SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  I slid his chair away from the desk, making sure it screeched across the hardwood floor. That way Skip would know I meant business, since his bedroom was directly above Dad’s study.

  Listening, I smiled. The unmistakable sound of footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

  Genius!

  I made a mad dash out of Skip’s room and down the hall to my bedroom. With my heart pounding ninety miles an hour, I locked the door.

  Chapter

  10

  “What were you doing in my room?” Skip bellowed through my door.

  I giggled at his reaction. “I gave you fair warning.”

  “I’m telling Mom!”

  “Go ahead.”

  I heard the pounding of his big feet on the back stairs that led down to the kitchen. But as fast as he left, he returned, thumping his fist against my door.

  “Where’s Mom?” he demanded.

  “Probably out for her afternoon stroll, dear brother,” I said, sprinkling my words with a British accent.

  “Cut the Brit routine,” he sneered. “You’re dead meat for this.”

  “What did I do?”

  He stomped around outside my door. “Did you snoop through anything?” There was a twinge of desperation in his voice.

  Good. Maybe this would give me some leverage for later. If and when I needed it.

  “So,” I began snootily, “it’s you and Nikki, is it?”

  “When are you ever going to keep your nose out of other people’s business?”

  I let him rant on and on while I reclined on my bed, stroking my four cats. The door seemed to heave and sway with the noise of his threats and accusations.

  When I didn’t comment for a long time, he insisted that I answer. I remained silent, laughing under my breath that I’d never even touched his precious desk drawer. Or journal. Finally, he evaporated—the weirdest brother a girl could ever have.

  When I knew he was back in his room, probably recounting his most recent romantic chat in his journal, I crept down the hall, past his door, to the steps.

  Downstairs, I found peace and solitude in Dad’s study as I talked on the phone to Chelsea. When I hung up, Lissa called.

  “Hi, Mer,” she said, all pert and sweet.

  I curled my toes. She was the last person on earth I wanted to talk to. “How’s your family tree growing?” I said.

  She laughed. “Very clever.”

  I held my breath, afraid she’d say, Say that with all c’s.

  “Chelsea and I got most of ours done yesterday,” I said.

  “Jon and I are nearly finished, too,” she said.

  More than anything, I wished that were true. Finished as in kaput—over!

  Lissa continued. “I can’t wait for the ninth-grade picnic. It’ll be really cool. You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Not sure.” If she and Jon were going, there was no way I’d be showing up.

  “Why don’t you ask someone?” She sounded all excited. “Then the four of us could go together!”

  Oh no! This was truly horrible.

  “We’ll see,” I said, gritting my teeth.

  “Don’t wait too long,” she advised. “The picnic’s less than two weeks away.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Well, I’d better get going. See ya.” We hung up.

  Frustrated, I went to do math homework, trying not to think depressing thoughts. It wasn’t easy. Lissa was wild about Jon; there was no getting past that. But how interested was Jon in her ?

  I finished my algebra in record time, then headed to the garage to get my bike, securing my camera case and water bottle in the bike basket before pushing off.

  I wondered if I’d see Mom out walking, but I knew she usually went up the hill toward Strawberry Lane. I was going down Summer-Hill to the covered mill bridge several miles from here. Besides, I needed to be alone.

  It was a good long distance to pedal, but the exercise wasn’t the only draw. Hunsecker’s Mill Bridge was beautiful any time of year, but especially in late spring. A truly peaceful place to contemplate life’s disappointments…among other things.

  The afternoon was humid, but a mild breeze rippled the grass in the ditch beside the dirt road. Birds sang heartily as I followed the banks and curves of SummerHill Lane toward the main road. I suspected an afternoon shower—the birds seemed to know these things first—although there was little indication from the sky. A perfect deep blue, and only a few thunderclouds in the distance.

  Everywhere I looked, flowers were beginning to push their heads up, adding a colorful addition to my ride and a fragrant touch to the air. Summer was almost here!

  I stopped by the side of the road to take a picture of Mrs. Fisher’s flowers. Profuse with dark pink peonies, the lovely flower garden was framed by two lilac bushes, one on each side. Carefully, I set my camera for the proper lighting and distance, then snapped away, hoping at least one of the shots would capture the brilliance.

  Just then Ben Fisher, the oldest son, came outside. “Hello, Merry!” He sat on the front step.

  I smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get you in the picture.”

  “That’s good. I’ve been in enough trouble for a spell.” He exchanged a somber look with his elderly father, who sat in a hickory rocking chair nearby, puffing on a pipe.

  I snapped my camera case shut and waved good-bye, wondering how Ben was doing. He’d dabbled with the modern world for a while—sowed some wild oats as the Amish say—even bought a car and had an English girlfriend. But Levi Zook, his true and loyal friend, had helped bring him back into the Amish community, even after Ben was uncovered as the culprit behind the Zooks’ recent barn fire.

  Last I heard, Ben had given a kneeling confession in front of the local church district not long ago. All was forgiven. I wondered if Levi and Ben were still good friends—and if so, why was Levi running with a crowd like the Mule Skinners?

  I hurried down the road, eager for the tranquil setting of the Conestoga River and the old covered bridge. Pedaling hard, I flew down SummerHill to the intersection at Hunsecker Mill Road.

  Minutes later, I arrived at the bridge. I got off my bike and pushed it through the deep wild grass along the south side. Locating a tree, I abandoned my wheels, and with camera and water bottle in tow, headed for the quiet banks of the river.

  There, in the partial shade of a giant maple, I settled down for some serious photo shooting. First, I took several shots of the bridge itself, finding the most unique angle possible for my scrapbook. Next came the river and the large, stately trees and flowering bushes. What a glorious day!

  I put my camera away and sat there, listening to the sounds of springtime as the midafternoon light cast curious shadows over the water. I wondered what it would be like to have someone fall in love with me. Really and truly in love.

  Oh, I’d formed some ethereal ideas about it, of course, but never anything concrete. Maybe he’d paint my name on a billboard somewhere. Maybe he’d hire a sky painter. And there was always the Goodyear blimp…

  I daydreamed about the endless possibilities. And by so doing, forced the discouraging thoughts of Jon Klein out of my mind.

  Down the road to the east, I heard hoofbeats. Fast, clippityclopping ones. Soon the horse and buggy came into view. For a fleeting moment, I envied the young couple in the open courting buggy.

  I stood up, trying to get a better look.

  The buggy made the turn into the bridge. Pounding hoofbeats rattled the loose boards inside. Was it my imagination, or had the driver increased his speed? It sounded like the wild, reckless way Levi Zap ’em Zook handled his horse.

  I sat back down in the grass, ducking my head, hoping Levi wouldn’t see me. If it was Levi.

  “Merry!” came his voice. “I know you’re over there.”

  I popped up like I’d been shot out of a cannon. “Hi, Levi,” I called to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I should ask you the same question, jah?”
He tipped his hat flirtatiously.

  My brain was definitely out of commission, but I must not have been aware of it then. I stooped to pick up my water bottle and camera case and proceeded to walk over to the road. To Levi.

  “Well, now, Merry, wouldja care for a lift home?” he asked, glancing heavenward. As if on cue, a thunderclap made me jump.

  “I…uh, better not. But thanks,” I said, gazing at his beautiful black buggy.

  “It’s all right, Merry. Honest.” He leaned forward, his foot on the rim, extending his hand to me. I had to admit he looked handsome in his Sunday best, his light brown bangs peeking out of his black wide-brimmed hat. Very handsome, now that I thought about it.

  Hesitant, I asked, “What if someone sees you with me? Won’t you be in trouble?”

  He laughed, suddenly displaying an umbrella. “Not for being neighborly.”

  I smiled. He had a point.

  “What about my bike?” I glanced over my shoulder.

  “Easy as pie,” he said. “It’ll fit.” And he jumped down and went with me to retrieve it.

  “Well, I guess you win this time,” I said.

  When my bike was finally situated, Levi helped me into the front of his buggy. I sat beside him to his left and caught the scent of sweet aftershave. Had he seen me leave my house earlier? Had he planned this encounter?

  Feeling shy, I looked down and noticed the slate-gray wall-towall carpeting on the floor. A large speedometer attached to a minidashboard on the right side was planted directly in front of Levi.

  Quickly, he opened the umbrella. “It’s starting to rain,” he said, holding it over our heads with one hand.

  I glanced at the dark sky from my sheltered perch, still surprised that I’d allowed myself to do this. “Thanks for the ride,” I said for courtesy’s sake. Yet I felt safe and protected next to Levi. Nothing like the way I thought it would be riding in an open buggy on a rainy Sunday.

  Levi turned to face me under our private canopy. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Merry.” The serious look in his eyes took me off guard.

  Then, gallantly, he picked up the reins with his other hand and gently trotted his beautiful Morgan horse up the road toward SummerHill.

  Chapter

  11

  All the way up Hunsecker Mill Road, Levi and I talked. There was plenty of time for it. The pace of horse and buggy transportation wasn’t exactly speedy at twelve miles per hour—and that was pushing it.

  Under the menacing rain clouds, Levi and I talked about everything. I never realized how much we had in common. He truly loved nature. He appreciated the beauty of the earth-brown soil, the golden corn tassels, and the blue of his alfalfa field—together creating a colorful patchwork quilt.

  “Have ya seen the mint leaves growing over in the meadow behind the barn?” Levi asked, full of questions. “Have ya seen the sun setting behind the Yoders’ tobacco shed?”

  I waited till the flow of questions stopped. “It’s going to be a beautiful summer,” I said at last.

  “Jah,” he agreed. “It could be a wonderful-gut summer.” He slowed the horse from a trot to a leisurely walk, still holding the umbrella over our heads.

  I wondered why we were slowing down.

  “Merry,” he said, turning to me. “I want to know something.”

  My hands felt clammy in my lap.

  Levi didn’t smile as he spoke. “I like ya, Merry. Always have.”

  I gave a soft little laugh, remembering our childhood pranks. The rope swing in the hayloft. The fun of growing up next to a houseful of Amish kids. “We’ve been good friends for a long time,” I said.

  “But I must know your true answer.”

  “To what?”

  Levi pulled on the reins with his free hand, halting his horse right there in the middle of the road. He paused a second, studying me. “Merry, will ya be my girl?”

  Any other time I would’ve been shocked by such a question. But sitting here, sharing our interests and talking freely the way we had, his question seemed like a semi-reasonable request.

  His eyes were sincere and made me feel shy. I responded by looking down at my lap, speechless.

  “Merry?” His voice pursued me.

  I looked up slowly. “There’s a lot to think about, Levi. For one thing, you’re Amish. Remember what happened to your friend Ben Fisher?”

  He shrugged. “Ben did some terrible, awful things, but you…you and me, we’re friends from long past.”

  “Still, how could you think of dating an English girl?” It was the argument I’d brought up two days ago in the potato field.

  “I’m not thinking of dating an English girl.” His face broke into a broad grin. “I want to spend time with you.”

  “And I’m English.” I sighed. “Besides, I’m too young to be courted.”

  “Merry, we’d just be getting to know each other better. And I will be busy working the farm this summer, ya know. There won’t be much time for—”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Amish boys see their girls every other Saturday night and sometimes after Sunday night singings. They go for a long drive.”

  I leaned back, giving him an honest-to-goodness straightforward look. “Oh, so that’s it.” I laughed. “You intend to hide me under the stars.”

  He grinned. “We always keep such things secret. That’s our way. But I would not hide ya purposely from the view of my parents.”

  I understood. All Amish dating and courtship was conducted under the covering of night. No one ever really knew whom an Amish boy was seeing until the Schteckliman or go-between verified an engagement of marriage with the bride-to-be and her parents. Levi and his people had been doing things the same way for three hundred years.

  “But what would happen if you were seen with me?” I asked, still curious about Levi’s willingness to risk being caught.

  “It won’t happen,” he said firmly.

  “And if it did?”

  Levi let the reins drop over his right knee. He steadied the umbrella with both hands, leaning close to me. “I am not certain about my future as an Amishman,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Baptism into the church would change everything for me, Merry. For now, I am free to decide, don’tcha see?”

  This was serious talk. I felt uneasy hearing Levi discuss his uncertainties. “What about the girls in your crowd?” I asked. “Won’t they wonder why you’re not asking them out?”

  Levi picked up the reins with his right hand, still holding the umbrella over my head. “There are no Amish girls for me, Merry.” He looked away, suddenly paying more attention to the road ahead.

  A car was coming in the opposite lane, and for the first time since I’d consented to ride with Levi, I felt nervous. Worried for him, I slouched a bit, hoping the driver wouldn’t see me.

  The red sports car sped past us, and I felt a light spray. The rain had stopped beating down on us now, but the road glistened from the afternoon shower. A gentle drizzle made the ride in Levi’s buggy even more enchanting.

  Suddenly, I realized who the red car belonged to. Miss Spindler—Old Hawk Eyes herself!

  My throat went dry thinking about the nosy neighbor who lived behind my house. If she had spotted me with Levi just now, we were as good as published on the front page of the Lancaster New Era!

  “I could leave the Sunday singin’ early and come getcha,” Levi was saying.

  “Only if I agree to it.”

  He nodded solemnly, playing along with me.

  Then I giggled, thinking about the snazzy red sports car and its owner. “That was Miss Spindler back there, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Ach, she’s harmless,” he said. “What good would it do for her to tell on us?”

  “Oh, you might be surprised. Old Hawk Eyes lives for the opportunity to spy on her neighbors.”

  A chuckle escaped Levi’s lips. “Well, then, our problem is solved, isn’t it?”

  I was totally confused. �
��What problem?”

  “If she saw us, then everything’s already out in the open.” His eyes were shining. “No more worries, jah?”

  “Maybe not for you.” I shook my head, thinking about Mom and Dad. What would they think if I consented to go out with an Amish boy?

  Chapter

  12

  When we approached the dirt lane leading to the Zook farm, I asked Levi to let me out. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, eyeing the speedometer on his makeshift dashboard. There was no question in my mind that he would’ve zipped down SummerHill if I hadn’t accepted the ride.

  “I hope I’ll see ya again soon,” he said, bringing the horse to a stop.

  “If the rains keep coming, maybe you will,” I joked, glancing at the sky. “I would’ve been soaked if you hadn’t come.”

  He leaped into the back of the buggy to unload my bike. “Will ya give me your answer soon, Merry?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, even though I had no idea what on earth there was to consider.

  “Okay, then,” he said, smiling to beat the band. “I’ll say good-bye.”

  “Bye, Levi. And thanks again.”

  He sprang up into his buggy, lifted the reins, and sped toward his house. I giggled as I hopped on my bike. Zap ’em Zook was showing off again.

  After I arrived home, I finished the remaining work required for my family history by making several phone calls to local relatives. It was actually fun doing the phone interviews, and since it was Sunday, most everyone was home and eager to chat about their life, reciting dates and details.

  I was surprised that nearly all my Hanson relatives had heard about Joseph Lapp and his shunning.

  Later, Mom gave me permission to call her sister long distance. Because Aunt Teri was deaf, I knew I’d be talking to Uncle Pete. He would sign the questions to his wife and she’d sign her responses back to him.

  “Hello?” he answered the phone.

  “Hi, Uncle Pete. This is your niece in Pennsylvania.”

  “Well, how’s merry Merry doing these days?” He always said my name twice.