I ran downstairs and grabbed a Windbreaker from the hall closet. “I’m going for a walk, Mom,” I called.
“Don’t be long. It’s getting dark.”
“I know.” But I wanted it to be dark. I wanted the night to close in around me. I’d been through all this before—only with Lissa last spring. Why was it that right when Jon and I were really clicking, someone else had to step in and spoil things?
Chapter
22
Quickening my pace, I headed for the steep grade that led to Chelsea’s house. The dusk chirped and buzzed as tiny insects and other small animals prepared for night.
Several cars were parked in the driveway at the Davis residence when I arrived. One of them was a squad car. Probably Officer Vyner’s.
Chelsea came to the door carrying a golden-haired puppy. “Oh, Mer,” she cooed, hugging me with her free arm, “look what Rachel Zook brought over.”
I touched the cocker spaniel’s neck gently. “For keeps?”
“He’s all mine.” Chelsea’s eyes were shining as she led me upstairs to her room. “I’m going to call him Secrets.”
“When did Rachel come?” I asked, settling down on her window seat.
“A little while ago.” Her eyes searched mine. “Somehow or other, she heard about my mom. You never told her, did you?”
“No, but one of their Mennonite cousins may have heard about it on the news. Or—” I stopped, realizing who the true informer might’ve been—“maybe it was Levi!” My smile gave me away.
Chelsea noticed. “Good old Levi. You’ve always liked him, haven’t you?”
“We’re friends, but that’s all there is to it. He’s off in Virginia at a Mennonite college.”
She grinned, holding the puppy up for me to see. “Isn’t he adorable?”
I noted the slight wave in his silky coat. Rachel had chosen Chelsea for the caretaker of her favorite pup. “Better not bring him around my cats,” I warned. “They’d scratch his pretty nose right off.”
We joked about our taste in pets and then got to discussing church and what she could expect on Sunday morning. She was especially interested in the discussion on angels. “Are you sure they’ll be talking more about it?” she asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“Positive,” I said. “And since you’re interested, I have to tell you something. You know the day we first went snooping in the woods?”
She nodded.
“Well, the strangest thing happened. This Bible verse I learned when I was a kid popped into my head out of nowhere. It was so unusual.”
“Really? What was the verse?”
I was hoping she’d ask. “It goes like this: ‘For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’ ”
“That’s in the Bible?” she said, eyebrows at attention.
“Sure is.”
“Where?” She stood up as though she were going to get one and bring it to me.
“Do you have a Bible in the house?” I asked, surprised at this turn of events.
“Daddy does,” she admitted. “It’s a family book. We never read it, though.”
“Well, go get it, and I’ll show you the verse.” This was truly incredible!
“Here, take care of Secrets.” She handed the pup to me.
I caressed his tiny head and back as I often did my cats. Then in a moment, Chelsea was back, lugging the heavy book. Thunk, she put it to rest on the window seat.
“There. Bet you never thought you’d see the day,” she announced, grinning.
I was careful not to say anything to distract from the moment. Gently, I opened the enormous Bible, locating the passage in Psalm ninety-one.
She knelt down and read verses eleven and twelve out loud. “Hey, what a cool thing,” she said. “It looks to me like the angels from heaven take their orders from…from God.”
She’d never mentioned the heavenly Father that way. My heart leaped.
There was a catch in her voice as she read the verse again out loud. Looking up, she whispered, “Can you believe it, Mer—a God who sends angels, His very own angels, to guard us on earth?”
I smiled through tears, and poor little Secrets caught a few drops on his nose. It was best that I didn’t say a word. Chelsea was the one who needed to talk—to express her true inner feelings.
The sound of tires on the dirt lane caught our attention. Reluctantly, I turned to look out the window and was surprised to see my father pull up in the driveway. “What’s my dad doing here?” I asked.
Chelsea peered out into the darkness. “Half the community is over here.”
I didn’t say anything, but I wondered about it. Rescue by kidnapping—it seemed so drastic. But love sometimes demands extreme measures.
Chelsea sat down opposite me on the window seat. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Merry,” she said. “Yet I’ve given you a hard time about God and the Bible all these years.”
I shrugged, playing it down. “We’re still friends, though, right?”
“But I think things are going to be different. I won’t put you down about God anymore. I promise.”
Chelsea’s change of heart was a major breakthrough. One I’d been praying for. Levi and Lissa had been praying for her, too, since last spring.
She got up and switched on her matching dresser lamps. The room was filled with brilliant light, and after having sat there in the fading light of dusk, my eyes had to grow accustomed to it. I knew it would be the same for Chelsea. Just because she’d begun to recognize God as a living spirit didn’t mean she was necessarily ready to accept the Good News of Jesus. It would take some getting accustomed to. And Sunday was another day.
Chelsea told me to stay put. She went downstairs and soon returned carrying two cans of soda. “You know, I heard something today at school.”
“What?”
“Some kid told me that Stiggy Eastman has photographed an amazing shot for this year’s contest.”
I snickered. “I heard it, too. From Ashley.”
Chelsea stared at me. “Hey, you never told me how your photos came out.”
“Well, when Mom and I went into town to pick them up, I found someone else’s pictures in my package.”
“Oh, Merry…no. What’ll you do?”
“What can I do?” I sighed, twisting my hair. I hated discussing this topic. “If you wanna know the truth, I think the photo lab flat-out lost them.”
“That’s despicable.”
“Maybe I’m just not supposed to enter the contest this year.”
“How can you say that?”
“Look, nothing can be done except a lot of praying,” I admitted.
“Well, then you better keep praying,” she said, surprising me.
Something was truly changing in her. She’d never, ever said such a thing to me.
“In my opinion,” she said, “the old shanty was the perfect choice, even though I was kind of ticked at you for snapping pictures when I was so freaked.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I looked at her beautiful bedroom with its white French-provincial furniture and thick throw rugs. “I don’t think I ever apologized for turning my back on you in the woods when you were so frightened.”
“It’s okay—no big deal. Besides, we oughta look on the bright side. I think my mom’s coming home.”
“When…how?”
She beamed, her eyes dancing. “That’s why all those people are downstairs,” she informed me. “Daddy’s got a plan, and I know you won’t believe this, but it’s true: He’s going to kidnap my mom because he loves her.”
I nodded, reaching for her hand. “I heard about it, I just didn’t know when it would be.”
She shook her head. “Mom’s gonna be so bummed out over it,” she went on. “But in time, when everything’s behind her, she’ll be coming home.”
We talked for a while longer, and she expla
ined that her dad didn’t want her involved in planning the kidnapping. “That’s why I’m glad you came over. With all the talk going on down-stairs…well, I’m really glad you’re here, Mer.”
I glanced at my watch. “I better call my mom. She’ll worry if I don’t let her know where I am.”
“Good idea,” she said. “Maybe if all of us did that—let people know exactly where we are—the world would be a better place.”
I must admit, I wasn’t totally sure what Chelsea was referring to, but I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with her new view of life and love. And God.
Chapter
23
Sunday was a glorious autumn day in more ways than one. Chelsea went to Sunday school and church with us and actually raised her hand to ask questions in class.
It was strange dealing with my emotions, however. On one side of me sat exuberant Chelsea, so eager to be here, and on the opposite side was flirtatious Ashley, trying her best to get Jon’s attention.
I didn’t want a single thing to spoil my day with Chelsea, so I honed my concentration skills and did my best to block out all distractions.
In the hallway after class, Ashley cornered me and shared the events of her Friday evening with Jon and their cozy photo session. She reviewed every detail for my benefit.
“Sounds like things went well,” I said, refusing to show a smidgen of jealousy and keeping an eye on Chelsea, who’d gone back into the classroom to talk to Mr. Burg.
“Oh, did they ever!” Ashley carried on.
“Well, if I were you, I’d steer clear of that photo lab near the school.”
Her eyes burst open. “Really? That’s the place Stiggy recommended to me. He said he’s always gone there.”
“Well, do what you want,” I said, going to find Chelsea. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Ashley cocked her head suspiciously. “Did something happen?”
I wasn’t going to tell her my photographs were missing. Not in a million-trazillion years!
“Excuse me,” I said, flouncing off to get Chelsea.
Mr. Burg was showing her a scripture, and she asked to write it down. Tickled at her genuine interest, I waited patiently.
It was after the morning worship service, when people were milling around, that I ran into Jon. Actually, he ran into me. Not literally, but he was there in the lobby, smiling his wonderful grin.
I included Chelsea in our conversation, never regretting for one minute that Jon and I wouldn’t be speaking alliteration-eze this time around. There were more important things in life than silly word games.
“Everyone’s talking about the photography contest,” Jon said with a quizzical expression on his handsome face.
I didn’t volunteer any information about my lost photos, and I knew I could trust Chelsea not to mention anything, either.
Jon started to alliterate a couple of times, probably out of habit. Chelsea brought up the angel discussion from Sunday school, and Jon listened, apparently pleased to see Chelsea taking interest in such things.
Monday morning, Mr. Eastman missed his daily date with the intercom. Mrs. Fields, my homeroom teacher, explained that our principal had seemed mighty upset about a roll of film. “Evidently, some prized pictures he took have become misplaced,” she said before the opening announcements.
Had Mr. Eastman taken his film to the same photo lab as I had? I decided to stop by his office later—maybe during lunch.
The school secretary ended up doing his beloved duty. “Good morning, students,” her sweet voice rang through the classrooms—a delightful change. “Today is Monday, October fourteenth. We will have schedule A. Faculty and students, please make a note of this.”
Next came the national anthem. I leaped out of my seat, the first student standing as the warbled tape began to play. I felt truly terrific.
The past eleven days had brought traumatic ups and downs for all of us on SummerHill Lane. But the worst was behind us. Mr. Davis, with the help of my dad and several other men, was able to snatch Chelsea’s mom away from the cult group after her evening workout at a fitness center. From what Dad says, Chelsea was right—her mom did resist the “rescue.” The good news is that Berta Jean Davis will be coming home someday. Not soon, but someday.
Levi Zook? He’ll be getting a letter with my picture enclosed sometime this week. I mailed it off this morning before catching the school bus. I’m glad he’s listening to God’s call. Still, things are going to be very different on SummerHill with Levi off at college—and overseas, too.
As for Jon Klein, he’s starting to wake up and realize I’m a girl, not just a buddy—at least I think so. We don’t have many classes together this semester, but today he wandered over and sat with Chelsea, Lissa, and me during lunch. Ashley scrutinized the situation from three tables away. If I had my wish, she’d back off entirely. We’ll see….
Miracle of miracles! My photographs were finally located. It seems that the owner’s wife took them with her to New York by pure accident. And Mr. Eastman found his, too. They were the photos of antique furnishings—some that had been in his family for several generations.
Meanwhile, I guess it doesn’t matter much who wins first prize in the photography contest this year. I suppose it would if that’s all a girl had to look forward to. But things like hoping to lead a friend to Jesus; writing and receiving letters from a young, handsome preacher-to-be; and oh yes…working to improve a sagging relationship with a big brother, now those are higher goals.
The photos of the shed are truly incredible, however. Not because of any genius photography on my part. Serene—almost heavenly—are probably the best words to describe the one I’m going to submit for the contest. It’s uncanny the way an ethereal white mist showers down over the dark house of secrets.
When I showed it to Chelsea, she got all charged up about it. “I’m telling you, Mer,” she declared, “if you stare just right at the shaft of light, you’d think there was a very tall angel hovering over the place.”
“A what?” I studied the photo.
“Right there. See that?” She pointed, tracing the outline. “Check out that long, flowing gown. And there…I see wings. I do!”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” I argued. “Why would God’s messenger be there?”
“Merry,” she said, looking at me as if thoroughly aghast. “You prayed, don’t you remember?”
I nodded, a smile bursting across my face.
Chelsea was right. I’d asked God to send His angels to watch over us. Maybe there was an angel in the photo, but maybe there wasn’t. Someday in heaven, I would know for sure.
I thought of my twin sister. “Hey, Faithie already knows,” I said, perched on Chelsea’s window seat, facing out toward the dusk.
Chelsea sat cross-legged next to me. We gazed at the first star of the evening. Its light shown against the navy blue darkness, topping off our day. “Are you sure she knows?” she asked softly.
I leaned back against the wall and smiled at my friend.
“One-hundred-percent-amen sure.”
For Christine Dennis,
my young writer/friend,
who has much in common
with Merry Hanson.
And…
for Becky Byler,
my little Amish friend,
who has more in common
with Rachel Zook.
Friendships multiply joys….
—HANDBOOK OF PROVERBS, 1855
Chapter
1
“If I die before my mom gets to come home,” Chelsea Davis said one wintry afternoon, “will you tell her how much I loved her?”
I stopped playing with my kitten, Lily White, and stared at my longtime friend. “You’re not dying, and your mom’ll be home soon. You’ll see.”
“But it’s taking forever to get her well again.” She scooted over the living room floor, going to sit cross-legged in front of our stone fireplace. Her auburn hair fell
halfway down her back as she stared into the flames. Turning, she motioned for me to join her.
I abandoned Lily White, who had succumbed to a catnap, and went to sit on the rug next to Chelsea. The warmth from the fire made my face all warm and rosy.
We fell silent, becoming almost drowsy as the blaze crackled and snapped before us. It was the coldest December day in twenty years, or so the noon weatherman had just announced. And I was absolutely thrilled that my friend had come to stay for the weekend. Because, for more than one reason, I was worried about her.
Recently, Chelsea and I had become close friends. Probably because we’d lived through a real-life trauma—the nightmarish event of her mother’s running away to join a cult group.
Back in October, Mrs. Davis had made friends with an outgoing couple and, unknowingly, had fallen under their spell and that of their leader. She’d even taken some sort of oath and gone away to live at a compound, leaving Chelsea and her dad alone—and terribly hurt and confused. Now Mrs. Davis was being rehabilitated, and the family hoped she’d be released in time for the holidays.
“When was the last time you heard from your mom?” I asked.
“Last week.” Her eyes grew serious. “But she didn’t wanna talk much. I don’t think she likes the phone—one of her new phobias, maybe.”
“So why don’t you tell her how you feel in a letter?”
“That I love her?” She seemed surprised.
“Or send a card that says it for you.”
Chelsea turned back to watch the fire. “I don’t know.”
“It’s only a suggestion.”
Nodding, she continued. “How would you feel if your mom went off and lost her mind?”
I took a deep breath. “I really don’t know.”
Truth was, Chelsea’s mom was as sane as anyone in the Lancaster County area. She’d been brainwashed, though, and as my doctor dad had explained to me, sometimes these things take a long time.
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