SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2

by Beverly Lewis

  Miss Spindler’s face was aglow with pleasure. I could see she was thrilled to have me and my cats share her home, if only for a few days. “It’s not many who come stay with me,” she explained, frowning slightly. “Oh, I have my friends—a good many, too—but not much overnight company anymore.”

  “Thank you for having me,” I said politely.

  She showed me where there were extra hangers in the closet for my clothes. “There’re empty drawers in the dresser, too,” she said, sliding them out to show me, one after another.

  “You’ve gone to too much trouble.” I put my suitcase down.

  “No…no, I always keep drawers empty, just a-waiting for folks. Don’tcha worry none about that.” She smiled broadly, showing her teeth briefly—for a moment I thought she was going to hug me, too. But she came close and picked up my suitcase, carrying it over to the closet. She pulled out a foldable rack and placed my suitcase on top. “There you be, dearie.”

  Again I said, “Thanks,” and began unpacking while she tiptoed away. I waited till her footsteps faded, then I slipped out of the room. Glancing around the hallway and second-floor landing, I wondered where the attic steps might be located. But I didn’t feel comfortable heading off to do serious snooping just yet. I had to unpack first and then get the lay of the land, so to speak. Besides, my cats were antsy. I wouldn’t risk having one of them interfere with my scheme to investigate Old Hawk Eyes’ attic. Still, I was prickle-skinned with expectation.

  Miss Spindler’s supper went far beyond delicious. Her Waldorf salad, homemade rolls, and chicken and dumplings were topped off with two kinds of pie—Dutch apple and cherry, with vanilla ice cream.

  I chose the apple, and she warmed it up ever so slightly, enough to make the scoop of ice cream slide off the side.

  When we were finished eating, Miss Spindler seemed altogether pleased with herself. “Well, looks like we ate for clear weather, didn’t we,” she said, clucking.

  Carrying my dishes over to the sink, I offered to help. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll clean up.”

  She waved her hand at me as though shooing a fly. “Aw, dearie, I’m sure you have something better to do—like homework or whatnot.”

  “I finished my homework in study hall.”

  “Well, what about that there retirement scrapbook your mama told me about? What about working on that tonight?” she said.

  I’d brought along prints of the best pictures, all right, but I still wanted to do my fair share in the kitchen. And I told her so.

  “Nonsense.” Her blue-gray bob shimmered under the sink light. “While you’re here, you’re my guest.” She flashed a smile at me. “I want you to come again sometime, you know.”

  I nodded, feeling at a loss for words. The old woman was bullheaded, that was for certain. She got something set in her mind and nobody but nobody was going to persuade her differently.

  “If I can’t help tonight, what about breakfast?” I offered. “You’d be surprised what a good cook I am—and even better at cleaning up!”

  She nodded her petite head up and down as she stooped over the deep, two-sided sink. “Nothin’ doing,” she protested, and the finality of her words was clear. She was standing her ground. Old Hawk Eyes was like a thick-shelled Brazil nut—too tough to crack.

  I wondered how tough it would be to find her attic and see for myself what was going on up there.

  It turned out that I did work on Dad’s scrapbook a while, and after about an hour of that, Miss Spindler and I played a rousing game of checkers. Not that she was so much better than I—she was just so shrewd and cautious of every move.

  At last, it was bedtime. I knelt beside the bed and prayed for my parents and the building project in South Central America. I prayed for Levi, too, but only in passing. It was hard to focus in on someone I’d cared so much about, knowing his feelings were changing toward me, or already had.

  Jon Klein showed up in my nighttime requests, but I only asked the Lord to help me not freak out so much in front of him. Nothing else.

  My concerns for Abednego concluded my prayers. “Please, Lord,” I whispered into the darkness, “keep my big, old cat safe. Send someone along to find him if he’s hurt—to take care of him until I can again. Thank you for hearing my prayer. Amen.”

  Chapter

  10

  The next day dawned sparkling bright, and morning birds warbled to their hearts’ content. First thing, I thought of Abednego and prayed that today he might find his way back home.

  I got up early on purpose so I’d have time to stop in and visit Rachel Zook before heading off to the school. Miss Spindler didn’t seem to understand why I wasn’t all that hungry, so I told her where I was headed. I didn’t tell her today was my midyear birthday, though. Most older folk don’t understand that sort of thing. Guess they forget what it’s like being a teenager. “Between twelve and twenty’s a precarious spot,” Dad had teased last September on my sixteenth birthday.

  “I’ll look after your cats for you,” Miss Spindler called to me.

  “Thanks, and keep an eye out for Abednego…just in case!” I hurried down over her sloping backyard, crisscrossing to my own, and stopped to check on the house. Searching under the gazebo first—and not finding him there—I continued looking everywhere, in the back and side yards, and around the front porch. But Abednego was nowhere to be seen.

  Inside, I dashed to my room, thinking if he’d returned through the kitty door in the garage, he might be curled up on my bed, fast asleep.

  “Kitty, kitty, are you here?” I called, going from room to room upstairs.

  In my parents’ bedroom, I noticed the narrow door leading to the attic steps was ajar. Quickly, I closed it without thinking anything about it.

  Not till later.

  I was on my way to Rachel Zook’s house, cutting through the willow grove, when it dawned on me where to look for Miss Spindler’s attic steps. In her bedroom, of course.

  But how would I get there without being caught?

  Dismissing the discouraging thought, I ran across the open meadow, over the white wooden fence, through the pastureland, and down the side yard, to the barn. There I found Rachel cleaning up from the morning’s milking.

  She seemed surprised to see me. “Cousin Merry! What’re you doin’ over here so early?”

  I had to laugh every time I heard her refer to me that way—as a cousin. But it was absolutely true, in a distant sort of way, at least. We had traced our roots back to common ancestors. Sure enough, we were cousins.

  Looking around, I felt uneasy now that I was here. What would Rachel think if I inquired after Levi this morning, clear out of the blue?

  I went up close to her, glancing this way and that, making sure no one was around. “Have you heard from Levi?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Jah, we had a letter from him yesterday,” my friend replied.

  “So he must’ve told you that he’s staying in Virginia this week?” I phrased my question carefully. I didn’t want to come right out and state anything too presumptuous.

  She kept her head turned, facing the cow. “S’pose he’s too busy to bother with us during his school break,” she said.

  I didn’t comment on her reply, and it was probably a good thing because in walked young Aaron with his father. Rachel surely must’ve sensed that I didn’t want to discuss Levi with her father and younger brother in such close proximity, pitching hay to the mules a few yards away.

  Thank goodness she didn’t expect me to help sweep out the barn. I was already showered and dressed for school. There’d be no time to run back to Miss Spindler’s and change before the bus lumbered down SummerHill Lane if I did happen to get my clothes dirty.

  I checked my watch. Plenty of time left to chat with my Amish friend, but this wasn’t a private enough atmosphere for it.

  “What’re you doing this afternoon?” I whispered to Rachel.

  “Weedin’ our Charity Garden, probably,” she said. “Wa
nna help?”

  I considered her invitation, but what I really wanted to do was go explore a meadow of yellow-faced daisies or maybe ride my bike over to the sun.dappled trees surrounding the springhouse a mile or more down the road. “It’s…well, sort of a special day for me,” I said, dawdling.

  She grinned back, and her blue eyes lit up. “Jah, I know.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s April twenty-second, right?” she said, wiping her hands on her long gray apron.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So then ya must be turnin’ sixteen-and-a-half,” she said, as if she’d known all along.

  “That’s right.”

  She gave me a quick hug. “We oughta do somethin’ right nice, Cousin Merry. A wonderful-gut walk in the woods or whatever you say.”

  I had to smile. Rachel knew me almost as well as Faithie had.

  “Are you sure you won’t be missed in your garden?” I asked, not wanting to take her away from chores.

  “Ach, I can weed after lunch. You just come on over after school’s out. We’ll have us a nice time together.”

  We walked outside into the sunlight. “Thanks for being such a good friend, Rachel,” I said, giving her another hug.

  “Is Abednego back?” she asked suddenly.

  I shook my head. “Not yet…but soon.”

  She frowned, her blue eyes more serious now. “Shall we go searching for your cat today?”

  “My school friends and I spent Sunday afternoon combing the area. Nobody’s seen him anywhere,” I told her.

  “He’s probably out having himself a mouse-eating party,” she said with a hopeful grin. “Jah, maybe we’ll find Abednego today.”

  “That would be a good half-birthday present.” I had to laugh because it was so true.

  “Well, happy half birthday,” she said, grinning at me.

  “See you after a bit,” I called, running down the Zooks’ dirt lane to the road.

  My heart thumped Jon Klein, Jon Klein ninety miles an hour as I headed down the crowded school hallway. I couldn’t figure out what was causing me to feel this way. Chelsea was absolutely right—saying that Jon and I had been through a lot together. Mostly rough times. He’d hurt me by flirting with both Lissa and Ashley over the past eighteen months—even Rachel Zook, last February. Still, that was two months ago already.

  I sighed. Guess it was time to relinquish my grudge, if that’s what it was. But I was worried. Could I really and truly trust the Alliteration Wizard?

  “Merry, you’re right on time,” Jon said, waiting for me at my locker.

  “What’s up?” I asked, willing my heart to slow its pace.

  “The game…the new one, remember?” His light brown hair was combed neatly, and I spied the gold flecks in his eyes. Funny, he was getting more handsome every time I saw him.

  I remembered the game, all right. “I doubt I’ll be able to hold my own,” I said. “Creating alliterated and rhyming phrases all in the same breath, well…I don’t know. Maybe Chelsea and you should try.”

  He was shaking his head slowly, eyes fixed on me. “I’m asking you, Merry.”

  It seemed strange not hearing his alliterated nickname for me—Mistress of Mirth or Mistress Merry. But there was something truly sweet about the way he’d said my name without fuss and frills.

  The bell for homeroom rang before we could continue. In a way, I was glad. Mainly because I hadn’t fully decided if I was up to the task. Alliteration-eze was one thing, but this rhyming idea…well, I didn’t know for sure.

  I asked Chelsea about it in algebra, and she was all smiles. “Let’s go for it. I’m up for the challenge,” she said, choosing the seat next to me.

  “Maybe it’s your thing,” I said. “Yours and Jon’s.”

  “Oh, Mer, how can you say that? You’re the one who’s the real wit around here.” She opened her notebook. “I’m only the tagalong.”

  I wanted to debate her comment, but the teacher stood up and began discussing our homework assignment from yesterday.

  Word Game Plus would have to wait.

  If Jon hadn’t seemed so interested in getting me involved, I might’ve blown the whole thing off. Let Chelsea and Jon have their fun. But I knew by the look in Jon’s eyes, he wanted me to participate. To tell the truth, though, I was more interested in digging up clues in Old Hawk Eyes’ attic than dreaming up another word game.

  Chapter

  11

  “Give me some sleuthing ideas,” I said to Chelsea as we waited for the bus after school.

  “What kind of sleuthing are we talking?” Her eyes were wide with intrigue.

  I hadn’t wanted to completely divulge my plan to snoop in Miss Spindler’s attic. Skip’s knowing was enough of a risk.

  “Okay, Mer, level with me. What’re you planning over at Old Hawk Eyes’?” asked Chelsea.

  “Well…” I looked around to see if Jon or anyone else might be around to hear. “It’s time someone found out the truth.”

  Her eyebrows jerked up. “The truth about what?”

  “About…you know.” I began to whisper. “How Ruby Spindler does it—spying on everyone.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Oh that.”

  “Yes, that!”

  Her eyes narrowed and she peeked at me with an inquisitive gaze. “I’d say you’re extremely caught up in this.”

  “Too caught up? I’m a human being, for pete’s sake!”

  “A too-curious one, I’d say.” Chelsea glanced over her shoulder. “I wonder what Jon would say about this idea of yours.”

  I pulled on her arm, yanking her back. “Don’t tell him or anyone else, you hear?”

  She started cackling. “Man, you sound as backwoodsy as Old Hawk Eyes herself. Rachel Zook, too.”

  Something rose up in me. It was one thing to poke fun at my elderly, eccentric neighbor. It was quite another to belittle my Old Order Amish girl friend—one of the dearest and closest friends of my life.

  “Rachel is who she is, and that has nothing to do with being backward or woodsy.”

  Chelsea stepped back slightly. “Well, aren’t we the defensive one.”

  More than anything, I wished we weren’t having this tiff. It was ridiculous, really, especially since months had passed since Chelsea had abandoned atheism and started reading the Bible, even regularly attending Sunday school and church with me. What was going on between us at the moment was entirely unnecessary. Yet I had no idea why she was being so sarcastic.

  “I didn’t mean for us to fuss,” I said softly.

  The bus pulled to a stop, and we boarded without further comment. Chelsea slid into our usual seat and stared out the window.

  We rode along, not speaking for several miles. Then she turned to me and said, “I don’t know what got into me, Merry. I’m not the least bit jealous of Rachel. Honest, I’m not.”

  “You don’t have any reason to be,” I replied.

  She shook her head and then answered my original question at last. “Seems to me you ought to be able to distract Miss Spindler somehow.”

  “Like how?”

  “What do you want to investigate?” she asked me point-blank.

  “Her attic.”

  “Good idea.”

  I smiled.

  “Maybe someone should give her a call, divert her attention, you know. Get her out of the house,” Chelsea commented.

  “I thought of that.”

  She stacked up her pile of books neatly. “But you simply can’t get caught…that’s the main thing.”

  “You’re right. You want to give her a call sometime?” I asked, wondering what she’d say.

  “Maybe.” Chelsea had a faraway look in her eyes. “What I’d give to check out her attic with you.”

  “You’re kidding. Really?”

  She was nodding and grinning.

  “Here’s what I’ll do,” I said, thrilled we were seeing eye-toeye again. “I’ll take pictures—lots of them, okay?”
<
br />   “Great idea!” Chelsea was delighted.

  “Aren’t you glad I’m a world-class photographer?” I joked.

  “Very glad…silly.”

  We stood up for our bus stop, and with a fleeting look out the window, I saw Rachel Zook weeding her mother’s flower garden. All of a sudden, I could hardly wait to run away to a beautiful, private setting; I wanted to celebrate the midway point between sixteen and seventeen with my longtime Amish friend.

  But first things first. I had an attic to attend to. And an old lady to visit with, as well.

  Sure enough, Miss Spindler was waiting for me at her back door. “How’s every little thing today?” she asked.

  “School was fine.”

  “Easy too?”

  I had to think about that. “History and math weren’t very easy,” I admitted. “But most all my other subjects were.” I didn’t go on to say that socializing in the hall with a certain person wasn’t all that easy, either.

  “Any sign of Abednego?” I asked, hoping she had seen my funny feline.

  “I thought you’d be asking about him,” she said, a quizzical smile spreading over her wrinkled face. “So I done put my feelers out all over.”

  Feelers?

  “What’d you do?” I asked, dying to know how she pried into the affairs of the world of SummerHill.

  “Trust me, dearie. I’m doing my dead-level best to find that there kitty cat of yours.” She clammed up after that—went right over and opened her fridge. I figured there was no point in pushing the question.

  Shadrach, Meshach, and Lily White were excited to see me, but not so eager that they didn’t make a beeline to their milk dish after a few friendly comments and strokes.

  On the table, a plate of peanut butter cookies and a tall, cold glass of milk awaited me. “You’re gonna spoil me, Miss Spindler,” I said, sitting down.

  She smiled, making even more lines in her ancient face. “There, there, dearie,” she said. “You’ve been studying your heart out all day at school, now, haven’t you?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “You deserve a nice treat, I daresay.”