“What in the world?” Ella Mae spun around, nearly knocking over her cup of tea. “Land a-mighty, don’tcha ever knock, woman?” she scolded.
“I heard voices,” Mattie said, refusing to look at Katie. “And, Mam, you know better than to be talking to a shunned person . . . and sharing your table, too!” She marched toward them. “Katie best be leaving or I’ll have to report this to Preacher.”
“What’ll he do?” Ella Mae scoffed. “Meide a feeble old soul like me?”
“Mam! You best be reverent when ya speak of the shunning.”
Ella Mae turned to see Katie sitting forward in her chair, reaching for the tea. The cup trembled in her hand. What wretched thing has happened here? she wondered. She ached clear to the bottom of her soul, for being the reason Mattie had overheard Katie’s family secret. We should’ve been more careful. That busybody had heard every bit of their intimate conversation. Now that was a worry.
“How long ya been hidin’ over there?” Ella Mae confronted her daughter.
“Just came in.”
But the Wise Woman knew. So did Katie. And by nightfall, so did most everyone else in Hickory Hollow—including Bishop John.
Twenty
Katie Lapp’s adopted, and her real mamma’s out lookin’ for her. Now what do ya make of that?” Nancy Beiler asked her big brother as they swept out the barn.
“How do you know such a thing?”
“Heard it today at recess.”
Hickory John stopped for a moment and leaned on his push broom, eyeing his sister doubtfully. “Are ya sure ’bout this?”
Nancy grinned. “Came near straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Whose?”
“One of our cousins.”
“A girl?” he teased.
“Jah, our second cousin, Sally Mae.” She sneezed in the wake of the dust they’d stirred up. “The way I see it, if it came from one of Aunt Mattie’s grandchildren, it’s gotta be true. Because Aunt Mattie was the one who overheard her mamma tell about meetin’ Katie’s birth mamma face to face.”
“Well, we all know how Aunt Mattie is, don’t we?” Hickory John laughed. “Can’t always go by whatcha hear.”
Out of the haze of dust and straw, Levi stepped forward, much to the surprise of Nancy and her brother. “Didja just say Katie’s real mamma’s lookin’ for her? Is that what I heard ya say?”
“You were eavesdropping, Levi Beiler!” Nancy scolded. “That’s a greislich thing for the bishop’s son to do! Now go in and get washed up for supper.”
Levi marched himself off to the house, mumbling about getting caught. “Guess maybe Daed might start payin’ attention to me from now on . . . ’specially when I tell him about red-haired strangers comin’ to our front door!” she heard him say.
————
Katie waited until her father and brothers left the house for a barn raising near White Horse before deciding to speak to her mother. Rebecca had not been feeling well—an upset stomach, or so Katie thought.
Rebecca remained silent, leaning her arm against the table and sighing audibly.
“I’ll bring some tea up later,” Katie offered, hoping to hear something out of her mother. But there was not another sound.
How long would it take before Mam would start talking when there was no one around to overhear? She hadn’t purposely set out to trick her mother, but Katie was desperate for answers. Answers to the questions that Ella Mae had brought to her attention only yesterday.
Mute as a fence post, Rebecca seemed bent on forcing herself through the household chores. She did allow Katie to assist with the baking—bread and six dozen each of molasses cookies and apple muffins— to take to a quilting frolic planned for tomorrow. But along about ten-thirty, her mother collapsed into Dat’s big rocking chair.
Katie finished wiping off the counters and washed her hands. Then, stepping around to the small table that was hers alone, she paused and observed her mother. “It’s all over Hickory Hollow about my birth mother trying to find me,” she said. “Mattie got it all started, the nosy thing.”
Rebecca’s head seemed to bob in agreement, but Katie couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t caused by the motion of the rocker. “I never would’ve wanted to spread your secret around like this, Mamma,” she went on. “You know I’m telling the truth, too, because I had Preacher Yoder promise not to tell anyone.” She watched and waited, hoping Rebecca would say something—anything.
No comment came.
“Ella Mae said there was a letter. Do you know anything about that?”
The tiniest squeak passed Mam’s lips. Was that a reply?
Katie went over and knelt down, resting her head on her mother’s knees. “I’d give anything to know, Mam,” she said softly.
Rebecca’s hand found its way to her daughter’s slender back. She began to rub in soothing, circular motions—the way she always had when Katie was a little girl.
Cautiously, the words began to slip out. “I did a wretched thing with the letter,” she admitted. “I threw it in the stove—out of fear, mostly—but it got burned up all the same.”
“You burned it?” Katie lifted her head and the back rub ceased, but only for a moment. “Why did you burn it?”
“Just listen,” Rebecca whispered. And Katie, apparently basking in the sound of her mother’s voice, did as she was told. Rebecca put her hand on Katie’s head and could feel her daughter relaxing against her lap again.
“I was so awful worried and upset that day,” she went on, her voice breaking occasionally. “I thought the woman—your natural mother— was gonna come and take you away from us. But looking back on all that’s happened, I wish I’d kept her letter so you could be readin’ it for yourself right now.”
“Why does she want to find me, do you think?” Katie asked, not lifting her head this time.
“The doctor’s told her . . . she’s dying.” Rebecca’s hand paused momentarily before continuing its healing journey.
After a heart-stopping silence, Katie looked up. Rebecca could see the tears brimming in the girl’s eyes.
“What’s her name?”
“It’s . . . Laura. Laura Mayfield-Bennett. She must’ve kept her maiden name—and added it onto her married name. I’ve heard they do such things out in the modern world.”
Katie whispered the peculiar name into the air. “Laura Mayfield-Bennett.”
“Wait here.” Rebecca got up and found a pencil and a scrap of paper in a kitchen drawer. “I’ll spell it out for you the way I remember it.”
Katie studied the name on the paper—the strange English name. The letters squinted up at her, telling her—in some disconnected way—important things about herself. Things she did not fully understand.
“Did she . . . did Laura write her address down in the letter?”
“Honest, I don’t remember now.” Her mamma’s glistening eyes were proof she was telling the truth. “She lives somewhere in New York, I think.”
“New York City?” Katie gasped. “Ach, I hope not!”
“No, no, it’s somewhere else in the state.”
“Well, I’ll just have to get me a map, I suppose,” Katie said. “A map of New York State, since I’ve never been outside Lancaster County.”
“So . . . will you be tryin’ to find her, then?” Mam’s voice now sounded thin and pathetic—almost childlike as she sat back down in the rocker.
Even though Katie was momentarily distracted by the compassion she felt for her mother, a startling surge of resolve followed, surprising her with its power. “I have to look for her, Mamma, you know I do. I can’t just forget about her now.” She rose and took Rebecca’s hands in hers, gently pulling her up and out of the rocking chair. “I don’t mean to hurt you with all this. You do understand . . . don’t ya?”
Her mother couldn’t speak for the tears, and Katie hurried on before she weakened. “I can’t stay here much longer anyway, not with the shunning and all. I thought about going next door to
the Dawdi Haus, but it’s no use. I can’t see confessing now . . . or later. It’s time I think about leaving.”
“Aw, girl, no!” Then, more softly—“Where will you go?”
Katie took a deep breath. “Lydia Miller has a room for rent. I saw the sign yesterday on my way home from Ella Mae’s.”
Her mamma shook her head and fumbled for a handkerchief. “You’re not going to leave Hickory Hollow, are you?”
“Laura Mayfield-Bennett doesn’t live anywhere near Lancaster, now does she?” Katie hugged her weeping mother. “Oh, Mamma, I’m so happy you finally talked to me today. So very happy.”
“It must not happen again,” Rebecca declared, giving way to a coughing fit before clearing her throat. “I can . . . not speak to you again . . . not until you repent.”
“I know, Mamma,” Katie replied. “You’re a good Amishwoman, and I understand.”
When Rebecca’s desperate hacking subsided, the two women clung to each other as though it was to be the last embrace of their lives.
Mattie was thrilled when Elam Lapp called her to deliver Annie’s first baby, a full six weeks before the due date.
About time I catch a Lapp baby again! she thought as she rode back with Elam to the young couple’s farmhouse. Silly how she’d carried on over not being asked to assist with Katie Lapp’s birth. But now she knew the truth and felt quite ashamed of herself for making such a mountain out of a smidgen of a molehill.
Still, it was hard to believe that Samuel and Rebecca had been able to keep such a secret. But when she tried to draw Elam out about it, it was obvious from his intense frown and pursed lips that he had more important things on his mind—like becoming a father in the next few hours.
When the horse pulled the carriage into the lane, Elam jumped out and dashed into the house ahead of her, leaving Mattie to attend to the unhitching of the horse. “These new papas,” she clucked. “I do declare!”
By the time Annie’s contractions were less than two minutes apart, word had spread to several Amish farmhouses, including Rebecca Lapp’s—thanks to Lydia Miller’s telephone and her fancy car.
Katie could hear the cries of the newest little Lapp as she helped her mother out of the carriage. “Sounds like a hefty set of lungs to me. Must be a boy.” She smiled at her mother even though by this time, she didn’t expect a reply.
Rebecca said nothing, lips tight.
They hurried up the front porch steps, meeting Elam as he burst through the door to greet them. “Mam, Wilkom!” he said, without so much as a glance in Katie’s direction. “You have yourself a fine, healthy grandson!”
He ushered them into the downstairs bedroom, where Annie lay, perspiring and exhausted, holding the tiny bundle.
“He’s mighty pretty,” Katie whispered as her sister-in-law handed the baby to Elam.
“Mamma, I want ya to meet my first son . . . Daniel Lapp.” Elam held the infant up for Rebecca and the others to see. “The name’s for Annie’s brother, ya know.”
The reference to Dan pierced Katie’s heart. But she was drawn to her new nephew like a bee to honeysuckle. “May I hold him?”
Elam ignored her request, placing the baby in Rebecca’s arms instead. “He may be a bit premature, but he’s a fine, sturdy boy, ain’t?”
“Jah, he’s strong, all right.” Rebecca began to coo in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Won’t Dawdi Samuel and your uncles be surprised when they get home?”
Mattie, now standing next to Rebecca, began to stroke Daniel’s soft cheek. “I think it’s time for me to be speakin’ to ya about something, Rebecca,” the woman said, looking her cousin full in the face.
Not wanting to stand there and witness the busybody trying to patch things up with her mother—not after the way Mattie had spread the word all over the Hollow about the adoption and all—Katie slipped out of the room, unnoticed. She wondered about Annie’s early delivery. What had made her sister-in-law go into labor so early? Had she counted wrong . . . or what?
Katie walked into the front room, stopping to examine the pretty pieces displayed in the corner cupboard. Seeing the fancy china reminded her of the gay wedding plans she and Bishop John had made. She’d let him down terribly. All the People, really. Now Elam had taken it upon himself to go a step further and punish her by not allowing her to hold his son. Whoever heard of such a thing? Not letting your own sister hold your baby? That wasn’t part of the shunning!
Out of the silence, she heard her name spoken and tiptoed back toward the bedroom, within earshot. It was Mattie, saying something about Katie’s horrible behavior at the wedding. “I think it’s this whole shameful thing with Katie that upset Annie so awful much.”
Elam had a few choice comments of his own. “I think die Meinding upset Annie much more than any of us thought,” he agreed. “Started up her labor too soon, probably. A sensitive one, she is.”
Katie backed away silently and hurried to the front door. They’re blaming me! She was shaking—whether with fear or rage, she wasn’t quite sure. Who knows—I might’ve killed the poor little thing!
She refused to cry, but took in a deep breath and ran to the carriage to hitch up ol’ Molasses.
Daniel . . . they named my nephew Daniel. How could they?
For a moment she gave in to her sobs, reliving the pain of losing her beloved. Didn’t they understand? No one could ever take his place!
She slapped the reins and the horse trotted away. Her haughty big brother would just have to take time away from his precious new baby and drive their mother home later on.
Meanwhile, now was as good a time as any to stop in and chat with Lydia Miller about the room she had for rent.
Twenty-One
Aspill of late autumn sunshine—like molten gold—poured into a glass-walled sun-room overlooking acres of rolling lawn and lavish gardens, now frosted with snow. Well-manicured walkways lined the area directly south of the old English-style mansion, shaded in summer by a canopy of regal trees.
From this vantage point, Laura Mayfield-Bennett could see the waterfall splashing into a lily pond two stories below. Floating lily pads shimmered silver-green in the morning light.
Laura reached for her sunglasses just as her maid came into the sun-drenched room, green with ferns and ivy and spreading ficus trees.
Rosie adjusted the chaise lounge to accommodate her mistress. “If it’s sunshine you want, Mrs. Bennett, then it’s sunshine you get,” she remarked cheerfully.
“This is delightful. Thank you for coming up again, Rosie.” Laura wiggled her toes inside her velvet house slippers, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays on her feet and lower legs.
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“Thank you, but no.”
Laura sighed heavily, hearing the rapidly fading footsteps on the marble stairs. Below her, on the circular driveway, one of the chauffeurs pulled up, waiting for her husband. She watched as Dylan Bennett folded his lanky frame into the backseat.
The car sped away—down the long, tree-lined lane—leaving Laura alone with her thoughts. “Well, Lord, it’s just the two of us again,” she began to pray, her eyes open to take in the sweeping view. “I come to you today, grateful for life”—she paused to look up through the skylight—“and for the sky so clear and open, wearing its pale blue gown. I thank you for all that you have provided, especially for your Son, Jesus Christ.
“Please touch each of my loved ones with your tender care this day, especially Katherine, wherever she may be. And, dear Lord, although I fail to understand why her Amish family has not contacted me, I give Katherine to you, knowing that you do all things well.”
Drawing a deep yet faltering breath, she continued. “Perhaps it is not in your will that my daughter see me this way. But if it is . . . please allow her to contact me while I’m alert enough to know it’s my darling girl who’s come to me. Grant this, I pray before . . . before you call me home. In Christ’s name, amen.”
What a compassionate gestur
e if her heavenly Father should grant her last wish, her dying wish. But to fully trust in her Lord and Savior, Laura had learned through the years that she must relinquish selfish desires and wishes.
She reached for a glass of water on the marble-topped table and sipped slowly, retracing in her mind the recent journey she had taken to Pennsylvania—to Hickory Hollow—and the encounter with the elderly Amishwoman sitting in a carriage in front of a general store. The woman had seemed highly reluctant to share information, Laura recalled—had seemed almost offended to be approached. But her acceptance of the letter was tacit agreement, Laura sincerely hoped, that the woman would assist her in delivering it to the proper Rebecca—the one and only Rebecca who would understand the urgency.
Of course, she couldn’t be certain that the letter had been passed around in the Plain community at all. And time was against her now. It was out of the question to think of making another such trip, a five-hour drive from the Finger Lakes region of New York to the farmlands of Lancaster County. She was not up to it—not in her present condition— and worsening by the day. Her physician would never hear of it, even if she were stubborn enough to attempt it.
So there she sat on the top of a hill, within the noble estate of her childhood, passed on to her when her mother, Charlotte Mayfield, had died twelve years before. Breathing in the tranquility, Laura longed to recapture the atmosphere of the Amish community. Something had drawn her to the Pennsylvania Dutch country—something more than her mother’s fondness for the area. She had never forgotten her introduction to Lancaster County, nor the events surrounding the day of Katherine’s birth. . . .
Her mother had coaxed her to take a trip by car that June day. At seventeen and in the latter stages of pregnancy, Laura had been struggling with frequent panic attacks and, in general, needed a change of scene—away from the questions of high school friends who could not understand why she was being tutored at home.
The Shunning Page 21