Nancy, Ella Mae, and little Susie, Rachel’s younger sisters, played checkers on a table in the ring of light near their father’s reading lamp. Their rosy-cheeked faces shone when they looked up to greet me.
Only Curly John was missing. I didn’t have to ask where he was. With just two days before his and Sarah’s wedding, they were probably out under the moon, riding in his open-topped courting buggy.
Rachel’s mother stopped braiding a rug to dish up a hefty serving of pie. “What do you hear from your parents?” she asked.
“They’ve called several times,” I said, wishing they were here now. “They’re excited about bringing suitcases filled with study Bibles into China.”
She placed the pie in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said, sitting at the table beside Rachel. I felt guilty being here, enjoying the peaceful Amish evening and the delicious after-dinner treats while Lissa was locked away in my room, waiting for my return.
And there was Skip. What if he decided to come home early after the hayride? I glanced at my watch, wishing I could arrange to talk with Rachel in private.
When I finished the gooey molasses pie, I wiped my sticky lips with a napkin. “Can you show me the pillow you’re making for Curly John and Sarah?” I asked Rachel. It was the only way to get her alone.
“We must go upstairs a bit, Dat,” she told her father as we slid out from behind the wooden table.
“Do not delay,” he answered, and I knew it meant Rachel must not go off for long with her English cousin, excluding the other members of the family. Evenings were together times, and individualism was frowned upon.
Rachel carried a small kerosene lantern in one hand and held up her purple dress in the other as we climbed the stairs. I trailed close behind. When we got to the bedroom she shared with twelve-year-old Nancy, I closed the door. She placed the lantern on her antique maple dresser.
The room was scantily furnished with only a double bed, a small bedside table, the dresser, and a long wooden chest—Rachel’s hope chest. None of the furniture pieces matched. She opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a green-and-pink hand-stitched square pillow.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, admiring it closely.
“I can make one for you, Merry,” she said, smiling.
“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”
“Maybe I want to,” she answered cheerfully. “For your hope chest.”
I touched the ruffled edging. “Okay,” I said, ignoring the fact that I didn’t even own a hope chest. Right now, I was more concerned about hiding Lissa. “I have to talk to you, Rachel. Friend to friend.”
Rachel’s smile faded. “What is it?”
“I need your help,” I whispered. “We’re having company tomorrow night and I need a place for a friend of mine to stay. Just until Thursday, after Curly John’s wedding. But we must keep it a secret.”
Rachel hesitated. “From Dat and Mam?”
“Yes, even from your parents.” I watched her face, desperately hoping that she’d consent.
“I cannot lie about anything,” she said. “I must always tell the truth.”
“You won’t have to lie.” I felt bad about putting her in such an awkward position.
Rachel adjusted the waist of her long black apron. “I know Dat and Mam will say your friend is our friend, too.” She paused for a moment. “Please—I must tell them.”
Lissa’s secret was serious business. I couldn’t take any chances with her safety. Rachel simply couldn’t tell her parents or anyone else. She’d have to hide Lissa, just the way I’d been hiding her.
Then it hit me—the Amish had very little contact with the outside world. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal for Rachel to tell her parents. I studied her, half holding my breath. “Okay, Rachel, you may tell them. Just please don’t spread it around.”
Rachel nodded. “Jah, good. Your friend can stay in the Grossdawdy Haus.” She was referring to the large addition to the main house where her grandparents lived. “Grossmutter and Grossdawdy have a spare bedroom. Jah, that will be good.”
“What about Curly John’s wedding? Can my friend come along, too?” I asked, feeling more and more confident that I’d made the right choice.
Rachel’s cheeks were pink in the dim light. “Jah, your friend must come. With you and Skip.”
My eyes caught the wooden clothes rack on the wall. Rachel’s clothing—for work and “for good”—was hanging there. The Amish had certain clothes they wore only for doing farm chores, and the good clothes were worn on Sundays or other dress-up occasions like weddings and singings. “My friend should come Plain to the wedding,” I said, overjoyed with this perfect solution to Lissa’s problem.
“English don’t dress Plain,” Rachel argued.
“This is very important. I promise to tell you everything later,” I assured her.
Thanks to our family connection, Rachel and her family considered me a close friend, even though it wasn’t too common for the Amish to associate closely with outsiders. Once Rachel entered her Rumschpringe, the Zooks would allow their oldest daughter much more freedom in her choice of friends. Later, she would be baptized into the Amish church if she decided to follow the teachings of the Ordnung. After that, her association with English friends would be more limited.
“Is there trouble, Merry?” she asked.
“No trouble.” Better not be trouble. I remembered the way Officer Rhodes had stared at Lissa’s yellow hair ribbon on Abednego’s neck.
“Good, then,” Rachel said.
“Is it all right if I borrow your dress for my friend?” I asked.
Rachel reached for the green dress and a black apron and bonnet hanging on the wooden pegs, her eyes searching mine. “I can help you, cousin.” And by the way she said it, I knew she still suspected something.
I folded the handmade garments carefully, zipping them into my jacket for safekeeping. “When can I bring my friend to the Grossdawdy Haus?”
“The door is always unlocked. Come on over any time,” she said.
“Thank you very much, Rachel,” I said, relieved. “We’ll probably be over first thing tomorrow.”
She reached for the heavy black shawl hanging on the farthest peg. Her innocent face glowed in the lantern’s golden light. “Da Herr sei mit du—the Lord be with you,” she said, handing me the wool wrap.
I chose the shortcut home. Hurrying over the picket fence, I could see ripples of wind making swirls on the pond in the distance. Up ahead, the willows cast eerie shadows as I slipped through the grove. Pressing my jacket against my chest, I hurried onto the dirt lane toward my house. The Amish clothes were safe inside my jacket, and I smiled at the success of the evening.
In the distance, I heard the sound of singing. I recognized Skip’s strong baritone over the other voices. Peering down the lane under the light of a winter moon, I spotted a large wagon on the crest of the hill. It was scattered with several bales of hay. Streams of light bounced around as the kids swung their flashlights.
They’d be passing my house in a few minutes. Yee-ikes! If my brother spotted me, he might get suspicious. I couldn’t let that happen!
I began to run. Faster…faster. If I could keep up this pace, I might make it home without being seen. My leg muscles ached. I can’t slow down, I told myself.
Sucking in short breaths of air, I pushed forward, harder and faster. The edge of our front yard was within reach. I forced my legs to keep moving, ignoring the throbbing pain in my thighs.
The singing was clear and strong now. My feet pounded the dirt road. No willows to hide me now.
The songs grew louder as the clip-clop of horses and the rattle of the hay wagon rang in my ears. Glancing over my shoulder, I judged the distance without stopping. Then my eyes caught something across the street. Someone—a dark, menacing shadow—crouched behind the bushes!
My heart pounded. Fear stuck in my throat. But a surge of energy propelled me across the side yard tow
ard the gazebo behind our house. I made a dive under it, hiding there till the laughter and the songs slowly died away.
Meow!
I jumped as Abednego nuzzled my face in the dark space under the gazebo. “Oh, it’s you, little boy,” I said, still panting hard. I crawled out quickly and brushed the dirt off my jeans. Relieved but out of breath, I fished for the house key in my pocket.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming up the side yard toward me. My hand went stiff in my jeans pocket. I tried to pull the key out, but my fingers stuck clumsily in the fabric. Gasping for air, I panicked, only a few yards from the safety of my home.
Chapter
11
“Help!” I shouted.
“Mistress Merry, you’ll wake the dead!”
I spun around. “Jonathan Klein, you scared me silly!” I almost hugged him, I was so relieved. “Where’d you come from? Why’d you hide in the bushes like that?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue winter jacket, looking confused. “Questions, questions,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”
I ignored his question. “Are you saying you weren’t hiding out front just now?”
“You know me better than that.”
“But I saw someone hiding…I thought it was you!”
“I would never try to scare you like that, Merry. I saw you running toward your house, that’s all—just jumped off to say hi.”
I looked around him, worried about whoever—whatever—it was I’d seen out front. “He’s probably still out there.”
“Who’s out where?”
I pulled the house key out of my pocket. “Quick, we have to get inside! Someone’s out front, hiding in the bushes.”
“You’re not making sense, Merry,” he said. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“C’mon.” I unlocked the back door. “I’ll prove it to you.” Without another word, I dashed to the dark living room and peered through the window curtains. I scanned the bushes with my eyes. Nothing!
“He was just there,” I said, pointing.
Jon crept up behind me. “Are you sure it wasn’t a moon shadow or something?”
“You don’t believe me?” I shot back. “I know I saw someone over there.”
“Sure, show me the shady, shaggy stranger,” he said, starting up his alliteration routine.
“It’s not funny,” I retorted.
“Say that with all f ’s.”
“I’m not playing your game, Jon. I mean it.”
Slowly, he turned and headed for the kitchen. I followed him and flicked on the tiny stove light. “I’m glad you’re here.” I felt Rachel’s clothes still hidden inside my jacket.
“I can’t stay,” he reminded me. “I have to catch up with the hayride. The group was going to stop down the lane for a quick hike.” He stopped talking and smiled like some terrific idea had struck. “Hey, why don’t you come along?”
“I would, but—” I couldn’t leave Lissa with some stranger lurking around.
Jon leaned closer. “But what?” I smelled a slight hint of his peppermint gum.
“Please stay here till Skip gets back.”
“I’ll have to walk all the way into town if I don’t catch up with the group,” he insisted, heading for the back door.
“I’ll get Skip to drive you,” I offered.
He suddenly seemed shy. “I shouldn’t be here anyway.”
“Skip’ll understand when he comes home. I’ll tell him what I saw.”
“Really, Merry, I think you’ll be fine. Just keep the doors locked.” He smiled, running his long fingers though his hair. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
It was no use. Jonathan didn’t understand. And I couldn’t explain my real fear—that maybe the tall shadow out there was Lissa’s father. With a quick wave good-bye, Jon opened the back door and left.
Alone again, I groped my way through the dark hallway to the front door, shivering with fright. I didn’t dare turn on the lights.
I remembered what Rachel said about the Amish always keeping their doors open as I gripped the lock, double checking it. Satisfied it was secure, I peeked out once again. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe the moon had played a trick on me.
Feeling better, I headed upstairs, pulling Rachel’s Amish clothes out of my jacket. I found Lissa staring at one of the pictures on my wall gallery. When I came in the room, she turned away, reacting as though she’d been caught. “I…uh, didn’t mean to—”
“Go ahead, it’s okay,” I said.
She moved back to look at the photo of the flower-strewn gravestone. Leaning closer, she read the words, “ ‘Faith Hanson, precious daughter and dear sister, in heaven with our Lord.’ ” Lissa stood silent for a moment. “Was your sister sick long?”
“Not long.” I kept the Amish clothes hidden behind my back.
She turned away from the wall to look at me. “How’d you handle it when you knew your twin was dying?”
A lump grew in my throat, but I forced it down. “It was hard for all of us. Really hard.”
“Did you cry a lot?” Her gaze penetrated me.
Uncomfortable, I looked away. “Mother cried enough for all of us,” I said, avoiding the question. The truth was I’d never let myself cry about Faithie.
Lissa limped past the picture of the gravestone to more of my photography—Amish windmills, water pumps, and landscapes. There was even a picture of the playground at the Amish school, without the children. I’d always respected their wishes by not photographing the Amish, unlike some tourists who had been known to stalk young Plain children, bribing them for a snapshot.
I was relieved that Lissa didn’t say anything more about crying for Faithie. Glancing out my window, I peeked through the side of the curtain. Slowly, I surveyed the area below. That’s when I saw the tall gray shadow emerge from the bushes. It was a policeman, and he was motioning to someone.
Quickly, another policeman appeared, coming around the corner and across Strawberry Lane toward the house.
“Lissa!” I called.
Startled, she jerked her head. “What?”
“Quick! Kill the lights.” I waved her to the window. “Two policemen!”
Terror filled her eyes as she scrambled to the lamp beside my bed. In the darkened room, we stared through the curtains, scarcely breathing.
Lissa gasped. “That’s my dad! I know it is…and his partner, Officer Rhodes, he’s the other one…the big guy.”
I could hardly breathe, let alone think. “That’s the cop who questioned me this afternoon,” I muttered. “Why’s he back?”
Then I remembered the strange way he’d looked at Lissa’s yellow ribbon on Abednego’s neck. What if Mr. Vyner had described what he’d last seen his daughter wearing?
Lissa grabbed my arm. “What’ll we do? They’re going to take me back home!”
I pulled her into the closet, the Amish clothes still draped over my arm. “I’m going to help you escape.” I flicked on the light. “See this?” I held up the green dress and long black apron. “It’s your way out of here.”
She reached to touch the dress, then her hand sprang back. “Ee-ew! It’s disgusting.”
I began to unfasten the Velcro on the front. “You’ll get used to it.”
She shot a weak smile through her tears. Then the doorbell rang. Lissa grabbed the dress. “I’ll wear it, disgusting or not.” And she began to undress.
Br-ring!
I opened the closet door to answer the phone, but Lissa pulled me back. “You can’t!”
“It could be my parents,” I said. “They’ll worry if no one answers.”
“And it could be a trick.” Lissa’s white, fearful face said it all.
The phone rang a second time. Lissa struggled with the Velcro on the dress as I counted the rings under my breath. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. “What if Skip’s calling?”
“Let it ring,” Lissa insisted. She held up the black apron. “Which way does this thing go?�
��
“Here,” I said, positioning it against her as she slipped her arms through the openings. My fingers trembled as I attached the apron with pins. “You’re almost ready. I’ll fix your hair.” I hurried to my dresser in the darkness.
“It doesn’t matter what my hair looks like,” she wailed.
Back inside the closet, I parted Lissa’s hair down the middle and pushed it into a quick bun, securing it with three hair clips. “Now you’re Plain.”
The phone kept ringing.
I was dying to answer it. “How do we know it’s the police?” I said. “Besides, if it’s my parents, they could help us!”
Lissa’s mouth pinched up like she was disgusted. “You couldn’t say anything on the phone anyway. The phone lines might already be tapped.”
Maybe she was right. But right or not, the ringing phone made me feel uneasy. And very homesick to talk to my parents!
Suddenly, I heard Skip’s voice. “Merry! Are you home?”
I flung open the closet door and ran across the bedroom to the locked outer door. “I’m up here,” I called down the steps, never so delighted to hear his voice.
“Will you please answer the phone?” he asked. “We’ve got company again.”
I knew he meant he was talking to the cops. Scurrying to the hall phone, I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hello, Merry. I thought you’d never answer.” It was Miss Spindler.
“Uh, we’re sort of busy right now,” I said. Miss Spindler’s nickname was Old Hawk Eyes. She made it her duty to keep close tabs on things in the neighborhood. Seemed to me she had it down to a near science!
I could hear Officer Rhodes’ voice downstairs. There was another voice, too. I clenched my teeth, remembering the voice from the phone call this afternoon. Lissa’s father! He was right here—inside my house!
Old Hawk Eyes’ scratchy voice continued, “I see police cars parked around the side of your house, Merry.”
“You do?”
“Oh dear, it looks like—”
“What?” I interrupted. “What do you see?”
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 Page 5