SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2

by Beverly Lewis

  Now, standing by the front door, I snapped up my waterproof coat and hat, wondering where to look for Abednego. How could I persuade my old cat to come home?

  People poured into the kitchen, located at the back of the house. I could hear Mom’s voice mixed in with the swell of animated conversation, the casual comments about it “pouring cats and dogs.” The only problem was one of my cats was getting drenched out there. And the poor thing was way too old and coddled to survive getting caught in this sort of gully washer.

  Without telling Mom or anyone, I ducked my head and ran out into the drenching rain. Rain pellets fell so hard they were like tiny hammers on my rain hat.

  “Abednego!” I hollered.

  The rain was roaring, coming straight down in fierce sheets. I retraced his steps and dashed back to the gazebo, squatted down, and looked under the latticework, hoping…hoping he might’ve run back here to hide.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” I called again and again.

  Standing there like a statue in the rain and wind, I wondered which direction to take, thinking he might’ve headed up Strawberry Lane—the road that ran along the north side of our property. Miss Spindler lived up that road, and Abednego might’ve gone there to find refuge under the thicket and large trees surrounding her old house.

  I hurried across the backyard to Strawberry Lane, leaning my head into the wind. Looking down, I noticed that I’d forgotten to wear rain boots, and my sneakers were soaked and muddy. Nevertheless, I pushed on, arriving at Miss Spindler’s stately residence.

  I rang the doorbell, and she came quickly, her blue-gray hair and makeup absolutely perfect, as always. In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, it looked as if she’d had her hair recently dyed a shade of cobalt blue. Politely, I squelched a giggle.

  “My, oh my, what’re you doin’ out in this, dearie?” she greeted me. “Goodness me, Merry, you’re soakin’ wet.”

  “It’s my cat,” I blubbered. “Abednego’s run off. Have you seen him?”

  She shook her head slowly. “There ain’t been no sign of man nor beast since this terrible storm came up. But I’ll be on the lookout for him,” she assured me.

  I wondered what she meant by “on the lookout.” Maybe she really did have a lookout room somewhere in the house. Was that how she spied on everyone and everything?

  “Well, thank you, Miss Spindler. I better keep searching for my cat.”

  She clucked her tongue at me, as if to say I shouldn’t be out in such inclement weather, but I couldn’t let her discourage me.

  “We’re gonna have us a good time when you come next week,” she said through the screen door.

  I smiled at her. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” Which was actually a true statement. I was eager to discover more about this nosy neighbor of ours!

  Stumbling back down Strawberry Lane, I made the turn onto SummerHill Lane at the bottom of the hill. There I scanned the ditches on either side of the road. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of losing my cat to this vicious storm.

  With renewed determination, I trudged onward, toward our Amish neighbors’ private lane. Where was Abednego? Had he gone for shelter in the Zooks’ barn?

  Bowed against the ferocious gale, I might’ve wandered into the path of the oncoming Amish buggy, but the horse neighed loudly enough to penetrate the sound of the pounding rain. Heart thumping, I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Not more than a few yards away, one of Abe Zook’s driving horses was snorting and stomping and rearing his head. Slowly, I backed away, hoping to calm him so he wouldn’t tip over the carriage. “It’s just me…Merry Hanson,” I said, even though I couldn’t imagine the horse even heard my voice. Still, I moved back gradually till I sensed he was beginning to relax.

  Then I heard Abe Zook speaking to his horse in monotone Pennsylvania Dutch—gentle and composed.

  I’m not sure how long I stood there, but I was shivering, that much I knew. My teeth began to chatter, more from the near accident than from the cold.

  “Merry, kumm mit!” Abe Zook called. “Come along into the buggy. We’ll take ya home.”

  “Thank you!” I was glad for the invitation but still concerned about Abednego. Yet as I settled into the second seat, next to my Plain girl friend, Rachel, I didn’t say a word about my runaway pet.

  “We’re headed over to your pop’s retirement party,” Rachel said. Her pretty blue eyes glimmered with expectancy.

  “It’s not such a good day for it, I’m afraid,” I said as the carriage creaked and struggled up the muddy hill.

  “Jah, but it’ll pass,” she said, smiling. “Bad weather always does.”

  Her positive, upbeat attitude always left me nearly breathless. The climate outside or inside really didn’t matter—the oldest daughter of our Old Order Amish neighbors was usually on top of the world, so to speak.

  “What’re you doin’ out in this rain?” asked Esther from the front seat.

  I hesitated to mention my foolish cat. “Well, did you hear those thunderclaps?” I ventured.

  They nodded that they had…all the kids, too.

  “My cat took off running right after that,” I said.

  “Which cat?” asked seven-year-old Susie, the youngest.

  “Abednego, the oldest.”

  “Ain’t he the one always runnin’ off?” asked Aaron, the youngest boy.

  “Always,” I answered.

  “Best do something ’bout that,” Ella Mae, age nine, spoke up.

  “Like what?” asked her older sister Nancy.

  “Maybe get him a cage,” giggled Susie.

  Rachel shushed her. “Now, don’t make fun,” she said.

  I was thankful for my friend’s comment. After all, my precious cat was still wandering around out in this nasty weather. Lost!

  “Heard you was stayin’ over at Old Hawk Eyes’ a bit next week,” Rachel whispered. “While your parents go on a trip.”

  “Just three days…till my brother gets home from college for his Easter break,” I explained.

  Susie and Ella Mae were leaning up behind us, their noses poking over the seat where Rachel and I sat. “Why ain’tcha comin’ to stay with us?” asked Ella Mae.

  “Well, Mom talked about asking you, but then she decided your mama has enough children to keep track of.” I wanted to admit that I’d much rather spend three days at their Amish dairy farm than stay with Miss Spindler at all.

  Still, there was something I was dying to find out, only I hadn’t told a soul. There was a secret waiting inside Old Hawk Eyes’ house, probably in her attic. Next week was my chance to find it out.

  Chapter

  3

  The guests who came to help Dad celebrate were either Plain or fancy—the phrase used here in Pennsylvania to describe the difference between Amish or Mennonite folk and regular modern people like me and my family.

  I took plenty of pictures indoors for the retirement scrapbook, taking care not to capture our Amish acquaintances in any shots. In spite of the rainstorm, my father’s former colleagues continued to show up in groups of three or four. None of the medical types were Plain, though. They were highly educated people, unlike the Amish, who abandoned formal schooling after the eighth grade. Higher learning was strongly discouraged by Amish bishops. They believed that if a person searched for knowledge and found it, the risk of straying from the path of the Ordnung—the unwritten rules of the Amish community—was too high to keep him in the Old Order.

  Dad and I went around the house together, arm in arm, introducing our Amish neighbors, the Abe Zook family, including their homegrown children: Rachel, Nancy, Aaron, Ella Mae, and little Susie.

  Levi, their next-to-oldest son, was off in Virginia at a Mennonite college, finding his way in the world of cars and electricity. And Curly John, the Zooks’ firstborn, had already settled down to marriage and family with his young bride, Sarah, and their daughter, Mary.

  Abe and Esther Zook didn’t waste any time locating my mother after introduction
s were finished. They strolled from the living room right out to the kitchen and made themselves at home.

  But Rachel hung back with me, and we found a spot in the family room to chat a bit. “What’s your pop gonna do with himself since he ain’t workin’ no more?” she came right out and asked. Her fingers slid up and down the white strings on her Kapp—the head covering she always wore.

  I knew the answer to that question. “My dad wants to take a few mission trips overseas, going as a helper to construction missionaries. I think he’ll keep plenty busy, especially with building churches and Bible schools. That’s what he hopes to do.”

  “Well, if there’s any time when he’s twiddling his thumbs, you just send him on over to Dat. He’ll put him to gut use in a hurry.” Rachel’s rosy face shone under the lamp behind the chair.

  I laughed but not too hard. Growing up around Amish helped me understand these good-hearted people. “Sure, I’ll tell him. But it wouldn’t hurt for your father to do the same, probably.”

  “Right ya be,” Rachel said, smoothing her long blue dress.

  Rachel and her sisters were grinning hard at me. I couldn’t resist. I had to know what was on their minds. “What’s up?” I asked.

  They glanced back and forth at one another as they sat on the sofa, like they were too shy to say.

  “C’mon, I know you’ve got something up your sleeves,” I urged.

  Rachel finally spoke up. “I probably shouldn’t say nothing, what with Abednego acting up and all.”

  I hadn’t forgotten my lost cat, not for a single second. But her remark hit home, and I excused myself and got up to look out the window. Where are you, Abednego? I wondered.

  “We’ve got us too many kittens,” Rachel said, almost abruptly.

  Her words hardly registered in my brain. Sadly, I turned away from the window. “What did you say?”

  “We got us more cats than we know what to do with,” repeated Ella Mae.

  Nancy was nodding her head to beat the band. “Dat’s gonna hafta shoot ’em if we don’t find ’em homes,” she said.

  “Aw, you’re not serious. Would he do that, really?” I shouldn’t have asked because I knew Abe was more than eager to lessen the cat population on his dairy farm. Cats had a tendency to get in the way—made farm work difficult, getting all tangled up underfoot.

  “I think kitty cats are awful cute,” little Susie piped up. “Can’t ya take a couple more?”

  I shook my head. “My mother’s upset about the four cats I already have. She’d never stand for five!”

  “Ach, what’s the difference?” Rachel asked. “Four, five, or twenty—they’re all just cats. Makes for good mouse catchin’.”

  Thinking about that, I realized we hadn’t seen a single mouse in over a year. “You’re probably right.”

  “So…do ya want another one, then?” Rachel asked, grinning from ear to ear.

  I shook my head and sat down again. “Better not even ask my mother. She might drop that big tray of goodies over there.” Through the wide doorway, we watched her pick her way through the growing indoor crowd of well-wishers.

  “Won’t it seem funny havin’ your pop home all the time?” Rachel asked. Her light brown hair was parted simply down the middle, but specks of light danced prettily on the sides.

  “When Dad’s home, he’ll keep busy with hobbies and volunteer work at the hospital and the church. And there’s always my mother’s growing fascination with antiques,” I explained.

  “Your Mam likes old furniture?” Rachel asked while her sisters were silent, just smiling.

  “She’s smitten with antique fever. Next thing I know, she’ll be starting up a shop somewhere in this house.” I glanced outside at the gazebo. “I wouldn’t be surprised at anything.”

  Rachel pushed the hairs at her neck up into her bun, under the thin white netting. “So…you’re sure you don’t need another cat or two?”

  “Not if I want to keep living here,” I said, laughing.

  “Okay, then. I won’t bring it up again.” She got up and went to the kitchen with me to get a plate and some finger food. Her sisters followed right along without ever saying a word.

  “Wait a minute.” I just thought of someone who might be in the market for a kitten. “Have you talked to Miss Spindler? She’d be a good cat person, I think.”

  Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Are ya sure?”

  “One-hundred-percent-amen sure!” I said.

  “Jah…Old Hawk Eyes does need a cat,” Nancy said out of the blue.

  “She must be awful lonely over there in that great big house of hers, don’tcha think so, Rachel?” asked Ella Mae.

  I smiled. “Nancy and Ella Mae are probably right.” Just then Shadrach and Meshach scampered into the room. “Excuse me,” I said quickly. “I’d better round up my cats before Mom says they’re spoiling Dad’s party.”

  “Need any help?” asked Rachel.

  “Sure!”

  We ran around the family room, finally catching up with Abednego’s little brothers. It was usually the feisty, fat feline I was chasing. Shadrach and Meshach weren’t nearly as adventuresome these days. The farthest they’d ever strayed was the willow grove, the dividing line between the Zooks’ property and ours.

  But Abednego was another story. He’d been known to wander off as far away as the highway, clear to the east end of SummerHill Lane. I didn’t want to think about my cat running that direction. Not with the rain continuing to pour down in buckets.

  But I had to admit, I was worried something awful about Abednego being gone this long. Truly worried!

  Chapter

  4

  I don’t happen to swallow all that stuff about cats having nine lives. People get carried away with notions sometimes, I think. But if the nine-lives thing were really true, I guess I’d have had higher hopes of Abednego’s return.

  Yet I continued to stare out my second-floor window into the twilight, missing my fat black cat. My deep affection for him kept me standing there, motionless, remembering all the years spent with the spunkiest cat in all of SummerHill.

  Finally I forced myself away from the rain-streaked window. It wasn’t that I was giving up on finding him. The night was just so wet and cold. Too blustery to go searching the countryside again. Even Mom had put her foot down about my going back out.

  But I had a plan. A pure genius strategy to help locate Abednego. I sat at my desk with pen and paper, beginning to outline my idea.

  Soon I was lost in thought when someone knocked softly on my bedroom door. “Say the secret slogan,” I said.

  Dad peeked his head in. “Hey, honeybunch.”

  “That’s not a password,” I replied.

  “Close?” He shrugged and cocked his head to one side.

  “Not even.” I laughed and waved him in.

  Opening the door wider, he moseyed inside. He stood near my antique dresser, frowning cautiously. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

  Quickly, I looked away.

  “You’re upset,” he said, coming over.

  “Abednego’s disappeared,” I blurted. “I’m worried sick.”

  “Of course you are, honey. Your cats mean a lot to you.”

  Shadrach, Meshach, and Lily White perked up and looked at Dad as if they’d heard their own names. I had to smile, wondering what went through those furry little heads at a time like this, with Big Brother lost in the night somewhere.

  Dad stood in the middle of the room, eyes soft and gentle. For a moment I thought I saw them glisten. “I wanted to come up and say thanks for helping your mother this afternoon. And for taking all those pictures.”

  I felt almost shy. “It was a great retirement party, Dad. I was glad to help out.”

  He shook his head as he sat at the foot of my bed. “I’m having second thoughts.”

  “About retirement?”

  That got a chuckle. “No…no, not at all. This old man’s eager and ready for a change of pace.”

  �
�And scenery, too?” I added quickly, thinking of my parents’ Costa Rica trip.

  He looked at me with compassionate eyes. “I’m wondering if leaving you with Miss Spindler is the right thing,” he began again. “Maybe we should postpone the trip until this summer and go together, as a family.”

  “I’ll be fine, Dad. Miss Spindler’s looking forward to having someone around. I’ll keep her company.”

  He nodded as if reevaluating the idea. “And you’ll be there only a short time,” he admitted.

  “Three days.” Enough time to do some snooping, I thought.

  “Then it’s settled,” he said. “When your brother arrives home, he’ll be here for you until we return.”

  I went to him and offered a hug. “I’m not a child anymore, Dad. You don’t have to worry.”

  He got up and walked to the door, smiling. “Well, I’m glad we had this little talk.”

  “Me too. Old Hawk Eyes and I will get along okay.”

  That’s when he laughed so loud Mom came and poked her head in the room, too. I didn’t feel the need to rehearse the “Old Hawk Eyes” issue again.

  “What’s so funny?” She leaned against the doorframe.

  I glanced at Dad, deciding it was up to him to tell her. He was cool that way—truly understood the need for appropriate nicknames.

  The phone rang, and I was more than happy to excuse myself, speeding down the hall to get it.

  “Hanson residence,” I answered. “Merry speaking.”

  “Merry speaking? When did you change your name?”

  I laughed. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “So how’s the feline freak?” Skip asked.

  I could almost visualize my older brother’s straight face. He wasn’t joking, not one bit. Honestly, he believed that I was cat crazy.

  “You’ll probably be glad to hear that I’m short one cat at the moment,” I informed him.

  “Well, that is good news.” He chortled a bit and then continued. “Let me guess…Abednego got run over by an Amish buggy.”

  “Skip Hanson!”

  “Hey…just kidding. But it is Abednego that’s missing, right?”