SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  “What’s your favorite flavor?” I asked, hoping to dispel her dismal mood.

  She looked puzzled. “What’s fruit leather doing in a shoe box?”

  “It’s shoe leather replacement.” I laughed. “Let me introduce you to my snack pantry.” I popped the lid off the third shoe box, revealing a plastic container of powdery Kool-Aid. “Care for a lick?”

  Lissa smiled. “You’re crazy.”

  “I always get hungry when I do homework, so I stash food in my closet,” I said, offering her a strip of apple fruit leather. “You can snack till I smuggle dinner up.”

  Her face lit up. “How can I ever thank you?” she said. I knew it had little to do with the fruit leather.

  “Hm-m, let’s see,” I said. “How about that new down-filled jacket of yours? Think you could loan it?”

  “No problem.”

  I studied Lissa, helpless and forlorn, sitting there on the floor of my closet. “You’d really let me?”

  She nodded. “Except it’s at my house.”

  I pretended to be disappointed. “Oh, phooey.”

  Lissa brightened. “I have an idea. You could sneak into my house and get it tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What?”

  “Mom works Wednesdays all day, and Daddy, well, he’ll be asleep. Or—” She sighed.

  “Or what?” I asked.

  Lissa gave a piercing look. “Drunk,” she said slowly. “He’ll be drunk.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and I couldn’t help but put my arm around her, even though I felt sad inside, too. But I needed to be merry and strong. For Lissa.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and I tried to picture her situation at home. Coming from a background with loving parents, it wasn’t easy. I stood up. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Promise?” She looked at me with pleading eyes.

  “Count on it,” I said.

  Downstairs, I hurried into the kitchen. Skip was moving things around in the freezer, obviously searching for just the right casserole. He must’ve sensed I was observing him, because he straightened up and, with a grand flourish, whipped out one of the frozen casseroles Mom had prepared in advance. “Tah-dah!” he shouted.

  I giggled. “What’s for supper?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “C’mon, I’m starved,” I said, settling down into one of the kitchen chairs. I watched him set the oven and loosen the aluminum foil on the casserole dish.

  “How was your history test?” he asked.

  Mr. Wilson’s terrible, terminal test, as Jon had described it, seemed so far away now. I took a deep breath. “It was…well, I guess I should’ve studied more,” I admitted.

  Skip cast a hard look at me. “It might help if you studied instead of chasing orphan cats all night.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” I said, tossing Aunt Teri’s letter on the table. “Guess who’s coming to visit?”

  Skip’s shoulders drooped. “Don’t people know Mom and Dad are overseas?” He took a quick look at the letter, then a smile spread across his face. “Hey, this could be a blessing in disguise.”

  A blessing for him, I thought, wondering how to make my scheme to hide Lissa work.

  “Aunt Teri cooks like nobody’s business,” he said.

  “Food—is that all you ever think about?”

  He poured milk into a tall glass. “You’d better get your room ready.” He lifted the glass to his lips and gulped down half the contents.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I reached for the tablet of instruction notes Mom had left on top of the fridge.

  Playfully, Skip grabbed the notebook from me and scanned the list of events, holding it higher and higher, playing keep-away. “Hey, we’re in luck,” he said. “The cleaning lady comes first thing tomorrow.”

  I jumped up and grabbed the tablet out of his hands. “Let me see that.”

  Skip muttered something about sisters with cat breath. I stared at the list, making a mental note to tell Lissa about the housekeeper.

  My brother nosed around in the refrigerator. He spotted the fresh eggs from Zooks’ farm. “Looks like Rachel was here.”

  “Which reminds me,” I said. “Don’t forget, we’re going to Curly John’s wedding on Thursday.”

  “An Amish wedding feast? I’ll be there!” He pulled the basket of eggs out of the fridge. “Hey, Mer, how about one of my omelet specials?”

  “Oh, ick. I’d eat Mom’s casseroles rock hard before—”

  “That does it!” Skip grabbed a tea towel and flipped it around, winding it up for a good cracking.

  I dodged the flicks of his towel. “I love your omelets, Skip. Honest!”

  “Say it louder,” he demanded as a mischievous grin slid across his face.

  I ran behind the table, away from my power-crazed brother. “I wish Mom and Dad could see you now,” I shouted. “Then they’d never leave me alone with you!” He chased me around the kitchen, and when I passed the window, I noticed a police car pulling into our driveway.

  “Skip, look! Police!”

  “I never fall for that trick,” he said, coming after me. But when I didn’t move, he stopped in front of the window and we both stared out at a white patrol car. “What’s this about?” he said.

  My heart pounded Lissa, Lissa, Lissa at ninety miles an hour.

  Chapter

  9

  “Wow, I hope this isn’t about Mom and Dad!” Skip said as the doorbell rang. He went to answer it while I dashed up the back steps, my heart in my throat.

  I tore into my bedroom. “Lissa!” I opened the closet door and looked around. She was nowhere in sight. “Lissa?”

  Silence.

  “C’mon, Liss, where are you?” I turned around, closing the closet door behind me. I thought back to my last conversation with her. “What have I done?” I said out loud. I should’ve known better than to leave her alone, crying.

  I scrambled to my desk, looking for a note. Anything. Glancing out the window, I saw another policeman standing like a guard out front.

  Maybe it was a stakeout. And maybe I was a suspect. I cringed, wondering how I’d gotten myself into such a horrible mess. What if the police had a search warrant?

  And what about poor Lissa? Visions of foster homes or maybe more parental abuse crisscrossed my mind. Where was she now? Had she run away—again?

  “Merry!” Skip called from downstairs. “Come here a minute.”

  “Lord, help me,” I whispered, making my way down the long staircase, holding the railing for dear life.

  Skip stood in the entryway talking to a tall, heavyset policeman. They turned to face me as I reached the bottom of the steps.

  “Merry, this is Officer Rhodes,” Skip said. “Did you know Lissa Vyner is missing?”

  I held my breath to keep from saying the wrong thing as the policeman waved his identification under my nose. “I’d like to talk with you, Merry, if that’s all right.”

  I nodded and Skip led the way into the living room. It bugged me how my big brother seemed so eager to accept this unwelcome guest. I took Mother’s overstuffed chair across from Officer Rhodes. It was as comforting as her arms might have been, if only she were here. Abednego leaped up, searching for a cozy spot on my lap.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this, Merry, with your parents gone and all,” he said in a voice as stiff as the way he sat on the edge of our green paisley sofa. Looking puzzled, Skip perched himself on the matching ottoman.

  I felt the policeman’s eyes studying me, so I managed to say, “Is everything okay?” My voice seemed to spell out g-u-i-l-t-y.

  “We certainly hope so,” the policeman said. “But it appears that Lissa Vyner has run away, and since you’re one of her friends, her parents thought you might be able to help.”

  I looked him in the eyes, stroking my cat’s neck to beat the band, wondering how he’d react if he discovered Lissa hiding upstairs. His gray eyes looked kind enough. And his chin was firm and
strong, but it was a chin that meant business, and from the way Skip leaned forward, I knew they were both waiting for an answer.

  “Has Lissa called you? Have you talked to her?” Officer Rhodes asked.

  I gave him the most innocent look I had and hoped it was good enough. Steady, unblinking eyes are supposed to make a person look trustworthy. I’d read that somewhere.

  I was determined not to lie, unless…

  “Merry!” Skip urged. “Tell him if you know something.”

  “Well, yes, sir,” I admitted.

  “Has Lissa called here?” the officer asked.

  “Well, no, not called, really…”

  Skip was beside himself. “Out with it, Mer. Did she call or didn’t she?”

  I wanted to hide from Skip’s accusing eyes. It was one thing to see questions in the policeman’s eyes, but quite another to see them in my brother’s.

  I thought of Lissa. She certainly wasn’t anywhere to be seen last time I looked upstairs. It wouldn’t be a lie to say I didn’t know where she was—at least not at the moment.

  “Lissa’s dad beat her up,” I said glumly.

  “So you have heard from her?” Officer Rhodes asked.

  His eagerness made me even more jumpy. I nodded.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No.” I shook my head. Not anymore, I thought.

  The sound of static, followed by a muffled voice, came over Officer Rhodes’ pager. Abruptly, he stood to his feet, answering it as he did. He seemed taller than before, and I kept shooting my most innocent look up at him while I wore out Abednego’s neck with rubbing.

  Seconds passed, uncomfortable seconds. How much longer?

  Finally, he hooked the pager back onto his belt. “Thanks for your time, young lady.” His gaze dropped to my cat.

  “You’re welcome, sir.” I watched his face as he stared at Abednego.

  Gently, I lifted my black cat down. That’s when I put two and two together. I swallowed hard as Officer Rhodes studied the yellow hair ribbon tied around Abednego’s neck. It was Lissa’s!

  Without another word, the policeman headed for the front door with Skip on his heels. I stayed frozen to my mother’s chair while Skip showed the man out. I didn’t care to hear what else he said to my brother, but after he left, Skip marched back in.

  “I don’t figure you, Mer.” He sat down. For the first time in ages, his face had a stern coolness to it, not like the half-mischievous looks I usually got. The ones he could turn on and off whenever he pleased.

  I was silent.

  Skip stood up. “Well, if you happen to see Lissa or hear from her again, be sure to call this number.” He flicked the officer’s card at me. “If her dad did beat her, she needs help.”

  I picked it up, feeling horribly guilty about my deceit. It was time for the truth, whether Lissa liked it or not. But first, I had to find her.

  Upstairs, I locked my bedroom door and sat down, wondering how Lissa could’ve made the slip. She was nowhere in this room.

  Then, out of the stillness, I heard a soft giggle. I flung the closet door wide and listened. “Lissa?”

  Another giggle drifted out from the hanging clothes on the left side of my closet. Whirling around, I stared. “Lissa, you in here?”

  “Inside your winter coat.”

  I stared in disbelief. A pair of fashion boots was sticking out of my long red coat. “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  Her face poked out, flushed from the warmth of my coat. “I heard the doorbell. What’s going on downstairs?”

  “I think your dad’s on to us.”

  Lissa gasped. “Help me out of here.”

  “The police are looking for you,” I said. “They were just here.”

  Wide-eyed and breathing fast, she grabbed my arm. “Do they know you’re hiding me?”

  I told her everything, except the part about the hair ribbon on Abednego’s neck. I didn’t have the heart to upset her more than she already was.

  Her face drooped. “Now what?”

  “Sh-h, we better keep our voices down,” I whispered. “I have to get you out of here—fast!”

  She sulked, her hair brushing the side of her face as she leaned forward. “Where to?”

  I sat on the floor, still shaking from Officer Rhodes’ visit. “You need to do exactly what I say, no questions asked.” I leaned forward, my gaze boring into hers. “It’s total obedience from here on out. Just like the Amish.”

  Lissa’s eyes almost popped. “I’ll do anything to keep from going home,” she said, “if that’s what you mean. But what’s this about the Amish?”

  I felt tense as I looked into Lissa’s questioning face. This has to work, I thought.

  Chapter

  10

  Downstairs, I ate Mom’s delicious Hungarian goulash. And I did some fast talking to get Skip to let me stay home from the hayride.

  “Pete’s sake, Merry,” he said. “Can’t you leave your dumb cats home alone for once?”

  “It’s not the cats.”

  His fork hung in midair. “Oh, I get it. You think you might hear from Lissa again?” He paused. “Maybe you’re right, Mer. Maybe you should stay home.”

  I couldn’t believe how easy that was. The second he pulled out of the driveway, I raced to the fridge, slapped leftovers onto a plate, and tossed them in the microwave. Poor Lissa. Not only was she beat up, she was probably dying of hunger, too. By the time I got upstairs with a plateful of hot goulash, she was gobbling granola like crazy.

  I sashayed across the room, singing a silly song. “Are you lookin’? It’s home-style cookin’!” I waved the plate in front of her nose.

  “I can’t wait,” she said, reaching for the fork.

  Just as she opened her mouth, I stopped her. “You oughta thank God first.”

  “But I’m starving!”

  “Still, you can be thankful.”

  “Will you pray?” she asked.

  “Sure.” I took a deep breath. “Dear Lord, please bless Lissa’s supper. And I need your help tonight, Lord. I know some of what I’ve done may not make you very happy…especially the deceitful part. Please forgive me for that. Amen.”

  Lissa studied me before digging in to her supper. “It seems like you really know Jesus, Merry. The way you talk to Him, I mean.”

  “You can know Him that way, too,” I said. “He’s always there for you. Like a best friend, or…like a big brother. And you can always count on Him.”

  The tears came again and she brushed them away as she began to eat.

  I hated to leave so abruptly, but time was wasting. “I have a quick errand to run now, but if you stay in my room, you’ll be safe,” I assured her. “I’ll be back in no time.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “If things work out, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.” I felt prickles pop out on my neck.

  Her eyebrows knit together into a hard frown.

  “Oh, before I forget, our cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” I said.

  “For how long?” Lissa asked, scraping her plate clean.

  “She’s thorough,” I said. “It’ll take her till around lunchtime. Especially when I tell her we’re having company.”

  Lissa groaned. “Will I have to stand in your coat all day?”

  “Trust me, you won’t.”

  Lissa’s shoulders straightened a bit. “Anything’s better than going home.”

  I grabbed my jacket and locked up the house before I left.

  Outside, a red moon wore a shawl of lacy clouds over its shoulders. Woodsmoke hung in the air as I hurried down SummerHill Lane. I turned off at the willow grove, making every step count. Pushing my way over the hard ground, I found the shortcut between Rachel Zook’s house and mine.

  A chill wind whipped through the willows, and I pushed their swaying branches away from my face. Two crows flew high in the November sky, caw-caw-cawing back and forth.

  Over the crest
of an embankment at the edge of the willow grove, Zooks’ pond sparkled in the moon-drenched light. I’d saved Levi from drowning in that pond. Hurrying, I came to a white picket fence and climbed over, then scurried across the meadow, dodging a few cow pies. I pinched my nose shut.

  Like the fence, all the outer buildings on the Zooks’ farm were a bright, clean white. The woodshed, the milk house—even the old outhouse. The fresh paint meant a wedding was coming.

  The light up ahead in the Zooks’ kitchen looked warm and inviting. At the front of the house, small kerosene lanterns twinkled in the living room. It was a large house, built by Rachel’s grandfather years ago. Large enough to hold 250 or more wedding guests.

  A long porch framed the front of the house. As I ran up the steps, I heard someone tooting out “Oh, Susannah” on the harmonica. Anxious to talk to Rachel, I knocked on the door.

  “Wilkom, Merry,” Abe Zook said as he opened the door wide. His bushy beard, beginning to gray in spots, spread from ear to ear, and tan suspenders held up his black trousers. “Look who has come,” he called as Rachel came in from the kitchen to greet me. The smell of brewed coffee wafted through the house.

  “Mam has shoofly pie,” Rachel said, leading the way through the living room and dining room, where brightly colored china decorated the shelves.

  Amish life revolved around the home and the kitchen, especially in winter. I felt the heat pouring from the large stove in the center of the kitchen. With no central heating, the stove provided enough heat for this room and the bedroom above it.

  I couldn’t remember visiting Rachel’s family and not being offered more food than I could hold. This time was no different. An enormous pie and some sliced bologna and cheese graced the long wooden table in their spacious kitchen.

  Rachel’s father wandered back to his straight-backed rocking chair near the gas lamp in the corner. A German Bible, its pages brown with use, lay open on the reading table near his pie plate. But it was the pie he reached for. “Des gut.” He licked his lips.

  Levi and his little brother, Aaron, played marbles near the stove. Levi glanced up at me, but I quickly looked away.