A sudden breeze made the willows whisper above us and the drawing tremble in my hand. Between alternating intervals of shade and sun, flickers of light played on Elton’s face. “You want to tell me something, don’t you?”
Again he nodded one time.
“Do you want to tell me why you started the fire at school?”
He nodded. This time more quickly.
“Okay,” I said. “Here’s what we’ll do. I ask the questions and you give the answers. One nod means yes, and nothing means no. Okay?”
He nodded. This was incredible!
“Did you start the fire by burning my picture—this picture?” I held up the charred drawing, tapping it lightly.
He nodded.
“Were you mad at Cody Gower?”
Not a single eyelash fluttered.
“Were you mad at the others who teased you?”
Nothing.
“Were you—” I paused. What other reason could there be?
Elton waited for me to finish, his blond hair dazzling white, halolike as the sun danced on it.
I inspected the sketch again. The 4 U jumped out at me. Then I remembered Chelsea’s comment yesterday. “He’s probably depressed.”
That’s exactly what she’d said! Elton would be depressed if I gave the sketch back. Maybe, for once, Chelsea was right.
I held up the drawing, charred edges and all. “Were you upset because I didn’t keep this?”
He paused almost thoughtfully, then began nodding.
I felt lousy about the part I’d played in his wanting to burn the picture. “I’m really sorry if I upset you, Elton. I only wanted you to get a good grade,” I explained. “Well, I better get going. I have homework to do before youth service.”
Elton picked up his sketch pad and began to draw as I headed down the narrow dirt path toward the road. I called, waving the charred picture in my hand, “Good-bye—and thanks.” But Elton was already preoccupied with his work.
I kicked at the stones along the side of the road. Bottom line: I was partly responsible for the trash-can fire. Elton had been offended by my returning his sketch. And I was sorry.
Almost home, I heard a buggy speeding down the lane behind me. I knew it was Levi Zook just by the way he handled his spirited horse. Everyone in SummerHill knew he was a hot-roddin’ buggy driver. He yanked on the reins as I turned around, pulling the buggy off the road.
“It’s a good thing they don’t let you drive a car,” I teased, hiding Elton’s drawing behind my back.
Levi stood up in his open buggy, tipping his wide-brimmed straw hat. “Going my way?”
“Better watch it, Levi. You don’t want the bishops to find out, do you?”
He grinned. “Find out what? That you’re goin’ riding with me?”
I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the warmth creep into my face. “Says who?”
“You could say it if you wanted to, Merry Hanson.” Levi was flirting like crazy. It was a good thing he was in his Rumschpringe, the Amish term for the running-around years before baptism into the church. During that time, Amish teens were allowed to experience the outside world and decide whether or not to return to their roots. Most of them did.
Levi put his foot up on the rim of the buggy and leaned on his leg. He was still smiling. “How about tonight? Jah?”
“I’m sorry, Levi. I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
He flashed a smile. “Why not?”
I looked down at my feet. Why was my heart beating like this?
“Merry?” His voice was mellow and sweet. And gently persistent.
Without looking up, I found myself saying something like, “Well, maybe…sometime.”
You would’ve thought he’d gotten a yes, because in a split second, Levi sat down, slapped the reins across his beautiful Morgan horse, and took off, racing.
The wild way he drove that buggy called for a good nickname. That’s when I thought of Zap ’em Zook.
Wouldn’t the Alliteration Wizard be proud?
Chapter
7
When I arrived home, I called Lissa to invite her to spend the night. She agreed to bring her things to youth service and ride home with Skip and me afterward.
“Thanks for asking,” she said on the phone. “Besides, I really need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Something personal.”
I felt nervous. “Is everything still okay at home?”
“I’m fine, Merry. It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just—” She stopped.
“What?”
Lissa hesitated before saying softly, “Okay, it’s about Jon Klein and—”
Skip yelled, “Supper!” in my ear.
I covered the receiver, glaring at him. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”
He shrugged uncaringly. “Mom said to get yourself to the table fast; we’re running late.”
I tried to shoo him away, but he kept hanging around, acting like a real dope. Finally, I turned back to the phone. “Sorry, Liss. Guess we’ll have to talk later, when we can talk in private,” I said loudly for Skip’s benefit.
Lissa said good-bye and we hung up. I raced Skip to the kitchen, wondering what sort of personal thing Lissa had to tell me about Jon.
Later, when Skip and I showed up at church, it was crowded. I spotted Jon and Elton in the lobby. Jon looked wonderful as always, tall and with an air of confidence. Elton seemed nervous, though. His eyes darted back and forth, and I wondered if he’d ever been inside a church building before.
Since two other local youth groups had joined us for the service, seating was limited. I hurried to claim the empty chair beside Lissa, placing my Polaroid camera under my seat. If we’d arrived sooner, I might’ve asked her what was so important about Jon, right then and there.
Soon Jon, with Elton following close behind, found seats at the far end of our row. Jon leaned over and smiled at us, but Elton sat straight and rigid, staring at the platform where the musicians were warming up. I decided to wait till later to hand over my camera.
After the second praise chorus, Lissa whispered, “Do you think Elton’s into this at all?”
“You might be surprised.”
There were the usual announcements about social events going on during April, but I was most interested in the upcoming Spring Spree, one week from today. It was an annual thing at our church. Girls could invite the boy of their choice to the church-sponsored dinner, which raised money for a Christian hunger-relief organization. Because it was for a good cause, most guys paid their own way, but some girls opted to cover the cost of both tickets.
Was it possible that what Lissa wanted to tell me about Jon had something to do with the Spring Spree? Maybe she’d heard that Jon wanted me to ask him! That kind of talk would be sweet music to my ears.
I hadn’t gone last year, because at fourteen, my parents had considered me too young to go. This year, however, I hoped to get up the nerve to ask someone.
While the youth pastor plugged the spree, Lissa looked at me curiously. “You going?”
I shrugged. No sense telling her till I knew if Jon agreed.
After several songs, the offering, and a couple of numbers by a local Christian band, the special speaker was introduced. “I am happy to have a very talented artist, Anthony Fritchey, with us tonight…all the way from Vermont.” The youth pastor grinned and sat down.
Everyone clapped, welcoming Anthony to our church.
A tripod with a green chalkboard stood ready. Anthony picked up a piece of chalk and quickly drew a giant ant, then made a plus sign. Next to that came a two-thousand weight, another plus sign, and a quick sketch of a human knee. “What’s my name?” he called, pointing to each of the three symbols.
“Ant-ton-knee,” we all shouted. The service was off to a great start. I crossed my legs and settled back in my seat, eager to watch the work of this artist
-evangelist. I’d heard of people using their talents for the Lord, but I’d never seen an artist do chalk drawings to inspirational music.
Beginning with a choral piece, “God So Loved the World,” as a backdrop, Anthony created a detailed sketch before our eyes. His hand movements were quick, yet graceful, as he portrayed God saying good-bye to His only Son as Jesus prepared to leave heaven.
Deftly, Anthony drew one scene after another, telling the story of Jesus’ short life on planet earth. When it came time for the picture of Jesus hanging on the cross, most of the kids were leaning forward on their seats, spellbound. It was so moving the way Anthony portrayed the pain, the agony, in Jesus’ face.
God’s Son was dying for us!
I happened to look over at Elton. To my surprise, big tears rolled unchecked down his face. Forcing my gaze away from him, I prayed silently, tears coming to my own eyes as I tried to focus my attention on the grand resurrection scene coming up. The “Hallelujah Chorus” set the stage for the triumphal moment, and I wanted to cheer as the artist finished his incredible work.
Unprepared for Elton’s initial reaction, I was even more surprised when he stood up and began clapping slowly and somewhat awkwardly. In a moment, all of us were on our feet applauding, not so much for the unique evangelist, but because of the truth he’d so creatively conveyed.
My heart was warmed by Elton’s response. Was this the first time he’d heard the Gospel? I honestly didn’t know. Anyway, lots of kids greeted Elton after the service, encouraging him to come back.
Lissa and I went over to say hi. When I gave Elton my Polaroid camera and showed him how to use it, I watched his eyes. Even though his face was expressionless, I was sure I saw the beginnings of a twinkle in his eyes. The windows to his soul.
Lissa got started talking about Elton on the way home. Skip didn’t act a bit interested. He was too “cool.” Some older brothers were like that.
“Why’d you give him your instant camera?” Lissa asked.
“It’s a good way to record the things you’re sketching,” I explained in spite of Skip’s rude looks. “I use it all the time for that.”
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll lose it or something?” she asked.
“Not if it’s in his backpack. He wears it everywhere.”
Lissa was silent for a moment. Then she asked, “What do you think is wrong with Elton?”
“I think he’s lots smarter than people give him credit for,” I said, turning around to face Lissa in the backseat. I didn’t tell her about the “conversation” I’d had with Elton in the willow grove earlier. Skip would never let me live it down. I was surprised he hadn’t overreacted about the camera by now.
“Does anyone know why he can’t talk?” she asked.
Skip turned on the radio. “Ever hear of autism?” he said, as if he knew what he was talking about. “Maybe that’s his problem.”
“It seems as if he’s always daydreaming,” Lissa said. “Do you think he’s out of touch with reality?”
“No!” I said, surprised at my outburst.
Skip gave me a sideways look. “My little Merry sounds pretty sure of herself tonight,” he taunted.
“Don’t call me your little anything,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Skip muttered, turning up the volume on the radio. “Bet you’ll be mighty ticked when he wrecks your precious Polaroid.” There. Skip hadn’t disappointed me after all.
I turned around, looking at Lissa again. “See what you’re missing out on by being an only child?”
Lissa gave me a half smile. Her biggest wish was to have a sister or brother. She’d often said how lonely it was being the only kid in a house where both parents worked. At least now her father was sober. And going to therapy every week.
Skip checked both ways before turning off Hunsecker Road. One thing for sure, my brother was a careful driver. Nothing like Zap ’em Zook.
We passed acres of pastureland and Amish farmhouses. I stared as we came up on the Fishers’ place. Was Ben at home or out causing more trouble?
Skip looked at me. “Sounds like Ben Fisher really had a run-in with the Amish bishops.”
“I heard about it.”
“He’s only got two weeks before his probation’s up and they kick him out of the Amish church,” Skip said.
Then unexpectedly, just ahead, something blocked the road. “Watch out!” I shouted.
Skip slammed on the brakes. Our brights were shining on a herd of…
“Cows! Abe Zook’s milk cows are out!” Skip hollered, leaping out of the car.
I unsnapped my seat belt and hopped out with Skip. “How on earth did they get loose?”
“One guess,” Skip said sarcastically. I knew he was thinking of Ben. “You better run and alert the Zooks.” He got in the car and backed it up slowly, turning off the headlights.
“Looks like everyone’s in bed already,” I said, motioning for Lissa to come with me.
Skip turned off the ignition. “They’ll be glad you got them up. Hurry, Mer.” And he headed off to start rounding up the cattle.
My heart pounded ninety miles an hour as Lissa and I hurried up the Zooks’ lane. Twenty-four dairy cows roaming loose was nothing to sneeze at. Those cows were the lifeblood of our neighbors’ income. With every step, I became more furious with Ben Fisher. Or whoever had done this horrible thing.
Chapter
8
It was almost midnight by the time we got the cows in the barn. Levi volunteered to sleep outside to keep watch. It struck me as very noble. My thoughts spun a web of admiration for my longtime friend.
The second oldest son of Abe Zook was, and always had been, a friend to the end. True, he was flirtatious, but when it came right down to it, there was no way on this wide earth I’d ever be hearing about Levi being hauled off to the Amish bishop!
Abe thanked us for our help and offered to give us money as we left.
“We’ve been your neighbors all these years,” Skip said, waving his hand. “No need to start acting like strangers now.”
Abe slapped Skip on the back, grinning. Skip was right, of course. And for the first time in ages, I felt proud to be called his little Merry.
Once we got home, Lissa and I were wiped out, too exhausted to have our private talk. Whatever she had to say about Jon Klein would have to wait till morning.
The familiar sound of clip-clopping seemed to come and go as it mingled with my early morning dreams. Had it not been Sunday, I would’ve been content simply to sleep away the exhaustion of the night before. But Sundays were the Lord’s day at our house, and no matter how late we’d gotten to bed the night before, Sunday mornings meant early rising.
It wasn’t just difficult to wake up Lissa, it was next to impossible. She had burrowed herself into my blue-striped comforter. I piled my sleepy cat trio, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, on top of her. A moan drifted out of the blankets. Abednego took it as a signal to play. He pawed at the covers, leaping on the mound that was Lissa’s head.
“Rise and shine!” Dad’s deep voice resonated through the hallway.
“Lissa,” I said, shaking her. “Better wake up, or we won’t have time to talk.”
While I waited for her to respond, I stared at my collection of framed photography on the far wall—my gallery. It was a display area for my best work. Everything from scenes of trees in autumn and Amish windmills to Faithie’s gravestone adorned the wall.
“C’mon, Lissa. Wake up!” I jostled her some more.
“I’m tired” came her sleepy voice. “Can’t you shower first?”
“Only if you promise you’ll be up when I’m finished.”
She giggled under the covers. “You sound like a drill sergeant.”
“Well, I am, and you’d better get up or—”
“Merry,” Mom called through the door. “I need you downstairs as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling cheated. Now when would I get to hear what Lissa had on her mind?<
br />
On my way to the closet, I passed my bulletin board. Elton’s charred sketch of me hung in the middle of it. I studied the drawing for a moment, once again amazed at his talent.
By the time I was out of the shower, Lissa was dancing around, anxious to claim some privacy in the bathroom. Quickly, I dressed and towel-dried my hair in my room, waiting for her to come back out and get her clothes before her shower. But she was taking forever and soon Mom was calling again. Frustrated, I left my room and hurried downstairs.
“Looks as if the Zooks are having church today,” Dad said as he stood at the sink, gazing out the window. “Good thing they got those milk cows back in the barn last night.”
“Sure would like to know who’d do such a thing,” I said, setting the table. “Cows don’t get out by themselves, you know.”
He turned around, wearing a serious look on his unshaven face. “I think it’s time the police heard about Ben Fisher, don’t you, hon?”
Mom grabbed the skillet out of the pantry. “It’s hard to know what to say or do,” she said, pouring a cup of pancake mix into a bowl. “The Amish have their own way of dealing with things like this.”
I spoke up. “But Dad’s right. Something should be done, before someone gets hurt.” I hesitated to say more. Rachel would be upset if I told my parents everything that had been happening.
Dad kept talking. The more he talked, the more I realized he already knew about everything: the hate mail, the broken window, the poisoned chickens…everything.
“I think I’ll go over and have a neighborly chat with Abe,” Dad said, stroking his prickly chin.
Since the Amish Sunday meeting usually meant sitting around and visiting long after the noon meal, Abe Zook would be busy with his friends and relatives till afternoon milking. I reminded Dad of that.
“That’s true,” he said. “And we’ll be getting home too late from our evening service for me to go over then.” The Amish always went to bed with the chickens, around nine or so—whether they had any or not.
“Should I tell Rachel you’re coming tomorrow?” I asked.
Mom spun around, her hand steadying the mixing bowl. “That’s not such a good idea,” she said. “I don’t want you getting involved with this, Merry. It sounds a bit dangerous to me.”
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 Page 13