a little worn out. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

  He spoke as if he hadn’t heard her. “I can’t stop thinking about your father’s sermon last Sunday. About wakefulness—being the first thing. I keep wondering about it, about what he meant by that remark. I wondered if—”

  Keeper barked, then ran off to chase something by the road and Andy went after him, ending their discussion, which was fine by her. She had other things on her mind than her father’s sermon.

  But that night, as she got ready for bed, Andy’s wonderings about wakefulness kept stirring in her mind. It was the first thing, Andy had said. But to what?

  She knew. She knew. Wakefulness to growing up. To facing facts, facing reality, facing the future, however complicated it looked.

  One day later, Katrina went to the doctor, who confirmed what she had already figured out. She was almost twelve wee
ks along, and the baby’s heartbeat sounded clear and strong—a whooshing thump thump thump sound that she tucked away in her mind to bring out when she felt overwhelmed and frightened at the thought of becoming a mother. That beautiful sound—it gave her strength and filled her with joy. There was a baby growing inside her! A healthy baby, the doctor predicted, who should arrive in April.

  Two days later, Katrina was getting the mail for Thelma from the mailbox and heard the phone ring in the nearby shanty. She ran to answer it, knowing, somehow sure, that John was calling.

  With a shard of ice sticking through her heart, she answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Katrina,” John said. Hearing his deep voice through the line made the fine hairs on her neck rise. How she had loved the sound of that voice! “I got your letter.”

  Her heart was thumping wildly. “I thought you should know.”

  Silence rocketed down the line. “I think you’re lying.”

  The accusation, the hostility, in his tone caught her by surprise. His words splattered against her face, cold and whole. “Have you ever known me to lie? Ever?”

  “No. But you said you couldn’t get pregnant, either.”

  That was true. She couldn’t blame John alone for this situation. He never forced himself on her. She was a willing partner.

  “I’m not letting you derail my wedding to Susie.”

  Reflexively, she hunched her shoulders, using an arm to cover her ribs as if he had struck her. Where had he gone, the man who had promised to love her forever?

  “It’s not gonna happen, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. This was the side of him she hated, the cold, hard side, the man who could turn off all emotion and make her feel like a foolish girl.

  Not this time.

  “I’m not thinking anything of the sort.” She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes against the reality of this moment. “I thought it was the right thing to tell you the truth, but I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need you.” And she didn’t. “I consider this baby to be a miracle. He or she is wanted and loved. Goodbye, John.”