SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2

by Beverly Lewis

  How could a mother abandon her family and her home at such an incredible time? How, at any time? I thought of Mrs. Davis tending her beloved flower beds, now ready to be spaded under for the winter. And her tinkling wind chimes, dozens of them, lovingly crafted by her own hands. How could she leave so much behind?

  Most of all, how could she leave her husband, a charming man of forty-two with no sign of balding and apparently no hint of a midlife crisis? And Chelsea, too, their only child?

  A horse and buggy caught my attention as it clip-clopped and swayed up the hill toward us. I waved, recognizing our Amish friends in the front of the gray box-shaped buggy typical of the Lancaster County Old Order. “Look, it’s Rachel Zook and her mother,” I said, noting their matching woolen shawls and black bonnets.

  Mom let the buggy pass before making the left-hand turn into our gravel driveway. “Must be headed for a quilting frolic,” she observed. “Their potatoes are harvested by now, and most of the corn is cut and shocked, so it’s time for visiting and quilting. Amishwomen live for such things, you know.”

  I sighed. “I wonder how Rachel likes going to frolics with her mother instead of school.”

  “She’s following in her ancestors’ footsteps, and she’s already had a year to adjust,” Mom said. “How would you feel about quitting school after only eight grades?”

  “I’d miss it. Especially my friends,” I said, thinking of Lissa, Chelsea…and Jonathan Klein.

  “I suppose Rachel will be baptized into the Amish church next fall,” Mom said.

  “That’s what she says. There’s no reason for her to put it off. Rachel wants to get married and have lots of babies.” I didn’t tell Mom that one of the Yoder boys down the lane had taken Rachel to a Sunday singing recently. Not even her own parents were aware of it. Serious Amish courting took place under the covering of night—the way Rachel’s people had been courting for three hundred years.

  Mom glanced at me. “Have you heard from Levi lately?”

  “Not for several weeks.” Levi Zook, Rachel’s older brother, had gone off to a Mennonite college in Virginia, turning his back on his Amish upbringing. Levi and I and all the Zook children had grown up together. Our properties shared the same boundary—a thick grove of willow trees. Levi and I had promised to write to each other this school year.

  My parents hadn’t been especially thrilled about the idea of Levi and me becoming close friends. I should say Mom wasn’t too keen on it. Dad, however, was more easygoing. He’d even made attempts to get better acquainted with Levi on several occasions.

  “Life is much different now for Levi, I would guess. He’s probably busy with his studies,” Mom said, attempting to make me feel better.

  Truth was, Levi hadn’t thought it fair to tie me down with a long-distance relationship while he was off at Bible school. He was free to meet other girls. I, however, had my heart set on Jon Klein, a guy in my youth group at church—also a sophomore at James Buchanan High.

  Jon was a wordplay freak. I liked to refer to him as the Alliteration Wizard. Unfortunately for him, I was gaining ground—soon to topple his status. The two of us had become so consistently clever at conversing using only similar beginning consonant sounds that I’d begun to talk alliteration-eze almost automatically. Especially at home.

  Today, though, a cloud of gloom hung over me. Chelsea’s mom was in trouble, and my friend had asked me not to tell anyone. The secret burden was horribly heavy.

  I looked back up at the sky. The fast-moving high clouds were a sure sign of a storm. Trees swayed back and forth in their dazzling costumes. There was so much Chelsea’s mom would miss if she stayed away: the deep orange of the Pennsylvania harvest moon, crisp morning walks, birds flying south for the winter…Thanksgiving Day, Christmas…

  I shivered, thinking of Chelsea living out the lonely days or months ahead. There had to be something I could do.

  A small-scale investigation might turn up some leads. That’s what Chelsea needed: someone to help her poke around a bit. Someone to help her solve the heartbreaking mystery.

  I couldn’t wait to phone her.

  Chapter

  3

  Running toward my house, I darted in through the back door, eager to use the phone. I nearly stumbled over my cats—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego—and one ivory kitten named Lily White, bright as a lily.

  All four cats were lined up comically beside two empty bowls near the back door—my cue.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I squatted down beside the foursome. “You’re waiting for snack time, aren’t you, babies? You know I’d never forget you guys on purpose, don’tcha?” I marched to the fridge. “It’s just that I got stuck at school. That’s why there’s no milk.”

  Mom joined me inside, car keys jangling. “Oops, guess I overlooked something.” She smiled knowingly, spying the hungry anticipation on the furry faces.

  “It’s not your fault, Mom,” I said. “I’m the one who missed the bus, remember?”

  We laughed about how spoiled the cats had become. “Thanks to their doting mama,” chortled Mom.

  It was true. I had spoiled my cats rotten. But wasn’t it the sensible, loving thing to do with felines? Programming them to expect fresh, rich cow’s milk every day after school was part of being a pampering pet owner. Or as Mom said, a doting mama.

  “You’ll have to forgive me this time,” I said, pouring the raw, cream-rich milk into two medium-sized bowls. Abednego, being the oldest and fattest, had his own opinion about pecking order. He allowed only his next-in-line brother, Shadrach, to share his bowl.

  I grinned and brushed my hand over their backs. “Mama’s so sorry about the late snack.”

  Sitting there on the floor hearing the gentle lapping sounds of healthy, contented cats, I thought again of my friend Chelsea. She needed a phone call. Now.

  Without another word to my furry friends, I scanned our country kitchen. Mom had evidently gone upstairs.

  Quickly, I crossed the room to the phone, picked it up, and listened for the dial tone. I knew Chelsea might not be able to talk openly if her dad was within earshot, but at least she could hear me out.

  “Hi, Chels,” I said when she answered. “It’s Merry and I’ve got a genius idea.”

  “You say that about all your ideas.” She wasn’t laughing.

  I was smart enough to know it wasn’t a compliment. “Can you talk now?” I asked.

  “I’m talking, aren’t I?” She sounded depressed.

  “But is your dad around?”

  “Daddy’s still at work. Someone has to work around here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what is it—your genius plan?” she asked.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking. We oughta go over your place with a fine-tooth comb. You know, search for clues.”

  “I thought of that, too.” Her voice sounded small. “Do you wanna come over?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tomorrow after school?”

  “Okay, good. Have you heard anything more about your mom?” As soon as I voiced the words, I wished I’d kept quiet.

  “No, but there was an urgent message from the bank on Dad’s computer when I got home,” she said. “It seems that some money is missing from my parents’ joint account.” Her voice was hollow.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Not one word to anyone, you hear?” She was silent. Then—“I can’t believe Mom would do this. She’d never do anything like this if…” Chelsea stopped, and I heard her breath coming into the phone in short little puffs.

  “It’s okay, Chels,” I said. “You can trust me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I keep wondering if someone’s brainwashed Mom—taken control of her somehow. Have you ever read about stuff like that?”

  “Brainwashed? Why do you think that?”

  Chelsea whimpered into the phone. “I have a weird feeling about that guy and his wife.”

  “Any idea who they are?”

  She exhaled.
“Maybe Dad remembers their names. I sure don’t.”

  “Why don’t you ask him when he gets home?” It was just a suggestion. We didn’t have much else to go on.

  “I’ll wait and see how he feels tonight.”

  I wanted so badly to tell her not to worry, that I was trusting God to work things out. But that was exactly the sort of talk that often disconnected Chelsea from me. So I said, “Hey, call me anytime, okay? Even in the middle of the night if you want. I’ll put Skip’s portable phone in my bedroom, and no one’ll ever know the difference.”

  “Won’t the ringing wake up your parents?” she asked. “If you give me the number, I could call your cell instead.”

  “No, the cell phone’s just for calling my parents. And don’t worry about bothering anyone here. Dad’s working the late shift at the hospital, so he won’t be home tonight, and Mom’s a heavy sleeper. She’ll never hear it ring.”

  “And you will?”

  I chuckled. “I’ll stick the phone under my pillow if that makes you feel better.”

  “It’s a deal.” Her voice was stronger. “Well, I’ve gotta figure out something for supper. Dad likes big meals.”

  I remembered that Chelsea had said they’d been eating meatless meals for the past week. “Surprise your dad and make something gourmet,” I suggested.

  “Yeah, right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if not before.”

  “Okay. Good-bye.” I hung up the phone, concerned about the latest information. The message about the bank business didn’t sound good. Could someone actually be coerced to pull money out of their bank account?

  When Mom came downstairs, I wanted to ask her about it, but I’d promised not to tell anyone. So I held it all in—every single heart-wrenching detail.

  Chapter

  4

  “When’s Skip coming home?” I asked Mom.

  She straightened up from putting a frozen casserole in the oven. “He should arrive by suppertime tomorrow.”

  “So…he’s really homesick, huh?” I hoped Mom would give some other reason for his coming to spend the weekend. I was downright worried he might move back.

  “Adjusting to college life is harder for some students than others,” she explained. “I think Skip may be having a little difficulty. Sometimes I wish we’d found a Christian college for him to attend.”

  I reached for two dinner plates; it was going to be just Mom and me tonight. “Well, I sure don’t want to go off to some heathen college campus.”

  Mom scowled. “Your brother is not attending a heathen college. There are several wonderful Christian organizations right there on campus. In fact, one group meets in Skip’s science lab after hours. He said something about being invited to one of the meetings last week.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I said. There was no arguing with Mom.

  Later that night while working through a pile of homework, I found a slip of paper wedged down in one of the pockets of my three-ring binder. I pulled it out.

  A photography contest notice! How could I have overlooked this? My heart leaped up as I thought about the annual event. As a tenth-grader, I would have oodles of opportunities to display my talents at Buchanan High School, starting this year! The competition would be stiff, but I could hardly wait.

  One of my passions in life was photography, followed by a close second—poetry. Especially romantic sonnets. Not writing them but reading them and occasionally agonizing over them. And if I were completely open about my hobbies, I’d also admit that I loved word games—and Jon Klein included…probably.

  Jon hadn’t yet reached the level of maturity required to acknowledge such profound things as love. Give him another year, I figured. Maybe then he’ll start seeing me for what I am. Girlfriend material.

  The biggest roadblock was our new pastor’s daughter. Ashley Horton was the kind of girl people—especially guys—noticed when she walked into a room.

  Ashley wasn’t beautiful only on the outside; she did have some depth of soul. She was kind to animals and never spoke out of turn in Sunday school class. Ashley wasn’t a typical preacher’s kid, and people knew it the first time they met her. She didn’t seem interested in pushing the limits like some ministers’ daughters. In other words, she wasn’t wild. She was genuinely nice. A little dense, but nice.

  One other thing: Ashley had developed a huge crush on Jon. Just plain couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Everyone knew it. Everyone except Jon.

  It started to rain. In spite of intermittent lightning flashes, I settled into working two pages of algebra, sailing right through—thanks to getting help from Dad last school year. Everything about solving unknown factors made complete sense to me now. If only there was a way to solve the unknowns in Chelsea’s life.

  Where could her mom have gone? And why?

  Questions haunted me all evening. By the time I finished my homework, the phone was ringing. I scooted my desk chair back and hurried to stand in the doorway, listening.

  Mom’s voice floated upstairs. Ashley Horton was on the line. “Take the call in Skip’s room if you’d like,” she suggested.

  I hurried down the hall to my brother’s vacant bedroom. “Hello?” I said as I picked up the portable phone and sat on his bed.

  “Hi, Merry. I was wondering about that photography contest at school. I suppose you’re going to enter.” It was almost a question, but not quite.

  “Well, yes. I plan to.”

  “I thought maybe you could give me some ideas for subject matter—you know, the types of scenery or things that took first place other years.”

  Was this girl for real?

  “Well, I suppose there are lots of things you could do,” I said, trying not to patronize or give away any of my own genius ideas.

  “Could you give me some examples of shots that might be winning photos?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure…things like windmills and Amish settings. White dairy barns might be a good choice, or rustic tobacco sheds. Let your imagination go. But watch your lighting, depth perception, things like that. Since photos taken with digital cameras aren’t allowed, you won’t know what you’ve got until after you’ve developed your film.”

  “Oh, Merry, those are such good ideas!” she gushed. “Thank you so much.”

  “It was nothing.” Then remembering about an important taboo, I warned, “Be careful around the Amish. They don’t want to be photographed, so I wouldn’t advise flaunting a camera in front of them.”

  “Aw, but they’re so adorable in those cute long dresses and aprons. Those black felt hats the men wear…and their long beards.”

  Oh please, I thought. I don’t believe this!

  “Whatever you do, Ashley, if you care anything about the Amish people, you won’t sneak shots of them.”

  “So you really think taking pictures of Plain people is a problem?” She sounded as if she was speaking alliteration-eze.

  I wanted to make her promise not to offend the Amish that way. “Please, don’t do it, Ashley. I’m serious.”

  That seemed to subdue her. “All right,” she said. “But I guess I don’t understand.”

  Ashley and her family had moved here last year from somewhere north of Denver, Colorado. Naturally, they wouldn’t know much about Amish tradition.

  I explained. “If you want to know the reason why they don’t approve of having their pictures taken, read the Ten Commandments—Exodus twenty, verse four. They take the verse literally. We’ll talk more tomorrow at school.”

  “Okay. And thanks again very much. You’ve been a big help.”

  “See ya.” I hung up.

  I could imagine Ashley rushing off to her father’s study at their parsonage to look up the Bible verse this very instant. That was Ashley.

  I hoped I’d convinced her to keep her camera lens away from the Amish. It’s strange how people often want to do the very thing they’re told not to do. Must be human nature.

  Anyway, as I headed back to my own room, I decided to make a list o
f my top-five favorite scenes to photograph in SummerHill by tomorrow.

  Tomorrow…

  Chelsea and I would search for clues at her house tomorrow. I hoped that if there were any, they’d lead us to her mother.

  And tomorrow evening Skip was coming home.

  I hurried downstairs to gather up my brood of cats for the night. Skip despised my pets. “Maybe if they weren’t ordinary alley cats, I’d feel differently,” he’d told me once.

  But I knew better. The real reason he resented my precious, purry critters was his snobbish mentality. Skip wished I’d be more selective about my pets. Stray cats—stray anything—disgusted him. For a person studying to become a medical doctor, his nose-in-the-air approach to life didn’t fit. Not in my opinion.

  Downstairs, I picked up Lily White and cuddled her as I opened the back door. “Come to beddy-bye, little boys,” I called out into the night.

  Shadrach and Meshach came running. They were only slightly damp because they’d been hiding in their favorite place—under the gazebo. Abednego, true to form, was missing.

  “Where’s your big brother?” I asked them.

  Meow.

  “Well, wherever he is, we can’t wait up for him.” I headed for the back stairway, hoping Abednego wouldn’t come inside all muddy. That wouldn’t set well with Mom.

  After a warm bath, I snuggled into bed with my Bible and teen devotional. I slid the cordless phone under my pillow as promised. Just in case Chelsea called.

  Abednego, surprisingly clean, decided to grace us with his presence at last. He took his sweet time getting situated on top of my comforter. Now all four of my cats were safe and snug.

  I reread the selection for the day, thinking about the poem that accompanied the devotional prayer. Feeling drowsy, I turned out the light. “Sweet dreams,” I whispered into the darkness as the sounds of soft purring mingled with the gentle tinkle-pat-pat of rain on the roof.

  In the stillness, I prayed—first for Chelsea, then for her mother. “And, Lord,” I added a short PS, “will you please help us find something tomorrow that’ll point us in the right direction? I’m trusting you. Amen.”