SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  We made our way through the chaotic maze of students together. It felt a little strange walking with Elton to class, but I ignored the weird looks from other students as they dodged first him and then me.

  Weird looks aside, it was impossible to miss the rude stares as we entered art class. Several guys whooped and hollered as Elton held the door for me. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering how much of the ridicule Elton had absorbed. Even without the smile he was cherub faced, though his eyes looked dull and almost lifeless. Kids like Elton experienced the same emotions as everyone else, I’d been told. Their emotions just didn’t register in the eyes. I knew this from hearing my dad talk about several of his hospital patients.

  A quick look around Mrs. Hawkins’ art room told me she hadn’t arrived yet. So I made a big deal about thanking Elton, staring especially hard at Cody Gower, one of the roughest kids in school.

  “Hey, looks like Merry’s got herself a new man,” Cody taunted. A bunch of guys joined him with whistles and laughter. I felt truly sorry for Elton, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  The bell rang and Mrs. Hawkins showed up wearing her usual array of colorful bangles and beads. Before sitting down, she glanced at her seating chart. She made no comment about Elton’s choice of seating—the empty desk directly across from mine.

  I got right to work refining my charcoal sketch. Unlike some students who’d elected art as a sluff course, I enjoyed the class. Besides that, I valued Mrs. Hawkins’ expert input.

  Someone else was an expert in the class: Cody Gower. His expertise had nothing to do with art, though. Cody was a natural at stirring up trouble.

  I concentrated on my project, taking time to shade in my charcoal sketch of an old covered bridge—Hunsecker’s Mill Bridge—which I’d photographed many times. The 180-foot bridge crossed the Conestoga River not far from my house. I knew it was really old, built in 1848. Rachel Zook called it the Kissing Bridge because it was where her oldest brother, Curly John, had stolen his first kiss from Sarah—now his bride.

  I stopped working long enough to blow some fine gray dust off my paper. As I did, Cody got up and stood in the aisle beside Elton’s desk. Definitely up to no good.

  Where was Mrs. Hawkins? I leaned up out of my seat and scanned the classroom. She was gone—again! Probably called out while I was deep in thought, working on my project.

  “Cody! Leave him alone,” I demanded, suddenly attracting the attention of the whole class.

  Cody ignored me and picked up Elton’s sketch, inspecting it. “Is this your work?” he asked in a friendly yet mocking tone.

  Elton nodded, wearing a vacant stare. A rush of whispers and giggles rose from the room, mixed with the unmistakable sound of “retard” as he kept on nodding.

  I sucked in a breath and held it till I nearly burst. Elton, on the other hand, seemed calm enough. Poor guy. I had to find a way to help.

  Cody leaned down, studying Elton. “Mind if I show the others?”

  he asked, casting a repulsive smirk at the class, like a fly fisherman throwing out his line.

  “Yeah, let’s see the retard’s masterpiece!” shouted one boy. That was all it took to lead the pack of shouting maniacs.

  I leaped out of my seat. “Give me that!” I yelled, lunging for Elton’s art.

  “Stay out of this,” Cody sneered, but I grabbed the sketch out of his hand anyway.

  “No, you sit down, Cody Gower. You don’t wanna mess up your grade in here, do you?” It was a threat, but I couldn’t help it. Everyone knew why Cody had signed up for this class—an easy A.

  “C’mon, Merry. Show us the picture!” called one of Cody’s friends.

  I ignored the pleas to exhibit Elton’s work. Still standing, I deliberately placed his sketch facedown on my desk. As for Cody, he had no choice but to comply with my demand, because at that moment, Mrs. Hawkins waltzed into the room.

  I sat down and handed Elton’s drawing back to him. He started working on it as if nothing had happened.

  The girl behind me tapped my shoulder. “Good going, Merry,” she whispered.

  I made a thumbs-up gesture without turning around. Mrs. Hawkins, meanwhile, started moving from one desk to another. She didn’t get far, though, because the bell rang.

  I stayed at my desk until everyone had left. Elton sat, too, off in another world, oblivious to the bell and the noisy mass exodus. I leaned forward to get his attention, pointing to his drawing. “Is it okay with you if I take a look?”

  He began his nodding ritual.

  Curiously, I studied the picture on his desk. It was a near-perfect ink-drawn sketch of a girl. I glanced over at his ballpoint pen dangling between two fingers. Whoever heard of doing sketches with a pen! No second chances like with pencil, yet in Elton’s case it appeared that no erasures were needed. “It’s genius,” I whispered. “How’d you do this?”

  Elton stared blankly at the drawing, and for an instant I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. Clutching his pen, he began to nod again. He clicked his pen on and off and stopped. Was he trying to communicate with me? It was then that I noticed a faint brightness in his normally empty eyes.

  I gazed at his sketch again. What lines—what style!

  Suddenly, with an uncontrolled, jerking motion, he wrote 4 U at the bottom and handed the picture to me.

  “I can’t take your work, Elton. You’ll be getting a grade for this—a terrific grade!” I traced my finger around the soft curve of the girl’s shoulder-length hair, noticing the bright, expressive eyes.

  Then it hit me—the girl he’d drawn wasn’t just any girl.

  Elton Keel’s art project was a sketch of me!

  Chapter

  3

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I told Chelsea as we waited for the bus after school. “Elton Keel sketches with a ballpoint pen.”

  “So?”

  “He gets it right the first time,” I insisted. “Nobody does that.” I went on to tell her about the drawing he’d made of me.

  She pulled her hair back over one shoulder, smiling. “Where’s the drawing now?”

  “I gave it back to him.”

  “Oh, that’s just great,” she said. “He’s probably depressed. Don’t you know anything about retards?”

  My blood boiled. “Don’t say that!”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “You’re wrong,” I heard myself saying. “He’s not that…that word you said. Elton’s a person. A very special and totally gifted person!”

  Chelsea didn’t say anything. She simply looked at me. And when the bus came, we climbed on in silence.

  “God created each of us with unique gifts,” I said, settling into our regular spot close to the front. “You make straight A’s consistently, and I see beauty in nature and photograph it, and Elton…well, you know…”

  Chelsea frowned, scooting back and pushing her knees up against the seat in front of us. “You’re not going to launch off on one of your Bible stories now, are you?”

  It’s no use, I thought, glancing over my shoulder at Lissa Vyner, another one of my school friends. She was sitting and laughing in the back of the bus with Ashley Horton, our new pastor’s daughter, and several other kids from my church, including Jon Klein. I watched Lissa for a moment. She seemed so much more settled—happier, too, since her dad was in therapy. Lissa and her mom had even started coming to church nearly every Sunday.

  I sighed. Why can’t Chelsea be more like Lissa? Why does she fight me every time I talk about God?

  Chelsea poked my arm. “Hello-o?” she taunted. “Wanna go back and sit with the Christians?” She nodded her head in the direction of Lissa, Jon, and friends.

  “Please, Chelsea,” I said, “don’t do this.”

  She slapped her hand down hard on her history book. “Well, then, don’t preach.”

  I wanted to tell her to stop hiding her head in the sand, to open her eyes to God. But I knew better than to push things.

 
At home, I dropped off my books, eager to see Rachel Zook. I ran down SummerHill Lane, turned, and took the shortcut through the willow grove to the Amish farmhouse. The house was set back off the main road with a white picket fence circling the pasture area. There were empty fruit jars turned upside down all along the fence for storage, a sure proof that Rachel and her mother expected an abundant crop of garden vegetables. All around me, rich and moist Lancaster County soil was ready for spring planting.

  I noticed Abe Zook and Levi, his sixteen-year-old son, out on the front porch repairing a shattered window. Abe stopped working and straightened up. Levi’s eyes lit up when he saw me. Silly boy. When would he learn that it made no sense to flirt with a modern girl like me?

  Levi’s father smiled a greeting and stroked his long, untrimmed beard as I came up the front porch. I hated to think what would happen if Abe Zook knew that Levi had taken a more-than-friendly interest in me. Amish were supposed to date among themselves. Even casual dating of English—the term they used for non-Amish—was not allowed. It was a fearful thing to be reprimanded by the bishop, though far worse if one was baptized and continued in rebellion. A shunning was sure to follow.

  Levi carefully removed a shard of glass that still clung to the window frame. When his father wasn’t looking, he tipped his hat at me.

  “What on earth happened here?” I asked.

  Levi started to explain, but Abe touched his son’s shoulder, shaking his head solemnly. It was clear enough to me that someone had thrown a brick or something else through the Zooks’ living room window. But since the Amish were peace-loving folk, the police would never know about it.

  “Merry!” Rachel called to me from inside the house. “Come on in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  My friend wasn’t exactly sitting around twiddling her thumbs. She was helping her mother with spring cleaning. And by the looks of things, it was a day to scour the tinware—loaf pans, cookie sheets, and pie pans. The Zooks definitely liked to have things sparkling and clean.

  Rachel went to wash her hands at the sink before joining me. “Come on out to the barn,” she said, drying her hands on a corner of her black apron. There was a look of apprehension in her eyes.

  I followed her through the large kitchen. The gray-painted walls looked bare without pictures; not a single border of wallpaper or a lacy white curtain graced the monotonous walls. A tan oilcloth covered the table with a royal blue place mat at its center. On it, a square glass dish held rooster and hen salt and pepper shakers and a white sugar bowl. Plain though it was, the Zook home was always one of my favorite places.

  Outside, Rachel’s younger sisters stirred up a cloud of dust as they swept the back steps and sidewalk. I stopped to talk to Nancy and Ella Mae, but Rachel ignored the girls and made a beeline around the barn.

  The Zooks’ barn was called a “bank barn” because an earthen ramp had been built on one side, leading to the doors on the second floor. The dirt ramp made it possible to store additional farm equipment on the upper level.

  Rachel stood at the top of the ramp, motioning for me to hurry. “I can’t be long. Dat and Levi need help with the milking.”

  I knew the Zooks started afternoon milking around four, so I ran to catch up with my friend.

  “Someone is trying to hurt us,” she said softly, her eyes more serious than I’d ever seen them. She leaned against the wide barn door.

  “Are you talking about the broken window?”

  She nodded solemnly, much the way her father had. “Someone is mighty angry.” She paused, peering into the barn where the second story was divided into sections of feed bins, haymows, and two threshing floors. Then her voice became a whisper. “Very bad things are going on around here, Merry.”

  I stared at Rachel. “What else?”

  “Tuesday a hate letter came in the mail, and yesterday someone let Apple out of the barn.”

  “Did you find your horse?”

  “Dat and Levi found her near the Conestoga River. They looked all around everywhere outside and never did find out who let her out.” She tucked a strand of light brown hair into the bun at the back of her neck. “You know what I think? I think one of Jake Fisher’s boys is mad at us.”

  Now I was really curious. “Old Jake has six boys.”

  “But only one of them caught trouble with the Lancaster bishops.” She studied me hard. “If you promise you won’t tell anyone, I’ll say what happened.” “I’ll keep it quiet. I promise.”

  Rachel stepped close to me, eager to divulge her secret about the Amish boy down the lane.

  Chapter

  4

  “I think Ben Fisher’s the one causing trouble,” Rachel whispered. “Dat caught him out joyriding with a carload of Englischer girls. Even after being baptized and all, Ben made no bones about it. Didn’t even say he was sorry.”

  “Your father saw him for sure?”

  “Jah.” Rachel nodded. “Worse than that, Dat found out Ben Fisher owns that car!” Cars were strictly forbidden among the Old Order Amish.

  Just last fall Ben had made a vow to follow the rules of the Ordnung—the community’s agreed-on rules for Amish life. At his baptism, he would have been told it was far better to never make his vow than to make it and break it later.

  Rachel continued. “My father told our deacon about it, and the church members had a meeting with the bishops. From what I heard, Ben didn’t go along with a kneeling confession for driving a car. And he wasn’t just a little huffy when he stormed out of the meeting.”

  “Do you think Ben will confess?”

  “The bishops gave him six weeks to do it, but the time’s already half up.” Rachel’s eyes were bright with sudden tears. “Oh, Merry, he’s one of Levi’s best friends, and he’s in danger of the Meidung—the shunning!”

  I put my arm around Rachel. “You okay?”

  “I’m afraid for him,” she cried. “The shunning is awful!” Rachel leaned her head against mine. “None of us can talk to him or eat with him if he’s shunned, and it can last for a lifetime unless—”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, comforting her. “Maybe he’ll come back and repent.”

  She wiped her eyes. “If only Levi could talk sense into Ben…

  before he does something real terrible.”

  Shunning was something I didn’t fully understand, but I knew it meant being cut off from the people you knew and loved. Like being disowned.

  I followed Rachel through the hayloft and climbed down the ladder to the lower level. Cows shuffled into the barn, some mooing loudly as they slapped their tails, swishing flies away. Like clockwork, the herd headed for the milking stalls, twenty-four strong.

  I wondered how strong an influence Levi might be on Ben Fisher. If Ben didn’t repent and sell his car, Levi could lose his friend forever. “Does your father think Ben’s the one who threw the brick?” I asked.

  Rachel raised a finger to her lips and wiped her eyes, shielding them as her father entered the barn. He set down clanking milk buckets in preparation for the afternoon milking. “No one in the house talks about it, and neither must you,” she said, reminding me of my promise.

  “You can count on me,” I replied firmly.

  The next day was Friday and the school cafeteria was bustling with noise. Everyone seemed wired for the weekend. And the closer to summer we got, the harder it was to concentrate on school.

  I was settled in at a table, leaning back in my chair while I ate a tuna sandwich. Chelsea and Lissa sat with me, having hot lunch. Elton Keel sat three tables behind us. He was holding a hamburger in one hand and, with the other, clicking his pen to beat the band.

  Chelsea noticed me watching him. “I wonder if I could check out that supposedly incredible picture of you,” she said. “The one Elton Keel, that uniquely gifted person, drew in pen.”

  “Don’t make fun,” I said, chomping down on my words.

  Chelsea’s voice rose against the swell of the lunchroom sounds.

&nbs
p; “I’m just saying it like it is,” she said, reminding me of my “lecture”

  on the bus yesterday.

  I took a sip of soda. Chelsea had no right to throw things back in my face like this. But I decided not to make a big deal of it and kept eating.

  Chelsea persisted. “What do ya think? Does Elton still have that sketch he did of you?”

  “He might,” I said. “He carries his artwork around with him everywhere.”

  Chelsea laughed. “In that plaid little-boy backpack of his?”

  Lissa intervened, changing the subject. “I saw him yesterday on Hunsecker Road at the covered bridge,” she said. “Looked like he was sketching it.”

  Was Elton drawing the same thing I was? Too weird. “There’s an old millhouse near that bridge, built back in the 1700s, I think.

  Maybe that’s what he’s sketching.”

  Chelsea grinned. “Bridges, millhouses, and silly girls,” she teased.

  “What an amazing portfolio.”

  I kept quiet. Chelsea was really pushing things and it bugged me.

  Someone yelled my name. “Hey, Merry!”

  I turned to see Cody Gower sauntering around with a trayful of food. His usual entourage of male trouble followed.

  “Where’s the new man in your life?” He shot a grin toward Elton’s table.

  “Pick on someone else,” I said as he passed within punching distance.

  “Hey, whatever the retard lover says.” He hurled his words back at me as he and his friends spread out, taking up the entire table across from us.

  “Hey, dork brain,” Chelsea blurted out. “Get a life.”

  I pushed my tray back. “Oh, so now you’re on my side.”

  Chelsea ignored my comment, staring at Cody. “What a total jerk.”

  Suddenly, Cody’s table shook with fierce pounding. The noise caught the attention of everyone in the room. Cody leaped out of his seat. Then he blasted, “This is for yo-o-ou, Elton Ke-e-e-el. One, two, three, hit it!”

  On cue, the guys at his table—Cody included—began clicking their ballpoint pens, held high for everyone to see. The cafeteria rocked with laughter. And my brain nearly exploded.