So baffling was such a question, Lydia knew she couldn’t bring herself to follow through on Katherine’s request. Perhaps someone else, someone closer to the Amish community, might be able to pry the baby dress away from the fingers of a brokenhearted mother.
Who would be willing to help Katie? Who in Hickory Hollow could Lydia turn to?
Mary couldn’t stop thinking about her encounter with the bishop. How mellow and strangely subdued his voice had been. Honestly, she’d never heard him sound thataway. Not at Preachin’, for sure not at barn raisin’s or nowhere else, neither.
She wondered, had he softened his voice for her? To let her know that the same man who’d shunned Mary’s dearest friend in all the world had another side to him? A kind and gentle aspect to his soul?
Pondering this, she helped her mother prepare fruit salad and leftover main dishes from the noon meal. She dared not discuss her thoughts with Mam or Mammi Ruth, though she’d thought of nothing else since arriving home from the visit with John Beiler.
Oh, she hoped her sour cream chocolate cookies had absolutely melted in his mouth—his and the children’s. One good way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, her mamma had always said. Jokingly, of course. But she’d seen her mother’s cooking work wonders with her Pop many a time.
She thought of the next scrumptious recipe she might offer to the bishop and his half-orphaned brood. Ach, she wouldn’t be waitin’ long, neither. Come next Sunday, she’d have another mouth-watering surprise for John Beiler.
And … she was gonna be listening; comparing, too, the sound of his “delivery voice” during the sermon, weighing it against the almost romantic utterances of this most glorious Christmas Day.
She struggled to get past the haze in her mind. Fuzzy … woolly. Everything about Rebecca’s thoughts felt that way—like peering through gray cellophane paper.
Fighting off a precarious feeling that if she let herself relax— even while lying in her own bed—if she gave in to the pulling, the all-consuming murkiness, it might swallow her up. Might devour her entirely, and she’d never be right again.
Something in her consciousness told her there was someone standing in the room. Someone besides Samuel. But she couldn’t begin to guess who.
Then, intruding on her attempts to think … think … the crying returned. The insistent wail of a newborn baby. Her baby.
Frantic feelings pulled at her, deeper … deeper into the wailing. Into a tunnel, the corridor long and narrow. The desperate wail of a helpless child—her heart-child who could not receive nourishment.
Crying echoed in her ears, reverberating through the white, sterile passageway. Rebecca closed her eyes, trying to block out the heartwrenching sound. As she did, the tunnel gave way to people—two women. One, a teenage girl carrying a sleeping baby, the other, the girl’s mother.
“I want you to have my baby,” said the girl with red hair.
Eagerly, Rebecca’s arms went out to receive the beautiful infant. Her arms felt the slight weight of the tiny one, and she offered a warm bottle. But the rosebud lips would not suck.
More crying …
What would she do if she could never quiet the infant, never be the kind of mother her baby truly needed?
But when she opened her eyes, longing to see the darling bundle, oh, yearning to gaze on her child, she looked—and Katie was gone.
Sitting up in bed, Rebecca listened, listened with all her might, but heard nothing. She hobbled down the hallway to another bedroom. Ach, the house was still. Dead still.
Sighing, she sat on Katie’s bed, holding the satin baby gown. When she’d kissed it, she laid it back in its hiding place.
It was then she realized the infant’s crying had stopped.
Mary was caught off guard after supper when a big, beautiful car pulled up in the driveway. “Who’s this?” she said to her mother.
They gawked out the window as a woman hurried to the back door. “Looks an awful lot like Rebecca’s Mennonite cousin,” whispered Rachel.
“Jah, I see whatcha mean.”
When the knock came, Mary rushed to the door, welcoming their neighbor inside.
“Can’t be staying long,” Lydia said, keeping her coat on as Mary pulled up a chair. “I’ll get right to the point.”
Mary listened carefully as the woman described a phone call. One from Katie. “She called this afternoon, Katie did, needing a baby dress that her mamma’s kept around all these years, I suppose. It’s made of satin … pink, and has the name Katherine Mayfield embroidered on the back facing.”
Completely in the dark as to what Lydia Miller wanted with either her or her mamma, Mary kept still and paid close attention.
“It seems Rebecca’s mighty taken to the dress. I don’t know how to describe it, really, other than to say, she’s clinging to her daughter’s baby clothing for dear life, like it’s all she has left of the girl.”
“What’s Katie need the dress for?” Mary asked, wishing more than ever she could help her friend.
“She really didn’t say in so many words,” Lydia answered, “but I think it has something to do with her natural mother in New York. Anyhow, she needs it mailed up there as soon as possible.”
An overwhelming feeling welled in Mary’s heart, and she found herself volunteering out of the blue. “I’ll go and get the dress for Katie.”
Lydia’s face brightened instantly. “You will? You’ll go over to the Lapps’ and talk to Rebecca?”
“I know she’s hurtin’ awful,” she told the woman. “All of us are worried sick about her mental state. But I have an idea about the dress.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I came over,” Lydia said, putting her hand to her throat. “I almost didn’t come, almost had to call Katie back and tell her the bad news.”
“First thing tomorrow, I’ll pay Katie’s mamma a visit.” She couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t have explained it to anybody if she’d wanted to, but for some unknown reason, Mary could hardly wait.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The morning after Christmas, Laura discovered that her speech had become more distinct again, nearly back to normal. She had even felt confident enough to ask Rosie to invite her daughter downstairs to share a late brunch.
“Are you sure?” Rosie pressed her.
“I must see Katie today. It’s very important.”
“Very well.” And Rosie was off.
While waiting for the two of them to return, Laura rehearsed the inheritance information she was about to impart. First, though, there were questions, things she’d reflected on year after year while separated from her baby girl. Oh, she realized such inquiries might have no merit for her daughter. Yet they burned within her, and because life was winding down swiftly, she wanted today—this very morning—to be the moment she finally opened her heart completely. She must hear Katie’s answers, give the girl ample opportunity to fill in the missing pieces, the lost heart-knowledge of the years.
After they enjoyed a light breakfast of fresh fruit and tea, Laura and her daughter were alone at last.
“For years, I’ve wondered about certain things,” she began. “About your babyhood and growing up.”
“That’s understandable,” Katie replied, smiling. “What would you like to know, Mother?”
Laura stared at the fire snapping in the fireplace across from them, thinking she must tread lightly, perhaps. “Well, I’ve always wondered how you were told about your adoption … what your family might have told you … about me.”
Katie nodded, pulling on one sleeve. “I’ve always known I was adopted. It was something my parents spoke of freely.”
“Oh, then you were legally adopted at some point?”
“I was adopted right away, as far as I know. As an infant.”
“And the birth certificate—was one issued, naming your parents as legal guardians?” Her heart thumped hard.
“They always told me it was as if I was born to them. But, no, they never s
aid who my real mother was, maybe because they didn’t know for sure.”
“So even though I was never contacted, and no attempts made to locate me,” Laura pressed on, praying her voice would hold out, “you’re saying that in all legal respects, you are their child?”
Katie was silent. She shook her head suddenly, stood up, and went to the window. “I don’t know, Mother. I believe I did see some legal documents when I was very young, but I don’t remember them exactly. Maybe I never was adopted. Maybe I’m still your daughter … legally, I mean.”
“But if you aren’t absolutely sure …” She paused, desperately worried that her wonderful surprise might well be on the verge of disintegrating.
“I don’t think it’s a problem,” Katie was saying. “Because whatever you have in mind … about … well, about when you pass away, I’m sure things can be worked out.”
Laura stared at the young woman, silhouetted in the window. What was she saying? Did she have some inkling of the revised will? And if so, how could that be?
Theodore had been the last person to see a copy of her last will and testament. She fully trusted her friend and chauffeur. There was no questioning his integrity.
A flood of inquiries came to mind, but she first wanted to look into her daughter’s face. Still, the strain on Laura’s eyes—having to squint into the light from the window—was giving her a headache. “Come sit closer to me, Katie. My eyesight is failing fast.”
Her daughter came quickly. “I’m sorry, Mother. I hope you don’t think I’m rude or forgetful. It’s just been such a long time since—”
“I know, dear. I know.” She sighed. “Now, you must forgive me for prying, but ever since you arrived here, I’ve wondered about something else. You see, I recently gave a letter to an elderly Amishwoman in Hickory Hollow while I was there … searching for you.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve wondered if you had opportunity to read it, and if, perhaps, my letter was the reason you were found and brought here by my husband.”
“A letter? Well … no, I don’t think so. Anyway, everything happened so very quickly.”
“What happened, exactly, Katie? How was it you came to Canandaigua to be my Christmas gift?”
Katie blew her breath out with force but did not speak for the longest time.
“It’s very important to me. I must know how you located me,” Laura insisted.
Katie stood up again, this time heading for the fireplace, her back to Laura. “I wasn’t found … not the way you might’ve supposed.”
Waiting eagerly for more, Laura forced herself erect, instead of leaning against the back of the wheelchair. “Was there a private investigator involved? Did my husband hire someone to search for you?”
“Oh, you could say there was some hiring going on, all right. But no, not a private eye.”
Bewildered, Laura felt her gaze boring into Katie, trying desper-ately—through distorted vision—to read her expression. What was the girl endeavoring to say?
Laura felt as though her breath wouldn’t accommodate her need for it. Struggling as she inhaled, she thought of calling her nurse.
When she was nearly certain the conversation was at a standstill, Katie suddenly turned around to face her. Her daughter seemed tentative—Laura could hear her breathing erratically. “No one discovered me in Hickory Hollow, or wherever it is you think I’m from, Mrs. Bennett.” Removing her prim head covering, Katie shook out the strawberry blond hair with the mere loosening of two pins. “I’m not your daughter, Mrs. Bennett. But please know that it wasn’t my idea to deceive you!”
The truth stabbed Laura’s heart.
“I am so very, very sorry I ever consented to come here,” the woman said before fleeing the room.
With the emotional pain came shortness of breath and the worst bout of tremors Laura had suffered in weeks.
There were always a great many folk visiting in Hickory Hollow during the Christmas holidays, and today was no exception. Mary hurried her horse along the snow-packed lane, meeting up with a whole caravan of carriages heading in the opposite direction. She figured Rebecca Lapp wouldn’t be all that surprised to have extra company, probably. Still, she hoped her visit might help her shunned friend … someway, somehow.
A blast of warmth from the Lapp kitchen met her as Samuel welcomed her inside. A glance into the next room let her know that Rebecca was up and about.
Gut, she thought. With Katie’s mamma up and dressed, well, she wondered if her chat might not go over lots better than if Rebecca were lying flat on her back in bed.
As it turned out, she was wrong. Awful wrong. “Whoever heard of takin’ clothes away from a helpless baby?” came the first heated refusal.
“But Katie needs the dress,” Mary said softly. “She wanted me to ask you for it. I’ll give the baby dress to your daughter.”
“I have no daughter!”
Mary shuddered, almost wishing she’d never come.
“My daughter died in a hospital over twenty-two years ago. Stillborn. Dead …”
“I’m sorry, Rebecca. Truly I am.” She got up out of the chair, then turning, faced her friend’s precious mother and spoke the real truth. “But Katie Lapp ain’t dead. She’s shunned.”
“The bishop killed her. John Beiler did it … he’s the one to blame for my Katie leaving. He is.”
Mary left the room, heading back to the kitchen. She passed Samuel on the way. “I think she might need a talk with the Wise Woman.”
“Jah, couldn’t hurt nothin’,” Samuel said, stroking his long beard. “Bishop John can’t help her now.”
“I’ll see if Ella Mae won’t come over after bit. I’ll bring her myself.”
“Denki, Mary. We’ll be waitin’.”
Five minutes with Rebecca had left her shaken to the core. Five minutes.… She felt sorry for Samuel. He had to live with Rebecca twenty-four hours a day. Poor, dear man.
The way the storytellin’ woman talked just now, you’d think she’d given up on the Lord God Almighty. Almost made Mary herself wanna quit believin’.
When Rosie asked to see Justin’s progress on the portrait, he declined. “From now on, the mistress of the house and everyone else must wait for the unveiling,” he told her. “Something to look forward to in the New Year.” The man grinned, obviously quite pleased.
She left the artist alone with his canvas and hurried back to the kitchen, wondering who should inform him of the most recent events. It was certainly not her place. Laura would have to break the news about the impostor’s unexpected departure. Laura … or Mr. Bennett himself.
Meanwhile, she hoped the time spent painting such a fine portrait hadn’t been for naught. After all, wouldn’t it be lovely to have a likeness of their kind and loving mistress—the woman who’d brought the Christian faith to this house? Brought the love of the heavenly Father to both Rosie and her husband?
She could visualize the portrait hanging in the library or drawing room. And if Mr. Wirth was the sort of highly creative master she supposed him to be, it might take very little to refine the oil painting, placing the focus on Mrs. Bennett alone.
When morning duties were attended to, she brooded over the woman called Katie Lapp. The actress had exited rather abruptly— similar to Katherine’s leaving, with one glaring difference. Mr. Bennett himself had driven one of the limousines, taking the woman to the airport. Good riddance! Rosie thought.
Had she been forced to, however, she would have had to confess she was more than a mite discouraged that Katherine was gone. She and Fulton had both felt they might be on to something with the responsible, demure maid. And what a cook! Why, she could bake the finest of Amish pies. They’d even toyed with the notion that she might be the mistress’s true daughter.
But given the opportunity, things between the former maid and Laura Bennett had never clicked. Besides, if it were true, wouldn’t Katherine have spoken up? Declared her identity?
Then why had Katherine left?
Was it plausible the excuse Mr. Bennett had given? That there had been a death in the family and she’d had to return home quickly?
Whoever had expired so unexpectedly, she did not know. But she did wish there had been time for a fond farewell.
As for the so-called Katie Lapp … what a revolting situation! Begone with the charlatan!
But the dear mistress was in such a bad way over it, suffering one contracture after another. The stress of the day, unraveling the selfconfessed fabricator, had taken its grave toll. Fearing for Laura’s life and the future of the manor, Rosie went to her knees in prayer.
Her face, though blurred in the mirror, looked gray and waxen, her lips pale. She struggled to inhale, the anxiety of the morning clawing at her with each breath.
Natalie had tried to persuade her to go to the hospital. “You’ll be much more comfortable there.”
But she had vowed not to leave “until Dylan returns, because I must speak to him one last time.”
“Then it is necessary that you lie down, Mrs. Bennett,” Natalie urged. “I’ll prop you up with pillows.”
She refused the nurse’s suggestion and continued to inspect herself as best she could. Looking down, she studied the skin beneath her fingernails—dusky. Her hands—clammy and cold.
Natalie began to move the wheelchair nearer the bed, away from the dresser mirror. “I want you to rest now, Mrs. Bennett. It’s very important.”
“Nothing’s important now. Nothing, except seeing my husband again.”
The nurse began to treat her as if she were a child, putting her to bed against her will. How she resented it and fought back, slapping at the youthful hands.
Then, unexpectedly, there were more of them surrounding her, people subduing her. And she cried out, using up so much air she nearly passed out.
Despite all her efforts to resist, the horrid nurse gave her another injection … no, there were so many others pushing on her now. Forcing her limp and sore body against the bed. Weighing her down, down.…
The Confession Page 19
