Young and petite as she was, she’d undergone an ultrasound—at her doctor’s insistence—to determine her ability to deliver naturally. In the process, they had discovered that the baby in her womb was most likely a girl. So, to occupy Laura’s time, her mother had suggested a sewing project—a satin baby gown.
For weeks, though, she’d been lonely and sick with grief over the loss of her first real boyfriend, unable to control her tears most of the time. A deep depression had left her restless, and she slept fitfully, if at all. When she closed her eyes at night, she could think only of her humiliating condition and her anger and guilt in having given up her innocence to a boy who’d never truly loved her.
Fearing her daughter was on the verge of an emotional collapse, Charlotte Mayfield had consulted a therapist, who’d recommended the short trip to Pennsylvania, despite the advanced stage of the pregnancy.
In their chauffeur-driven car, they had followed the Susquehanna River south to Harrisburg, turning east to Lancaster.
Soon, there were no more residential districts, no machine shops, factories, or shopping centers. The landscape had opened up, revealing the wide blue skies, fringed with trees—as if seen through a camera lens. The fields were patchwork perfect, like the handmade quilts made by the Amish who lived here. Under a benign sun, farmers were busy working the land, using the simple tools of centuries past. It was a scene straight out of a picture book.
Miraculously, Laura began to unwind. Perhaps it was the way the ribbon of road dipped and curved past fertile fields on every hand. Or the nostalgic sight of horse-drawn carriages. Or the gentle creaking of a covered bridge, flanked by groves of willows—their long fronds stirring in a lazy breeze.
Whatever it was, her mother noticed a change in Laura’s mood and asked the driver to slow the car so they could watch a group of barefoot Amish girls picking strawberries. The girls laughed as they worked, making a game of the backbreaking task.
Laura abandoned the handwork she’d brought along—the satin baby gown—to watch. There was something about these strangely ordinary people. Something that tugged at her heart. Was it their innocent ways? The peaceful surroundings?
Months earlier, she had gone back and forth about giving up the baby for adoption—one day deciding it was best for the precious life within her, and the next, certain she could never part with the baby she’d carried all these months.
Observing the simple delight of these young women, gathering ripe fruit on a dirt road in the heart of the Amish country, Laura had known what she must do. She’d heard her own heart-voice speaking to her, that faithful, confident voice she knew she could trust. She would give her baby up for adoption.
When the contractions came unexpectedly, the driver had sped away to the hospital. There, Laura had given birth to the baby daughter she’d promptly named Katherine. After holding her, with Charlotte hovering near, she’d relinquished the bundle to the nurse who insisted she get some rest.
It was then, while dozing in and out, that she’d overheard one of the nurses speak to the attending physician outside her door. “The young Amish couple down the hall just lost their baby. Stillborn . . . full term—a perfect baby girl.”
She’d heard the doctor’s hurried footsteps, and later, the sober whisperings of other nurses. The loss wrenched Laura’s heart, and she’d wondered what it would be like to grow up Amish—a question she had voiced to her mother earlier in the day.
Here she was, unmarried, and with no father or no real home to offer her baby. Yet this couple—who had just lost their own child— could give Katherine everything good and simple and honest. It was an easy decision.
When she told her mother, her voice was surprisingly calm. “I know what I want to do about Katherine. . . .”
A gust of wind shook the bare trees, and, instinctively, Laura wrapped her frail arms about herself, shivering in the November sunshine that had suddenly lost the power to warm her. She should call for Rosie to bring a wrap.
She longed to be able to move about without constant help, wondering if her days of complete mobility were behind her. But she decided to put off ringing for Rosie again. She would sit here a little longer.
A foreboding sense of loneliness overshadowed the brightness of the day, and she recalled the thought that had insinuated itself into her consciousness so many times during the years. What if Katherine, my precious child, never lived to adulthood? What if something has happened to her?
Shaking off the dreadful idea, Laura directed her thoughts to her most recent trip to Lancaster, destined to be her last, she was certain. The memory of her time there, although disappointing in its findings, served to lighten her mood—at least for the moment.
She recalled the darling young boy of eight or nine—all shining eyes and golden hair and a spattering of freckles on his nose—who had come to the farmhouse door. In answer to her question, he had pointed out the way back to the main road, giving excellent directions for one so young.
The children . . . They kept popping up, groups of them, in their quaint, black felt hats and winter bonnets, crowded into the back of a market wagon or walking along the road to school. Mostly blond-headed children, she recalled, although there were older ones with darker hair. She had specifically looked for a lone redhead among them; had even driven past an Amish school yard during recess, searching for an auburn-haired girl, before sadly remembering that her baby was a grown woman now, not a child at play.
Where had the years flown? Lost years. Years she could never regain. Years filled with emptiness and anguish. Yet, at the time—as a distraught teenager—she’d done what she’d believed was the best thing for little Katherine. The best thing . . .
Laura lifted her sunglasses and brushed away the tears.
Katherine, my dear girl. How I long to know you.
She leaned back on the chaise, allowing the sun to bathe her face with light and heat, and wondered how many other women had felt such pangs after relinquishing a baby—pangs as real as the birth itself.
“If I had known what I know now,” she said aloud, “I would never, never have given you away.” She spoke into the air, daydreaming in the stillness of the morning, hoping that the Lord’s angels might carry the words from a mother’s broken heart directly south—to the place where Katherine might be living. If she was indeed alive. . . .
Twenty-Two
Everyone in Hickory Hollow was preparing to attend the wedding on Tuesday. There would be nearly three hundred guests at this wedding; Mattie herself had seen to that. She’d made a long guest list for her granddaughter—had even offered to have the wedding at her house.
She was stocking up on white sugar at the General Store on Saturday morning when Rachel Stoltzfus and Rebecca Lapp came in together. Mattie waited until Rebecca was out of earshot before she wandered over to chat with Rachel. “It’ll be a mighty fine wedding— my granddaughter’s and the King boy’s.”
“Jah, right fine.”
“Hickory John and Levi Beiler are gonna be two of the Hostlers. And I think Bishop John agreed to be one of the ministers.”
“That’s nice.” Rachel headed for the aisle filled with shelves of sewing notions, her back turned to Mattie.
“You’ll be comin’, won’t ya?” Mattie inquired.
“Maybe . . . if Mary’s feeling better.”
Mattie nodded. “Oh my, I forgot to ask. How is your girl these days?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s serious what she’s got.” Rachel pushed on, eager to avoid any more questions. The truth was, Mary had taken to her bed ever since Chicken Joe had asked Sarah Beiler to go to Singing with him. It was the worry about never getting married that had given her daughter a bad case of dysentery. That—and Katie Lapp’s shunning.
Just then Rebecca turned the corner and Rachel hushed up. No sense in Rebecca finding them buzzing like bees.
“Well, hullo, Mattie,” Rebecca greeted her.
“Mornin’, Rebecca.”
Seeing the two women together like this—Rebecca and Mattie Beiler—it was clear to Rachel that their old feud had cooled down. Things were actually quite different between them, and she supposed it had something to do with the news of a stillborn baby and an unwed mother so long ago. It seemed that Rebecca’s secret had mellowed Mattie remarkably, even though she, and she alone, had broadcast that particular juicy bit of gossip.
Relieved to see Rebecca—knowing her presence would put an end to Mattie’s wedding jabber—Rachel offered to hold her friend’s basket while she checked off her list. It would do Rebecca Lapp no good to get an earful. Not with her still reeling from her own daughter’s recent disgrace.
Just as she suspected, though, Mattie wasn’t about to mind her own business but trailed after them in the store, trying her best to draw them into conversation about her granddaughter’s wedding.
Several times she mentioned Katie, wondering how the “dear girl” was doing. “Is she any closer to confessin’, do ya think?”
That did it. Rachel stepped up and looked Mattie squarely in the eye. “Just be in prayer for Katie, will ya?”
“That I certainly will do.” Mattie smiled a little sheepishly and darted to the counter to pay for her items.
It was safe now for Rachel and Rebecca to go their separate ways again—Rachel, heading for the fresh coffee grounds; Rebecca, to the piece goods counter.
Mattie was just leaving the store when Bishop John strolled in with his son Jacob. Seeing the two pass each other at the door, Rachel feared the nosy one might decide to stick around. But much to her relief, the woman kept going, straight for her carriage.
Bishop John removed his hat and approached Rachel with a pastoral smile. “We missed having your Mary at church last Sunday.”
“She’s been having quite a bout lately.”
“Sorry to hear of it.” John rumpled his young son’s hair.
Jacob grinned, looking up at Rachel. “Mary cooks gut, jah?”
Rachel nodded. “That she does. And I hope she’ll be feelin’ well enough to go to the next wedding in the Hollow—come Tuesday.” Thinking of what she’d just said, Rachel could have bitten her tongue. Poor Bishop John, what must he be feeling, having to stand up and deliver a wedding sermon right on the heels of his own sad wedding day!
“So it’s not Mary who’s gettin’ married?” Jacob asked, his eyes shining.
“No. Not Mary.” Rachel chuckled at the eager look in the child’s eyes. “I’m thinkin’ you’re a tad young for my Mary. But I’ll tell her you asked about her.”
Jacob scratched his head and glanced up at his father, then hurried off toward the candy counter.
The bishop wiped his forehead. “Well now, it seems they start payin’ attention to the girls mighty early these days, don’t they?”
Rachel laughed again, said her good-byes, and went to find Rebecca. But she had the oddest feeling that young Jacob had had another reason for asking about Mary. Could it be . . . that if Katie Lapp wasn’t going to be his new Mam, he was hoping it’d be Mary? Hmmm. Best not to say anything about that speculation. And if she did, Rebecca Lapp would be the last person she’d tell.
————
Katie waited until she was absolutely sure Abe and Rachel Stoltzfus were sound asleep before she entered the front door of their house. She had left Molasses and the carriage out on the road, the horse tied to a tree nearby, so as not to cause any commotion. It has to be this way, she decided. This way or no way at all.
The next to the top stair creaked, and Katie froze in place for a second, then crept down the hall to Mary’s bedroom.
There was a small gasp of surprise from Mary when Katie appeared in the doorway, lit for a moment by the pale moon, and she hurried in and closed the door softly behind her.
“Shh, don’t be afraid. It’s only me. I have a flashlight right here, so don’t bother with a lantern.” She stood at the foot of the bed, feeling awkward for having intruded on her friend’s privacy this way. “I know you shouldn’t be talking to me, but I couldn’t leave without seeing you one last time.”
Mary sat up suddenly and reached for Katie’s arm, then fumbled for the flashlight. She took it from her and shone the light on herself, shaking her head. Her eyes were huge in her white face.
“If you talk to me tonight—right now—I won’t ever tell a soul. Ya won’t have to worry about the Meinding, Mary. You can trust me on that, I promise.”
Mary stared back at her, eyes ever widening. “Don’t go, Katie,” she pleaded softly. “I won’t ever forgive you if ya leave here.”
“How can I stay? I’ll be shunned forever, don’t you see? As good as dead. And my family won’t be allowed to take communion if I stay on without confessing.”
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Katie twisted her long braid.
“You’ll never confess, is that whatcha mean?”
Katie sighed. “Never.”
“Then where will ya go?”
“To Mamma’s Mennonite cousins down the lane—Peter and Lydia Miller.” She handed Mary a slip of paper. “This is my new address, at least for the time being. When I save enough money, I’ll be heading to New York.”
“No, Katie, please don’t!”
“I have to find . . . my real mother,” Katie explained. “She’s dying, and I might never see her alive if I don’t hurry.”
There was a long silence before Mary whispered, “I heard a rumor—people saying you were adopted—but I didn’t want to believe it. Now you’re saying you have to search for another Mam?” Mary wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Katie, I wish ya could just stay here where ya belong.”
Katie took her friend’s hand and squeezed it between both of hers.
“I don’t belong here. I never did, really.”
“Ach, Katie, you’re wrong, you’re so wrong about that.”
“And you’re right?” She chuckled softly. “You’ve always been right about me, Mary. Always. Until now. But it doesn’t change the way I love ya and always will.”
“I’ll probably up and die if you go away,” Mary insisted.
Katie smiled at her friend’s theatrics. “You’re not going to die. I promise you that.”
“But look at me now. I’m sick, ain’t?”
“You’re young and strong. I’m sure you’ll pull through. Besides, I’ll be off finding my true family, so don’t go worrying about me. I’ll be just fine.” Katie sighed. “And before long some gut fellow’ll come along, and you’ll be married and having all the babies you ever wanted.”
The stillness prevailed. Then Mary spoke again. “You’ll never forget me, will ya?”
“How could I?” Katie’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dim room, and she didn’t miss the quiver in Mary’s lower lip. “You’re like my own sister.” They hugged fiercely; the flashlight flickered and nearly went out.
“When will ya go?” Mary whispered.
“Next Tuesday, while everybody’s down at the Zooks’ house . . . for the wedding.” Katie stood to leave.
“Will I ever see you again?”
“Someday, Mary. Someday I’ll come again.” Katie backed out of the room, memorizing the plump silhouette sitting with her blankets and quilt wrapped around her. Then she tiptoed down the stairs and slipped quietly out of the Stoltzfus house.
Hard as it was, she did not look back to see if Mary, who knew her heart better than all others, had left her warm bed to peer through the window and whisper one last good-bye.
————
Annie was nursing baby Daniel when a horse and buggy passed the house along about midnight. She rose from her rocking chair to burp the little one and was standing in front of the window in the living room, watching the moon rise, when she spotted the lone figure in the carriage.
It was impossible to see who was hurrying down the lane at such a late hour. But when she looked more closely, she recognized the horse from his slight limp. It was ol’ Molasses, the Lapps’ driving horse.
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The next morning at breakfast, she mentioned to Elam what she’d seen. “Your sister was out all hours last night. At least, I’m pretty sure it was Katie I saw.”
Elam poured himself a second cup of coffee. “You’d think she’d be trying to settle down and behave herself—with the shunning and all. But not pigheaded Katie.” He sipped his coffee, making a slurping sound. “I guess I should’a known all these years the girl wasn’t my blood kin.”
What a horrible thing to say! Annie thought, but kept it to herself.
Meanwhile, Daniel began to howl in his cradle near the woodstove. Annie got up quickly. “There, there, little one,” she crooned, kissing his fuzzy head as she picked him up. She sat down at the table again and began nursing him. “Do you think we might’ve done wrong by not letting Katie hold her new nephew?”
“The girl’s shunned, for pity’s sake!” Elam spouted. “I don’t want her holding our baby when she’s in rebellion to the church. The harder the shunnin’, the sooner she’ll be repentin’.”
“Maybe,” Annie said, “but you just said she was pigheaded.”
“She’s stubborn, all right. Who knows how long she’ll hold out?”
“What if she doesn’t repent? Then what?”
Elam shook his head, evidently disgusted at her question. “Well, that would be a mighty awful mistake.”
Katie won’t make that mistake, Annie fervently hoped. And for a moment, she thought of her deceased brother, wishing Daniel were alive to see her firstborn son and to help Katie—bless her dear, stubborn soul—find her way through the shunning.
————
Tuesday came, and before Samuel, Rebecca, and the boys left for the Zook-King wedding, Katie turned to speak to them from her isolated table in the corner of the kitchen. “I’ll be packed and gone by the time you get home,” she said as they finished eating breakfast.
No one turned to acknowledge her remark. But Katie knew they were listening, and she continued. “You already have the Millers’ address—Peter and Lydia. I’ll be renting a spare room from them if anyone needs to contact me by mail.” Her brothers were staring at her, mouths agape.
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