No one said anything, apparently caught up in thought. Katy absorbed her teacher’s words. For centuries, her ancestors had lived in the same way. In small, self-sufficient communities, abiding by a set of firmly set, well-ordered rules. Had the Mennonites ever considered being neoteric—modern thinkers? She felt fairly certain her dad and the deacons wouldn’t approve of her exploring new ways of looking at old things. They would tell her she needed to remember that simplicity is best. To remember the unchanging Mennonite ways offered security and stability.
Secure and stable is good, she told herself, her muscles twitching with excitement, for old folks. But I’m young. And I want to be neoteric, because new is fun and exciting.
Chapter Nineteen
At the end of English class, Katy gathered her materials to leave. Mr. Gorsky stopped at her desk. He waved an envelope. “Kathleen, this came over Christmas break. It’s from Journalistic Pursuits.”
Katy’s hands began to shake. She dropped her backpack onto the desk. “The magazine?” A few weeks ago, Mr. Gorsky had submitted her essay for possible publication in the periodical. This letter had to be their response.
“That’s right. It’s addressed to both of us, so I thought we should open it together.”
Katy stared at the long, slender envelope. She nodded. “Yes, let’s.” A nervous giggle worked its way up her throat and escaped her lips. She quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.
Mr. Gorsky grinned. “Do you want me to open it?”
Without removing her hand from her mouth, she nodded vigorously.
He slid his thumb beneath the flap and pulled out a folded sheet of pale yellow paper. Katy lifted on tiptoe to glimpse a formal-looking letter with a fancy letterhead at the top. Mr. Gorsky held it out to her, but Katy was too nervous to read.
“Read it out loud,” she said behind her hand, which had risen to cover her face.
Mr. Gorsky shook the paper, cleared his throat, and began to read. “ ’Dear Mr. Gorsky and Miss Lambright: Thank you for your submission to Journalistic Pursuits. As you know, this publication seeks to showcase the finest student works of literature in the country. The competition for placement in the magazine is stiff, and we are forced to decline many well-written pieces. Therefore, the authors of pieces that are accepted for inclusion should be congratulated. It truly is an accomplishment to be published in Journalistic Pursuits’”
Katy frowned. Would they hurry up and get to the point?
”‘It is with great pleasure,’” Mr. Gorsky continued, his voice rising in pitch, “‘that we inform you that your essay, titled “A Recent Epiphany,” has been chosen as the firstplace essay and will appear in the May issue of Journalistic Pursuits. Congratulations to both teacher and student. Miss Lambright, we wish you much success in your future writing endeavors.’”
Mr. Gorsky slappped the letter with the backs of his fingers, making a loud snap! “Congratulations, Kathleen! I knew that essay was a winner!”
Katy cupped her cheeks with her hands and stared at him in shock. “I won…? I really won?”
Mr. Gorsky laughed. “Well, of course you won. And you deserved it too. Your essay was very well-written. You should be proud of yourself.” He folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. He put the envelope in her shaking hand. “I’m sure this won’t be the last writing contest you win, either. You have a real gift, Kathleen. I hope you’ll continue to use it.”
Katy shook her head, the reality slowly sinking in. She’d won a writing contest. She would be published in a magazine. Joy filled her, making her feel as though she floated. Oh, wouldn’t Dad be proud! Then her elation faltered. Dad was still so mad at her…Would he even care when she told him?
Mrs. Graber would be impressed.
She gave herself an impatient shake. Who cared what Mrs. Graber thought? But Katy knew the woman would express pleasure. She’d picked out those diaries and the thesaurus for Katy’s Christmas gifts. Whether Katy liked to admit it, Mrs. Graber would probably congratulate her more enthusiastically than many of her own family members.
The class buzzer rang, and students spilled into the English room. Katy jumped. “Oh! I’m late! I’m going to be in trouble.”
Mr. Gorsky pointed her to his desk. “I’ll write you a pass,” he said, scribbling on a small piece of paper. He pressed it into her hand and offered another warm smile. “Congratulations again, Kathleen. I can’t wait to see how you do in forensics. I have the feeling you’re going to be one of our school’s most proficient medal winners.”
Katy held her good news inside until lunchtime, when she’d be able to tell all of her friends at one time. She couldn’t stop smiling, though, which made Shelby shoot her curious glances during their final morning class. But each time Shelby asked what was up, Katy shook her head and mouthed the word, “Later.” By noon Shelby’s curious looks had taken on a hint of frustration, but Katy knew Shelby would understand when she finally heard the news.
Katy and Shelby joined Jewel, Cora, and Trisha at their usual spot in the cafeteria. Bridget’s chair sat empty, giving Katy a jolt of sadness, but she pushed that feeling aside. She wanted to celebrate her winning essay. She quickly blessed her food, then she nudged Shelby with her elbow. “Guess what?”
Shelby put on a fakey scowl. “Oh, now you’re ready to talk, when I want to eat this wonderful welcome-back-to-school lunch.” She held up a bite of smothered steak that dripped running gravy. She sent a look around the table at the other girls. “Katy’s harboring some secret. She’s been grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary since she left English class.”
Katy giggled, envisioning a smiling cat with a yellow feather stuck in its mouth.
Jewel took a swig of milk. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense. What is it? We could probably use a little good news.”
Cora and Trisha both nodded and prodded Katy to share.
Her shoulders hunched and lips pursed, Katy held out for a few more seconds to enjoy the anticipation. But when her friends’ expressions began to transition from eager to irritated, she blurted out, “I won a writing contest. I’m going to be published in a magazine.”
Jewel stabbed her fork into her green beans. “Oh, is that all? I thought it would be something really cool.”
“Jewel!” Shelby reached across the table and popped Jewel on the arm. Jewel yelped and jerked back, glaring at Shelby. Shelby ignored her. “That is totally awesome, Katy! Which magazine? When?”
Katy flicked a glance at Jewel before answering. “Journalistic Pursuits.”
Trisha frowned. “I’ve never heard of that.”
Cora said, “I have. Mr. Gorsky keeps a stack of them on the shelves in the back of the classroom. But I’ve never read one. They looked kind of boring.”
Boring? How could anything with words in it be boring? Katy held the question inside. The last thing she wanted was for someone—most likely Jewel—to tell her she was weird. She explained, “They only publish student works, so it probably isn’t really well known. But they said my essay won first place. It’ll be published in May.”
“An essay?” Jewel spoke around a bite of canned peaches. “Not a story?”
“No, but maybe I’ll write a story next time.” Katy’s heart pattered at the idea of seeing a story she’d written appearing in a magazine—or maybe even a book someday!
“Well, it’s pretty cool that they picked your essay,” Cora said, but she didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “I’ll probably read it when it comes out.”
“What’s your essay about, Katy?” Trisha asked.
At least they sounded sort of interested now. Katy said, “It’s called A Recent Epiphany,’ and it talks about how I started school feeling like an outsider and like I didn’t belong, but how I figured out I could belong and still be myself.”
The girls stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted green feathers and a unicorn’s horn.
“Oh,” Trisha said.
“That sounds…exc
iting,” Cora added.
Jewel just kept eating.
But Shelby offered a bright smile. “I’m sure it’ll be great, Katy. As soon as it comes out, be sure to tell us. We’ll all read it. Won’t we?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure.”
Their lack of enthusiasm threw a bucket of cold water on Katy’s joy. A lump filled the back of her throat—a sad lump. They began discussing their activities during Christmas break, and Katy turned her attention to eating. She had no desire to tell them what she’d done during break. Wouldn’t they all be so delighted to hear about my thrilling time in the barn milking cows and poking their thick hides with needles? She’d written an essay—a winning essay—on how she’d found a way to fit in. But she hadn’t. Not really.
The afternoon crept by as slowly as a snail across the ground. When time arrived to board the bus for the ride home, Katy could hardly wait to slink into a seat and block out the world. She leaned against her backpack, thinking about the letter inside. How she wanted to show it to Dad. To see happiness in his eyes. To hear him say, “That’s wonderful, Katy-girl. I’m proud of you.”
Tears pricked as she realized she wouldn’t be able to show him the letter now. Not until this animosity between them ended. How could he be proud of her when he was so upset with her? Even though the bus heater roared, she shivered. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the noisy students kept her from escaping into dreamland.
The driver pulled up at Katy’s drop-off point. Dad’s pickup sat waiting, and she hurried off the bus. A suddenly frigid wind chased her across the dirt shoulder, and she climbed as quickly as possible into the warm truck cab. Dad shifted gears and took off without a word. The lump that had sat in the back of her throat since lunch grew, making it hard for her to breathe. Her heart begged her to say something—anything!—to end the silence between them, but her tongue refused to cooperate.
They reached the house, and Dad pulled in between the barn and the house like he always did. He shut off the engine, and Katy reached for the door handle. She couldn’t wait to escape to her room and pour out her thoughts into her journal. If she didn’t get there soon, she might explode.
But Dad stopped her with a single, low-toned word: “Katy.”
She froze.
“I’ve made a decision.”
Very slowly she turned her head and looked at him. He sat with his hands curled around the steering wheel and stared out the front window. She noticed he’d put her Christmas gift in the truck. The black cover looked shiny and out of place against the faded vinyl seat.
“You don’t need to worry any more about Mrs. Graber. I went in to the market today and called her. I told her I changed my mind. I won’t be getting married.”
Surely, she’d heard him wrong. “W-what?”
“I won’t be getting married.” His lips hardly moved, and his voice was flat.
Katy squeaked out, “You won’t? But…but why?”
Finally, Dad shifted his head and looked at Katy. He didn’t look mad anymore. Just sad. And very, very tired. “You know why, Katy.”
Yes, Katy knew. Because she didn’t want Mrs. Graber as a stepmother. So Dad chose Katy over Mrs. Graber. It was exactly what she’d wanted. So why did that lump grow bigger instead of going away?
“Are…are you sure?” She whispered the question, her tight throat raspy.
“I’m sure.” Dad’s face turned stern. “And we won’t talk about it again. Now go on in and get supper going. The temperature’s dropping, and the forecast calls for snow tonight. We might need to leave earlier in the morning to get you to the bus on time.”
Snow. She’d longed for snow too. She slid out of the truck and headed for the house. What was wrong with her feet? Shouldn’t she be skipping in happiness? A winning essay. No stepmother—she’d won! And snow on the way…But her feet plodded instead of skipped. And Katy didn’t know why.
Chapter Twenty
After she cleaned the kitchen, which took twice as long as usual since she had to wash the previous night’s dishes as well as both breakfast and supper dishes from today, Katy headed to her room to do homework.
Since she didn’t have biology homework, she pulled out her English notebook where she kept all the assigned words of the day, their definitions, and the sentences she created using them. She drew a curvy line beneath the word assigned the last school day of December and then penciled in her neatest handwriting, neoteric.
She pulled down her dictionary from the shelf above her desk and flipped it open to the N’s. She carefully recorded the printed definitions, including the pronunciation guide and uses of the word both as a noun and as an adjective. It took awhile since she also recorded the word’s origin, and the Greek words were tricky. Mr. Gorsky didn’t require the origin to receive credit, but Katy wanted to remember all the different pieces of the words she learned. So she studiously recorded every bit of information from the dictionary.
That task done, she tapped her lips with the pencil eraser and considered sentences. She pressed the pencil to page and wrote: I want to be a neoteric writer. She wrinkled her nose. Too simplistic. She spun the pencil around and erased the sentence. After another few moments of thought, she recorded: To be neoteric is to dare to be distinctive. She let out a little snort. That sounded like a definition! She erased furiously, nearly rubbing a hole through the paper.
With her brows crunched into a fierce scowl, she closed her eyes and made herself think…think…think. And a sentence flew from her fingertips: To be progressive, one must adopt neoteric aspirations; otherwise, life will remain stagnant and without the opportunity for growth. A little long, but she liked it. And she couldn’t help applying the thought to the lifestyle her parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents had chosen.
She couldn’t imagine anyone thinking of the Mennonites as “neoteric” with their limited education and simple way of living. But then she sat upright with a thought. “Maybe the Mennonites aren’t neoteric, but I am.” She spoke aloud, wonder filling her frame. “I’m going to high school. I’m going to be published in a magazine. I might even go to college…” You’d make a very good teacher. The words Mrs. Graber said the day they all ate at the Penners’ house crept from her memory and rang through her mind.
She shook her head hard, sending thoughts of that woman away. “Dad isn’t going to get married, so I don’t need to think about Mrs. Graber anymore. But I do need to think about homework.” Dutifully, she reached into her backpack for the rest of her books. But her hands stopped as a thought struck her.
If Dad didn’t marry Mrs. Graber, she and Dad would stay the same. Just like the Mennonites, they wouldn’t discover anything new.
Katy awakened early the next morning to a very cold room—colder than she could ever remember it being. Her nose, sticking out from beneath her covers, felt like ice. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and warm up, but she needed the bathroom. So, shivering, she wiggled out from under her blankets and snatched up her fuzzy robe.
As she left the bathroom, she encountered Dad on the landing. She hunched into her robe. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“I’m going down to check the furnace,” Dad said. “It must have gone out.” He wore his slippers and heavy plaid robe, the one that made him look like an old man. He hurried down the stairs, and Katy followed on his heels, hugging herself. She waited at the top of the cellar stairs, though. She hated the musty smell and creepiness of the dirt cellar. She only went down there if a tornado was coming.
“Is it out?” she called, bouncing from foot to foot to warm herself.
Dad came up, frowning. “It’s out. And I can’t get it to light for some reason.” He stormed for the staircase leading to the second floor. Katy once again trotted after him. “I’ll need to dress and go into town to see if Mr. Gebhart will come out to take a look at it.” They reached the landing, and Dad paused outside his door. “If I’m not back in time, you’ll have to help Caleb with the milking. Can you do tha
t?
Of course I can do it. I’ve been doing it for years. She ignored his question and asked one of her own. “Does that mean I won’t be going to school today?”
Dad grimaced. “Sorry, but that’s a possibility if I’m not here. Unless you want to talk Caleb into taking you to meet the bus.”
Katy didn’t relish asking Caleb any favors, but maybe it would give her a chance to apologize to him. She knew she should do that, even if it would be hard to form the words. “I’ll see what he says.”
Dad closed his bedroom door behind him, so Katy darted into her room and dressed. She chose thick black tights instead of her usual anklets. She hated how the tights looked, but warmth had to come first today. She squirmed into a long-sleeved undershirt then pulled her dress over her head. Even with all the layers, the chill of the house went straight through to her bones. Before going downstairs, she put on her robe over her clothes. It would look silly, but it would help keep her warm. She hustled to the kitchen where she found Dad putting on his coat, scarf, and gloves.
“Use the stove to heat the kitchen,” he instructed, “and go ahead and eat your breakfast. Leave something for me—I’ll eat when I get back.” He moved toward the door as he spoke. “Watch for Caleb and go out when he gets here—no sense in going out any earlier.” He opened the back door. Bright light attacked, and Dad drew back. “Well, look at that…”
Katy squinted against the sharp whiteness and scurried forward. The storm door window was completely covered in frost, so Dad cracked the door, and they both crunched one eye shut and peered out the narrow opening. Cold air whisked in, chilling her eyeball, but she couldn’t stop staring. Her mouth fell open in an O of astonishment.
Snow! At least two feet deep in the yard, with drifts halfway up the barn on the north side. The front of the pickup truck looked buried beneath a thick meringue of white. Fluffy, glistening, Christmasy snow! But it came too late. How would she get to school?
Dad closed the door and looked at Katy with dismay on his face. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get the truck out in that, which means I can’t go after Mr. Gebhart.”
Katy's Debate (Katy Lambright Series, The) Page 13