The Imposter

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  And suddenly his mind went blank.

  Despite hours of prayer and preparation, his sermon gathered in a hard knot just below his heart and refused to budge loose. That sudden expectant silence fell over the church, almost a breath-held quiet, as if the worshipers had sucked in their breath in unison and were afraid to breathe out again as they waited. The silence stretched, broken only by the bleat of a lamb in the barnyard. David’s throat tightened up, threatened to close off completely. Of course, as long as he kept his eyes closed and his head bowed, people would think he was praying instead of panicking.

  Indeed, he was praying. With more urgency and anxiety at every passing minute. He waited for some words to come, but his mind remained blank. A few people began shifting restlessly on their benches as the wait stretched out too long. His prayer got more frantic. Help!

  Then, from the back of the women’s benches, came a dramatic, elaborate, enormous, over-the-top sneeze and everyone looked around to see who had sneezed. He knew even before he looked up that it was Jesse, helping him out with a distraction, and David couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Into his mind popped a picture of Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus. Words began to form in his mind, one after the other, then complete sentences, then paragraphs, and soon, as always, the Lord took over and filled in for what he lacked.

  Hours later, after the burial of Ephraim Yoder, David was the last to leave the graveyard. He wanted to make sure everything was as it should be: no piles of uneven dirt or stray leaves left on top of Ephraim’s fresh grave. He scooped up some remaining piles of dirt and dumped them beyond the fence, then leaned on the shovel, gazing out over the sleeping land. There wasn’t much to see, though there was.

  Here in this plain, unadorned graveyard lay the keepers of the faith. Each rough-hewn granite marker looked just like the one next to it because, even in death, no one should stand out as better than another. He felt a great responsibility to these keepers of the faith who had faithfully run the race the Lord had marked out for them. Now it was his turn to carry the torch for them, for all the members of the church, for the next generation.

  No, there wasn’t much to see here, though there was.

  It was always a curious thing to Jesse to see how serious and solemn people were during a funeral service, all the way to the graveside, but the minute that cold body was dropped in the ground—plunk!—it was like the sun rose after a long dark night and everything was back to business as usual. As people made their way back to the Yoder house for lunch, he overheard several conversations about lame horses and broken buggy wheels and how too much rain this year was spoiling their hay harvest.

  Freeman Glick cornered him, as he had a habit of doing, to give him a short sermon of admonishment and warnings. One of the subtexts in virtually every one of Freeman’s mini-sermons was “Liquor has never passed my lips.” Jesse heard it frequently.

  Today’s dour warning from Freeman took a more funeral-ish turn: “And when your earthly body is dead and gone, and your soul will meet God face-to-face, will he say to you, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant’?”

  These encounters with Freeman always left Jesse stuttering and tongue-tied. He hardly knew he had a soul. Mostly, he had hormones.

  While he was recovering from that odd encounter with Freeman, Miriam Schrock swept past him and gave him a brightening glance, and he smiled gamely back. Maybe this was only a mild degree of thawing out from her, but it greatly improved his mood.

  Jesse sat with his back against a tree, watching buggies leave, wishing his father would hurry it up. There was some kind of important discussion going on between the church elders and he just hoped it had nothing to do with the Founder’s Day Hundred-Yard Dash. Plus, he was getting hungry again.

  He saw Danny Riehl help Miriam Schrock climb into his buggy. A pang twisted Jesse’s gut, and he knew it wasn’t hunger. Thinking of Miriam Schrock with someone else didn’t set well. All the brightness left Jesse, like clouds swallowing up the sun.

  And then he spotted Yardstick Yoder down by the barn and jumped up to go talk to him, to try to find out why he had blown off that race on Sunday afternoon, and did he have any idea how much trouble his carelessness had caused Jesse? Even if the goons had been called off, it didn’t mean his debt had been forgiven. Or maybe it did? He liked to hope so but he doubted it. He hadn’t forgotten Andy’s assessment of Domino Joe: he never forgot and he never forgave. Unconsciously, he bent down and rubbed his kneecap.

  He picked up his pace to pin Yardstick down, but the boy saw him coming and took off running. Jesse’s good mood disappeared as quickly and completely as Yardstick.

  After lunch, after families started for home, David found Freeman and Levi, then they all pulled Abraham away from a discussion with Hank Lapp over the use of divining rods as a means to find water, and the four men went up to the porch to have a conversation. David sat on the farthest rocker and leaned forward. He didn’t plan to beat around the bush—just tell them the truth. “I learned recently that my daughter Katrina is expecting a baby.” He could feel their rapt attention waiting for him to try to explain the unexplainable.

  Freeman, Levi, and Abraham exchanged looks of surprise. And then Freeman started in. “Do you know who the father is?”

  “Of course,” David said, letting the implied remark pass. “Of course. But that doesn’t matter.”

  Freeman leaned forward in the rocker, his feet making a thudding sound. “It does matter. We’ll make him marry her.”

  “No, we won’t,” David said slowly and firmly. “He’s engaged to someone else.”

  Abraham, always the peacemaker, lifted a hand. “I know of a couple who’ve been waiting for years to adopt. They’d be wonderful parents.”

  David had anticipated this suggestion. “It’s an excellent option, Abraham, but Katrina has decided she wants to raise the baby. Our family will help. And no doubt in time, Katrina will find the right man to marry and that man will become the child’s father.”

  Freeman let his rocker dip backwards, hands folded in his lap. “Well, David, you seem to have one family problem after another, don’t you?” He looked happier by the minute.

  Jesse picked up a broom and began to sweep the buggy shop when a clank! rang out and he froze. His nerves shot back up to high alarm, the threat of goons never absent. Fumbling for the brass knuckles in his side pocket, he stopped when he got a full look at what had made the noise.

  Hank squatted down to pick up a tool he’d dropped. “Something’s not quite right around here. You’ve got ears like a mule deer when it comes to what’s going on in this town. Catch me up.”

  Jesse hesitated. He dreaded any direction this conversation might take. Exactly what kind of “not quite right” did Hank mean? There were all kinds of rumors racing through town. A word here. A word there. It could come from anywhere. Rumors were things with wings.

  Did he mean the news of his sister’s unwed venture into motherhood? He’d barely been able to digest the shocking news himself. His father had told them all Sunday evening. “Girls, you’re going to be an aunt, and Jesse, you’ll be an uncle. Katrina and her little one will need all of us.” The twins were ecstatic, as was Molly. After they went to bed, his father had something else to say to Ruthie and him. “Our family is going to face a storm over this. Katrina, especially. We need to stay strong, to not let hurtful words affect us. Trust me, words will come at you that will feel like darts.” He had been looking pointedly at Ruthie when he said that. “But I don’t want either of you to defend our family. We will let the Lord be our shield.”

  His father’s words had been a portent. The news about Katrina Stoltzfus, the minister’s wayward daughter, was spreading like wildfire through town, thanks to the wagging tongues of the Glick wives.

  But Jesse doubted Hank would join in with the town’s gossips. More likely, he was referring to something that hit closer to him, such as the bill collecting income that Jesse had lost due to the absence of Yardstick
Yoder in a critical race. A prickle of inevitability started climbing up his backbone. Smiling thinly, he blinked at Hank with innocent eyes. “What exactly do you mean?”

  Hank went to the point. “I’ve heard rumors that the church might split into two.”

  Ah, that. Jesse had heard similar grumblings and murmurings. Still, he met Hank’s report with uncertainty.

  “The progressives and the conservatives. We’re already half the size we used to be, so even if it’s an even split, right down the middle”—Hank made a slashing gesture—“that means that each church would be down to a quarter. Or something like that. I’ve never been good at subtraction.”

  “Fractions,” Jesse said distractedly. “And you did just fine.”

  “SO . . .” and Jesse jumped at Hank’s loud tone. You’d think he’d be accustomed to Hank’s erratic bellows by now. “What about the split? Is it going to happen?”

  “Hank, I honestly don’t know.”

  “But you’re Jesse Stoltzfus! The minister’s son! You’re supposed to know everything that goes on in this town.”

  Yesterday morning, he would have thought the same thing. Today, he was surprised by everything that went on without his knowledge. He was slipping.

  It was past seven in the morning. Katrina rustled through the straw in the roosts of the henhouse, searching for eggs. She found one and added it to the two she already cradled in her apron. It was slim pickings today. Thelma’s henhouse was home to a dozen Rhode Island Reds, good laying hens for a backyard flock, but one or two were always slipping away to hatch a clutch of chicks. Mostly, if they left the safety of the henhouse at night, they met an untimely demise. A fox, a raccoon, a dog. Enemies.

  A shiver went down her back. That’s just what the bishop said would happen, in yesterday’s sermon, if anyone were to leave the Amish community. Perhaps nothing as dramatic as an untimely demise, but surely, the world outside would be a lonesome and fearful place. Full of enemies.

  Oh, why was she filling her mind with such grim and dour thoughts on this beautiful morning?

  She hurried back across the yard, one hand cradling the eggs in her apron, the other swinging out for balance. The wind filled her skirts like sails, pushing her along. When she came into the house and didn’t see Thelma in the kitchen or living room, she crept down the hall to her bedroom and found her door slightly ajar. The older woman was still buried in her covers, snoring lightly. Katrina left her alone and decided that she would walk the hillside without her.

  The morning was perfect. The word “splendid” wafted through her mind, lit from behind with sunshine. The sky was clear as far as she could see, stretching over the rolling green fields. A pair of hens waddled behind her, as if in deep conversation, and the sound of them made her smile. What did they have to talk about, those hens? Bordering the vegetable garden, the hives were alight with buzzing bees and Katrina gave them plenty of space. She wondered how anyone got used to handling something that could, and most likely would, hurt you. Sting you. She’d have to figure that out, she realized, if she were to stay here.

  Was she going to stay?

  As she walked along a path that Thelma and Elmo must have made over the years, Katrina realized she could seriously imagine living here, that somehow she would find a good life here. She crested the hill and turned around in a slow, easy circle. She looked at the sky, at the little house below, at the small barn and greenhouse, and finally at the sea of rocks and moss. It felt so . . . familiar, so welcoming, so safe. This place was becoming her home. Yes. Yes! She was going to stay.

  She went back down the hill and noticed that the doors to the greenhouse were propped open. She gave a whistle and Keeper bounded out, running to her for a greeting. Soon, as she expected, Andy emerged from the greenhouse. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. His hair was tamped down beneath his hat this morning. “What are you up to?”

  “Andy, I’m going to ask Thelma if I can buy her property.” Not that she had any idea where she would procure the funds for such a buy.

  He didn’t speak for a moment. “Really.”

  “I know, kinda silly, since I have no idea what I’m doing, but I really want to do it.”

  “Not silly at all.” But he didn’t sound convinced. Or look convinced. In fact, he looked as if a sudden headache came over him.

  Maybe she was as scatterbrained as everyone said.

  And maybe this was a scatterbrained idea too.

  Her confidence started wobbling, until she took a deep breath. “I think I might be able to make this work, for me and for Thelma. I think I can take her ideas, like the one about the gift shop in the shed, and actually make it work. I can see it in my head, as if it’s just waiting for us.” She stopped, watching carefully for a sign of encouragement from him. Anything. “From the look on your face, you think it sounds crazy.” And he would be right. What did she really know about this moss business? Her knowledge was an inch deep, like the substrate used for transplanting moss.

  He looked straight into her eyes. “I think . . . I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”

  She smiled, slowly at first. “Andy, I think this could be a place I can stay, a place I want to stay, make a home for me and the baby.”

  What she didn’t know, she could learn. She would learn. “And here’s something else. I think we should rename the greenhouse. I think it should be called the mossery.”

  “The mossery? So be it.” His eyes lit up with amusement. “Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders in a companionable way. “Let’s go have some breakfast with Thelma and enjoy the day. There’s time.”

  The next time Katrina had a reason to go to town, she made a point to visit the public library. Andy had made a casual comment about the environmental solutions that moss provides and she wanted to do some research on her own. To her surprise, she discovered all kinds of information about moss that she didn’t know . . . but should. She read about a new trend in having a lawn of moss instead of grass. She’d always assumed that moss only grew in the shade, and only facing north. Not true. There were varieties of moss that grew in sun and in most any area. Sogginess was the only thing it couldn’t survive. No wonder Thelma’s steep hill provided ideal conditions for natural moss to grow.

  Something else Katrina learned: Once certain mosses were established, they could withstand extreme temperature—high winds, heat, and cold. They required no chemicals, no fertilizers, no pesticides, which meant no runoff that could affect groundwater. And no mowing. She could hear her brother Jesse shout out, “You’ve sold me!” on that piece of news.

  Moss doesn’t have a dormant period and doesn’t die back during winter. She smiled. Imagine a green lawn of moss during a bitter cold January in Pennsylvania.

  Then she came across a news story that made her gasp loudly and brought a frowning look in her direction from the head librarian. “Green Roofs Are Gaining Support around the World” proclaimed the headline. In Europe, moss was being used on roofs and finding great success—it was a trend that was spreading in the United States, though there weren’t enough suppliers.

  She read on about the benefits of a green roof: moss provided excellent insulation. Because moss doesn’t have roots, just rhizoids, the required soil needed very little depth. “Engineering concerns for weight load were virtually eliminated by using moss,” she read.

  Moss Hill could do this! There was already an established need and they—well, Andy, anyway—could figure out how to fill it. She made a copy of the article and hurried back home to share it with Thelma and Andy.

  She felt happier and more excited than she had in a long, long time. This moss farm—moss, of all things—it meant something to her.

  As she climbed into the buggy, she drove down Main Street and thought she caught sight of Andy in her rearview mirror. He was crossing the street, talking to an English man she didn’t recognize. But then she realized that was impossible—Andy was working in the mossery when she left fo
r the library. She had the buggy. And Keeper wasn’t with him. Keeper was always with him. Plus, he wouldn’t leave Thelma alone on the hill if Katrina were in town. He was very protective of Thelma.

  And then she wondered why she was thinking about Andy so much. She was conjuring him up in places he wasn’t! What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she decided that a romance was not a good idea right now . . . for oh-so-many reasons?

  When she drove up the hill to Moss Hill, Keeper greeted her halfway down the hill, barking his big, deep bark, wagging the whole back half of his body. She drove the buggy to the hitching post by the barn, with Keeper trotting along beside the horse. When she climbed down and tied the reins to the post, she turned to the dog and said, “Hey, buddy,” and held her hands out, waiting.

  He sat politely, his feathery red tail sweeping back and forth across the ground. “Good job.” She gave him the reward of her hands on his body, scrubbing his back, rubbing his ears. “You’re the best. But even you couldn’t have gotten a smile out of that cranky librarian.”

  Where was Andy? And then she saw him, striding out of the barn with his work gloves on. “I’ll put away the horse for you,” he said. “You’ve got company.” Only then did she notice a horse and buggy waiting by the far side of the barn.

  “The bishop and his shadow are waiting to talk to you.”

  Katrina had to admit Freeman Glick pulled no punches. He told Katrina that her father had informed him of her situation and she would need to be baptized as soon as possible. Levi was going to teach the fall class and expected her to attend on Sunday. And then the two men left.

  Katrina watched the Glick buggy head down the hill. Freeman never gave her a chance to respond. She knew the bishop well enough to know that he was using shame to manipulate her. But she also knew that he wielded enormous power in their church. What if she didn’t want to be baptized right now? But if she didn’t get baptized before the baby was born, what would that mean for being a part of the community? Would she and her baby be unofficially ostracized?