SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2

by Beverly Lewis

  “Well, for starters, we’ll have the phone line tapped,” Officer Vyner informed us.

  Chelsea brightened a bit. “You mean, you can do that without my dad requesting it?”

  “I’ll be talking with your dad soon enough,” he said, sliding the clasp on his pen over his shirt pocket.

  We heard the sound of tires on the dirt road out front.

  “Daddy’s home!” Chelsea shouted and ran out to meet him. I was close on her heels, with Dad trailing a few inches behind.

  Mr. Davis was clearly surprised to see Officer Vyner and my dad hanging around his house. He eyed Chelsea nervously. “What’s going on here?” he grumbled.

  Officer Vyner spoke up. “I understand your wife’s missing?”

  Mr. Davis ignored him and kept walking toward the house.

  “Daddy!” Chelsea called. “Please talk to him.”

  Her father stood still and erect, not moving for a moment as he faced the screen door, perhaps contemplating a response. Then he opened the door and went inside.

  “Now what’ll we do?” I said, worried for Chelsea.

  She scuffed her foot against the dirt near one of the many flower beds her mom had tended through the years. “Daddy’s been like this ever since…” She stopped and pulled out her tissue. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Officer Vyner tried to explain. “Your father’s hurting, Chelsea. He may be in denial, but no matter what, you must give him your support…your love. He needs you now more than ever.”

  She dried her tears. “What exactly is the occult?” she asked. “Is it the same thing as a cult group?”

  Dad was quick to answer her questions. “The words do sound similar, but the occult is most often linked with astrology, psychic prediction, and sometimes magic or witchcraft. The word cult simply means a group of people whose leader persuades them to believe he deserves unquestioned loyalty and obedience. Some cult groups may employ occult practices, as well.”

  Dad’s gentle eyes studied Chelsea as she stared down at her mother’s flower bed, now hard and dry.

  “Thanks for coming, Doctor Hanson,” she said, turning to face Dad. “And for explaining things.”

  “We’ll be praying that your mother is found soon,” Dad told Chelsea as we headed for the car. “Please keep us informed. I know Merry will be in touch.”

  “Thanks again,” she said. “And don’t worry about me, Merry. I’ll be fine.”

  I waved to my friend. “I know you will.”

  Dad opened the car door for me and hurried to get in on the driver’s side after stowing my bike in the trunk. Nothing was said about hanging out with the wrong company—none of that. Dad was sweet. He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re all right, dumpling.”

  He started the car and drove down SummerHill Lane to our house.

  “Do you think they’ll find Mrs. Davis?” I asked.

  Dad glanced at me. “Chelsea and you did the best thing for Mrs. Davis by getting the authorities involved.” He explained that there was a special forces unit at the police department. “They have a number of highly trained dogs who can follow car-exhaust fumes and pick up many other kinds of scents.”

  “Wow, that’s incredible. So you think it’s possible Mrs. Davis might be coming home soon?”

  Dad shook his head, wearing a gloomy expression. “I didn’t say that. You have to realize that members of cult groups lose their ability to reason clearly. Their minds become prisoners, controlled by a leader who is often power crazed.”

  “Is that what you call brainwashing?” I asked, remembering the repeated sentences in the diary.

  “People adhering to mind-controlling practices—and, in this case, mystical formulas—often don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. Their minds can be trapped in a short time frame.” He steered the car into our driveway.

  “Do you really think Chelsea’s mom could fall for something like that?” I asked, afraid to hear his answer.

  “Didn’t Chelsea say that her mom has always been intrigued by the mystical?”

  I grimaced, remembering how Mrs. Davis was obsessed by astrology—especially reading her horoscope and forecasting her future. “I’ll pray she comes to her senses.” I got out of the car, heading for the kitchen door. I hoped Chelsea’s mom would be found soon.

  My cats were waiting inside. “Hello, babies,” I cooed, scooping up Lily White. Then I turned to Dad as he came in. “Thanks for helping Chelsea and me today.”

  He nodded. “I only wish you had told your mother and me right away, when you first heard about Mrs. Davis.” He lifted the lid on the strawberry-shaped cookie jar and reached in, pulling out two homemade chocolate chip cookies.

  I truly hoped getting Dad and Officer Vyner involved might speed up the process of locating Chelsea’s mom. I hoped it with everything in me.

  Chapter

  15

  “Want some Kitty Kisses?” I asked my feline foursome. Abednego, the self-appointed spokescat for the group, licked his chops.

  “Okay, that settles it—liver and tuna crunchies coming up.” I pinched my nose shut with one hand and reached into the box with the other. “Chow time!” I divvied up the smelly, heart-shaped cat snacks.

  That done, I washed my hands and headed out front to get the mail. There was a fat pile waiting, and without glancing through any of it, I hurried into the house.

  “Mail call,” I said, putting the stack of letters and bills on the corner table in the wide entryway.

  Mom emerged from her sewing room looking dazed. She often appeared rather intense when she was designing a pattern for a new outfit. I told her briefly about Chelsea’s nightmare and what had transpired in the last several days.

  “Merry, honey,” she said, pulling on her hair. “You should’ve told us. Something like this…you shouldn’t have carried the burden all alone.”

  I knew she would say something like that. “It’s okay, I guess. I usually learn the hard way.”

  She was relieved to know Dad had been up to see the Davis family. “We certainly must follow up on them. Chelsea and her father will need all the emotional support they can get. Plenty of prayer, too.”

  We talked for a while longer, and then I excused myself to go to my room.

  I was approaching the top of the long front staircase when Mom called to me. “Merry! I think you’ll be very interested in this.” She waved a white envelope.

  “Is it from Levi?” I asked.

  There was a surprising smile on her face. “Looks as though he wrote a scripture on the back of the envelope.”

  I flew back down the steps. “Levi loves studying the Bible. He’ll make a great preacher someday.” I snatched up the letter and darted up the steps, taking two at a time.

  Shadrach and Meshach must’ve taken my galloping as an invitation to follow. Here they came, tearing up the stairs and down the hallway.

  “Hurry up, little boys,” I said, waiting for them before closing my door.

  Ah, privacy. After the hectic, emotional events of yesterday and today, I was more than happy to pack away my camera and settle down with a long letter from Levi Zook. Four handwritten pages!

  My dear Merry,

  For such a long time, I have been wanting to write to you. Many wonderful-gut things are happening to me here in Virginia. I am excited to be learning how to write and spell better. My English is improving, too, which I am thankful for. Also, the way I am understanding the Scriptures more and more urges me to get out and preach the Gospel as soon as possible.

  How are you doing, Merry? Do you enjoy your new position this year at your high school?

  I chuckled as I read the last sentence. Levi hadn’t remembered to call me a sophomore. Since Amish young people only attended school through the eighth grade, they didn’t have to bother with class names like we English did in public school.

  I eagerly read on.

  Receiving your letters has been very much enjoyed by me, and I m
ust say that they have helped me learn about writing my own thoughts more expressively.

  I miss your laughter, Merry, and your bright eyes. If it is not too much to ask, would you mind sending me a photo of you? You see, now that I am not going to join the Amish church, I feel it would do me no harm to carry your picture in my wallet.

  I reread the last paragraph. He wanted my picture for his wallet!

  Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of loss came over me. I don’t know if the sadness was triggered by a delayed reaction to the dire situation with Chelsea’s mother or what. But a hard, dry lump sprang up in my throat. My vision blurred, and I reached for the blue-and-white striped tissue box on the nightstand.

  Why was I crying over Levi’s letter? This was the boy I’d grown up with. His Amish culture was as familiar to me as the palm of my hand. When he had struggled with his decision to leave the Amish church, I’d tried to be patient and listen to his reasons. I’d worried about the consequences. But Levi wanted God’s will above all things, so who was I to regret his leaving SummerHill?

  Of course, my loss was nothing compared with that of Levi’s parents, Abe and Esther. They’d always had high hopes for their next-to-oldest son. Like any faithful Old Order Amish mother and father, they longed to see each one of their children follow in their footsteps.

  But Levi had sometimes been rebellious as a child, pushing the limits. He loved learning and books and constantly asked questions, too. None of that set well with traditional Amish society. Being obedient and submissive to the rules laid out by the Ordnung—the agreed-upon blueprint for Amish life—was the top priority in the Plain community.

  And here I was, missing Levi Zook. Missing him and wishing he were home. Drying my eyes, I continued to read his letter.

  I hope you will not be very disappointed to know that I am planning to go overseas to help build a church. Because I have not been assigned to a country yet, I cannot tell you where I will be working. I suppose all those years of raising barns in a single day will help me assist other Christian carpenters.

  My eyes drifted away from the letter. Building a church overseas? This meant that Levi would not be coming home at the end of the first quarter as planned. I wondered when I’d see him again. Thanksgiving? Christmas, maybe?

  I was eager to know.

  You must please forgive me, Merry, if this news comes as a surprise. We will have many other happy times together, I trust.

  But when? If Levi went overseas and got involved in building projects, maybe he’d never want to return home.

  I finished reading the letter, hoping against hope that he might explain further his decision not to come home in two weeks. But there was no additional explanation.

  Feeling empty, I put the letter in my desk drawer and headed over to the Zooks’ dairy farm. Maybe Rachel, Levi’s younger sister, could explain things. Besides, a visit to my Amish neighbors was sure to do me good.

  Chapter

  16

  Through the willow grove and past the white picket fence, I flew. The sun cast angular shadows over the meadows as it played peekaboo through a fleeting cloud.

  Rachel was outside beating rugs with her sisters, Nancy and Ella Mae, and they stopped to wave to me. “Hullo,” they called in unison as I sprinted across the meadow toward the old white farmhouse.

  The girls wore long brown work dresses with buttonless gray aprons over the top, fastened in the back with straight pins. The strings on their white-netting prayer Kapps flapped in the breeze.

  “Looks like someone’s having house church tomorrow,” I said, running up to the long front porch.

  “Jah, it’s our turn,” Rachel said. “Wanna help?”

  “Sure.” I picked up a multicolored rag rug and beat it against the porch railing. “Have you heard from Levi lately?”

  “Only that he’s not comin’ home fer a bit.” They’d heard about the overseas project, all right.

  I sighed. “He must like his new college life.”

  Rachel nodded, careful not to say too much in front of her younger sisters. “We miss him around here. ’Specially Dat. He’s not as young as he used to be, ya know, and farmin’s gettin’ to be harder for him.”

  Especially hard the way they do it, I thought. Mules instead of tractors, and kerosene or gas lamps instead of electricity. The inconveniences and hardships of Old Order Amish life were mind-boggling.

  “I’m thinkin’ that Levi’s gonna get spoiled,” Rachel said. “There’s no chance he’ll ever come back to farmin’. ”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, helping the girls carry the rugs inside. I stayed around awhile, mostly to visit with Rachel. She and I hadn’t seen each other as much as we liked because of my homework load this semester. Rachel, too, seemed busier now that her younger siblings were back in school for the year. Sometimes Rachel had to help with the more strenuous outdoor chores, filling in for Levi in his absence.

  I wanted to ask her about Matthew Yoder, the Amish carpenter’s son down the lane, but no opportunity presented itself. There was simply no discussing such things as guys in front of the rest of her family.

  “Let’s show Merry our puppies,” little Susie said, coming into the kitchen. Her eyes sparkled as she pulled on my hand, leading me out the back door and across the wide yard to the barn.

  Rachel, Nancy, and Ella Mae followed exuberantly. Inside the hayloft, on a warm bed of hay, Levi’s silky gold cocker spaniel lay sleeping next to her pups.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful.” I crouched down for a closer look at the four golden-haired darlings.

  “Wanna take one home?” Susie offered. “Pick out the puppy ya want.”

  I shook my head reluctantly. “Mom would never stand for it,” I confessed. “It would be a waste of time to even try to talk her into it.”

  Rachel leaned down and picked up one with a hint of a wave in his coat. “This one’s my favorite,” she said, “but Dat says we hafta give them all away.”

  Susie poked out her bottom lip. “I wish we could raise puppies. Levi and I were gonna have us a fine pup ranch. But he went away.”

  Rachel put her hand on Susie’s head. “Don’t fuss over what might’ve been. We’ll find good homes for the pups like Dat says. That’s all ya need to think about now.”

  Soon it was time for the afternoon milking. Since I was already here, I decided to don Levi’s old work boots and help out. It felt mighty strange clumping around in the mud and manure wearing my former boyfriend’s boots. Memories of last summer filled my mind with warm, cheerful thoughts as I washed down the cows’ udders in preparation for milking. Funny, but it was a job I used to dislike.

  Levi and I had pretty much turned things upside down this past summer. My own parents had more than raised an eyebrow when I’d consented to spend time with an Amish boy. Mom’s concern was that Plain folk often marry young. “Next thing, Levi will be looking for a wife,” Mom had said.

  Dad, on the other hand, was more nonchalant about Levi’s interest in me. “It’s not like Merry’s going out with some stranger,” he’d said, laughing.

  Dad was right. Levi and I were family in a very distant sort of way. One of my great-great grandfathers was one of Levi’s ancestors, too.

  After nearly two hours of rolling the metal milk cans back and forth to the milk house, I was quite exhausted. The Zook kids set high standards for themselves, however, and kept going. They were used to it, though, up at four-thirty each morning milking and hauling the fresh milk out to the end of their lane for the milk truck.

  “I’ll come see you again soon,” I called to Rachel as her father shuffled into the barn. Now was a good time to exit since Abe would help finish up. I removed the familiar work boots and waved good-bye, wondering how long before Levi would miss the old home place. Or if he would at all.

  Right before supper, Chelsea called. I was in no mood for more bad news, so I took the phone somewhat reluctantly. “Hi, Chelsea,” I said. “What’s up?”

 
“You’ll never believe this,” she began. “The police have already found evidence to prove there are other members of a satanic group in the area. It is a definite cult group—could be the one my mom’s hooked up with.”

  “Wow, fast work. Now, if they can just find your mom and get her out of there.”

  “I know,” she said. “Hey, my dad’s coming around—finally! He’s been talking to the police. Officer Vyner’s been incredible. He told Daddy that they were able to track down several information files in the Lancaster newspapers. The media might be able to help us, too.”

  Chelsea sounded upbeat and excited. “I guess sometimes bad stuff can turn out to be good—in a way,” she added.

  “You’re right,” I replied, hoping this was one of those good times.

  “And, Merry, I think you might be the reason for it.”

  “Me?”

  “Your prayer that day, remember?” She said it softly. “You got me thinking about God—angels too—especially when I was scared spitless out there in the woods.”

  I hardly knew what to say. Chelsea had never shown any interest in God or His angels.

  She changed the subject and chattered about school and boys, and even her algebra homework. Eventually, we said good-bye and hung up.

  I dashed back into the kitchen with the phone cord dancing behind me. “Things are looking up for Chelsea and her family,” I informed everyone.

  “Prayer makes a difference,” Dad was quick to say.

  “Sure does,” Skip said.

  My head jerked up as I looked at him across the table. “You’re praying, too?” I asked Skip, who’d heard about Chelsea’s mom in only the past few hours.

  “Mrs. Davis can’t begin to know what she’s up against with all of us praying,” Skip said. It was the one serious comment he’d made all weekend.

  Odd, but my brother didn’t pick a single fight at this meal. Not one.