The Imposter

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  He figured a man could spend a lifetime trying to understand everything she was, and that he’d like to do exactly that. But first, this time, he wanted to hear a word from God. Lord, give me a sign. If Birdy is the one, show me. Unmistakably.

  He climbed in bed, turned out the lamp, and immediately fell asleep.

  Katrina was in the mossery when she heard Thelma call her name. She looked up. “Andy came to the house earlier today, when you were at the store. He told me . . . all about it. Everything. Starting with Elmo contacting him last summer.”

  “I’m so sorry, Thelma.”

  Thelma lifted her head. “I’m not. Andy helped me make a decision about something. I haven’t known what to do, not really, not until today.”

  “About what?”

  “Katrina, you love this place, don’t you?”

  “Yes. In fact, I’ve been trying to figure out a way that I could make you an offer for it someday. And have you stay here, of course. We’d run Moss Hill together. I just . . . haven’t quite figured out how to come up with the cash. There hasn’t been a good time to ask my father.”

  “No, he’s got his hands full.”

  “But maybe, someday, if you can wait for me, maybe I could buy it from you.”

  Thelma reached out for her hand. “I’ve got a better idea. I’m going to give it to you now. It would be your farm.”

  “What?” A scared and excited feeling welled up in her chest and she had to sit down, her legs were shaking so. She felt breathless, shivery. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “All I’ve ever wanted is to make sure this land is cared for the way Elmo and I cared for it. Maybe Andy’s right—that we’ve been sitting on a treasure chest. Maybe Elmo was doing the right thing, though I wish that man would’ve told me half the things that he was up to. I just know that I want to make decisions with someone who loves this hill like I do. And I believe that person is you. There’s just one thing I want you to do in return.” She squeezed Katrina’s hand. “I want you to forgive John. I know he hurt you deeply, even more deeply when you discovered he was two-timing you. Let him go, Katrina. Let go of the hate and anger and sadness.”

  Tears filled Katrina’s eyes. “If I stop hating him, what will fill that space? I don’t want to go back to feeling sad and depressed.”

  “Love will fill that space. Love for your baby, love for this land, love for the God who gave you this life. Maybe, someday, prayerfully, love for another man. But love can’t find a way when hate has a hold on your heart.”

  Katrina rose and walked over to the window. Bitterness toward John felt like a warm and comforting blanket. She wasn’t sure she wanted to let go of it because doing so seemed like letting John off the hook. And yet. And yet, if God was the Creator of all things, if he held everything in his hands, then surely she could trust in his justice. What John did was between him and God. It was time for her to get out of the middle.

  Thelma walked over to Katrina and rubbed her back in small circles. “You have to forgive yourself too. You made a mistake, and there is a consequence, but God does his best work with our mistakes, if we only give it to him. It’ll take time, it doesn’t happen overnight, but if you ask the Lord to help you forgive him, it will happen.”

  Thelma turned Katrina around to face her. “I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer tomorrow morning. I’m going to change my will to deed the hill to you and your baby. This hill will be yours. That is, if you’ll accept my gift.”

  Overwhelmed, Katrina didn’t know what to say. Then she felt a funny little fluttering in her stomach, as delicate as a butterfly. The baby! For the very first time, she thought she felt the baby move. She put her hands on her tummy and laughed. “Thelma, if you’re really sure about this, then I think . . . we accept!”

  18

  Sunday afternoon was a beautiful autumn day. The leaves had already fallen off most every tree and the air was crisp, but not cold. Birdy was raking leaves off Thelma’s front walkway when David drove up the hill in his buggy. She met him as he crested the hill. “Katrina’s gone over to your house. Surely you must’ve passed her.”

  “I know. We had it all arranged.” He hopped out of the buggy. “I realize this is short notice, Birdy, but I was hoping you might come on a picnic with me to Blue Lake Pond.”

  She looked at him and laughed. He didn’t join her. In fact, he seemed nervous.

  Wait. Was he serious? “Pardon me?” she whispered, but she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to hear him, her heart was pounding so loud.

  “It’s such a beautiful day, and since it’s an off-Sunday, I thought, why not grab the time while I had it.”

  She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

  As the silence continued, he started to look very uncomfortable. “Perhaps you’re busy.” Then two patches of color burned on his cheekbones. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m sorry, Birdy. I thought—”

  “It’s a wonderful idea!” She ran inside, told Thelma she’d be gone for a while, grabbed her shawl, and bounded outside. “Let’s go!” She jumped into the buggy.

  David laughed and climbed in the other side.

  When they got to Blue Lake Pond, they walked to a sunny area and sat down to eat the picnic he’d made. She was touched by the care he put into the meal: turkey sandwiches on freshly made bread, apple slices cored and dipped in orange juice to keep from turning brown, thick and chewy Molasses Crinkle cookies. “Molly made those by herself,” he pointed out. “That baking lesson you gave her is reaping benefits for the entire family.”

  “Anytime,” Birdy said.

  “I haven’t seen any sign of Freeman or Levi this week. Not once.”

  “Nor have I.”

  “Oh,” David said sadly, brushing a fallen leaf off the picnic blanket. “I’ve been wondering how this chapter will end.” He leaned back on one elbow.

  “Pride and stubbornness, in that order,” Birdy said.

  “I’m sorry for that. Sorry for everyone. I hope we can work this through but I do wonder what the future holds for our church. I sense . . . difficult days ahead.”

  Birdy looked out at the pond, so still it almost seemed like a mirror reflecting the sky. “Did you know that trees do most of their growth in winter? Their roots push down to find deepwater sources. So what’s seen in spring is the proud display of winter labor, but it’s the empty times when the most growth has occurred.” She turned to him and smiled. “I think we’ll see the same in our church.”

  For a long moment, David stared at her. He stared at her so long that she wondered if she had said something wrong. Or did she have something on her face?

  She saw him swallow hard.

  “Birdy,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion, “I’d like to court you.”

  Birdy held her breath, every muscle tight, stunned speechless. One minute, she was overcome by David asking her to share a picnic. The next, he was asking to court her. It was like finding herself in the middle of a dream, and she was afraid that if she said anything, if she even moved, she might wake up and poof! It would all be gone.

  But David was waiting for her answer. “Birdy? Did you hear me? I asked if you would consider letting me court you.”

  She thought her heart might have stopped. When it started up again, it beat in fits and starts, unsteady lurches. She had been waiting her entire life for this moment, and now that it was here she didn’t know what to do with it. “Yes, yes, I heard you, but . . . why?”

  He smiled, a look of relief flittering through his eyes. He placed his hand on Birdy’s arm, squeezing a little. “I’ve prayed for a partner, Birdy, and you’re the answer to that prayer. I have no doubt. You’re a gift beyond my wildest imagination.”

  A gift? David Stoltzfus thinks of me as a gift? But she saw by his expression that he meant it. The thought sent a thrill of pleasure through her, and she gazed at him in wonder.

  “You honestly don’t know, do you?” he said.

  “Don’t kn
ow what?”

  “That you’re beautiful.”

  “I am not.” She looked away, sure she was blushing like a foolish schoolgirl.

  He sat up and took her face in his hand to turn it toward him again. His fingers felt rough as he caressed her cheek.

  “Beauty is more than perfect features, Birdy. There’s something about you that draws everyone to you, the way flowers turn toward the sun. You walk into a room and the place comes alive. You are beautiful, Birdy. All the more so because you don’t even realize it.”

  They were such sweet words to be hearing now, such tender words. And yet she felt her smile falter. “The thing is,” she began and then stopped, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  “The thing is . . . ?”

  She risked a look up at him.

  The thing was . . . it was the greatest fear she had if this moment, somehow, in some miraculous way, were ever to come true. She had to swallow twice before she could speak. She continued to look at her hands, but she made her voice sound light. “The thing is . . . ,” she said, fumbling for the words for a moment longer. And then she found them. “I can never live up to your wife.”

  “No,” he said. “No one could. No one should have to.”

  She looked up at him through eyes blurred by real tears. She figured she probably wore an expression of pain on her face, but she couldn’t have held it back any more than she could have held back her next breath. “Your Anna sounds . . . nearly perfect.”

  He stood and reached down to help her up. “Let’s walk a little.” They went to the edge of the shore and watched the sun slip behind the trees. Then he turned to Birdy and took her hands in his. “The worst day of Anna’s life was when I drew the lot to become a minister. She never wanted it for me—she felt it would take me away from the family and there was truth in that.” He paused for a long moment, as if gathering the right words. “For me, that was the best day of my life. I think I knew, even as a boy, that God had a calling on my life.” He took her hands and lifted them to his chest, pressing her palms into his breast. He tipped his forehead against her and she closed her eyes, afraid suddenly that she might weep. “Birdy, will you let me court you? You haven’t answered.”

  She wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t speak. She was laughing and crying at the same time as David kissed her forehead and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. She looked at him at last, feeling happy and shy. “Yes,” she said, surprised at how her voice sounded, so strong and sure and confident. “Yes, yes, of course!”

  His face softened, and a tenderness came into his eyes. He leaned into her, tilting his head, and his mouth came down onto hers. His lips were warm, his beard gently tickling. He kissed her with such sweetness it was almost unbearable. She closed her eyes and trembled.

  Then he pulled her to him and held her against his chest. It was an awkward embrace, for they weren’t used to it, but still she felt it was her he held, not his Anna.

  Evidently, Luke Schrock did not have a conscience. Jesse saw him huffing and puffing after Yardstick Yoder again, two days in a row, shouting out threats between gasping breaths, that he planned to pummel him if he ever caught him.

  It was time to do something. The next day, Jesse waited a block away from the schoolhouse at three o’clock sharp. The very second school was dismissed, Yardstick burst out of the door and bounded away like a jackrabbit. Jesse watched in admiration. A few seconds later, Luke and his cronies came chugging after him. Jesse planted himself in the road to block them. He pointed to Luke. “You mess with Yardstick and you mess with me.”

  Luke strutted up to Jesse, nose to nose, and jutted out his chin. “Who says?”

  Jesse cocked a grin at the boy and lifted his fist with the gleaming brass knuckles. Luke jumped like a cricket, then lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “What do you have against Yardstick, anyway?”

  “Ruthie likes him,” Ethan Troyer piped up helpfully, and Luke swung around to give a hard jab to his stomach.

  Ah, Jesse thought. Unrequited love. It rears its head again in Stoney Ridge.

  “Well, touch him and you have to answer to me. Got it?”

  Luke frowned, but he got the message and seemed to have run out of conversation. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He released a tiny sigh, turned, and shuffled away.

  Ethan remained for a moment, looking at Jesse in wide-eyed wonder, and Jesse felt a bright glow. He wasn’t immune to being admired.

  “What is that thing, anyway?” Ethan asked.

  Jesse held up the hardware for inspection. “We call them brass knuckles. They date back to the eighteenth century and were commonly used during the War Between the States.” Jesse had read up on them. He was nothing if not thorough.

  Ethan nodded seriously, as if this bit of knowledge only confirmed his own vast experience, and Jesse hid a smile.

  He slipped the brass knuckles back in his coat pocket before his nosy sisters caught sight of them and tattled to their father. Down in the schoolhouse playground, the twins played hopscotch. Molly sat on the porch, swinging her legs as she polished off the twins’ lunch leftovers. Ruthie stood guard, like always, one eye on Jesse and one eye on the little sisters.

  Jesse had meant to return the brass knuckles to Andy at The Chicken Box on that rainy afternoon, but he and Katrina seemed to be having such a serious talk that he felt it would be an inappropriate intrusion. He could be sensitive like that. Plus, if he did it would mean that Katrina would be tipped off to their existence. He patted his pocket, pleased he had a chance to see the persuasive impact of brass knuckles on young Luke Schrock. Jesse didn’t like bullies.

  He saw Birdy skim out of the schoolhouse and talk to the girls, blissful as she had been lately. Love looked good on her, Jesse realized. She was over her case of the flutters. Blunders. Sage hen blunders, Jesse thought of them, the clumsiest of all birds. And then there was his father. These last few days, his dad went around with the musing expression of a person caught up in a fresh rhythm of life.

  Love. It’s amazing what it could do.

  It was the end of the day. David was eager to lock up the store. Birdy said she would give Molly a cooking lesson tonight and he couldn’t wait to get home. It amazed him—he was in love!

  It was a miracle how the Lord had prepared his heart to love again. Birdy had stolen his heart, an unadorned woman whose simplicity and good-heartedness made anyone else seem artificial and hard. He felt as if he was waking up after a long winter’s nap to find that spring had arrived.

  As he turned the key in the store door, he spun around to find Andy Miller waiting in the parking lot, his big dog by his side. “Andy, hello.”

  “I’ve been waiting here all afternoon to talk to you and haven’t had the guts to walk inside. I need . . . to make a confession.” Andy pushed his hat back and David saw a tightness around Andy’s eyes and a hollowness to his face, a sort of bewildered agony. All he was thinking, all he was feeling, showed on that troubled face.

  “Perhaps,” David said, “perhaps we should go inside to talk.”

  Seated in chairs in David’s storeroom, Andy poured out his story. David could see the remorse, hear it in his cracking voice, as Andy admitted what he’d been doing on Moss Hill over the last few months. The need for repentance came from his soul, and that was what David wanted to see, that was what he looked for. True repentance.

  Confessions had a pattern, he realized, listening to Andy. And they were quite unremarkable. Not, of course, to the confessor, but to the one to whom the sins were confessed. They were all variations on a theme: deceit, betrayal, denial, and an obtuseness about how one’s actions could—and did—hurt others. Eventually, great regret, enough to drive one to confession. And then . . . soulful, soul-filled relief.

  “Before I left town,” Andy said, brushing away tears as they ran down his cheeks, “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was.”

  “But you’re definitely going to go?”

  Andy nodded.

/>   “Years ago, when I first opened my first store, I made a promise to God. Whenever someone walked through the doors of my store, I would pray to ask God to help me see that person as he sees him. Whenever I’ve prayed for you, Andy, I’ve sensed that God is at work in your soul, but that you’re fighting him. There’s a verse that keeps coming to mind whenever I’ve seen you. ‘Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.’” He put a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Andy, maybe you should stay put and get to know this place. Keep yourself in an environment where God can shape your heart. Otherwise, your life is going to keep going along the same path.”

  Quietly, Andy said, “She wants me to leave.”

  “Katrina? Well, you might have some work to do to regain her trust. But just because she says that doesn’t mean she means it. And it doesn’t mean you have to.” He tilted his head. “Unless you want to leave?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then . . . maybe you should go ask her if you can stay.”

  Late afternoon, Katrina was checking on a few things in the mossery. She loved the smell of this old greenhouse: damp earth and moss. Overhead, the sky grew heavy with clouds, masking the sun as it headed toward the hill. Snow was forecast tonight, and it felt cold enough for it. The baby swirled and rolled inside her and she rubbed her tummy, grateful for this new life. Grateful for everything. She straightened her legs, stretching out her body, stretching out her mind.

  It felt so good to be here. To be home. She felt it so deep that it hurt—a sweet, sad seizing of the soul.

  She heard a bark, a familiar bark, and in burst Keeper through the open door to the mossery. The big dog made a beeline for Katrina, jumping onto her chest and nearly knocking her down. A moment or two later, Andy followed and filled the doorway. His shrill whistle cut through the air and the dog went slinking back to Andy with his tail tucked deep between his legs. Andy shooed him outside, but first bent and pushed his fingers through the dog’s thick pelt.