Not wanting to stir up more sorrow in my friend, I steered the conversation to other things. “Did I tell you? Levi Zook is coming home.”
“For Christmas?” Her sea-green eyes brightened. “Since when?”
“Well, he’s back from his overseas mission. I know that much.”
“Hey, I think you’ve been holding out on me,” she insisted. “Did he write or something?”
I tried not to grin.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s have a look at the letter.” She was getting pushy now. First morbid…now bossy. Which was worse?
“You don’t really want to read it, do you?” I said.
But she saw through me. “Okay, Mer, if that’s the way you wanna play it, fine.” And with that, she got up and ran for the stairs.
Of course I was trailing close behind. I didn’t want Chelsea to actually find Levi’s letter—let alone read what the former Amish boy had written.
Levi Zook was probably the most sincere and loyal seventeen-year-old guy I’d ever known. But then, I hadn’t really known many guys his age, except for my brother, Skip, who was a year older than Levi and also in his first year of college.
Actually, Levi and I—and the other Zook children—had grown up together. Our properties shared the same boundary—a thick grove of willow trees. Having grown up in an Old Order Amish family, Levi was fun loving and hardworking. He was also very persistent. Seemed to know exactly what he wanted out of life.
“So where’s the letter?” Chelsea demanded, sporting a grin.
I closed the door to my bedroom. “How about if I just summarize it for you?”
“Forget it! I want details—the latest in the ongoing romantic saga between—”
“Romantic? Levi and I aren’t…uh, together or anything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She sat at my desk, flashing a sneaky smile as, slowly, she pulled out the narrow drawer. “Is this it? Is this your hiding place?”
I folded my arms and watched, refusing her a single clue. Leaning against the door, I waited.
Naturally, she wasn’t anywhere near the spot where I kept private letters and things. But I was surprised to see that she had found something. Something I’d completely forgotten about.
“Well, what do we have here?” She held up a note from Jonathan Klein. It was the one he’d passed to me during math class on Thursday, two days ago.
I knew if I didn’t respond, Chelsea would think she’d discovered a gold mine. “Oh that.” I pushed my hair back over my shoulder nonchalantly. “Go ahead, have a look.”
She moved her lips, probably trying to decipher his alliterated words, then frowned, apparently puzzled. “Does he always write like this?”
I wasn’t about to divulge Jon’s and my big secret—our ongoing word game. Frequently, we talked to each other in what we called alliteration-eze, trying to see who could think faster off the top of the head. Usually, it was Jon, and for that, I’d secretly named him the Alliteration Wizard.
“Oh, you know Jon,” I said, hoping she’d drop the subject.
She glanced at the note again and then waved it in a mocking manner. “Seems to me the next few weeks could be very interesting around here.”
I didn’t have to think twice to know what she meant. The fact was, both Levi and Jon would be breathing the same brisk Pennsylvania air this Christmas.
My one and only hope was that they wouldn’t show up at my house on the exact same day.
Chapter
2
After supper, Chelsea did some more poking around. “C’mon, Mer, won’tcha give me at least one little hint?” She opened the door to my walk-in closet, then glanced over her shoulder at me. “Well…am I hot or cold?”
Honestly, she was very warm; in fact, she was close to stepping into forbidden territory. “Let’s just say you’re downright nosy!”
We burst out laughing, and much to my relief, she closed the closet door and came to sit on the bed beside me. “You really don’t want me to read it, do you, Merry?”
I ignored the question, wandering over to the bookcase to search through volumes of old poetry. “Here,” I said, thumbing through Longfellow. “Now, this is truly cool.”
Hearing her exhale, I knew she was restless about my being so evasive. “What’s this got to do with Levi Zook?” she insisted.
“Just wait. You’ll see.” I planted myself in the middle of the room and cleared my throat. “I want you to hear a beautiful passage from Evangeline.”
“Oh, real sweet, Mer,” she retorted, folding her arms. “How boring can you get?”
“No…listen. It’s incredible, really.” I glanced at her, waiting for the fake scowl to fade. “Are you ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
I held the book open and began to read, “ ‘And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.’ ”
She gazed up at me incredulously. “Who wrote that?”
“Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”
“Read it again,” she said softly.
I did and, by the serene look on her face, knew Chelsea had actually enjoyed it.
“What’s it mean?” she asked.
Returning the book to the shelf, I gave her my two cents’ worth. “I suppose you could read into it whatever you want to. But for me, it’s about Levi. I mean, there are many happy echoes in my mind from our friendship.”
“Last summer?”
I nodded. “And before that, because Levi and I are friends from childhood. But they—the echoes—are starting to fade.”
Do I dare express something so personal?
Levi had told me, without mincing words, that I was the girl for him. Trouble was, even though we were only a year apart, he was off at a Mennonite college in Virginia these days, and I was a sophomore at James Buchanan High. For now, we’d agreed to remain friends; nothing more. And since I had my heart set on the Alliteration Wizard, that was ideal.
“Are you saying you’re suffering because of Levi’s silence?” Chelsea asked.
“Well, he hasn’t written for weeks. But then, he’s been down in South America building a church.”
She stretched her arms high over her head. “Whoa, I’m totally confused. I mean, the way you look at Jon Klein sometimes…what’s that about?”
“What?”
She giggled. “C’mon, Mer, you know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t. And I think it’s time you spill it out!”
She jumped off the bed and started pulling on my arm. “Come sit down and stop showing off, and maybe I will.”
I probably was overdoing the dramatics—reading highbrow poetry and all, especially to a down-home girl like Chelsea. Actually, we were both country girls. “Okay, I’m sitting. So talk.”
She told me what she’d been observing every morning in the hallways of James Buchanan High. “Jon’s always hanging out at your locker. And you…you’re always soaking it up.”
“What do you mean, soaking? Aren’t friends supposed to pay attention to each other?” It was a pitiful comeback.
“But this thing you two are always doing,” she added. “It looks so…so weird.”
“What? What’s weird?”
She pulled on a strand of her hair, pausing for a moment before going on. “Oh, I don’t know, you always end up staring at him, Mer, not saying a word—like you’re love-struck or something.”
“Oh that. I know exactly what you’re saying. But it’s not what you think!”
Her eyes bore into me. “So, what is it?”
I fell over onto the bed in a torrent of giggles. What Chelsea didn’t know was that each morning before school, Jon would show up at my locker with some sort of clever greeting. Always alliterated, actually.
He expected me to fire back something similar in response. So what Chelsea had termed pining over Jon was nothing more than mere concentration on my part.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded. “Are yo
u nuts over two guys? Is that it?”
This was a curious comment, and one I certainly didn’t want to explore further. Not with Chelsea. Probably not with anyone.
I grabbed one of my sham pillows and playfully began flinging it at her. “You ask way too many questions.”
Unexpectedly, she followed suit, walloping me good with the other bed pillow. “I must be right!” she hollered gleefully. And the first pillow fight of the weekend had begun.
But Chelsea was not right. Not even close. I have to admit that it was I who liked Jon—liked him a lot. But it was Levi who liked me.
During family devotions, Chelsea listened as Dad read the Bible. She surprised me by being attentive. This was the formerly atheist girl friend who’d resisted everything I’d ever said about God or the Bible up until a few months ago. Tomorrow she was going to attend Sunday school and church with me and my family. Not for the first time, either.
Later, when we changed into our pajamas upstairs, Chelsea asked me to pray with her. “You know, about my mom,” she said with trusting eyes. “More than anything, I want her back home for Christmas.”
“Sure, I’ll pray.” We knelt beside my bed, surrounded by Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, and Lily White, my four wonderful cats. Folding my hands, I began. “Dear Lord, thank you for being with Chelsea’s mom and—”
“And for getting her this far safely,” Chelsea cut in.
I smiled, my eyes still closed. “We know you have a plan for her…and for the whole Davis family,” I continued. “We’re counting on you to work things out.”
She was quick to add, “And if you don’t mind, could you please bring my mom home in time for…for your birthday?”
I was so delighted, I could hardly end the prayer. Instead, Chelsea jumped right in and finished for me. “Amen, and thanks for hearing Merry’s and my prayer.”
Turning, I gave her a hug. “Hey, you’re good. Is this a first?”
She dipped her head, looking sheepish. “First time praying out loud, yeah.”
“So…you’ve been talking to God silently sometimes?”
“At home in my room.”
Getting up, I arranged the cat quartet toward the foot of the bed on top of my blue-striped comforter. “I’m glad you told me, Chels.” I was going to let her have my bed for the night. The floor and my sleeping bag were just fine for me.
“Now that you know one of my secrets, how about if you tell me about that letter of yours?” She was steadfast and persistent. Almost as determined as Levi!
Before going to the closet, I swept my hair back into a loose ponytail, securing it with a band. Then I located the pinkish shoe box nestled on the middle shelf of my closet near my camera collection and pulled it down. “Okay. You wanna know about Levi…here goes.” I felt surprisingly comfortable with what I’d decided to do.
Sifting through the small box, I found his latest letter and handed it to my friend. By the eager look on Chelsea’s face, she was itching to have a peek. Maybe if she read it for herself she would see that I was not the one pushing to be more than friends! Not in the least.
Chapter
3
“Okay with you if I read out loud?” Chelsea wore a triumphant look.
“Don’t be too loud.” I glanced at the door. “You know how a mother can be sometimes.” Suddenly, I realized how foolish my comment was. From what Chelsea had been saying, she’d give anything to have her mother around.
Chelsea began reading: “ ‘My dear Merry,’ ” Stopping for a second, she hinted a smile. “Is this how he always starts?”
I shrugged. “Read it. Don’t analyze it.”
She went on. “ ‘I realize it may seem like a long time since you’ve gotten a letter from me, and it has been. But all this time I’ve been helping build a church in Bolivia with other Mennonite students.
“ ‘Please, Merry, don’t be thinking that I haven’t thought of you every day, though, since leaving SummerHill.’ ”
She paused momentarily, gazing at me with quizzical eyes. “This guy’s crazy about you!”
“Shh! Keep your voice down,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, yeah…because your mom’s gonna think Levi’s coming home to propose if she gets wind of it, right?”
“There’s no chance of a proposal. I’m one-hundred-percent-amen sure about that.”
Chelsea chuckled at my pet phrase. “Sounds like you’re mighty positive.”
“I’m only sixteen. Levi’s got better sense.”
“Well,” she shot back, “everyone knows the Amish marry young.”
“But he’s not Amish anymore.” I motioned for her to continue the letter. “He’s Mennonite, remember?”
She smiled a taunting smile, then found her place and continued. “ ‘The Lord willing, I’ll be coming home December 20th to spend Christmas with my family. I want to see you, Merry. Will that suit you?’ ”
By now, Chelsea was bouncing up and down on my bed, reacting to the quaint, folksy sound of his letter, no doubt.
“Calm down,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”
But she was beside herself with glee, waving the letter around. “I can’t believe you’re not freaked out about this. I mean, this Levi person is definitely in love with you, Merry Hanson!”
I dashed over and snatched the letter out of her hand. “Let me see that!” Scanning through it, I especially scrutinized the remainder.
Remember, if it won’t work out for us to visit together before or during Christmas, we’ll have plenty of time to talk afterward. I’ll be in the Lancaster area well into the New Year. God bless you always, Merry.
With greatest affection,
Levi Zook
It was out of the question. No one was going to read the ending of this letter! Quickly, I returned it to the safety of the envelope. “I think you’ve had enough for one night,” I stated.
“Hey!” Chelsea wailed. “Don’t do this to me!”
The noise brought an almost instant knock on my bedroom door. “Girls, girls, it’s getting late,” Mom’s voice crept through.
“Sorry,” I called. “We were just going to bed.”
“Don’t you wish,” Chelsea whispered, eyeing me.
“We are,” I insisted after the sound of footsteps faded away.
“Aw, don’t be such a party pooper,” she whined.
“This isn’t a party. Besides, I’m tired.” And I was ticked, too. Chelsea was being a real pain. I turned out the light and wiggled down into my sleeping bag. “ ’Night.”
“Don’t be so sensitive” came her reply.
I huffed a bit. “Well, I am, so get over it.”
A few moments passed, and my eyes began to adjust to the dark room. I wondered if I’d been too short with her.
Then Chelsea’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, I’m sorry. Okay?”
“Sure. See you in the morning.”
Sunday breakfast was served promptly at eight-thirty. Dad—not Mom—expected us to be at the table without delay. Which meant both Chelsea and I were rushing around taking turns in the shower.
Dad had always been a stickler for promptness, especially on Sundays. To him, it was better to show up for church half an hour early than to be ten minutes late.
When Chelsea and I made our entrance into the kitchen, he peered over his newspaper briefly, sporting a stubby growth of whiskers as he sat at the head of the table. “Good morning, girls.”
“Morning,” we said in unison.
Mom served up her best blueberry muffins, along with scrambled eggs, bacon, and a side dish of cantaloupe. Chelsea gave me a sideways glance, eyes wide.
“Mom doesn’t mess around at mealtime,” I said, loud enough for Mom to hear.
She smiled, coming over to the table with fresh butter from the Zooks’ farm and a dish of whipped cream for the muffins. “Merry’s right,” she said, serving Dad first. “Always remember: Good eaters make good citizens.”
To that, Dad closed his paper, clucki
ng as Mom sat across from him. “I don’t know about the ‘good citizens’ part,” he said. “But it never hurts to eat heartily now and then.”
Chelsea bowed her head along with the rest of us when Dad said the table blessing. Having her in the house like this—seeing her eager to join in with our family routine—encouraged me. I couldn’t wait to tell Levi about the changes happening in her. Maybe it was the one thing we would feel comfortable talking about while he was home. Back last spring, he’d agreed to pray for Chelsea, as had Jon Klein and several other of my church friends.
Truly amazing things had begun to take place. In fact, the girl was a walking, breathing turnaround. And now, sitting beside her at our family table, I was beginning to feel sorry about the way I’d cut her off last night.
After the prayer and a quick morning devotional, Mom poured orange juice for everyone. “I almost forgot, Merry,” she said. “Rachel Zook stopped by earlier.”
“She did?”
“She wants you to visit her sometime this afternoon.”
I glanced at Chelsea. “Wanna see an authentic Amish dairy farm?”
“Cool,” she replied.
“Good. Then we’ll go right after dinner.”
Dad stirred sugar into his coffee and mentioned a recent rumor he’d heard. “Is it true that Levi is coming home for Christmas?”
He was asking me!
Chelsea smirked, no doubt dying to see how I handled myself.
“Levi’s coming home, all right.” I was unable to control my smile.
“Oh?” Now it was Mom’s turn to perk up her ears.
I flashed a warning to Chelsea. Now wasn’t the time for her to blurt something out about the guy’s “sweet” letter.
After a gulp of juice, I explained, “Rachel’s probably planning something special for him. Who knows? A welcome-home party would be nice.” It was an attempt to divert the focus of the conversation, even though I knew well and good the Amish weren’t much for throwing parties.
Dad resumed his coffee drinking and—thank goodness—seemed to be losing interest.
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 Page 11