SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2

by Beverly Lewis

  When the phone rang, Mom rushed out of the room and down the hall.

  Dad winked. “I believe she’s expecting a call from your brother.”

  “Is Skip doing okay now?” I asked. He’d found the adjustment to college life tougher than expected.

  “If you’re referring to his homesickness, yes, I think that may have run its course.”

  I sipped some hot tea. “Like my headache will, right?”

  Dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “How did it happen—the volleyball hitting you in the head?”

  To tell the truth, I felt uncomfortable spilling out the details to Dad. I mean, he wasn’t one to come down hard on stupidity or anything. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about the state I’d been in during P.E.—contemplating the Alliteration Wizard during a fast-paced volleyball game. C’mon!

  “I guess I wasn’t paying much attention,” I mumbled. Picking up my fork, I proceeded to fill my mouth with mashed potatoes and gravy. That way if he asked additional questions, I’d have plenty of time to think of a genius response while chewing.

  “Merry,” Mom called from the hallway. “Do you feel up to talking to Lissa Vyner?”

  I nodded my answer to Dad, who passed it on to Mom. Soon enough, she brought the cordless phone to me, and my parents made a reluctant exit.

  “Hi, Lissa,” I said.

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Okay, except for a monstrous headache.”

  “You really got whacked today. What do you expect?”

  “I’ll live, I guess,” I replied.

  “Aw, Mer, don’t say that.” She paused. “Oh, before I forget, Ashley wants you to know she’s worried about you.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Silence came and went. “Uh…you two still aren’t—”

  “It’s nothing to worry about, really,” I was quick to say. True, Ashley and I still experienced some friction between us, off and on. Probably because both of us had our hearts set on Jon Klein.

  Lissa went on. “Will you let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

  “Thanks, Liss, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, if you need homework assignments or anything, have your mom call the school secretary and let me know.”

  “I really can’t miss school tomorrow,” I assured her. “But thanks anyway.” We said good-bye and hung up, and I resumed eating my supper.

  Later, when the pain medication finally took hold, I opened my Bible to the mini-concordance in the back. I searched for the word echo, curious to see if it was represented anywhere in the Scriptures. It wasn’t.

  Then, silly me, I even thought of calling Ashley to ask if she might borrow her father’s big concordance to look up the word. Instead, I decided to try a synonym. I looked up the word answer in my Bible.

  Sure enough, oodles of references. Actually thirty or more. I didn’t take time to locate all of them, but I did read Psalm ninety-one, enjoying it for its rhythm and flow—much the way an excellent poem is written in free verse. The part about the angels in verses eleven and twelve always excited me. To think that there were heavenly messengers in charge of protecting us here on earth!

  Then I came to the next to the last verse. The one with the word I was looking for: answer.

  God’s Word prompted me to pray for Chelsea’s mother once again. When I finished, I wondered if it was too late to call Chelsea herself.

  I checked the clock in my room. Eight-thirty. She’d still be up. Swiftly, I dialed her number.

  “Davis residence.” It was Chelsea’s father.

  “Hello, Mr. Davis. This is Merry Hanson. May I please speak to Chelsea?”

  “Hold on.” Clunk. He set the phone down hard.

  I waited for a moment, feeling uneasy, then Chelsea answered.

  “Is everything all right?” I inquired.

  She sounded hesitant. “I’m not sure if Daddy wants me telling you this, but my mom just called.”

  “She did? That’s great.”

  “Well, I don’t know. We got the feeling she doesn’t wanna come home quite yet.”

  My heart sank. “Oh, Chelsea, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.” She sounded as if she might cry. “What if this rehabilitation stuff doesn’t work out, Mer? What if she never gets back to her normal self?”

  I tried to comfort her. “My dad says it takes longer for some patients. But, please, don’t give up. We’re praying, remember?”

  She was silent for a few seconds. Then—“I really think your prayers are the only thing keeping us going.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. Dear, dear Chelsea. What she’d gone through! How could I help her now?

  “You said something today that was absolutely correct,”

  I added, remembering our conversation on the bus. “About my obsession for poetry. Well, I looked up some verses in the Bible on the word answer, and guess what? I found a bunch of truly terrific Psalms.”

  “Why that word?”

  “Remember how we were talking about echoes—from that poem by Longfellow?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I decided to check out some verses using a similar word. And ‘answer’ was it.”

  “The book of Psalms does seem a little like poetry,” she remarked.

  “You’re right.”

  Soon we were talking about her worries and fears over her absentee mother. “Sometimes I get the feeling she doesn’t love me anymore,” Chelsea said.

  “You’re her own flesh and blood—the only child she’s ever had. Of course she loves you.”

  I heard her sigh. “I wish none of this had ever happened, Merry. I really do!” She paused for a moment. “Will you read one of those verses you found?” she asked unexpectedly.

  “Sure.” I reached for my Bible. “Here’s Psalm ninety-one, verse fifteen. It goes like this: ‘He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.’ ”

  “Wow,” she whispered. “That ‘he’ in the verse could be anyone, right?”

  “Yep.”

  She paused, then said, “Knowing that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  “It’s a comfort,” I admitted. “We can count on those words, you know.”

  “Hey, I’m gonna look it up in our big, old family Bible.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  It was getting late by the time we said our good-byes. I was anxious to sleep away my headache—praying, too, that an end was soon to come to the Davis family’s nightmare.

  Chapter

  7

  Almost two weeks later, the lump on my head was completely gone. And—oh glory—it was the last day of school before Christmas break! It was also the day Levi Zook was scheduled to arrive home.

  Getting off the bus after school, I glanced around almost sheepishly. In the distance, beyond the long grove of willow trees between my house and the Zooks’ farm, I surveyed the area for clues of Levi’s return.

  “What’s with you?” Chelsea cast a sideways stare.

  I shrugged, not wanting to let on how nervous I was.

  She laughed. “Levi’s nowhere in sight. Honest, Mer.”

  I said nothing and scurried toward the white-columned front porch. Chelsea and I headed inside by way of the front door—the quickest way to warmth. Smells of hot cocoa, mingled with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, greeted us.

  I hung up my coat, scarf, and gloves in the hall closet. “In case you didn’t already know it, my mom’s a genius in the kitchen,” I told Chelsea.

  “You don’t have to convince me.” She yanked off her snow boots and tossed her jacket onto the coatrack. Then the two of us, as if pulled by a magnet, hurried to the kitchen.

  My mom, being the hostess she is, sat us down and brought steaming hot cocoa and a plateful of cookies to the table. “Did you girls have a good last day of school for the year?”

  “Hey, that’s right!” Chelsea said.

  “No s
chool till after New Year’s, right?” I chimed in.

  “Two incredible weeks away from school!” Gleefully, my friend reached for a cookie.

  “Be sure to take some cookies home with you.” Mom removed the red-and-green plaid apron she’d been wearing.

  My friend’s face seemed to radiate at the offer. “Thanks, Mrs. Hanson. My dad absolutely adores chocolate chip cookies. In fact, my mom used to make…” Her voice trailed off, and I felt a lump push up in my throat.

  But leave it to my mother—a true master at steering conversation in a happier direction. And she certainly did that, maneuvering it clear away from Chelsea and right over to me. “Oh, Merry, you’ll never guess who I saw today.” There was mischief in her smile.

  “Let me guess,” I said, wrinkling my face. “Levi Zook?”

  Mom blew lightly on her hot drink, then looked back at me. “Merry? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, really.” Quickly, I got up to check on my cats. They seemed to be having a heyday with their own milky snack.

  My abrupt reaction may have been a bit too obvious—giving myself away. But I certainly did not want to discuss Levi. At least not in front of both my mom and my girl friend.

  Chelsea shot me a sympathetic look, and I leaned over to pet my furry friends, calling each one by name.

  Later, Chelsea and I were secluded away in my room. “Are you upset?” she probed.

  “Not really.”

  “Does your mom know about Levi’s letters?”

  “She’s not dense. Anyone in this house can see that his letters are coming less often, if that’s what you mean. But as far as ever reading them, no, Mom really doesn’t know what he writes to me.”

  Chelsea sat on the floor and leaned back on the side of my bed. “What would she think if she knew he was in love with you?”

  I laughed it off. “Levi’s too young to know that.”

  “Meaning?”

  “C’mon, you know what I’m saying.” I joined her on the floor, sitting cross-legged, too. “After all his years growing up Amish, Levi’s only now having a chance to experience the outside, modern world.”

  “So?”

  I sighed. Why was she making me spell this out? “So I guess I really don’t know how I feel about him anymore. Maybe he’s feeling the same way.” There, I’d said it. Straight and clear.

  “Aw, Mer, you’ve gotta be kidding me” was her reply. “You gave up a chance with Jon last summer so you could hang out with Levi. Now you’re telling me you don’t care about him?”

  The confusion in her eyes was evident. And the longer we sat there, the more I realized that if I were to be honest with myself, I’d have to admit I didn’t quite understand it, either.

  Only time would tell. Unfortunately, time was against me. Tomorrow was the skating party on Zooks’ pond. Rachel had talked of nothing else for the past few days. Among other things, the party was to be an opportunity for me to meet Matthew Yoder, the boy who’d been taking her home from Saturday night singings for several months now. The boy she was sure would shine his flashlight onto her bedroom window someday—a time-honored signal among the Old Order Amish indicating a marriage proposal.

  “Echoes…only echoes of the past,” I said. “That’s all Levi and I have now.”

  She waved my comment into the air. “Merry, when will you ever come down out of that cloud of yours?”

  I bobbed my head, looking around, pretending to see what she was talking about. “Hey, something is missing,” I teased. “We need some music in here. How about some cloud music?”

  She laughed but seemed to agree. So I turned on the radio and found my favorite contemporary Christian station. Maybe the music would drown out our conversation if there were curious ears nearby.

  Then I had a flash of an idea. “I think it’s high time for a photo update,” I said, heading for my walk-in closet. “When was the last time you had your picture taken?”

  She grinned. “September, for school pictures.”

  “That’s much too long ago,” I said, removing my digital camera from its case. “It’s nearly Christmas. Let’s have a photo shoot and send some pics to your mom. Okay with you?”

  Her face turned serious for a moment, then brightened. “Hey, maybe this is the answer—the very thing to encourage my mom to hurry and get better.”

  I took off the lens cap and stopped in my tracks. “Wait a minute. Are you saying she doesn’t have any pictures of you?”

  “Nothing from the present, only the past.” Her words came out sounding choked and dry.

  “Maybe your future will rest on this.” I motioned for her to lift her head a bit. “I’ll get prints made right away, and you can send the pictures off to her.”

  Click.

  “And she’ll have them before Christmas.” She sighed audibly. “Only thing is, I wish Mom would come home to SummerHill instead.”

  “How about this,” I continued. “Can you smile real big—you know, kinda make your eyes plead into the camera? Good. Now hold that pose right there.”

  Click

  Another nice shot. Chelsea was actually getting into the spirit of things.

  In the end, I had seven or eight truly great poses. Even Chelsea seemed impressed.

  “Okay, first thing tomorrow, I’ll have my dad get prints.”

  “Great, Mer. Thanks.”

  I returned the camera to its leather case, making a mental note to back up the files later on the downstairs computer. “You might be able to mail the pictures to your mom by the time the postman comes tomorrow afternoon.”

  My plan seemed to please her, and she wore her happy face awhile longer.

  When Mr. Davis stopped by for her around suppertime, Chelsea was loaded down with two boxes of home-baked goodies. “Thanks for everything,” she called to Mom and me.

  “Anytime.” Mom waved to her.

  We stood in the doorway, watching them pull away. I was delighted at having thought of the photo shoot. Chelsea had seemed almost cheerful when she left.

  And I was thankful, too, for Mom’s mouthwatering cookies, which had seemingly worked a healing all their own.

  Chapter

  8

  Just as I figured, the hours before the skating party were stressful ones. Honestly, I kept thinking Levi might show up on my back doorstep—plumb out of the blue—wanting to see me. But remarkably, and much to my relief, he didn’t come.

  I couldn’t begin to count the times I went rushing down the hall to Skip’s bedroom, though, to gaze out the window. Once, I even caught a glimpse of Levi hitching a horse to the family carriage, probably so his mother could ride to one of the many quilting frolics going on this time of year. Seeing Levi from this distance, I felt nothing at all. No heart-pumping surges…nothing.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep barging into Skip’s room once he arrived home for the holidays, so I took every advantage to do so this morning.

  Then it happened. While leaning on the windowsill and gazing in the direction of Zooks’ farm, Mom strolled into the room.

  Hearing her, I spun around. “Oh…hi, Mom.”

  “Merry?” She eyed me suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, nothing really.” And with that, I dashed from the room, feeling really silly. Embarrassed too.

  My mother had caught me gawking at the farmhouse next door. She was probably thinking that I simply couldn’t wait to meet Levi for the skating party. She never would have guessed the truth.

  Sunlight glinted off the snowy surface of fields and pastureland, creating a dazzling brightness as I walked the plowed road to the Zooks’ later in the afternoon.

  Old Man Winter had parceled out plenty of ice and snow from the first weekend in December until now. In fact, in some peculiar way, it almost seemed as though the frigid temperatures and foul weather were somehow related to the arrival of Levi’s last letter—the one saying he was coming home.

  Anyway, I was dressed for the occasion: earmuffs,
fur-lined gloves, long johns under my jeans, and my down-filled jacket. As I turned onto Zooks’ private drive, I saw in the distance Levi, Rachel, and Matthew Yoder heading for the pond, their skates slung over their shoulders.

  It almost startled me, how shy I felt. I even thought of turning back and going home. Why hadn’t they waited for me? Was I late?

  Over a week ago, Rachel had mentioned something about having Levi come to my house to pick me up for the occasion. It had sounded too much like a date, though, and I had been determined that he not do such a thing. “Levi and I are really just good friends,” I’d reminded her.

  Most likely that was the reason the three of them were now approaching the wide pond ahead of me, and I was clear back here. By myself.

  Nearing the farmhouse, I glanced at the window and spied Rachel’s mother working in the kitchen. The dark green window shades had been pulled up all the way, making it easy for me to see inside. Nancy and Ella Mae flitted about, helping their mother bake bread and probably some spice cookies—Levi’s favorite.

  Big brother had returned. The prodigal had come home for Christmas. But it wasn’t as if Levi were returning to the Amish church; he’d never joined, which, in many ways, was a good thing for him, especially since he’d up and left the Amish community of SummerHill. Old Order Amish church members put their wayward members through a strict excommunication and shunning if they ever took a step away from their baptismal vow.

  I kept going, following the barnyard and on over into the snowy meadow, stepping in the deep boot prints already made by the threesome ahead of me. The wintry path would lead me to the pond, which spanned half the width of Zooks’ property and a portion of ours, as well.

  Sections of the pond, especially out toward the east, were known to have deep, almost bottomless holes. All us kids knew about them because in the summer we loved to go diving in those spots. Sometimes, we’d even found treasures in the pond’s “cellar,” as we called the deepest places.

  I heard a sound behind me and thought it was Aaron, the youngest Zook boy. Turning, I investigated.

  “Merry, wait up!” the voice called.