SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1

by Beverly Lewis

  Dad nodded. “Maybe she knows this verse in the Old Testament.” He moved the Bible closer to me.

  “Which one?” I leaned over the table.

  “Here—Second Chronicles, thirty-two, seven. ‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged.’ ”

  “Maybe you’re right.” I laughed. “But I never hear Susie quoting Bible verses. Not Rachel, either. Some Amish don’t teach their children to memorize scriptures.”

  “But they do get their children outside and working, doing chores, and learning new things real young. That toughens them up.” He glanced at the ceiling as though he was thinking back. “I remember when Levi was about six. Old Abe had him out plowing the field by himself.”

  “That young?”

  Dad scooped up more ice cream. “Come to think of it, Levi was out driving a pony cart up and down SummerHill Lane around the same age.”

  No wonder Levi’s so comfortable driving a buggy, I thought, remembering how he’d steered us through congested traffic today.

  “Well, little Susie’s just like him,” I said. “But catching fireflies is her big interest now.” I described how she and I had run around putting them in canning jars.

  “I did the same thing as a kid. We’d catch them and pull their tails off. The light would keep shining for a long time afterward.”

  “So you’ve told me. I still think that’s gross.” I glanced around the kitchen, even leaned my chair back and peered into the dark dining room. “Where is everyone?”

  “Skip’s out on a date, and your mother’s visiting Miss Spindler. Took a plate of cookies over to her.”

  “Old Hawk Eyes,” I said, referring to the neighbor behind us on Strawberry Lane. “Usually by this late in the summer, she has the neighborhood news posted on every street corner.”

  Dad chuckled. “What would it be like, living for the sheer pleasure of gossiping?”

  “It’s gotta be mighty boring—I mean, it sorta tells you something about her life, right?”

  “Can you imagine how hot her phone lines must be?” He dug into more ice cream. “Speaking of phones, Lissa Vyner called about thirty minutes ago.”

  I didn’t have to guess why she was calling. She was probably still recuperating from seeing me with Levi today.

  Reluctantly, I scooted my chair out from the table. “Mind if I use your phone?”

  Glancing up, he mumbled something and nodded. I headed down the hall to Dad’s private study and closed the door.

  Lissa answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Hi,” I said. “You called?”

  “Merry, have you lost your mind?” I should’ve known this wasn’t going to be friendly.

  “That’s it, cut right to the chase,” I muttered.

  “Look, Mer, I know you’re mad about something.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  She breathed into the phone. “Well, if you won’t level with me, at least maybe you can clear up something else.”

  Here it comes, I thought.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that…that…”

  “Amish buggy,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Repeat after me: b-u-g-g-y.”

  “Merry! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Maybe I should ask you that question.”

  “I’m just worried,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You’re worried because I happen to have some very nice Amish friends?”

  “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about,” she said.

  “Oh, do I?”

  Lissa sighed into the phone. “You’re making this hard.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” I said, ready to cut this discussion short. “Why don’t you just spell it out?”

  “Okay. Why are you still hanging out with that Amish guy?”

  “And why not?”

  She was obviously past the boiling point. “We…I…thought it was only a crush, that you’d be over Levi Zook by now.”

  “Well…welcome to the real world!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She sounded completely baffled. “You’re not actually going out with him, are you?”

  “Why should I change my mind now?”

  “It’s just that I hoped you’d get tired of being with those Amish farmers and…and come back—you know, to us.”

  “Who’s us?”

  “Your real friends.”

  I almost choked. “Real friends don’t do this.”

  “Merry, you’re turning the whole thing around. I called to tell you that I miss you. So does everyone else.”

  Jon too? I wondered.

  “I got a postcard from Chelsea today,” she continued. “She’s in California at Disneyland.”

  “I know…so?”

  “She asked how you were doing, like she was concerned.”

  Chelsea Davis and I had known each other since grade school. Recently, we’d gotten better acquainted when we teamed up on a social studies project at the end of the school year.

  “Chelsea doesn’t have to worry,” I said. “And neither do you. I’m having the time of my life. And if you can’t understand that, then I guess we have no reason to be talking right now.”

  “But, Merry—”

  I hung up. Just like that—hung up the phone.

  The next morning I slept in. Saturdays were made for sleeping late, especially when it was so warm and humid outside. Two more days before the sizzling Fourth.

  Halfway between consciousness and drowsiness, while curling up with my pillow, I thought of Lissa. I’d done the wrong thing by hanging up on her, even though I felt she had it coming. Doing the right thing wasn’t always easy, especially for an impulsive person like me, but the fact that I’d led Lissa to the Lord made me feel irresponsible.

  The whole thing had gotten out of hand, starting with the way she’d accused me of losing my mind just because I was friends with Levi. After breakfast, I thought of calling her to apologize, but Dad was involved with some computer work in his study, and I didn’t want to risk being overheard on another phone in the house.

  Mom was busy baking for the Fourth of July. She had the idea that a holiday—any special day—was an automatic excuse to cook up a storm. And company or not, we always had oodles of food around. Even for incidental days like April Fool’s Day and Mother-in-Law Day.

  I hurried upstairs to my room, hoping I wouldn’t be asked to divide egg whites or measure sugar for Mom’s pies. The truth was, I felt betrayed. She’d sided last night with my brother on the Levi issue, accepting what Skip had said—that Levi was out to convert me—as fact. After all, I was her daughter, her own flesh and blood. She ought to know me better than that!

  I’d tried to block last night’s conversation out of my mind, but her words rang in my memory: Love is blind.

  How could Mom jump to such a conclusion? Why did she have such a hard time remembering what it was like being fifteen, nearly sixteen?

  A brief, yet intensely satisfying feeling stirred through me as I reveled in my secret knowledge. Levi had no intention to convert me to Amish. But he did have plans…for himself. Now, if I could just hear them straight from Levi’s lips.

  I set to work organizing my room, sorting through scenic photos I’d taken last month, arranging them according to subject matter: flowers, trees, the banks of the Conestoga River, and an old covered bridge. My plan was to purchase another scrapbook with next week’s allowance.

  That finished, I played with my cats, forgetting about calling Lissa. Then I really lost track of time while going through my bookcase. Looking through my poetry collection, I found some great stuff to show Susie’s grandfather.

  After lunch, Mom asked me to take a lemon meringue pie over to Miss Spindler. I watched as she placed it carefully inside her clothlined pie basket. “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  “It’s almost the Fourth, you know. Just wanted to do something nice for Ruby Spindler.”

  I headed
out the back door and past the white gazebo in our yard. Old Hawk Eyes was sitting on her patio thumbing through a craft magazine when I arrived.

  “Well, hello there, dearie.” She got up from her chaise lounge. “How’s every little thing?”

  “Fine, thanks.” I held out the pie. “Mom made this for you.”

  She peeked inside the basket. “Ah…my very favorite.” Turning back to me, she said, “Well, now, Miss Merry, you tell that mama of yours a big thank you. Ya hear?”

  I nodded. “I will. And you have a nice Fourth of July.”

  “Well, I certainly hope to,” she replied. “And you…you will, too, won’tcha, dear?” A curious expression crossed her wrinkled face. “But of course, the Amish don’t celebrate that holiday, do they?”

  Now I was the one with the curious look.

  “Honey-girl, don’t look so surprised,” she went on. “Everyone round here knows ’bout you and that Zook boy. Personally, I think it’s kinda sweet—if I say so myself.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Spindler,” I said. “What is it everyone knows?”

  Her mouth drooped. “Well, I’ll be…” She paused. “You really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, do you, darlin’?”

  I could see this had the potential for turning into a long, drawnout conversation, and I certainly didn’t want to feed her gossip column with my personal views and opinions. It was flat-out none of her beeswax about Levi and me!

  She tilted her head to one side. “Are you all right?”

  “Just fine, thanks. Now, if you don’t mind, I better go.”

  My heart pounded heavily as I ran across her backyard and down the slope to ours. I could never be sure, but I was almost positive Miss Spindler was watching my every move. I could feel her eyes boring into me. That’s what the old lady was all about. That’s why Skip and I, and Rachel and Levi—all of us—called her Old Hawk Eyes.

  Knowing how she was, I should’ve dismissed her outrageous comments for what they were. Outrageous and absolutely false. But for some reason, I let her words sink into me long into the afternoon, on until it was time to meet Levi after milking.

  “Wilkom, Merry,” he said as I came into the barn.

  “Hi.” I spied the long rope in the hayloft. It was the same rope Levi had been swinging on when I said I’d be his girl.

  “Was ist letz?” he asked. “What is wrong?”

  I looked around to see if we were alone. “Is it safe to talk here?”

  He took off his straw hat and wiped his forehead. “Dat will be comin’ in soon, so best hurry.”

  I didn’t waste any time. “I’m sorry, Levi, but I’m not going anywhere with you in your buggy tonight.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “Your family’s concerned…they don’t want me to be your girlfriend.”

  He put his hat back on. “I hear in your voice that there’s more to it, jah?”

  I sighed. “Everyone’s talking, Levi. People who don’t even know you—and others—are saying things.”

  “Ach, what things?”

  I moved closer to him. “That you’re thinking of leaving the Amish.” I studied him closely, tracing with my eyes every familiar angle of his tan face. This fantastically handsome face I’d known since I was a kid. “Is it true?”

  “You will be the first to know,” he said confidently, as though he’d already made up his mind. He reached for my hand. “There’s so much I wanna tell ya.”

  Gently, I pulled my hand away, and it was a good thing, too, because just then Abe Zook came into the barn the back way, through the cow door.

  “We hafta talk more,” he said with serious eyes, and I knew by the tone of his voice it couldn’t wait.

  No matter what, I would meet Levi later tonight. With or without the buggy ride.

  Chapter

  8

  At dusk, I took my poetry books over to Grandfather Zook. He was sitting with his wife in the front yard when I came. For more than an hour, they watched Susie and me catch fireflies. This time we filled nearly three-fourths of each jar. When we returned, we showed our bug-lanterns to Grandfather Zook.

  “Des gut,” he said, holding the jars in his calloused hands. “God has put His light in these here critters.”

  “Jah!” Susie said, grinning at me. “Now we hafta let ’em go.”

  “So soon?” I stared at the twinkling lights in my glass jar. “We just caught them.”

  “Maybe it’s time for me to read ya my poem,” Grandfather said. He grunted a bit as he got out of his lawn chair. Grandma Zook followed him up to the porch and waited along with us.

  Soon, he was back carrying a pad of yellow-lined paper. “Here we are.” And he sat down in his old hickory rocker.

  Susie crept in closer and sat at her grandfather’s feet. She pulled her knees up under her chin, her long dress and pinafore apron billowing out over her bare feet.

  Grandfather peered over the top of his glasses. “Now, when I do this”—and here he pointed to us—“both of you let your fireflies go.”

  “Okay!” Susie cried, obviously enjoying the dramatic prospect. “We’re going to act out Grossdawdy’s poem.” She giggled.

  Her grandfather waited without speaking, and Susie settled down. Then he began to read:

  “Night of the Fireflies”

  by Jacob Zook

  ’Tis the night when martins sing,

  ’Tis the night for crows to caw,

  And dusk comes soft on tiptoes,

  In time for the firefly ball.

  Come one, come all,

  To the firefly ball.

  Dance with ’em, laugh with ’em,

  Run straight and tall.

  ’Tis the night when fireflies blink,

  ’Tis the night for stars to fall,

  And dusk comes wearing red satin,

  To await the firefly ball.

  Come one, come all,

  To the firefly ball.

  Dance with ’em, laugh with ’em,

  Run straight and tall.

  Grandfather pointed to us and we knew it was the cue to set our fireflies free. We opened our canning jars, releasing a spray of dazzling light as he read the third verse.

  ’Tis the night of the fireflies,

  ’Tis the night of grand light,

  And dusk wears honeysuckle,

  To dance at the firefly ball.

  Come one, come all,

  To the firefly ball.

  Fly with ’em, flit with ’em,

  Run straight and tall.

  He stopped reading and set his pad down in his lap. “It seems to me there oughta be one more verse.” He looked a little dreamy eyed.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “I think it’s great just the way it is!”

  “I told ya,” Susie said, jumping up. “Grandfather’s a real poet.”

  I was curious. “How did you learn to write poetry?”

  “Oh, every now and again I’ll scribble some things down,” Grandfather said. “Sometimes the words just seem to fit together.” He sighed audibly.

  It was getting late, and Levi would soon be coming for me. I hated to disturb the serene moment but said my good-byes to Susie and her grandfather. “Keep my poetry books as long as you like,” I said before leaving.

  “Denki,” Grandfather said, waving. “Come again, jah?”

  “I will,” I promised, hurrying down the Zooks’ lane to Summer-Hill. I thought of Susie and the fun we’d had. And Grandfather Zook’s lovely poem. Now, what on earth was Levi going to discuss with me?

  An hour later, a light splashed on my bedroom window. When I stuck my head out to investigate, I saw Levi below with a flashlight. “Can ya talk now?” he asked.

  “Meet me in the gazebo,” I said and hurried downstairs.

  Mom and Dad were relaxing, watching TV in the family room when I headed for the kitchen for some matches.

  “Where’re you off to?” Mom called.

  “I’ll be in the backyard,” I sa
id, taking the matches along to light the citronella candles that kept the mosquitoes away. I didn’t say why I was going or who I was going to meet. But Mom was smart about things—she’d probably already figured it out.

  I heard Skip snicker. “Be sure and take your dumb cats with you. Maybe they’ll scare your boyfriend away.”

  “Whatever.” I closed the screen door behind me. They had no idea what they were saying. Levi was the sweetest, kindest boy I’d ever known.

  He sat on the gazebo step, waiting. Shadows from the giant maples surrounding the white latticework played around him. I couldn’t see him clearly at first. Then, when I was within a few feet, I caught a clear glimpse. Levi was wearing contemporary clothes!

  “What on earth?” I said.

  His hair had been cut and styled weeks ago, so that was nothing new, but the blue jeans and button-down short-sleeve shirt…well, this new look was completely unsettling. Levi Zook could’ve passed for any other modern kid around!

  “Whaddaya think?” he asked.

  I avoided his question. “What does this mean?”

  “It only means that I’m trying on English ways.”

  My throat felt dry. Was this what he meant earlier today? Was this the way I would be the first to know?

  “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with me.” I didn’t want to sound presumptuous.

  “Don’tcha worry, Merry. I’ve been thinkin’ about this for as long as I can remember.”

  “Going English—really?”

  “Jah,” he said, moving over to make room for me to go into the gazebo and light the bug-repellent candles. “I’m not happy farmin’, and I wanna know what’s in books. I’m hungry for learnin’. Do ya understand?”

  I was relieved about his reasons. “You’re following your heart, then, right?”

  He nodded, looking at me as I motioned for him to sit on a padded lawn chair. “In another way, too.” He came and pulled the chair up next to mine, then reached for my hand. I could feel the coolness of his hand against my knuckles. My heart did a little dance.

  Yee-ikes! What was he going to say now?

  “I know we’re real young and all, Merry,” he began. “But I’ve been waitin’ a long time to ask you this.”