“Female?” I mumbled from under my comforter. What is that supposed to mean?
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I was still sleepy-eyed from the sandman, and here she was rehearsing Dad’s hospital schedule and telling me when Skip was supposed to be home.
“Can’t you write it down?” I said. “What time is it, anyway?”
“I’ve been up for hours packing and arranging meals and things, Merry. The least you can do is cooperate for one minute.”
“What?” I sat up.
“You heard me.” She got up and flung my bathrobe at the bed.
My cats didn’t seem to mind the terry cloth robe next to them. In fact, they began rearranging themselves on it, which only infuriated Mom. “Honestly, you have way too many cats.”
This was the first I’d heard such a thing.
“We really need to talk about this problem.” She glared at my beloved babies.
“How can you say that?” I replied, now fully awake. “They’re not a problem to me, or anyone else.” Except for Skip, I thought disgustedly.
“I should’ve said something long ago” came her terse response.
“But, Mom.”
“I really don’t have time for this now,” she said, standing at the foot of my bed in her traveling clothes—a yellow sweat suit and tennies to match. Her graying hair was pulled back into a clump at the back of her neck and fastened with a bright yellow organdy tie.
She looked a little like a canary.
She glanced at her watch. “It’s already seven o’clock,” she said. “Can you be downstairs in five minutes?”
I groaned, falling back onto my pillow. “How could you do this to me?”
She didn’t respond with words but turned on her heels and left the room. I could hear her doing the same thing to Skip down the hall, waking him up too early.
What was bothering her? Was it the fact her younger sister had given birth to twins?
I hated to disturb my cats, but I needed my robe. If I didn’t show up in a flash, Mom would really be upset.
Wandering into my bathroom, I stretched. Mom isn’t herself these days, I thought, reaching for a washcloth. She irritated me, yet I felt sorry for her. Her daughter Faithie was dead—nothing could ever change that. But what bothered me even more was the fact that I was alive—and being treated like this.
I knew better than to dawdle when Mom had deadlines, so I hustled downstairs. She was already writing things in her lined tablet. “There’s a salmon casserole dish in the refrigerator for supper tonight,” she began. “Just warm it up in the microwave for the three of you.”
“That’s easy,” I said, noticing the suitcase beside the back door. And a duffle bag bursting with baby clothes, no doubt.
She continued to rattle on about additional dinner possibilities, when to do laundry, and would I please pick up the house for the cleaning lady? “You won’t forget anything, will you?”
“The list is all I need.”
She pushed it across the table. “Better put it on the refrigerator or somewhere safe.”
“Relax, Mom, everything’ll be fine.”
“Well, I hope so.” She stood up then. “I’m counting on you, Merry.”
That’s when I noticed how vulnerable and sad she looked. I moved toward her, wanting to hug her. “You can always count on me, Mom. You know that.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she darted toward the table. Away from me.
Sadly, I watched her pick up the list and put it on the refrigerator, turning her back on me. Strange as it seemed, posting her list on the fridge was somehow more important than my hug.
Chapter
20
Getting up early on a Saturday wasn’t so bad, really. It meant that I could spend more time at the Zooks’.
Before I left, I finished making their family crest, outlining the watercolored sections with black marker. Then, carefully, I rolled it up, carrying it under my arm.
Mom had left in a hurry once we discussed her list, and as far as I could tell, Skip had gone back to bed. Dad would be tied up at the hospital till six tonight. Basically, I had the day to myself.
Esther Zook was delighted with my present and promptly hung the colorful drawing on the kitchen wall. I was surprised because the Amish usually didn’t decorate their walls much.
“This is so kind of you, Merry,” Esther said, standing back to admire it.
“I’m glad you like it,” I said.
Rachel began to set the table. “Will you stay and eat the noon meal with us?”
I remembered my promise to Mom this morning. She was counting on me to make sure things ran smoothly at home. “Better not today,” I said, explaining that Skip would be starved.
“Come back later, jah?”
“After lunch.”
Levi seemed pleased that I was spending the day there, and later, when he and I went to the barn to round up the cows for milking, he asked, “Why didja make us the drawing?”
“I wanted to.” I pulled on a pair of old rubber work boots belonging to Levi’s father.
He studied me hard. “You put a five-pointed star right in the middle,” he said. “Does that mean something?”
“I just made it up,” I explained. “There are no real family crests for the name Zook. And the star seemed to fit.” I chuckled, remembering the falling star that night by the pond.
“I don’t think you can laugh when providence comes knocking.” His eyes were serious.
“Well…maybe.”
“Not maybe, Merry,” he said. “Providence is something we Amish folk live by.”
It was interesting to hear him say “we Amish.”
“I thought you weren’t sure about your future here on the farm.” My words were sincere, and I saw by his face that he hadn’t misunderstood.
“Providence must be attended to no matter what,” he went on.
“Just think what might’ve happened if your great-great grandfather had not married outside the Amish.”
“What? You think that was providential?”
“You, Merry, would not be here today if Levi Lapp had not married Mary Smith.” He turned to me, his expression soft and thoughtful. “That’s providence. A very gut thing!”
The sweet smell of hay made the moment stand out in my mind long afterward.
Rachel and her sisters showed up for milking right on time; little Susie, too. They stared at my giant boots, caked with dried cow manure, and giggled.
“Sorry”—I glanced at their muddy bare feet—“but I’m not quite ready for squishy stuff between my toes.” While we washed down the cows for milking, I enjoyed the chatter around me, feeling very at home. Rachel and Ella Mae, Nancy and little Susie, engaging in the art of conversation. Pennsylvania Dutch style.
After milking and helping Rachel tend her charity garden, I headed home. Minus the work boots, naturally. I thought of Levi’s words. You, Merry, would not be here today…
I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about all this talk of providence, but I did know one thing: History didn’t have to repeat itself unless the people involved allowed it. Levi Lapp and Mary Smith really and truly had nothing to do with how Levi Zook and Merry Hanson lived out their lives.
Skipping through the willows, I felt good, surprising myself that not once had I thought about the ninth-grade picnic. Or Jon Klein.
The thoughts came later, though—after supper when Chelsea called. “Hey, you’ll never guess what,” she said. “I went to church today.”
“To the picnic?” I was thrilled; this was a good first step for an atheist. “How was it?”
“Okay, I guess, for a church picnic.”
I overlooked her remark.
“You should’ve come, Mer,” she said, a question in her voice. “Everyone was asking about you. I even heard that Jon called you from the church office.”
“He did?”
Twice in two days!
“You mean you didn
’t talk to him?”
“I was gone all day,” I admitted. Then I asked, “Does Lissa know Jon called?”
“How should I know?” She sounded vague. “You know how these boy-girl things are.”
I wanted a straight answer. “Did Jon hang out with Lissa or not?”
“Why don’t you find out straight from the horse’s mouth?”
“Why should I call him when you were there?”
“Oh, Merry, you’re being a stubborn mule.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then she said, “You said you were gone. Does that mean you were with Levi?”
I couldn’t tell her about my long day at the Zook farm. To tell an outsider about the way I’d interacted with my Amish friends would take away some of the specialness.
Instead, I shared the news about Aunt Teri’s babies, which instantly got her off the Levi subject.
“Aw, you’re kidding, you have twin cousins?”
“Uh-huh, and I think my aunt and uncle are coming up next month. Maybe you can see the babies then.”
“What did they name them?”
“Benjamin and Rebekah.”
“How sweet. Benny and Becky.”
I laughed. “I thought of that, too. But I’m not so sure my aunt’s gonna want nicknames just yet.”
“Why not?” She was actually in a great mood now, and I was relieved.
“Oh, you know how new mothers are,” I said. “They want their offspring to start out with good, solid names. That’s why my parents named me Merry, for one thing. They never dreamed I’d get pegged with a nickname.”
She laughed. “And so you get Mer all the time.”
“Yeah.” I thought of my twin sister. “And Faith got Faithie.”
“I remember,” she said softly.
After we said good-bye, I set the table and warmed up the casserole dish Mom had made early this morning. Skip didn’t have much to say other than that Jon had called. Old news.
Dad looked worn out from a hectic day in the emergency room. As soon as we finished with supper, I heard him shuffle down the hall to his study—probably to call Mom.
I didn’t feel like a fight, so I didn’t bother asking Skip for help cleaning up the kitchen. The minute things were spotless, I hurried upstairs to the attic.
I had told Mom it didn’t matter which baby clothes she took along for baby Rebekah. And I truly felt then that it didn’t matter. But after my conversation with Mom this morning—and the indifferent way she had treated me, getting me up early and forcing me to listen to her instructions while I was half asleep—I wanted to know whether she’d taken Faithie’s clothes or mine.
I groped around for the attic light switch, encouraging Lily White to curl up somewhere. Wanting to be near me always, my little “shadow” had followed me up the steep steps.
Quickly, I located the boxes marked baby clothes. Several sat open and empty on the floor. My heart pounded as I opened first one, and then the other, of the remaining boxes. I knew it was probably ridiculous to feel this way, but I had decided while cleaning up the kitchen that if Mom had given Faithie’s baby things away, it was a good sign. A sign that she was beginning to deal with her loss. A sign that I was as dear to her as the memory of her other daughter.
Lily White couldn’t stay away from the action and rubbed her head against my arm. Her softness comforted me as I knelt on the thick carpet and peered into the first box. I braced myself for the worst.
Chapter
21
Mom had always dressed me in baby blues and soft yellows. Faithie had worn greens and pinks.
Tears stung my eyes as I picked frilly blue dresses and lacy yellow playsuits out of the box. I held my tiny outfits near my heart, sobbing.
Lily White sensed my emotion and jumped into my lap, purring away like a mini-motor. In the quiet of the somewhat musty attic room, I laughed and cried for joy.
On Tuesday, Chelsea and I presented our family history reports to the class. She held up my family crest while I pointed to the lion, representing my courageous ancestry. When I told about Levi Lapp and Mary Smith, I noticed Jon Klein lean forward, paying close attention. Had he caught the similarity of names?
Chelsea was next. I held up her family tree while she went through her generations on both sides. No one even cracked a smile when she told about her great-aunt Essie Peterson, the faith healer. I knew all along it would be just fine.
After class, I was gathering up my books when Jon came over to my desk. “We missed you at the picnic Saturday,” he said.
Who was we ?
“Sounds like it was great.” I hadn’t thought I’d missed anything by not going. But maybe I had, and by the way Jon was grinning from ear to ear, it looked as though he was mighty glad we were having this talk.
Only a few kids were left in the room, including Chelsea. When she saw us together, she exited quickly. And there was Lissa, but she was busy talking to the teacher.
“Did your brother tell you I called?” Jon asked.
“Uh-huh.” I was dying to ask why he’d called but didn’t.
“I haven’t seen you around much,” he said.
I picked up my books. “You know how it is with big projects this time of year.”
He looked concerned. As if there was something else on his mind. As if he didn’t believe what I’d just said.
Then Lissa came over. “Hi, Merry. Long time no see.” Like that was my problem. She handed Jon some papers. “Well, see you two,” she said and left.
What is going on?
“Well, the bus’ll be here any minute,” I said. “I’d better get going.”
Jon followed me to my locker. “Say that with all b’s,” he said.
I grinned a bit too broadly and reached for my combination lock. Jon leaned over, looking at me comically. “So…does this smile say something?”
Opening my locker, I said, “Say that with all s’s!”
“I just did!”
The guy was good. I’d forgotten how good.
“Wait right here, Merry.” He rushed off to his locker, threw his books inside, and slammed the door. What was on his mind? And where was Lissa?
“We have to talk,” he said, following me out to the bus.
“What’s up?” I thought this might be about Lissa. Maybe he needed some womanly advice.
On the bus, once the noise rose to a dull roar, he turned to look at me. “Merry, I hope you won’t take this wrong, but some of us were talking, and…” He paused as though he wasn’t sure what to say.
“About what?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s only my opinion, but I think you’re missing out on a lot.”
I was confused. “What are you saying?”
He looked miserable. Absolutely miserable. As though he wished he hadn’t started this. “Hanging out with that Amish guy keeps you from—”
“Excuse me?” I shouted.
Jon waved his hands. “No, no! Relax, don’t get on Chelsea’s case.
Please! She’s just concerned. All of us are.”
I felt my face scrunching up. “Look, I don’t interfere in your life. What right do you have—”
“Don’t be ticked, Merry. It’s only a friendly suggestion.” He actually looked sincere. He sighed. “None of us think you belong with the Amish.”
I turned around to look for a vacant seat toward the back. Anywhere on earth would be better than sitting next to Jon. Anywhere!
Spotting Lissa, I motioned for her to trade seats with me. “Thanks for nothing,” I said to Jon. Then, sliding out of my seat, I made my way back to where Lissa had been sitting next to Chelsea.
She was wearing a mischievous grin. “Someone had to bring you back to your senses,” Chelsea said, her green eyes flashing. “I knew Jon was the best choice.”
“Well, it didn’t work.”
A question mark in the shape of a frown slid between her eyes. “What are you thinking, Mer?”
I refused to respond.
“Okay, go ahead and be Amish,” she taunted. “Have a nice life, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The bus took an eternity to get to SummerHill, but when it stopped at the willow grove, I leaped out of my seat and dashed down the aisle.
Outside, I stood in the road, watching the bus chug up the hill. “Good riddance,” I said, as much to the sputtering, coughing school bus as to my former friends. Maybe now I knew firsthand, on a small scale, what it was like to be shunned. Why were they acting this way?
I began running up the hill to my house, but something was changing in me. I was beginning to feel tall now. Tall and proud. Jon couldn’t hurt me like this. I wouldn’t let him. I’d…
It was then that I knew I didn’t need to run. I could do anything I wanted to. Jon Klein or not. My life didn’t revolve around the Alliteration Wizard!
Several days passed before I saw Levi again. He was hitching Apple up to the family buggy in front of the house when I walked down their lane.
“Hi, Merry.” He tipped his straw hat, keeping it high off his head for a moment.
I stared at his hair. Short!
“You got a haircut?” I said.
He removed his hat completely, proudly displaying his cropped hair. “Do ya like it?”
“It’s…it’s not very Amish,” I said.
“You’re not sore about it, are ya, Merry?”
“Just surprised.” I couldn’t get over how modern he looked. Except for his white shirt, black trousers, and the tan suspenders he always wore.
He finished hitching up the horse, and before his mother and little Susie came down the steps, he put his hat back on. “Let’s take a walk, jah?”
“Okay.” I had a feeling it was close to being the right time to give him my answer. A long-awaited one.
We walked through the side yard and back around to the barn, then up the earthen ramp to the second level and the hayloft.
I grinned as Levi opened the double doors. He knew I loved this place. Some kids grow up playing make-believe in tree houses. We’d grown up in the Zooks’ old barn. Fortunately, the new one was exactly like it.
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 Page 27
