The Imposter

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “You’re an interesting person, Jesse Stoltzfus,” Miriam Schrock said. “Most interesting.” A smile flickered in her eyes, and then it was gone and she went on her way. Yet for Jesse it was enough. Being interesting was a good thing in his book. He felt himself smile in return and then heard himself laugh.

  Instantly, Jesse’s gloominess lifted.

  By Tuesday evening, David realized that the Bent N’ Dent store had far fewer usual customers than the previous week. By Friday of that week, sales for the week had declined by two-thirds. It troubled him to ponder why, but his hunch was confirmed when Gertie Zook and Lizzie King came into the store. A whisper fanned like a breeze across the store. “A man who can’t control his family certainly can’t be expected to lead a church.”

  “Gertie,” Lizzie scolded, “stop your gossiping.”

  Gossip. The whisper in the wind.

  Gertie Zook was the worst gossip among their people. She’d been sticking her meddlesome and inquisitive nose into others’ affairs for so long that the Plain had started calling her Grapevine Gertie to her face. She didn’t seem to mind, but then she did have quite a few grapevines in her garden and David sometimes wondered if she just didn’t understand the pun.

  As David rang up their purchases, he kept his smile steady. Sometimes, though, he wanted to just grab people by the shoulders and give them a good shake until they realized what was important.

  Saturday dawned so bright and sunny it almost made David forget the gloom of the previous week. He walked around the store, coffee cup in hand, trying to decide where to start the day’s work.

  He heard the sound of a horse and buggy in the parking lot and peered out the window to see who had arrived. Mary Mast climbed out of the buggy and hitched her horse to the post. His first customer of the day, which he took as a good sign. He watched her smooth out her apron and straighten her bonnet—a habit Anna had too. He felt a little catch in his throat, but he swallowed it back.

  He had succumbed to Katrina’s urging and given some thought to courting Mary Mast. He didn’t know her well, but she had a pleasant nature and seemed to enjoy his children, and she was certainly appealing. Most of her appeal, though, was that she seemed interested in him. Quite, quite interested. After Katrina had brought her for dinner that one time, she had dropped by the store every other day though she lived two towns over. But this week, her visits had stopped and David noticed.

  Last evening, he left a phone message for Mary Mast, inviting her to go on a picnic tomorrow afternoon at Blue Lake Pond. He said it might be one of the last warm days before winter settled in for a stay, so they should enjoy the good weather while it lasted. It had been a long time since he’d noticed a woman, and he gave thanks to God for this budding relationship. It was a welcome distraction from the more serious issues he faced.

  As she reached the front steps, she paused for a moment in the morning sun, and he was caught by her attractiveness. She had a pair of the nicest lips he’d ever seen on a woman—full and wide. David pulled open the door for Mary, giving her a warm smile. “Good morning, Mary. Can I talk you into a cup of coffee? Fresh brewed.”

  Mary smiled in return, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, but thank you, David.”

  Something wasn’t right. He felt awkward and uncertain. “Is anything wrong?”

  Mary put her hands together. “Is it true? About your oldest daughter? Being . . . with child?”

  Good grief. Had such news traveled two towns over? “Yes, it’s true.”

  “And she’s not going to marry the father?”

  “No. He’s engaged to someone else.”

  “So she’s going to raise the baby alone?”

  “She’s chosen to raise the baby. But she won’t be alone. I’ll be helping her, so will the rest of the family. And the community. I have a hope and prayer that there will be a wonderful man in her future who will come alongside her and be a father to her child.” Unexpectedly, an image of Andy Miller came to mind. He was quite touched when he learned how Andy had intervened with the gambler and paid off Jesse’s debt. Intuition whispered there was something between Andy and Katrina, some fledgling attraction. He had noticed from the first that Katrina was entirely herself around him—something she had never seemed to be around John.

  Mary Mast tucked her chin against her chest. “It must be awful—having this sort of scandal in your family. Being a minister and all.”

  David felt his neck turn red, and the fingers of his right hand clench involuntarily. “I feel what any father would feel about the situation. I don’t deny that the news gave me pause. But my soul is glad.”

  She lifted her eyes. “Glad?”

  “A child always brings joy.”

  “And then . . . your son, Jesse . . . I heard he was arrested for the murder of a gambler.”

  “Murder?” How had that rumor circulated? “No murder, no arrest, but he was brought in to the police station for questioning.”

  “And one of your other daughters—she tried to blind a boy in school?”

  “What? No. Ruthie never tried to blind Luke, she was just trying to teach him a lesson—never mind. It’s a long story.”

  “And then I heard the worst thing of all. That you encouraged a man in the hospital to be . . . ,” she searched for the right word, “. . . euthanized.”

  “What?” If the death of Ephraim Yoder wasn’t so tragic, nor so fresh and raw in his heart, he would have laughed. Ludicrous! How did rumors like these get started? Who was behind them? And how and when would they end?

  Mary seemed to have that answer. She bit her lip. “David, there’s talk of having you quieted.”

  David made a raw, gasping sound. Quieted. It was the Amish way to have a church leader removed. Silenced. Other bishops would come in for a hearing, to listen to the charges laid against him by the church members. If they decided there was enough evidence, a minister or bishop could be replaced.

  “I came by to let you know that I won’t be able to go on the picnic tomorrow.”

  He swallowed, trying to get past the lump in his throat. “Not tomorrow? Or not ever?”

  “Not . . . ever.”

  “I see.” But he didn’t. Not really.

  “I’m sorry, David. I had a hope there might be something blooming between us.”

  “So did I, Mary. I had a similar hope. But I’ve learned that there’s far more to the Christian life than getting it right. There’s living it right. Living it means working through the ordinary stuff.”

  “What you’re dealing with isn’t exactly . . . ordinary.” She looked down at her hands, which were twisted in a knot in her apron. She unclenched them and smoothed out the bunched material. When she raised her head again, there was resolution in her eyes. “Being a minister’s wife—”

  Wife? Who said anything about getting married? All David had in mind was a picnic. A stain of color spread along his cheekbones.

  “—it’s just more than I can handle. I believe that a minister’s life should be beyond reproach. And . . . I must say . . . your family seems to have more than the usual amount of problems. I’m sorry to say that I’m not ready to face the controversy you’re about to encounter.”

  He felt himself flush a little as he opened the door for her. “Well, thank you for coming by to tell me personally.”

  As he watched her horse and buggy drive down the road, he felt himself unable to shake the pall Mary’s visit cast. He had observed a quieting once before. He remembered thinking that the minister under fire had a look on his face as if he were having his skin peeled off in strips. Where would this conflict with Freeman end?

  And one thing he chided himself over: he had never asked the Lord if Mary Mast was the one. It was just like last spring, when he embarrassed himself by asking to court Rose Schrock when she was already involved with her neighbor Galen King. He hadn’t asked God about Rose, either.

  Never again. The next time, he was going to let God write the story.


  15

  In the last month, Jesse had learned a great deal about his employer. Hank Lapp was utterly affable, and utterly lacking in ambition. On top of that, he had a bad back, and believed that many chores were too strenuous to do very often. He applied that same principle to organizing, sweeping, dusting, rearranging tools, ordering supplies, bill collecting, and taking inventory. It was all too much work.

  Hank had a soft spot for children. In his pockets, he carried Smarties candy, which he gave away when a child skinned his knee or fell for some whopper of a fish story he told.

  Also, Hank didn’t like to talk about money.

  On a cold day in late October, Jesse arrived at the buggy shop to make a full confession to Hank about the unfortunate disappearance of funds. Hank was tinkering on a buggy that had a broken axle.

  Say it, Jesse. Just say it. “Hank, there’s something I need to tell you.” His forehead was slick, his hands were sweating, his heart was pounding. He took a deep breath and exhaled the words, as quickly as he could. “I lost all the money I collected for you in a gambling debt.”

  Hank exchanged a wrench for a hammer. “That’s just the reason I avoid gaming, myself. I always seemed to come out on the wrong side of a bet.”

  Another thing Jesse had discovered about Hank was that his conversation came off the top of his head and out his mouth seemingly without passing through his brain. Jesse tried again. “Hank, I lost everything.”

  “Wer nix hot, verliert nix.” If you have nothing, you won’t lose it.

  Jesse sighed. “Your money, Hank, not mine. I lost all of your money.”

  “I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time. Second and third time too.”

  Was it possible that someone in this town forgave a Stoltzfus? “That’s it? You aren’t angry? Aren’t you bothered?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hank, I lost over one thousand dollars. Of your money.”

  “Easy come, easy go.”

  Jesse was confused. He held a different view entirely on money. It didn’t come easily and yet, he had to admit, it did go easily, with alarming speed. “Why aren’t you upset?”

  “Mighta been if you told me yesterday. But today, nothing could bother me.”

  “Why today?”

  “You won’t believe it,” Hank said, as if he’d just been waiting to tell Jesse his news. “SHE SAID YES.”

  “Who said yes?” Jesse said. “And what was the question?”

  Hank smacked a hand to his desktop, a sound like a shot, clearly disappointed in Jesse. “EDITH! She said she’d marry me.”

  “Marry you?” You?

  “Yup. Two weeks from today. Turns out Fern was right.”

  “You mean . . . about women liking kindness and sweet gestures?” That was a new thought for Jesse.

  “YES! Last night, Edith and I had a long talk. She wants me to give up the buggy repair business and come help her with those chickens. So I’ll be handing over the buggy business to you.”

  “Me?” Me?

  “That was the plan, all along. To give you some skills that you could make an honest living out of and turn from your life of crime.”

  “But . . .” But, but, but . . .

  “NO NEED TO THANK ME, son. Someday, you’ll be doing the same thing for a wayward boy in your own life. And the news gets better. Fern said you’re to move into this apartment over the buggy shop. I think she’s finally warming up to you. Either that, or she wants to keep an eye on you.”

  Suddenly Jesse was looking ahead into the terrible future. But one thing he had learned in his sixteen years, sometimes it was wise to bend before the gale. “And keep me straight.”

  Hank’s good eye skimmed over Jesse. “Well, that might be too much to expect.” He turned back to the buggy he was working on, then spun around. “Almost forgot. Fern wants you up at the house. She’s got a long list waiting for you.”

  “A long list?”

  “To ready the farm for the wedding!” He grinned. “Edith thought it was too much to have it at her place, what with her boy Jimmy’s heartless abandonment, so Fern volunteered Windmill Farm. Less than two weeks and she wants this place cleaned from top to bottom. Spick-and-span.”

  Again? Jesse thought, scratching his head. It seemed he had just finished doing that very thing.

  It was the time of year that Katrina loved the best, October sliding into November. She loved the way the light angled, illuminating valleys she never noticed the rest of the year. Today was a beautiful wedding day for Hank Lapp and Edith Fisher, the sun was overhead in the sky.

  Her happy mood was jeopardized after an encounter with the Glick wives, just as she and Andy and Thelma arrived at Windmill Farm. She was helping Andy unhitch the horse when the Glick wives strolled past, looked Katrina up and down with disdain, and one of them said, “Wann’d dich amme schwatze Kessel reibscht, waerscht schwatz.” Rub up against a black kettle and you will become black.

  Katrina blanched a little at such a rude remark, irritated to know that people in town had been talking about her. But, she reminded herself, how could they not? Stoney Ridge was a small town. Everybody knew everybody else’s business. She’d been guilty of it herself from time to time. No matter how she felt about it, people were going to talk about her and the baby, at least until some newer and more interesting gossip came along. She kept her head up. She wasn’t going to let those two steal her happiness. And she did feel happy.

  After the initial shock of discovering that she was going to have a baby, Katrina decided to focus on the fact that this little one was surely a gift from God. Once she’d made up her mind about that, she couldn’t understand that anybody else might not feel the same way or take longer to reach the same conclusion. She understood the responsibility and challenges that lay before her, but that didn’t stop her from being thrilled by this miracle child.

  Bethany waved to her and hurried to the buggy. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Andy squeezed Katrina’s shoulder. “Go on. I’ll finish with the horse.”

  As they walked toward the house, Bethany looked at her friend. “What’s up with you two?”

  Katrina swayed. “Nothing.” And something. “You look especially happy today.”

  She grinned and lifted her chin toward the house. “I got a letter from Jimmy Fisher.”

  “He didn’t come back for his own mother’s wedding?” She knew Bethany had hoped this event might draw him home.

  “He just got a job and couldn’t leave.” She rolled her eyes. “As a cowboy.” She leaned closer to Katrina. “He wants me to come to Colorado.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  “I told him I would only go as a married woman. I’m no fool.” Her eyes dropped to Katrina’s midriff, and she gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Katrina. Please forgive me.”

  “You’re right. I was a fool. No longer.” She looped her arm through Bethany’s. “All is forgiven.”

  Katrina’s gaze took in all the women, gathered in clusters in front of the house, at the men who gravitated toward the barn, the children who played in the yard, and then went beyond. A thousand times her eyes and heart must have taken in such a scene. It was all the same and so was she. She hadn’t changed at all, not at all.

  After the very long wedding ceremony, everyone enjoyed a traditional wedding lunch of turkey and celery roasht, potato salad, chow chow, coleslaw, pickled beets, four-bean salad, applesauce, sweet rolls, every jam imaginable, pies, cookies, and cake. And punch.

  Freeman Glick said it was the best punch he ever had, and that his wife should be sure to get the recipe. Jesse, being the kind and thoughtful fellow that he was, a true servant, made sure that Freeman’s glass was never empty.

  Meanwhile, a rumor started to circulate among the older boys that someone—no one knew whom, though Luke Schrock’s name was tossed about—had spiked the punch with vodka.

  Freeman spent the remainder of the afternoon “resting his eyes” in his buggy
, snoring loudly.

  After returning home from Hank and Edith’s wedding, Katrina wondered if events like today made Thelma feel sad, aware of her widowhood. As she started to get supper ready, Thelma sat on a chair placed at the kitchen door threshold. There wasn’t room enough for two to work in the shoebox kitchen, so this had become their evening ritual. Thelma would keep Katrina company while she cooked or vice versa.

  “Do you miss Elmo terribly?” Katrina asked, mashing up hot potatoes with a fork.

  “In many ways, I do. An important part of my life ended when he died. But I must say that it’s not such a bad thing to have the final say-so in my own life. Elmo was a wonderful man and he thought he had my best interests at heart, but he was always keeping things from me. He said it was to protect me, maybe that’s true, but I always thought it had more to do with his mindset that women were meant to cook and clean and bear babies, but we didn’t have the mental hardware to manage more than that.”

  Katrina brought her a cup of peppermint tea.

  “When Freeman first told me I had to sell my property, in the same tone of voice Elmo would give me at times, something woke up inside of me.” Thelma gave Katrina a mischievous little smile. “I snapped at him and told him I would be making my own decisions from here on out. That shocked him! I don’t think he’s had many women tell him what’s what.” She laughed.

  Katrina added hot milk and butter into the mashed potatoes and whipped it all together. What was it about most men? Were they born knowing how to use a certain tone in their voice to make a woman feel foolish and inconsequential while professing to have her best interests at heart? Or did they pick it up from their fathers and older brothers? Katrina’s father had always supported her, made her feel important and capable, but he seemed to be an exception to the general inclinations of his gender.

  John had known that certain tone well and had adopted it whenever she had a differing opinion from his. Maybe if he’d encouraged her a little more, maybe she’d have been a little more confident . . . Maybe a lot of things.