The Imposter

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Everything in Katrina went still, as if every cell was holding its breath. He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Hey, Katrina.”

  “I thought you’d be long gone for greener pastures.”

  He took off his hat and held it against his abdomen. “I haven’t left because I’ve had some thinking to do. Can we walk a little?” He gestured toward the door and she nodded. They walked side by side up the familiar path of the hillside, and she was aware of his legs and the swing of his arm so close to hers.

  “I went to see your father this morning. I have a lot of respect for him.”

  “So do I.”

  “I told him everything. About Elmo, about the oil trap discovery, about deceiving Thelma.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “He told me there was a Bible verse that kept swirling in his mind whenever he prayed for me.” Andy’s eyes grew glassy. “Imagine that. Your father prays for me.” He scuffed the ground with his shoe. “I don’t think anyone has prayed for me since my grandmother died.”

  The way he stood there, looking so alone, it filled her with tenderness. She hadn’t known Andy all that long, and he didn’t make himself easily known, only when he had a mind to and that came in fits and starts. But this much she thought she knew about him: his life had left a taint on him, wounds and scars that went deep. Yet there was kindness in him, tenderness, laughter, unexpected wells of gentleness. He had no home, no family, and this more than anything struck her heart with pity for him. Family, friends, a home—those were what gave life meaning and joy.

  He had yet to take his eyes off her. He didn’t seem to be breathing. “I want to stay in Stoney Ridge, Katrina.” She saw him swallow hard. “I’ll find work somewhere else, but I’d like to stay. I’ve spent the last few years on the move and I don’t want to do it anymore. For the first time in my life, I want to stay someplace. I want to make it home.”

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the house and took a step closer. “I wanted to tell you that meeting you, your father, Thelma, you’ve all changed my life. You, most of all.”

  She sucked in a deep breath, feeling almost dizzy, and her hand fluttered up to her throat. “Me? How?”

  “A hundred ways,” he said, “but mainly by watching you cope with the problems you were facing. You didn’t run away. You didn’t look for the easy way out. You faced things, head-on, and tried to work through them, not around them. You woke up my world.”

  In a way, she could say the same thing about Andy. She was a different person than she had been a few months ago. She had found herself here and he had been a part of that. Not entirely, but definitely a part.

  She stared up into his face, a face that had somehow become dear to her, and a sharpness of tears pricked her eyelids but she fought them back. She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “You might not have heard that Thelma has deeded the property to me.”

  A pleased look filled his eyes. “Good for her. Good for you.” He tilted his head. “You look well. You seem happy.”

  “It’s still hard for me some days, some moments, but I am happy.” And the truth felt good to say, good to acknowledge within herself. She thought about the day she found out she was pregnant, how overwhelmed she’d felt. How differently she felt now.

  She’d discovered one thing of great importance during this time. She was only nineteen years old, but already she knew what she wanted for the rest of her life.

  She wanted that life to be here, on Moss Hill. She wanted to wake up every morning and look out to the hill propping up the sky. She wanted to grow moss and chickens and a vegetable garden and a family on this land, where she could breathe and feel alive. She wanted to be surrounded by her church, and realized, at that exact moment, that she was finally ready to be baptized. That feeling—waiting for faith enough for it to be real—that’s what her father had wanted her to do. And now it was.

  So. She had learned two things of great importance during this time.

  While they were talking, snowflakes came tumbling down, that kind that were big and fluffy and slow falling. The first snow of the year. She smiled, a true smile. “It just so happens that we are in need of a farmhand.”

  He went utterly still. For the longest moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Snowflakes kept falling on him and he didn’t brush them away. And then his face softened and a tenderness came into his eyes, a look that was familiar to her. “Really? Because I happen to have some experience at moss farming.”

  “Thelma and I . . . we’re considering whether or not to have oil wells dug. We haven’t decided yet. We’re reading up about the pros and the cons, doing our due diligence.” That was a new business term she’d learned the other day and she enjoyed tossing it around.

  “I want you to know that I voided the royalty agreement with Elmo. I voided it and tore it up.”

  “I know. Thelma showed it to me.”

  “Why would you give me a second chance?”

  “Because you’re a good man, Andy. Not perfect, mind you,” she added, “but good.” He wasn’t like John. Not at all. John would never face the hurt he caused, not the way Andy was doing. John would never stay and see it through, not like Andy was doing. She grinned. “One more thing, though. We need to be as clear as we can about each other. You shouldn’t get the wrong idea and think that . . .” There she faltered.

  “And think we have a future together,” he finished for her. Yet. She heard the word clearly in his head.

  “Exactly,” she said aloud. “Don’t go thinking we have a future together.” Not yet, she thought.

  “Your dad told me something else. He said that everyone’s journey begins somewhere.”

  She smiled. “I’ve heard him use that phrase thousands of times.”

  “So maybe . . . this is my beginning.” With that, he gave her a grin, such a grin, and strode toward the barn to unpack his belongings.

  Molly and Birdy’s Molasses Crinkle Ginger Cookies

  ¾ cup butter, softened

  1 cup sugar

  ¼ cup molasses

  1 egg

  2 cups flour

  1 teaspoon soda

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  1 teaspoon ground cloves

  1 teaspoon ground ginger

  Birdy’s extra mix-in option: ½ cup crystallized ginger

  Mix butter, sugar, molasses, and egg together, then add dry ingredients. Stir until everything is well blended. Refrigerate dough until it is chilled. (Helps to give it that “crinkled look” when it bakes.) Form into balls and roll in sugar. Place wide apart on slightly greased cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 8–10 minutes. Makes 3–4 dozen.

  Birdy’s Hint: For a chewy cookie, bake for the minimum time. For a crispy cookie, bake for the maximum time.

  Excerpt from The Quieting

  David Stoltzfus gazed out the window. It was a pleasant sort of afternoon, sunny and not too cold for November, and he thought it might be nice to take a long walk in the woods with Birdy. As much as he wanted to, though, he couldn’t. He had his store to run—there were boxes to unpack, orders to make, bills to pay, customers to listen to.

  “Men, I believe I have just met my future bride!”

  David hurried out of his storeroom office to see who had just burst into the store to deliver such an announcement. Dane Glick stood at the open door with a delighted look on his face. The handful of graybeards, settled into rockers that circled the woodstove in the front of the Bent N’ Dent store, turned from an endless discussion of the weather to consider Dane.

  “BOY,” Hank Lapp called out, “matrimony is nothing you should rush into. Trust me on that. You know what my wife, Edith, has to say on the topic.”

  “What does she have to say?” one of the men asked.

  “Wer heiert dutt gut, wer leddich bleibt, dutt so viel besser.” He who marrieth doth well, but he who marrieth not, better.

  “Hank,” David said in
the warning tone usually reserved for his children.

  “It’s high time I marry,” Dane said. “I can’t stand my own cooking and my own company for one more day. I’m starting to talk to my buggy horse.”

  “Lots of folks talk to their horses,” David said as he closed the door behind Dane.

  Dane turned to him with frustration. “Today she answered back.”

  “THEN, SON, YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE,” Hank Lapp boomed. “Sit down and let’s hear all about your future missus. Es is ken Heffel so grumm as net en Deckel druffbast.” No pot is so crooked that you can’t find a lid for it.

  The graybeards all shuffled over to make room for Dane as he plunked down in the rocker next to Hank.

  Community, David realized. He was all about building and strengthening community—and that was happening, right here, right now, in the Bent N’ Dent store, and it pleased him to his core.

  Until this moment, watching the men surround Dane, David hadn’t been convinced that his son Jesse’s improvements to the store were all that beneficial—at least to the bottom line. Even more concerning was that Hank Lapp was a part of the improvement project. Hank and Jesse had started to sell prepared sandwiches made by his daughter Molly, who was just learning to cook. Happily, the graybeards weren’t particularly fussy about the quality of the sandwiches, especially with the frequent sandwich punch cards that Jesse had implemented.

  Jesse and Hank also added rocking chairs by the woodstove in the store and had plans for picnic benches out front, come springtime. The outcome was such that quite a few retired men gathered around the stove during the afternoons. In a good way, the store was filled with customers, and that was a change from a few months back. In a bad way, these particular customers rarely bought much other than Molly’s dry sandwiches.

  Hank Lapp was there every day. Newly married, his wife, Edith, shooed him out the door each morning, with orders not to return until sunset.

  David shook his head. Never would he have thought he’d see the day when anyone would go to Hank Lapp for matchmaking advice. It was like asking an elephant to tie your shoe, but if Dane Glick wanted to put his fate in the hands of Hank and his cronies, then who was he to interfere?

  Besides, he had enough trouble on his plate. The church of Stoney Ridge, for one.

  Maybe helping Dane find a wife would be a good thing. David did worry about the young man, fairly new to Stoney Ridge and all alone on that neglected hillside property he had purchased. But who could handle a fellow like Dane Glick?

  He thought of a news article he had just read this morning about the training of service dogs. Some dogs were dropped from the program because they were “too much dog.” Too exuberant, too enthusiastic, too distractable, too large to handle.

  That, David realized, described Dane Glick to a T: “Too much man.”

  Unpolished, rough around the edges, Dane was like a gust of wind blowing through an open window, somewhat oblivious to the effect he had on others. But, David thought, he had a kind heart and a way with animals. Maybe Hank was right. Es is en Deckel fer alle Haffe. There’s a lid for every pot.

  Suddenly, all of the graybeards’ eyes turned toward him.

  “David’s niece?” Hank said.

  “My niece?”

  Hank nodded. “That’s who Dane has picked out for his future missus.”

  “I forgot to mention, David,” Dane said. “I dropped two of your nieces off at your house. Not to worry. Ruthie was home to tend to them.”

  “Which nieces? What were their names?”

  Dane’s face went blank. “Come to think of it, I don’t know. I was a little dazzled by their beauty and forgot to ask.” He lit up and lifted a finger in the air. “Ohio! They said they were from Ohio.”

  That narrowed it down to all of his nieces—sixteen at last count.

  Well, as long as his daughter Ruthie was tending to the visiting nieces, he would wait to head home after he closed the store for the day. Without any actual paying customers in the store, David went back to his office to set his mind on a letter to Isaac Bender, a nearby bishop. He sat in his chair with the pen poised in his hands . . . stuck. How to put into words the dilemma facing the church?

  His mind traveled to Dane’s uncle, Freeman Glick, as it often did, and he said a prayer for the unrepentant, stubborn, prideful man. Freeman was—is—the bishop for Stoney Ridge.

  But the church was facing an impossible, improbable, heartbreaking situation, a problem created by Freeman Glick. Switching the lots in the hymnals during the choosing of a minister or bishop was a serious sin, a sign of grave arrogance. Even more heinous was that this lot-switching had begun with former bishop Elmo Beiler, a man who was beloved. He had modeled the behavior to Freeman, who was then doing what he thought was right.

  So he said.

  Freeman refused to believe he had done anything wrong. He was adamant that switching the lots was in the best interest of the church. David was still stunned by Freeman’s response when he asked him why he had switched the lots. “I knew that God was calling me to be bishop.”

  But it wasn’t up to an individual to determine whether God was calling him to a position. It was the voice of the church that constituted the call. Freeman knew that.

  It was up to David to navigate the church through these troubled waters, and he knew that God alone could guide it safely through to the other side. It was a situation beyond his own limited supply of earthly wisdom. What was there to do when a good bishop goes bad?

  Just as the dam broke and words started to flow, David heard the door to the store open and the voices around the woodstove quiet, like the hush before a storm.

  “Oh no. No, no, no. This will never do. It all has to be changed.”

  Instantly, David recognized the high, loud, tinny voice and felt a shiver run down his spine, the way he used to feel when he was a boy and was found with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “The layout is all wrong. The lighting is far too dim. The cooler should be in the back. And why is there a group of old men loitering by the stove? Have they no place to be? No, no, no . . . this simply will not do.”

  David took a deep breath, prayed for strength, and went to greet his mother.

  Discussion Questions

  A common phrase of David Stoltzfus was, “Everybody begins somewhere.” What was the starting point of your spiritual journey?

  What is it about that phrase that prompts mercy, or a margin of grace, toward another?

  If there’s one overriding theme in this novel, it would be how David Stoltzfus always kept his eye on what was most important, what was truly at stake. What does that kind of discernment look like in your life?

  David had a belief: “The God who spoke, long ago, still speaks.” David, Birdy, Katrina—they all sought and sensed a timely word from God. Have you ever sensed God speaking to you? What was it like? A prompting, a nearly audible word, a gut feeling? Did you listen to that prompting and, if so, what was the result?

  On the surface, the tension between David Stoltzfus and Freeman Glick had to do with how a church adjusted to cultural and financial pressure without losing its core values. Such pressure isn’t unique to the Amish. Every church faces issues of holding tight to essentials of faith while making accommodations for a changing culture. What kinds of changes and adjustments have you observed in your own church experience?

  Did your first impression of any character turn out to be wrong? When have you had a similar experience in real life, when you realized your first impression of someone, good or bad, was not at all accurate?

  Describe Katrina Stoltzfus in the beginning of the book. How did her past define her? Then describe her at the end of the novel. What created that kind of change in her?

  In what ways, large and small, did Thelma Beiler have an influence on Katrina? How have you been influenced by an older person?

  Another common phrase of David’s was to let God write the love story. What do you think that means? I
t might sound like a passive response, but consider the way David knew Birdy was the one to marry. He wasn’t at all passive about it! But he did include God in the conversation. What advice would you give a young person who longed for love?

  On the surface, David Stoltzfus and Birdy Glick seemed an unlikely romance. He was older than her, widowed with six children, and held the position of minister. She was a young spinster-ish type, lived alone, and was awkward around men—particularly so around David. Added to the mix, she was the sister of Freeman Glick, who was not a fan of David. When did it strike you that they might be well suited for each other?

  Let’s talk about Freeman Glick. Have you ever known someone in ministry who had some of Freeman’s misguided behavior? What was the result? Why does hypocrisy turn people cold to faith?

  “One thing I’ve learned in life,” David Stoltzfus said, “is that we’re all just a few choices away from becoming just about any kind of person. Good or bad.” Do you agree or disagree with his belief?

  Do you think Katrina Stoltzfus and Andy Miller eventually got together? Was he a keeper? Why or why not?

  It might surprise you to learn that “quieting” is an actual means to have a minister or bishop or deacon removed. After reading this novel, were any other aspects of the Amish life new to you?

  What did you think was ultimately the book’s lesson?

  Acknowledgments

  My imagined Stoney Ridge could not have taken shape in these pages without the unflinching help of first readers in the right places, especially because it arrived on their desks during a very busy holiday season. My heartfelt thanks to them all: Meredith Muñoz, Tad Fisher, and Lindsey Ciraulo.

  I’m similarly indebted to Kent Moore, a talented man who helped untangle oil exploration for me and gave me clear and manageable guidance. Just the right advice delivered in just the right package. I’m more grateful to you than you can imagine! And to Janet Moore, a thank-you for being the message bearer to Kent.