We scurried into my bedroom, and I closed the door. The conversation was headed in a very secretive direction.
“How did Jon react when you told him?” I had to know.
“He said he wasn’t all that surprised. That I had a softspoken way ’bout me. Somethin’ he admires in a woman.”
A woman? Give me a break!
“And he wanted to know if he could come see me sometime.”
I was as silent as if the air had been punched out of me. “Did you say he could?” I asked, reaching for a bed pillow and hugging it.
She shook her head. “I didn’t know what to tell him, really. If Matthew gets wind of this…”
I was hesitant to ask. “Does Matthew love you, Rachel?”
“Jah, I think so.” She paused for a moment before going on. “He’s talking marriage someday, but I’m not for sure ’bout my feelin’s for him, ya see. He’s gonna be baptized come next fall, and I…I…Well, I don’t know yet what I want.”
“I think I know,” I said softly.
We were quiet for a time. She, sitting across from me on my desk chair, still wearing my sweater and jeans, and I, crossing my legs under me as I sat on the bed. The silence became awkward, yet I did not burst out with any more questions.
Outside, the wind blew hard against the windows, and the crows in the field across the road called back and forth.
At last, Rachel spoke. “Today was the first I’d ever let myself look from the outside in—from outside my Plain world, all the way back to the way Mam and Dat raised me.”
“I thought so,” I whispered. “You wanted to experience a taste of modern life. Right?”
She sighed a long, deep breath. “I’ve lived a life separated from the world all these years. I guess I just hafta see it for myself.”
“How does Jon Klein fit into all this?” I ventured, half scared of what she might say.
Her face burst into a radiant smile. “To be honest with ya, Levi got all this a-stirred up in me,” she admitted. “I never woulda thought of such a thing as doin’ what I did today—goin’ to public school and all. Or becoming friends with an English boy.”
“Levi’s leaving SummerHill has changed things for lots of people,” I said.
“Jah, it has.” Again she was silent. She got up and went to stand in front of my dresser mirror, reached for the brush, and began to undo her hair, making it Plain again. “Ya know what, Merry? I’m awful glad Levi did it. It was just what I needed to get me thinkin’ ’bout my own future.”
“So you might decide to go modern, then?”
She turned suddenly. “What do ya think it would be like, Merry?”
“To leave your church and your family?” I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she was saying.
“No…to follow your heart like Joseph Lapp did.”
So it was the wayward Joseph—his forbidden photograph—that was at the core of Rachel’s restlessness.
“I don’t know, really.” I wondered what I could say to make things right for her. “Sometimes a girl has to follow her heart, as long as her desires line up with what God has planned.”
“Oh, divine providence? Jah, I know what you’re sayin’.”
But I wasn’t so sure she did. The strict Amish view of such things didn’t always jibe with basic Christian beliefs.
“Getting back to Jon,” I said a bit hesitantly. “Does he know you’re my neighbor?”
She nodded, smiling. “Now he does.”
“So you must’ve told him everything.”
“Jah, even about the pictures in the hayloft. He’d like to have one—when they’re developed, that is.”
I gasped. She’d fallen hard and fast. And now Jon Klein was going to be the recipient of my handiwork. Oh, what was this world coming to?
Totally stressed, I headed for my walk-in closet, where I kept snack food in several shoe boxes. Rachel’s eyes widened when I offered her some raisins and other goodies.
“Denki,” she said, taking some thin pretzel sticks.
“If you keep talking about your plans, I’m afraid I’ll eat up my whole stash of munchies,” I told her.
“Ach, how come?”
I explained that stress made me hungry. “Always has.”
“Oh.” She nibbled on the snacks. But it was the faraway look in her eyes that worried the socks off me.
Chapter
17
Rachel talked me into letting her wear my best jeans home, under her Amish dress. I must’ve been out of my mind to let her, but she pleaded so desperately. How could I not grant her yet another wish?
After she left for home, I sat down with my best unlined stationery and penned a letter to Levi. Partway into it, I was struck with the notion that maybe he could help guide me through this thing with Rachel. Of course, I had to be cautious how I worded this section of the letter. I didn’t want the guy rushing home from college to confront his sister.
Monday, February 23
Dear Levi,
Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. Things are so hectic here, beginning with homework. Another thing: My dad’s been sick this past week. His doctor ordered him to stay home, but he was so bored he tried to help me with my schoolwork non-stop. Having my fifty-year-old dad hover over my every algebra problem, well…it was difficult, to say the least.
I was wondering. What would you say to an Amish young person to encourage them in their beliefs? That is, if the person seemed too eager to experience the outside world. Would you tell him or her to pray about it? To follow his or her heart? What? I need your advice, Levi. I’m concerned for someone. Will you pray that I’ll do the right thing?
Oh, I almost forgot. Last Saturday, I baby-sat for your little niece, Mary. What a doll! I’m delighted that your brother and sister-in-law were the ones who adopted her. I can see that God definitely had His hand in Mary’s future.
I continued the letter, telling him about Chelsea’s mother—how she was improving each day. And that Chelsea was attending church with me regularly. I even commented on the fact a group of my girl friends and I were hoping to defeat another classmate at a wacky word game.
It’s called Alliteration-eze—an outlandish but lovely language. (See, I just wrote it!) You use the same consonants (or vowels) to begin words in a sentence. Here’s another example: Levi listens to lectures at lunchtime.
Get it? I guess it appeals to me because I like the mental challenge—at least where words are concerned!
Well, it’s about time for supper here. Hope you’re doing all right at school. Everyone here in SummerHill misses you, including me.
Your friend always,
Merry
I reread the letter, hoping and praying that my former Amish boyfriend would know how to put a quick end to his sister’s wayward wanderings.
After school the next day, I deposited my film at the local drugstore a couple of blocks from the school. I didn’t have to worry about catching the bus today because Mom had planned to pick me up. We were going shopping. She—browsing at an antique store; me—searching for a new pair of school shoes.
The ones I’d been wearing were beginning to show signs of fatigue. Meaning, there was no passing them on to the Salvation Army. Not this ratty pair!
Anyway, Mom met me in front of the drugstore, doubleparking only briefly as I hurried to get in. “Where to?” she asked.
“Park City,” I said. “Somebody oughta be having a sale on shoes, don’t you think?”
She smiled, but I could tell she was preoccupied.
“Who’s got a sale going on antiques?” I quizzed her.
That got her attention. “Alden’s. I saw advertised in the paper a couple of highboys,” she replied. “Let’s synchronize our watches.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ll be back in an hour or so. How’s that?” she said.
“That’s enough time for me. What about you?” I was trying not to laugh. In the not-so-distant past, Mom had been k
nown to disappear, swallowed up by antique dealerships—sometimes not resurfacing for a half day or more.
“Well, maybe if I set my watch so it beeps,” she replied, grinning. “And if that fails, you can always call my cell phone.”
“Okay, then,” I agreed as she pulled into the mall parking lot. “Drop me off at Penney’s. You can meet me there, too, in an hour and a half. Okay?”
She promised not to forget.
“See ya later,” I called to her.
Inside, I discovered a deserted mall. The corridors were vacant, and only a few people, mostly adults, were sprinkled here and there. It was Tuesday—one week after the popular Presidents’ Day sales. Maybe the good stuff had already been purchased. I thought about that, wondering why I hadn’t gone on the hunt for shoe sales last weekend.
Then I remembered. I’d had the Valentine’s Day sleepover. Far more important than any shopping spree!
I removed my jacket, wishing I didn’t have to lug it around—one of the worst things about wintertime shopping. You bundled up to go outside, but once indoors, a jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves were a nuisance.
Quickly, I headed for the Value Shoe Store, scanning the window displays. Surely this was the best place for something practical and affordable. I picked out three pairs. Then I bunched up my jacket and stuffed it under one of the tiny stools and began trying on shoes.
I was well into my second pair when I noticed another customer wander in. The teen girl had light brown hair and the bluest eyes. I wouldn’t have given her a second look—mostly because she was so made up—but there was something about her….
She seemed familiar. But why?
Another glance told me, and I nearly choked. Rachel Zook was here, looking downright hideous. Tight corduroy skirt, too short. Silk blouse, low cut. Hair in long, flowing waves about her shoulders. Actually, the hairstyle was the only good part of her new look.
I ducked my head, hoping she wouldn’t find me gawking, instead paying attention to the size and fit of the shoes I was trying on. At least, I pretended to.
“Merry? Is that you?” she called to me.
What should I say? I didn’t quite know, but I turned around and looked up. “Hi,” I said.
“What’sa matter with ya? You look like ya’ve just seen a ghost.”
“A ghost wouldn’t be so startling,” I muttered. “How’d you get here?”
“Hitched a buggy ride with a friend and caught the bus.” She looked around, pulling boxes of shoes down off the shelves, one after another. “S’pose they’ve got red dancing slippers?” she asked.
“What do you want shoes like that for?” I asked.
“Oh, ya never know where you’ll end up,” she said in the sassiest voice.
“Rachel,” I whispered to her, now standing up. “Are you nuts?”
She stepped back, shrugging my hands off her shoulders. “Listen here. I’m tired of doin’ things the Old Way. This is my time, Merry. Do ya hear?”
I shook my head, fearing for her. “I’d hate to see you get hurt.” Sighing, I continued. “Rachel, you can’t go around dressed like that. It’s not becoming to a lady.”
She was laughing now, not the hearty, country laugh I was used to. It was a silly, fickle sort of giggling. Like she was purposely calling attention to herself. “What do ya think the ‘running around’ years are supposed to be for, anyhow?” she said, putting on some poppy-red high heels and wobbling around in them.
“Your mother would cry a river if she could see you,” I replied. “And…she’s not the only one.”
Rachel stopped prancing around. “What do ya mean?”
“Your brother Levi. That’s who I mean. Don’t break his heart.”
She squared her shoulders. “He broke mine. And Mam’s and Dat’s—all the People. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“Oh, Rachel. Please. You’re not yourself. You’re—”
“You said it, Merry! I’m not myself. I don’t wanna be Rachel Zook anymore.” And with that, she flounced off to pay for her new red shoes.
I wanted to run after her, keep her from buying the gawdy things—with all of my heart I wanted to. But something kept me locked up. Maybe it was fear. Was I too frightened to go after her? Afraid she’d push me away, not heed my words?
Shoving the boxes back onto the shelves, I was in no mood for trying on shoes. I’d just have to wear my old ones a few days longer.
There was only one thing to do. Someone could help Rachel. I was almost sure of it. Not one-hundred-percent-amen sure as usual. But my idea was worth a try, and there was no time to hesitate.
Avoiding Rachel at the cashier, I rushed past her, out of the store. I felt my heart thumping hard as I found a quiet corner and flipped open the cell phone I reserved for emergencies.
Now, if only I could get an answer.
Chapter
18
“May I speak to Jonathan, please?” I said into the receiver.
“Certainly,” his mother said. “How are you, Merry?”
I wasn’t surprised that she recognized my voice. “Fine, thanks. And…I’m sorry to bother you, but this is sort of an emergency.”
Jon came on the line quickly. “Merry, are you all right?”
“Well, I’ve been better.” I began to fill him in on Rachel. “She’s way out there somewhere in her head. First, she talked me into taking her picture. Then it was visiting school. And now this.”
“Slow down,” he said calmly. “How can I help?”
I was relieved. He was saying all the right things.
“Do you like Rachel? I mean, do you care anything about her?”
He was silent for a moment. “I liked what I saw the other day, yes. But I don’t want to influence her away from her lifestyle.”
“But if you could, would you persuade her to rethink where she seems to be headed?” I asked, wondering if he could hear the pleading in my heart.
The answer came softly. “What do you want me to do, Merry?” No alliteration-eze. None. He was playing straight with me.
“Here’s my idea. Invite Rachel to go somewhere with you. For a soda or something. Tell her she should be herself. Forget about heavy makeup and dressing like someone she’s not.”
“I think I could do that.” He decided on a time—tomorrow after school. “If she agrees, let her know that I’ll meet her at Pinocchio’s. My treat.”
I thanked him and hung up. My heart sank. This was one of the hardest things I’d ever done—setting up my guy with a girl friend gone goofy.
Keeping my eyes peeled, I searched the mall for Rachel. In every department store and dress shop, I looked. But she was nowhere to be found.
In my despair, I headed back to Penney’s, attempting to ignore the ever-growing population of disheveled-looking teenagers on every corner. It wasn’t until I’d passed several gift shops, a potpourri place, and the food court that I spotted my friend.
She was talking to a boy who was sporting a black leather jacket and boots, and I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he had on black fingerless gloves.
I watched as she smiled up at him, her face not nearly as innocent now as it had been yesterday at school.
Silently, I began to pray. Dear Lord Jesus, help me to help Rachel.
Suddenly, a mighty surge of confidence rose up in me. I marched over to my friend and tapped her on the shoulder.
“We need to talk,” I said.
She turned around, offering a pathetic little smile. “What are ya doin’ here? Spoilin’ my fun?”
“I have a message from Jon Klein—remember him?”
Her eyes brightened. “Really? What’s he want?” she whispered, glancing back at the leathered one.
“I’ll tell you if you come with me,” I coaxed.
“Excuse me,” she said to the guy behind her. And she walked toward Penney’s with me.
“Jon wants to see you. Tomorrow.” I told her where and when.
“A date
? Are ya sure?”
“One-hundred-percent-amen sure!” Whew, was I ever glad I could say that and mean it.
“Need a ride?” I asked, having mixed feelings about her coming home with us. Mom might react negatively upon seeing Rachel like this. On the other hand, I was willing to do most anything to get her out of this mall and those wretched clothes!
“Do ya mind?” she said. “I suppose it’s ’bout time for milkin’.”
I checked my watch. “Hey, you’re right.”
All that evening, I thought about Rachel. Couldn’t help reliving the astonished look on my mother’s face when she saw Rachel dressed as a worldly English girl. Mom was smart, though. She said nothing, instead going off on a tangent about her incredible finds at the antique shop.
Dad was quiet at the table, not his usual self. Mom initiated plenty of conversation, though. Mostly centered around Rachel Zook’s “wicked getup.”
I didn’t blame her for being so upset. She needed to vent her disgust and get it out of her system. I must admit, seeing Rachel with her skirt hiked up past her knees, her eyes catlike from too much eyeliner—the whole freaky package was enough to make any mother cringe.
“What’s come over Rachel?” she asked after describing the afternoon’s scene for Dad’s benefit.
“Rachel’s gone berserk, that’s what.” I couldn’t think of a better way to relate it.
“Is she thinking of leaving the Amish, like Levi did?” Mom asked.
Now was my chance to mark the difference between Levi and his silly sister. “Levi’s called to be a minister,” I insisted.
Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at me without a reply.
“Rachel has other things on her mind. And it has nothing to do with seeking the Lord for her future, that’s for sure.”
Mom’s brown eyes were serious. “What a shame.”
“Not only that—she’s confused,” I blurted. “Rachel doesn’t really know what she wants.”
Dad sipped his herbal tea and then said, “I’ve passed her on the road riding with Matthew Yoder in his courting buggy a time or two.”
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 Page 25