The Shunning

by Beverly Lewis

  In spite of Daed’s forlorn look, Levi and the rest of them headed outdoors for the newly painted carriage—intended to carry home a new Mam—happy with their tasty treasures. He could hardly wait to get home and dig in.

  In fact, he didn’t wait. The preaching service had lasted over two and a half hours, and he was hungry. He pinched off a hunk of warm bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

  His baby sister spied him. “Levi’s snitchin’,” Susie piped up.

  Their father did not reply until the girl repeated herself. At last, John Beiler waved his hand distractedly. “Leave your brother be.”

  Levi grinned, and Susie pursed her lips at him. Simultaneously, Nancy and Hickory John each put a hand on Levi’s shoulder. Daed was in no mood for their pranks, it was clear to see.

  “Where’s Katie, Daed?” little Jacob asked, looking a bit worried. “Ain’t she comin’ home with us?”

  John shook his head. “Not today.”

  “Did she take sick, maybe?”

  It took a long time for Daed to make up his mind, it seemed. “Can’t say she’s sick exactly. She didn’t seem to be feeling poorly earlier today. But about now, I’d be guessin’ she’s feeling a bit sickly— same as I do.”

  Levi felt sorry for his father, and if they hadn’t been out in broad open daylight, he’d have put his basket of food down and climbed up front to sit beside him. Poor Daed. First, Mamma has to die . . . and now this. . . .

  ———— Rebecca made a beeline for the haymow, where Katie often escaped to be alone. She scrambled up the ladder leading to the soft bed of hay high above the lower level and called, “Katie? Are you up here?”

  She checked behind several bales of hay, hoping to find Katie hiding there, sulking. She found only the barn cats and plenty of dust.

  When she was satisfied that the place was unoccupied, except for six or seven mouse-catchers, Rebecca turned to leave, heading outside again. This time she walked on the mule roads, choosing one that led toward the woods.

  Discouraged, she trudged along the vacant clearing, willing away tears of regret and disappointment. If she expected to help her daughter through this crisis, she’d have to remain sober and dry-eyed. Yet she felt resentment growing in her. What had possessed Katie to abandon the bishop on her day of days? What on earth could have been more important than marrying such a fine Amishman?

  A frightening notion struck her. Laura Mayfield-Bennett might even now be driving around the area, hoping for a glimpse of her long-lost child. She was dying, she’d written. That much Rebecca remembered, although there were times since she’d burned the letter that she wished she could remember more of its contents.

  What would it be like to be dying . . . never knowing your only child? Rebecca sighed, pushing on. Much as she hated to admit it, she really couldn’t blame the woman. Any mother would do the same.

  The stillness was almost eerie. The sun seemed to have forgotten it was mid-November and shone as hard and hot as though summer had returned, beating against Rebecca’s back. Her strides were short and swift as she made her way to the woods and beyond, then into the clearing and toward the pond with its secluded island.

  She stood on the shoreline, searching the area with hungry eyes.

  The old boat was nowhere to be seen—Rebecca’s first clue that her daughter may have chosen the childhood fortress as her refuge.

  “Katie!” she called, cupping her hands around her lips. “Katie, it’s Mamma!”

  She waited, hearing nothing.

  “Katie, are you all right?” she called again, studying the island where tall willow trees tangled with thick dry under-brush, creating a private cove unseen from this side.

  Her heart beat faster, and she called again and again, feeling the sorrow and the rejection gouge as deep as the silence.

  Would Katie answer if her flesh-and-blood mother were calling to her now? The thought left her weary.

  “You don’t have to tell me what’s-a-matter, Katie, honest ya don’t.

  Just let me be with you, girl.”

  She waited, longing for the voice she loved so dearly. But nothing could be heard except the sound of crows flitting back and forth across the placid water.

  Then she knew what must be said—the one thing that might make things easier for Katie. She said it with great sincerity, her voice cracking as she aimed her plea again in the direction of the island. “You don’t have to go back to the house just now. Don’t even have to marry the bishop if ya don’t want.”

  The waiting could have been likened to the travail of childbirth, so intense was it. Yet, just as her stillborn baby had never been given breath to voice its life cry, neither did Katie utter a sound.

  Torn between the impulse to leap into the pond and swim to Katie, and her obligation to the People gathered in her home, Rebecca sadly turned away and headed for the wooded trail.

  Under a willow tree nearest the center of the island, Katie sat with knees pulled up tightly under her chin. She had removed her devotional kapp and unpinned her bun, allowing the long auburn tresses to flow down over the front of her dress. Singing her favorite tunes, she ran her fingers through the traditional middle hair part, separating the strands, and swept it to one side, then plaited it into a thick braid.

  She played with her hair to her heart’s content, wishing for a small hand mirror to view the new look. The fancy new woman.

  She began to sing louder as she unraveled her hair and rebraided it, weaving in dried wisps of willow leaves, wishing they were gold cords or silken hair ribbons.

  “I’m Katherine now,” she called to the sky. “My name is Katherine Mayfield.” She forced images of her parents’ sad faces from her mind.

  Looking out toward the pond, she decided to have a peek at herself and would have made it to the small pier, except that she heard her mother’s voice at that very moment. Quickly, she crouched in the shelter of the brownish willow curtain. Despite the absence of lush greenery, she was certain she was well hidden. Several times Mam called out to her, probably hoping to lure her from her hiding place. But Katie didn’t budge. This was her day. A day to sort out the questions and haunting fears. A day to let the fancy side of her go unbridled, with no one to call her to account.

  She waited until she saw her mother turn and, with shoulders slouched, plod back to the wooded trail and home to face their guests.

  Katie allowed herself just the tiniest twinge of regret for placing her parents in this embarrassing position. Still, they’d most likely go on with the feast as planned, eating and visiting and wondering what had possessed her. There would be no lighthearted celebration under the circumstances, but the atmosphere would be sweet with the bond of peace and the kindred spirit of the People.

  No matter. This was her time, and she planned to make the most of it. Katie crept toward the pier and flattened herself against it, staring into the pond water below.

  Her hair. How different it looked. In place of the familiar center part, her shiny hair lifted at the top before dipping slightly over one eye, the silky cascade caught up in an intricate design. She pulled at the willow leaves twining through the thick strand and flicked pieces into the water, making ripples on the glassy surface. She watched the ripples widen until they washed up on the far shore. Somewhere deep within, she recognized the symbolism of her own life.

  Who am I, really? she wondered. If I’m Katherine Mayfield underneath my skin, then who is this Katie Lapp dressed in dull, homespun clothing? She dangled her kapp over the pier, staring at its reflection.

  She was on to something, but she didn’t know exactly what. Pensive, she watched a leaf float lazily out of sight. A good Plain woman obeyed the Ordnung, was totally submissive. How could she have failed so miserably? In trying to be good, she had become weak. How had the teachings of the People turned her into someone she was not?

  Someone who could disobey the very bishop who had administered her life oath—her kneeling baptism? Someone who could hurt that
same bishop beyond words, and in the presence of the entire church district, too?

  But she must not dwell on that. Truth be told, she had been wounded the most.

  Getting to her feet, she walked to the shore and pulled the old boat out from under the pier and turned it right side up. Then, stabbing the pond’s surface with the oars, she rowed to the other side.

  Within minutes, Mary Stoltzfus met up with her on the mule road leading back to the farm. “Where’ve you been? Your Mam’s worried sick.” Mary’s eyebrows shot up as she took a closer look at Katie.

  “And what’s happened to your hair?” She reached up and touched the wide braid, still adorned with the willow leaves. “Where’s your kapp?”

  Katie rumpled her head covering into a ball. “I’m not coming back to marry John, if that’s what you’re thinking. So don’t be asking me what happened. Besides, I think you already know.”

  “But aren’t you the least bit concerned about the bishop’s feelings? And his children . . . what about them?”

  Katie wished Mary hadn’t mentioned John’s family. Dear little Jacob’s face would be forever emblazoned on her memory. She had let the lad down. She’d let all of them down.

  “It was never meant to be—the bishop and I,” she said. “And hard as I tried, I was not meant to be Amish, either.”

  Mary shook her head. “Ach, not this again. I thought you had all that business behind ya.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “But the right thing to do is—” “I’m not interested in doing the right thing anymore,” she retorted. “I’ve been trying to do the right thing all my life, and it never worked.”

  Mary’s blue eyes widened in horror. “But Katie, what on earth are you talkin’ about?”

  “Just what I said. It’s not working out for me to be Amish. I wish it hadn’t taken so long for me to see it, but I know now what’s the matter with me . . . why I can’t seem to measure up around here.” Katie cast a woeful glance at the farmhouse just below the sloping grade. She would not reveal the truth of her so-called adoption—such things should be left to Dat and Mam to decide. For now, she was simply eager to play her new role as Katherine Mayfield.

  “I’m going into town for a bit, so if you don’t mind—”

  “You’re going . . . where?” Mary’s eyes were becoming lighter and lighter, surprisingly luminous as though Katie’s odd behavior were robbing them of their color. “What you need to do is go in there and apologize to everyone.”

  “No, I won’t be doing any such thing.”

  Mary’s voice came soft. “Aren’t you sorry for what you did?”

  “Sorry? I did the bishop a favor by running out of his wedding. Those sweet children, too.” Katie felt a lump rise in her throat.

  Mary frowned and bit her lip. “What did you mean when ya said

  John wasn’t your brother in Christ?”

  “You heard me right, Mary.” The braid swung around as Katie headed for the barn. “Satin Boy and I are taking a ride.”

  “Satin Boy? When did you give him such a curious name?”

  “A while back.”

  Before Mary could question her further, Katie hitched up her pony to the cart. “I’ll be back ’fore dark. Tell Mam I’m all right.”

  “But you’re not. I can see it clear as day, you’re not all right, Katie Lapp!”

  Sixteen

  The road was crowded with cars and trucks—buses, too—some honking their horns impatiently as they sped past, leaving Katie in their dust. But she persevered, riding in the pony cart, perched high for the whole English world to see.

  At last she turned into a small strip mall, tied Satin Boy to a fireplug, and unhitched the cart. “I’ll get you some water in a bit,” she promised. “Be back soon.”

  Eager to see all she could, Katie glanced up and down the row of shops, her eyes coming to rest on an elegantly furnished display window. Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the boutique, intent on trying on some fancy, worldly clothes.

  “May I help you, miss?” The saleslady was obviously trying not to stare, Katie thought. Still, she must look a sight in her rumpled long dress and apron, her braid, woven with willow, tumbling over one shoulder.

  “I’d like to try on the fanciest satin dress you have.”

  “Satin?”

  “Jah. You do have it, don’t you?”

  “Well, no, we don’t normally carry satin until later in the season.” The woman picked up her glasses, which had been dangling from a chain around her neck, and placed them on the bridge of her nose. “Is the garment for yourself . . . or someone else?”

  Katie chuckled under her breath. “Oh, it’s for me, all right. It’s time I get to see what I’ve been missing.”

  Blinking rapidly, the woman turned to the counter. “If you’d like, I can check with one of the other stores, say in York or Harrisburg. They carry a larger inventory.”

  “No, no,” Katie interrupted, “it’s important that I see something today.” Spotting a rack of exquisite dresses with brocade bodices and lace detailing, she left the lady gaping at the counter and hurried over. “What about one of these?”

  She lifted a soft chiffon gown off the rack and held it up to herself in front of a wide three-way mirror. Turning this way and that, she admired her reflection from several angles, humming one of the songs she loved the best. Dan’s song.

  “What size are you looking for, miss?”

  “I don’t know, really,” Katie replied, thinking of all the sewing she had done for herself over the years. Still, it was a bit overwhelming— seeing all these garments in a dazzling variety of colors, styles, and fabrics, just waiting to be worn. “I’ve never been asked that question before, but I ’spose I ought to find out. Why don’t I just try it on and see for myself?”

  The clerk seemed at a loss for words. “Uh . . . yes. Of course. Right this way.”

  Without bothering to inspect the price tag, Katie followed her to a small dressing room at the back of the shop. At the touch of the saleslady’s hand, a velvet pull curtain draped her in privacy, just Katie and the sheer golden dress—fragile as a butterfly’s wing.

  When she turned, she let out a little gasp, catching her reflection unexpectedly. The tiny space was covered with mirrors on all sides— from floor to ceiling. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered as she touched the glass with her finger.

  Relishing every second, Katie removed her clothing. First, her apron, then her Plain—very plain—wedding dress. With great care and near reverence, she lifted up the fanciest gown ever created. It slipped easily over her head and dropped lightly onto her shoulders, coming to rest at an astonishing mid-calf.

  She loved the swishing song of the fabric, the silky feel of it against her skin. And, oh glory, the open neckline, free and unrestrictive!

  Katie stepped back to admire herself, inching away from the mirror to grasp her full reflection. This was no Katie! This had to be Katherine. But even while reveling in the moment, she was feeling robbed, cheated of the years when she’d been deprived of her rightful heritage. Would she ever be able to wear the rich, vibrant colors of the English without having to do so in secret?

  She wondered, too, about the woman who had named her Katherine. What kind of woman would allow herself to bring a child into the world without nurturing that life? Would give the baby a fancy name and then hand her off to some stranger? What kind of person did such things?

  Her joy tainted, Katie stepped out of the filmy dress and retrieved her own clothes. “Someday I’ll wear a dress like this out in public,” she promised herself. “Someday I will.” With tears filling her eyes, she slipped the hanger gently into each puffed sleeve and hung the dress on a two-pronged hook.

  “Do come again,” the salesclerk called to her.

  Katie did not reply. She hurried outside to Satin Boy and the old wooden cart, never looking back.

  ————

  On the way home, Satin Boy began to labor under
his load. “Aw, poor thing . . . can you keep going a bit longer?” Katie coaxed him from her seat. “We’ll stop by Elam’s and Annie’s and get some water for you. All right?”

  Satin Boy struggled as Katie reined him toward the long dirt drive leading to her big brother’s farmhouse, two miles east of the sandstone house on Hickory Lane.

  “Look, Elam! Look who’s come!” Annie called to her husband from the front porch of their white clapboard house. Annie waved at Katie as though she hadn’t just seen her that morning.

  “I didn’t think my pony was going to make it here,” Katie called to them, forgetting how peculiar she must look with her hair in the forbidden braid—and without her kapp. “My pony’s dry to the bone. Can I water and feed him?”

  Elam marched down the steps and promptly removed the harness from the tired animal. Her brother eyed Katie sternly. His look of reproach reminded her of Dat, but Elam didn’t voice a single word of rebuke. Katie stood there watching as he led Satin Boy around to the barn behind the house.

  He’s put out with me, Katie thought. And rightly so. I’ve caused everyone so much trouble. She knew the pressure was bound to build up sooner or later, until her brother spouted off about the wedding.

  Reluctantly, she headed up the steps where Annie stood waiting, her hands folded over her protruding stomach. “You should have seen the way Satin Boy was acting up on the road,” Katie told her.

  “I thought his name was Tobias.” Annie eyed Katie’s hairstyle and quickly looked away.

  “Things change.”

  “Oh.” Annie opened the screen door and went inside. “Come in and have something to drink for yourself,” she called over her shoulder.

  It wasn’t until Annie had offered her a tall glass of iced tea and she’d sat down at her brother’s table that Katie realized how thirsty and tired she was. “It was a pretty foolish thing to go so far with just a pony,” she mused aloud.

  Annie lowered herself carefully onto the bench beside the table. “Where’d you end up going?”