SummerHill Secrets: Volume 1
Copyright © 1995, 1996, 2007
Beverly Lewis
Cover design by Eric Walljasper
Cover landscape photography © 2006 Ed Heaton
Previously published in five separate volumes:
Whispers Down the Lane © 1995 Beverly Lewis
Secret in the Willows © 1995 Beverly Lewis
Catch a Falling Star © 1995 Beverly Lewis
Night of the Fireflies © 1995 Beverly Lewis
A Cry in the Dark © 1996 Beverly Lewis
All scripture quotations, unless indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
E-book edition created 2011
ISBN 978-1-5855-8663-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Contents
About the Author
Books by Beverly Lewis
BOOK ONE: Whispers Down the Lane
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
BOOK TWO: Secret in the Willows
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
BOOK THREE: Catch a Falling Star
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
BOOK FOUR: Night of the Fireflies
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
BOOK FIVE: A Cry in the Dark
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
From Beverly . . . To You
Be the First to Know
About the Author
BEVERLY LEWIS, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, fondly recalls her growing-up years. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain family heritage has inspired Beverly to set many of her popular stories in Amish county, beginning with her inaugural novel, The Shunning.
A former schoolteacher and accomplished pianist, Beverly has written over eighty books for adults and children. Five of her blockbuster novels have received the Gold Book Award for sales over 500,000 copies, and The Brethren won a 2007 Christy Award.
Beverly and her husband, David, make their home in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, reading, writing, making music, and spending time with their three grandchildren.
Books by Author
GIRLS ONLY (GO!)*
Youth Fiction
Girls Only! Volume One
Girls Only! Volume Two
SUMMERHILL SECRETS†
Youth Fiction
SummerHill Secrets Volume One
SummerHill Secrets Volume Two
HOLLY’S HEART
Youth Fiction
Holly’s Heart Collection One†
Holly’s Heart Collection Two†
Holly’s Heart Collection Three*
www.BeverlyLewis.com
* 4 books in each volume † 5 books in each volume
To
my aunt Ada Reba,
who held my little hand
long ago…
and whispered a prayer.
Happy is the house that shelters a friend.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Chapter
1
A cry rang out in the stillness.
“Merry Hanson!”
I jerked into consciousness, tense and trembling. Sitting up, I peered out at my moonlit bedroom through sleep-filled eyes, listening. The gentle, steady purr of kittens filled the peaceful quiet. Their soft, warm bodies snuggled close on top of the comforter as I moved my feet.
Must be a dream. I leaned back onto my pillow, my body stiff from the rude awakening.
Then in the silence, I heard it again. A determined voice, quivering with desperation. “Merry, please wake up!”
Stumbling from the bed, I dashed to the window and looked out. Shadows played beneath the white light of a full November moon. One shadow stood out from the others and moved slowly toward the house.
I bumped my nose against the cold window as I stared down at a fragile-looking figure. Light from the moon had turned her wheatcolored hair almost white. I drew in a quick breath. Lissa Vyner!
Straining, I lifted the storm window and poked my head out into the frosty Pennsylvania night. Squinting down from the second story of our hundred-year-old farmhouse, I tried to brush the sleep away. My school friend was crouched near the old maple.
“Lissa, what are you doing out there?” I called to her in a hushed
voice. Shivers danced up and down my arms.
She pulled her jacket against her body. “C-can I sp-spend the n-n-night?” she pleaded, tears in her voice.
“Meet me around back.” I closed the window and scrambled for my fleece-lined slippers and robe. Shadrach and Meshach, my two golden-haired kittens, were curled up on it. “Sorry, little boys,” I whispered, pulling it out from under their drowsy heads. “Where’s Abednego?” That ornery cat is always missing, I thought.
Silently, I slipped down the hallway and past my older brother’s room to the stairs. I didn’t dare let Skip in on this thing with Lissa, especially since he was in charge while Mom and Dad were overseas on a mission trip.
I stopped in my tracks as I came within a few feet of the kitchen. Shafts of light streamed into the hallway. It meant only one thing. My know-it-all brother was still up—the last person I wanted to bump into on a night like this!
Tiptoeing closer, I peeked around the door. He was stuffing his face with the leftovers from supper. This could be tricky—smuggling Lissa into the house without Skip knowing.
He glanced up. “Hey, feline freak. Can’t ya sleep?”
I ignored him, heading for the back door.
“Sleepwalking, Mer?” he persisted.
“What?” I muttered, pulling the curtains to one side and peering out. Skip smacked disgustingly on a meat loaf sandwich while I devised a way to distract him.
“You should be in bed,” he demanded.
I whirled around. “You’re still up!”
“Don’t get smart, cat breath.” Skip gulped down half a glass of milk in one swallow.
In a flash, I remembered Abednego, my wayward kitten. Genius! I turned the doorknob and stepped outside.
“Hey, close that door!” Skip yelled.
“Lost my cat,” I said, pulling the door shut. Casting a fleeting glance over my shoulder, I went in search of Lissa. Around the side of the house, near a stack of firewood, I found her.
“I s-saw the l-light in the k-kitchen,” she stammered. “D-Didn’t want t-to—”
“C’mon, it’s awful cold.” I led her around to the long front porch. “Wait here—I’ll go through the house and open the door.”
Meow!
I leaned over and spotted two shining eyes under the porch.
Then I heard Skip calling, “Merry, get your cat tail in here!”
My heart pounded as I scooped Abednego into my arms. Lifting his black furry body to my face, I darted around the house and into the kitchen.
“That’s one fat cat,” Skip said, casting a scornful look my way. “Too bad you found him.”
I shot him a fake smile. No time to argue; Lissa was waiting, half frozen to death on the front porch.
Cuddling Abednego, I spoke in my best baby talk. “Hello, my pwecious little boy.”
Skip groaned. “Are there any strays that don’t live here?”
“Good night,” I snapped, turning to go. When I was safely out of Skip’s sight, I dashed for the front door with Abednego still in my arms.
Lissa moaned softly as I let her in.
“Follow me,” I whispered.
We sneaked up the stairs to my room. This wasn’t going to be a typical sleepover. Lissa’s eyes were swollen from crying, her bottom lip cracked and bleeding. And she was limping!
Chapter
2
Back inside my bedroom, I put Abednego down and locked the door. Lissa sat on my bed while I turned on the lamp. “I’ll get something for your lip,” I said, hurrying to the bathroom adjoining my room.
Lissa was pulling off her jacket and scarf when I returned with damp tissues. Her tennies were stiff from the cold.
“Here, this’ll help.” I gave her the wet tissues. “Careful. Don’t press too hard.”
She nodded as if to thank me, holding the crumpled wad on her bottom lip. Tentatively, she glanced around the room, taking note of the wall nearest her. It was covered with framed photography—some of my very best. Lissa was shaking, so I turned up the controls on the electric blanket.
“You’ll warm up fast in here,” I said, pulling back the blanket and the blue hand-quilted comforter, the latter a gift from my Amish neighbors down the lane.
Lissa crawled into bed, jeans and all.
I searched in the closet for my sleeping bag and rolled it out on the floor next to the bed. “If we’re quiet, Skip’ll never know you’re here.”
Lissa looked at me sadly through the slits in her puffy eyelids. She dabbed her lip gently.
I sat on top of my sleeping bag, worried for my friend. “You’re really hurt, aren’t you?”
She squeaked, “Uh-huh,” in an uncontrollable voice. Tears filled her eyes.
“What happened tonight?”
Her shoulders heaved under the blankets as she buried her head in my pillow. The wad of wet tissues rolled out of her hand and onto the floor.
“Talk to me, Liss,” I said, kneeling up, stroking her back. I hoped her answer wasn’t something truly horrible.
Minutes passed. Except for an occasional sob, the room was silent. At last, she looked at me with tearful blue eyes. “My dad got mad.”
A lump caught in my throat just as Abednego jumped onto the bed. I moved the cat trio one by one on top of the little lumps made by Lissa’s feet.
She eased back against the pillow. “I freak out, Merry. I freak when my dad’s drunk.” She wiped the tears. “I can’t go home anymore.”
Pulling the covers up around her chin, I tucked her in like she was a helpless little child. “Don’t worry, Lissa, I’ll think of something.
Maybe we can talk to the school counselor tomorrow.”
“I can’t go to school,” she blurted. “People will be looking for me.”
“Which people?” I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Maybe the cops,” she whispered. “I’m a runaway, aren’t I?” She watched the kittens congregate at her feet.
“What about your mom? She’ll be worried.”
“I told her I’d leave someday.” Lissa stopped.
“What about the history test? You can’t skip out on that. Mr. Wilson’s make-up tests are hideous.” I was groping at thin air. Anything to talk sense into her.
She sighed. “I need your help, Merry.”
“What can I do?” I whispered.
“Keep me safe.” She touched me. “Please?”
I looked down at her hand on my arm. “Don’t you have any relatives in Lancaster?” It was a long shot.
She shook her head.
I pulled my left earring out, glanced at it, and put it right back in. “What about your grandma?” I asked.
“She lives in Philadelphia now,” Lissa said.
I pushed my hair back, taking a deep breath. Lissa was asking a lot, especially with my parents gone. I started to speak, to set her straight about what I should and shouldn’t do, but tears began to flow unchecked down her cheeks.
“Okay, Liss,” I said, “but only for tonight.” I clicked off the blue-and-white striped lamp on the table beside the bed, hoping I was doing the right thing.
In the darkness, my friend pleaded, “Promise to keep my secret?”
I shuddered at what it meant. If Mom and Dad were back from their mission trip, they’d know exactly what to do. I pushed my fingers through the length of my hair and crawled into my sleeping bag. A moonbeam played hide-and-seek as a cloud drifted by.
Lissa reached her hand out to me. “Merry…please?”
A feeling of determination flooded me as I took her cold hand in both of mine. “Don’t worry. You can count on me.”
I stared at a small photo on the far wall. Small but distinct, the picture was a close-up of a gravestone covered with yellow daisies. The gravestone reminded me of another place, another time. A time when I could’ve helped but didn’t.
I hardly slept the rest of the night. I’d given my word to hide Lissa and keep her secret. A secret bigger than us both.
Chapte
r
3
I awakened the next morning to pounding. “Get up, Merry! You’re going to be late!” Skip hollered through the door. “Don’t you know people die in bed?”
I groaned, then bolted upright, glancing up from my sleeping bag. Lissa was still asleep. Thank goodness for locked bedroom doors!
“Last call, cat breath,” my big brother called. “Or you’re history!”
History—Mr. Wilson’s test! I dragged my limp legs from the sleeping bag as the events of last night came rushing back. I hurried into the bathroom adjoining my room and turned on the shower. Reaching for a clean washcloth and a bar of soap, I lathered up, remembering the first day I’d met Lissa Vyner.
It was eighth grade. Last year. I’d taken first place in the photography contest at Mifflin Junior High School. Felt pretty smug about it, too. It was a high that set me sailing into second semester. That’s when the new girl showed up in my class—a pretty girl—with hair the color of wheat at harvest. As for her broken arm, she’d blamed it on being accident prone.
Lissa was also quite forgetful when it came to necessary things, which I discovered after our first P.E. class together. The teacher had insisted on everyone hitting the showers, sweaty or not. But Lissa had forgotten her soap. And a hairbrush!
The next day, I came to her rescue again. This time it was a matter of life and death. She’d misplaced her red pen, and red pens were essential equipment in Miss Cassavant’s math class. “If you aren’t prepared to grade your classmate’s homework, you aren’t prepared for life,” the flamboyant Miss Cassavant would say.
Soon Lissa and I became good friends. Occasionally, she confided in me about her family. She felt lonely at home and hated being the only child. Lissa hated something else, too. The way her dad drank. The way it changed him. Now all of it made sense: her frequent black eyes, her broken arm…
A knock on the bathroom door startled me. “Thought you’d left,” Lissa whispered as she crept in.
I peeked around the steamed-up shower door. “Sleep okay?”
“I think so,” she said. “Mind if I use your brush?” She leaned close to the mirror, untying her yellow hair ribbon before brushing her wavy, shoulder-length hair. “It feels good being here, Mer. It’s as if I have a real sister.”
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 Page 1