SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2

by Beverly Lewis

  “Did you say a cellar…in the pond?” I was thoroughly confused.

  Smiling, Levi showed his teeth. “That’s what we always called the deepest part,” he explained.

  A flicker of a memory danced in my mind, then faded. “Oh,” I said, catching my breath.

  He leaned over, gazing down at me. “Merry, are ya all right?”

  “I think so…it was…something I thought I was about to remember.”

  With that comment, Rachel rushed over, and Levi let go of my hand. “What was my brother just now sayin’ to ya? Somethin’ about the cellar hole out there in the pond?”

  “Jah, that’s right.” Levi nodded. “Do ya remember the summer Curly John found himself a souvenir at the bottom of the pond?”

  “Ach, sure do,” she said.

  “Well, I wasn’t gonna be outdone, so I dove in headfirst,” Levi continued. “As far down as I could go with one breath, I went, searchin’ for something to bring back up.”

  “And ‘pride goeth before a fall’—ain’t it so?” Rachel teased. “You went and got yer foot caught in that willow root and near drowned.”

  “Sure would’ve, if it hadn’t been for Merry here.” He looked at me with dancing eyes. And for one silly minute, I thought I might be falling in love.

  Chelsea came for a visit about an hour after Rachel and Levi left. She brought the pictures I’d taken of her posing in my room. “I wanted you to see how the prints turned out,” she said. “They’re really good. Even better than they looked to me on your camera.”

  I’d always been very critical of my work, so I studied each of the photos carefully. Though Chelsea thought they were good, only four of the shots were tops in my opinion.

  She handed me two five-dollar bills. “This’ll pay for the prints.”

  “Oh, keep your money, really.”

  “But I want to give you something.” Chelsea plopped the money down on the table beside my bed. “You can’t imagine how glad my mom’ll be to get these.”

  “She’ll probably be happier to see you in person,” I quipped. “How long has it been?”

  “She left on October third, over two and a half months ago.”

  I was wheezing heavily now and propped myself up with more pillows. “I’ll keep praying for you and your dad. For your mom, too.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled up a chair. “Hey, has Jon Klein come to see you again?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I said. “You could ask my mom, though. There were several visitors here when I was out of it.”

  “You were zonked, all right. But you’re doing better, aren’t you, Mer?”

  I smiled back at her. “The docs are saying I might get to go home for Christmas Eve. That is if I promise to take my antibiotics and let Mom give me my lung massages.”

  “Hey, cool. That’s tomorrow.”

  We chitchatted some more, but Chelsea seemed most interested in discussing Jon—the boy who’d so bravely jumped into the icy pond water, attempting to save me. Or so my father had told me.

  “Mind if I give you a little background on this guy?” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “I found this in your desk drawer…at your house. But don’t freak out, your mom gave me permission, okay?”

  I leaned forward to see. “What is it?”

  “It’s a note from Jon. But since you’re in a fog zone right now, you’ll just have to trust me when I say that you like him, Mer. Anyway, he passed this to you in math class. You told me yourself.” She handed the note to me. “Take a look.”

  I began to read it—very unusual the way most words in a sentence began with the same letter of the alphabet. “This is some weird writing.”

  She agreed. “That’s what I thought last week when I first read it. But the thing I can’t let you overlook is that you…you are crazy about this guy. Before you nearly drowned, you and he would always meet every day at school at—”

  A faint image sprang up. “At our lockers?”

  “Hey, that’s right! What else?”

  I sank back onto my pillows. The impression had fizzled. “I don’t know now. It’s gone.”

  “Tell me…what did you remember?”

  I stared at the many get-well baskets and vases of flowers lining the shelf along the windowsill, thinking back to the past few seconds. I tried squeezing the recollection out of my brain, forcing it into my consciousness. “Something about lockers at school. I could almost see my combination lock dangling.”

  Chelsea was hopping happy. “This is truly terrific.”

  “Hey, isn’t ‘truly’ my word?” I said, laughing now. Laughing so hard, I began to cough.

  For some reason, she ran out of the room, bringing my mom back with her. “I think it’s happening,” Chelsea exclaimed. “I think her memory’s kicking in!”

  Jon Klein was my very last visitor of the day. “Finally,” he said, “I timed things to a tee.”

  “Was I sleeping when you came before?”

  He nodded. “Snoozing so soundly, very still, silent…such sleep.”

  “Oh…” Another image shot past. “What’s that you’re doing? All the s’s?”

  He grinned, standing tall next to my hospital bed. “It’s our word game, Merry, Mistress of Mirth. Can you still talk alliteration-eze?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever that is.”

  He began to explain, stopping to run his hand through his hair. He seemed a bit frustrated. “C’mon, Mistress Merry. Think through it.”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about—a word game? And what’s with the nickname?”

  His face drooped at my response.

  “Look, I’m real sorry,” I said, “but I don’t know what to say about the strange language you speak.”

  “Hey, you’re doing it.” His face brightened. “You’re starting to alliterate!”

  “I am? What do you mean, Jim?”

  He looked hurt just then, and I wondered if I’d forgotten something. Like maybe calling him the wrong name.

  Again.

  Chapter

  11

  I was thrilled when the doctor said I’d be going home for sure. Being stuck in the hospital at Christmastime was anything but fun!

  Our one-hundred-year-old farmhouse had never looked so good as it did when I first spied it from a quarter-mile away. The idyllic words from Longfellow’s “Song” boosted my spirits.

  Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;

  Home-keeping hearts are happiest,

  For those that wander they know not where

  Are full of trouble and full of care;

  To stay at home is best.

  My white figure skates were lying on the floor near the radiator in my room when I arrived. They felt like soaked cardboard—coerced to dry out. There they were, greeting me home, ugly as all get out. I decided I never wanted to wear them again. In fact, I didn’t even want to look at them. So when Mom came upstairs to serve some sort of soup, I decided to ask her to throw them away.

  “Something bothering you, honey?” She eyed me curiously.

  “It’s the skates. I don’t like looking at them. They remind me of…” I didn’t know for sure.

  She didn’t argue, just put them in an old shoe box and closed my closet door. “How’s that? Out of sight, out of mind.”

  “Much better.”

  She came over and felt my forehead. “I’m so glad to have you back home. We all are.”

  “Me too. I hate hospitals. They’re a hassle. Home’s a haven, a much happier place.”

  Mom looked at me funny. “Merry, why are you talking that way?”

  “What way?”

  “Everything’s…uh, kind of alliterated.”

  “It is?”

  She scratched her head and smiled. “You know, there are some people who would love to be able to do that naturally.”

  “Jim?”

  “Who?”

  “The boy who tried to save me but fell
in the pond instead?”

  “Oh, you mean Jon Klein?” She frowned a little. “Why? Does he talk that way?”

  “He did at the hospital yesterday.”

  Mom paused to make a fuss over my cats, who were beginning to crowd me on my bed. Then she left the room.

  Why did I keep forgetting that guy’s name? Sure, he was cute, but what on earth had been so wonderful about him? I struggled to remember who he was—and what it was that he and I liked to do at our lockers every day.

  Was Chelsea just giving me a hard time? Why would I go gaga over a guy with a hang-up for head rhyme?

  Deciding to get to the bottom of this, I pulled out my yearbook from last year. Then, so Mom wouldn’t worry that I’d have a setback, I slipped back into bed and began to browse.

  There were plenty of pictures of Jon Klein—no sports shots, though. Jon was on student council and did all kinds of other academic stuff. From the looks of things, he was super smart. Even made the honor roll both semesters!

  I closed the book and let my cats creep closer to me on my comforter. What had attracted me to the guy? Besides his attending my school and church, what else did we have in common?

  Chelsea might know, I decided. When she called to tell me about her Christmas Eve visit with her mother, I’d ask her more about Jon.

  I must admit, I could hardly wait.

  Dad arrived home earlier than usual from his duties at the ER. He came right upstairs to see me. “How’s my girl doing?” He kissed me on the top of my head and sat on the edge of my bed.

  “I’m feeling better, I think. Ready to tackle the Christmas tree—what’s under the tree, that is.”

  He smiled, looking far less tired than he had in the past two days. “Would you like to go downstairs? There’s a rip-roaring fire in the fireplace. It’s the place to be on Christmas Eve.”

  “I’ll do anything to get closer to the presents,” I teased.

  Nearly grown as I was, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me downstairs, planting me on the living room sofa in front of a crackling fire.

  In the corner stood a nine-foot tree, showering the room with twinkling white light. The tree filled the expanse of space between the hardwood floor and the high ceiling—typical of the old Pennsylvania farmhouses. Mom had carefully trimmed its thick branches with clusters of cream-colored grapes, baby’s breath, pearl hearts, dried hydrangeas, ivory angels, and snowy-white poinsettias. Definitely a white theme this year, and by the looks of so many winged messengers, an angelic one, too.

  Soon Mom came running with afghans, and Skip brought cushions for my back. My family fluttered about me, plumping up pillows and making sure every inch of me was covered in warmth. Except my head, of course.

  “Better watch it,” I warned. “You’ll have me spoiled in no time.”

  “Too late,” Skip said, laughing.

  Dad pulled his easy chair closer to the sofa. “So, tell me, did you remember anything new today?”

  I stared at the tree. “Well, for no reason at all, I sorta remembered the deep snow on the day I nearly drowned. The wind, too.”

  He nodded. “We did have quite a lot of snow prior to your accident. And again afterward,” he said softly. “Anything else?”

  “Echoes. There were echoes in the wind. In my ears…I could hear whispering in my ears as I—yes, that’s it, I remember skating now. I really do!”

  “Who was with you, Merry?” Dad seemed terribly excited, leaning forward as he anticipated my answer.

  I strained to recall. But not a single face came to mind, even though I’d been told Jon and Levi were there.

  The phone jangled me out of my reverie, and a few minutes later, Mom appeared in the doorway. “Are you up to a phone call, Merry?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Lissa Vyner. She said it’ll just be a minute.”

  “Sure, I’ll talk to her.”

  Dad picked up the evening paper and began to read. I waited patiently for Mom to bring in the cordless phone. She came smiling, bringing it along with a cup of herbal tea for me. Carefully, she set the teacup and saucer on the coffee table. “The tea’s very hot, so don’t burn your tongue,” she whispered as I took the phone from her.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “How are you, Merry?” My friend’s voice cheered me immediately. “Everyone’s been asking about you.”

  I wondered who everyone was. “Well, I’m home from the hospital, that’s the best thing. That place tends to smell a little offensive, know what I mean?”

  “The antiseptic, probably.”

  “Yeah, that and other icky stuff.”

  We talked about her grandmother, who she said was scheduled to arrive any minute. “Grammy Vyner’s still bragging about the pictures you took of me in my junior bridesmaid’s dress. On your porch last July…remember?”

  “Of course I do. Just because I’ve blocked out random chunks of my life doesn’t mean I’ve gone completely senile.”

  “I didn’t mean that, really.” She apologized all over the place. “Oh, Merry, there’s something I have to tell you before we hang up. It’s about Jon Klein.”

  “What about him?”

  “He called last night and started talking in some sort of bizarre code or something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure I can describe it. I guess you could call it alliteration, except doesn’t that usually show up in poetry?”

  “Other places, too. I’ve seen it in some prose.”

  “Is he into some new author, or what?” she asked.

  I glanced at Dad, whose head was bobbing while he tried to read the paper. I was determined not to snicker, but it was very hard to keep a straight face.

  “Merry?” she said, calling me back to the conversation at hand.

  “Oh, sorry, Liss, it’s just that you should see my dad. He’s trying to read the paper, and he keeps falling asleep.”

  She didn’t seem to care what my father was doing at the moment. “I just thought maybe you could give me some idea about Jon’s latest craze. That’s all.”

  “Me?” I sighed. “I wish I could help you, but I have no idea who the guy really is. Everyone keeps telling me how attached I was to him before…” I stopped for a moment.

  Lissa jumped in. “Oh, it’s true, Merry. I think you really did like Jon before you nearly drowned.”

  “But why was he skating with me that day? What was that all about?”

  “Well, did you ever think that maybe Jon likes you?” she said. “Maybe that’s why he was there.”

  An awkward silence fell between us before she continued. “I really hope you have a great Christmas, and I’m so sorry about your accident. Who knows what horrible thing might’ve happened if Levi Zook hadn’t saved you.”

  “He’s a mighty special guy, that Levi. At least you can understand him when he talks,” I joked.

  We giggled a little and then hung up.

  “Dad?” I whispered to my dozing parent, putting the phone on the coffee table. “It’s almost suppertime.”

  He snorted awake, blinking his eyes. “Uh…sorry. What did I miss?”

  “Oh, some girl talk. Nothing earthshaking.”

  He sat up and straightened himself. “I guess the past few days have left me more tired than I thought.” He smiled at me. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned this to you since your accident, but Jon Klein’s father came to see me on Saturday afternoon. That’s why Jon was over at the Zooks’ farm when you fell through the ice.”

  I listened, wondering what he was about to tell me.

  “Seems that your friend is interested in photography, same as you. I gave his dad some pointers on what kind of camera and lens equipment to get. But it’s supposed to be kept top secret, so don’t say anything.”

  “Jon wants a camera for Christmas?” It seemed that maybe Chelsea hadn’t been pulling my leg about all we had in common after all.

  “Yesiree, Jonathan’s getting a big surpri
se come tomorrow,” Dad announced.

  “So you’re saying he’s into photography?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Just then Mom came to serve me a hearty bowl of homemade vegetable barley soup for my Christmas Eve supper. Dad got up and headed for the dining room, two rooms away. I could hear him getting settled at the elegant holiday table that Mom had no doubt set for the rest of the family. But it was their hearty laughter that caught me off guard, if only for a second.

  The sounds of their chuckling reminded me of something. Laughter…on the ice. Echoes of fun—all the wintry games. Echoes began to wing the events back to me.

  Slowly they came, little by little….

  An Amish boy stood near a bonfire. He was calling to me. The faster the better, he said.

  Those of us on the ice began to play a game of Crack the Whip. Faster and faster we flew.

  Someone tripped and fell, breaking the chain of hands.

  Then someone screamed. Who? Was it Rachel? Was it my own frightened scream?

  With all my might, I tried to think what came next, wondering hard why Chelsea had insisted that I surely must’ve been delighted to be skating with Jon that day.

  In spite of myself, no such information or emotion emerged from my scattered memory. It was as if someone had closed the door on it. Tight.

  Chapter

  12

  I was beginning to resent the constant questioning from my family. Chelsea and Lissa, too. Everyone seemed more interested in helping me remember than anything else. People were more concerned about my temporary loss of memory than they were about my upper-respiratory infection, which had come from aspirating icy pond water.

  All during that Christmas Day, I was barraged with one reminder after another that I’d forgotten a whopping twentyfour hours…and much more. Not to mention a few key people, too.