Mom wasn’t as easy to sidetrack. “How is it that you know all this?” she asked.
Chelsea was anything but discreet in her reaction to Mom’s pointed question. She coughed and nearly choked! And if I hadn’t been in complete control of my wits, I’d have sent her a fiery dart with my eyes.
Or worse.
Chapter
4
That afternoon, we bundled up in the warmest clothing we could find. Chelsea, who hadn’t anticipated the snowy trek to our neighbors’ farmhouse when she’d packed, borrowed a scarf and heavy mittens from Mom. We were so heavily wrapped in layers, we moved like lunar astronauts. Laughing, we lumbered down the long front walk, then on toward SummerHill Lane.
I didn’t even think of taking the shortcut to Rachel’s house this time. But I told Chelsea about the secret place deep in the willow grove, now buried in snow, far back from the road.
“Really? There’s a secret place in there?” She shielded her eyes from the sun, looking.
“It’s impossible to see from here.”
“Does Levi know about it?” she teased.
I shook my head, breathing hard as we turned into Zooks’ long, private lane. “The willow grove has always been Rachel’s and my place, I guess you could say.”
“I can’t wait to see where she lives up close.”
“Rachel might sound a little different—I mean, the way she talks and stuff,” I explained.
“I remember.” Then Chelsea reminded me that she’d already met Rachel. “She came to my house with the cocker spaniel puppy in October…after Mom left us.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I breathed in the icy, damp air. “So…what did you think of her?”
“Well, for starters, I think she needs some help choosing her wardrobe.” She snickered. “Other than that, she’s okay.”
“All Amishwomen dress that way,” I said. “You know that.”
Chelsea hurried to keep up with me. “What’s she gonna think, your bringing a stranger over?”
“Oh, you just wait,” I said, shivering. “Rachel and her family are the most hospitable folk you could ever want to meet.”
“Wow, that’s hard to believe. Seems to me that your family’s the most neighborly around here.”
“We try, but the Amish have us beat all to pieces.” I turned and headed up the freshly shoveled walk.
Almost immediately, Rachel appeared at the back door, greeting us as she opened it. She was wearing her usual long, dark dress and apron, as well as a white head covering. “Wilkom!” she said. “Come on in and get warm.” She helped Chelsea with her coat and scarf, smiling broadly when I introduced my friend. “It’s real nice to see ya again,” Rachel replied. “How’s that new puppy of yours?”
Chelsea responded eagerly. “Oh, you oughta see him. He’s growing fast now. And so cute!”
I stood beside the old woodstove, rubbing my hands together and taking in the enormous kitchen, sparkling clean as usual. “Did I ever tell you what Chelsea named the pup?”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t recall.”
“She named him Secrets,” I volunteered. “Isn’t that dear?”
At the mention of the pup’s name, little Susie came over from the kitchen table, where she’d been coloring. “I heard ya talkin’ about that puppy dog,” she said, still holding a crayon.
I gave her a quick hug. “Maybe Secrets can come for a visit sometime. Would you like that?”
Her eyes were bright. “Jah. Then he can see his mama again!”
Abe and Esther Zook glanced up, smiling from their rocking chairs, where they were both reading. It was evident that Sunday—the Lord’s Day—particularly a cold, snowy one, was meant to be shared together as a family at the Zooks’ farmhouse.
The other children, Nancy, Ella Mae, and Aaron, continued to play their games quietly at the table. Susie, however, had to show off her coloring book before Chelsea and I followed Rachel toward the hallway stairs.
“Make it snappy,” her father said. I knew he wanted all his children gathered around the warm stove in the kitchen.
Soon, I understood why. Rachel’s bedroom was practically a deep freeze. Wishing for my coat, I hugged myself. Chelsea did the same.
Almost as soon as the bedroom door shut, Rachel started jabbering up a storm. “Oh, Merry, didja hear? Our Levi’s comin’ home for Christmas!”
I nodded, determined not to look at Chelsea. She’d be getting too big a kick out of this.
“Matthew Yoder—my friend down the lane—and I wanna have a skating party on the pond. You know…for couples. Wouldja come and be Levi’s partner?”
“Uh…maybe Levi should have a say in it. You know.”
“No, no, it’s all a surprise for him,” she insisted.
I paused briefly, thinking things over. Chelsea nudged me from behind, and I knew there was no begging off.
“Oh, do come, won’tcha Merry?” Rachel pleaded. “Do it for Levi?” Her heart was set on this. I could see the excitement in her shining eyes.
“Okay,” I said. “Sounds like fun. When?”
“How ’bout the day after he arrives?” She studied me hard. “That’s Saturday, I’m a-thinkin’. And please, keep it a secret from him, won’tcha now?”
Chelsea started to giggle slightly, but my eyes sent a dart of disapproval her way.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it quiet,” I promised.
“Gut, then it’s set.” Rachel touched her Kapp, the white devotional head covering Amishwomen and girls wore.
Silently, we headed downstairs to the toasty kitchen—a welcome relief in more ways than one.
“So…the Amish don’t throw parties, huh?” Chelsea taunted as we trudged home over the encrusted snow.
“The adults aren’t real big on it,” I said.
We walked a ways farther before Chelsea said, “Seems to me, Rachel has more than an inkling how her brother feels about you. Am I right?”
I sighed. “Rachel’s got herself a boyfriend now—calls him her beau. She must be thinking that everyone else should be in love just ’cause she is.”
“Is Rachel’s boyfriend Amish?” Her breath hung white in the crisp air.
“You better believe Matthew’s Amish. Rachel’s bound and determined to marry in her church. In fact, last I heard, they’re planning to take instruction classes late next summer to prepare for baptism.”
“Hmm. I wonder what it would be like,” she said.
“What?”
“Oh, being Amish.”
I laughed a little. “Well, for a while there, I wondered the same thing. Even almost convinced myself that I should become Plain.”
“Last summer?”
“Uh-huh.”
She stared at me. “You’ve gotta be kidding. All that talk about Levi Zook wanting you to be his girl for the summer—was that for real?”
I chuckled. “Surprised even me.”
Chelsea adjusted her earmuffs against the wind. “Whoa, Mer, I can almost hear your mom going on about it.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“That bad?” she questioned.
“Let’s just say it was one of those times in my life when we truly clashed.” I left it at that.
We hurried around the side yard, past the gazebo, and toward the back door.
Chelsea seemed to want to pursue the topic, but Mom was watering her African violets in the corner of the kitchen when we walked in. “How are the Zooks?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Oh, you know, it’s Sunday, so it’s pretty quiet over there,” I said.
“Mighty cold, too,” Chelsea offered.
Mom turned around, wearing a frown. “Something wrong with their woodstove?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” I was quick to say. “But we went upstairs with Rachel for a bit—it was ice-cold up there for sure!”
Mom seemed to understand and, fortunately, didn’t press for more details.
But Chelsea did. Thank good
ness she waited till we were back in my room, though. “Does your mom know you still like Levi?”
“What?”
“C’mon, Mer, you heard me. You’re always saying ‘what’ for no reason.”
I shrugged and sat down at my desk across the room from her. Chelsea was right: Saying “what” was a cop-out—a bad habit. But what could I do about it?
My friend started to gather up her clothes and things. “You know, I have this very strong feeling,” she said without looking at me.
Snorting, I went to stand at the window, staring out at the pristine white. Fresh snow covered the field across Summer-Hill Lane like a wide, thick blanket. “You and your feelings,” I muttered.
“Yeah, well, today I was sure that you couldn’t wait to go visit Rachel,” she added.
Not answering, I turned from the window and went around the room finding her brush and perfume and makeup, helping pack her bag.
“You know I’m right, Merry.” She folded her pajamas and bathrobe. “I mean, you should’ve seen yourself during church today. You were, uh…pretty distracted.”
I suppose she had a point, except that I hadn’t been thinking about Levi during church. And before saying anything to deny it, I piled a handful of her belongings into the overnight case. “Weren’t you listening at all yesterday when I read that line from Longfellow?” I said at last.
“Longfellow, short fellow…Plain fella. What’s the difference?” she tittered.
And that was the beginning of our second and final pillow fight of the weekend.
Chapter
5
Monday dawned, bringing with it more subzero temperatures. A ferocious wind blew out of the east, making me shiver as I waited for the bus in the early morning light. I thought of a poetic phrase by Dickens. I am always conscious of an uncomfortable sensation now and then when the wind is blowing in the east.
The old school bus poked its way up SummerHill Lane, puffing white exhaust smoke out the back. The day seemed colder than I ever remembered a Pennsylvania winter, even though, according to the calendar, winter wasn’t officially scheduled for nearly two weeks.
Two more weeks….
Levi would be home soon. How would I act when I saw him again? What would I say? An awkward feeling followed as I thought about seeing him face-to-face.
Then I spotted Abe Zook turning out of his private lane, driving an open sleigh piled with his younger children—all but Rachel, who had already completed the eight grades of school required by the Amish.
One-room Amish schools never had to close for bad weather around Lancaster. Plain folk were well behind modern technology, but they sure knew how to put ingenuity to good use.
Abe Zook whistled to Apple, one of his three Belgian horses, and made the turn onto the road. The children waved and called their cheerful “hullos” to me.
Grinning, I was sure Chelsea—if she’d been here to witness it—would have enjoyed this down-home touch of Plain life.
My teeth were chattering by the time the bus creaked to a stop. Half frozen, I stumbled up the steps and into the bus. Chelsea motioned to me, and I slid in next to her.
“Did you see the Zooks’ one-horse open sleigh?” I pointed to it through the windshield.
“Hey, cool.” Chelsea started singing “Jingle Bells”; then she told some of the kids behind us about my Amish neighbors. “They’re the nicest people, really,” she said.
Jon Klein sat several rows ahead of us—nose buried in a book. I tried to recall if he’d looked up about the time I got on. But I knew if he had, I would’ve remembered.
I stared at the back of his head—his light brown hair was always well-groomed. Jon was the picture of perfection.
Say that with all p’s, I told myself, wondering how I’d fare if he ever decided not to stop at my locker for our session of silliness. What then?
I shot a desperate look at Chelsea. She shook her head and shrugged. “Why waste your time on a guy who hardly knows you exist?”
This was a brand-new approach. “Really?” I said. “Sounds to me like you think I oughta welcome Levi home with open arms.”
She twisted her thick auburn locks, worn straight today. “At least if you ended up with Levi, you wouldn’t have to hire a translator to read his letters,” she said, referring back to Jon’s note.
“No, but I think I oughta have a genuine call from God first.”
She frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Truth is, Levi Zook is studying to be a preacher. He really shouldn’t be hanging around with just any girl.”
“So…you think you’re a lousy choice. Is that it?”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I mean it. Levi should be spending time with girls who feel inclined to become a preacher’s wife.”
She leaned her elbow on her books and looked straight at me. “You know, Mer, now that I’ve actually started paying attention to all your God-talk, I think I better tell you something. Not to be mean, but I get the strong feeling you aren’t very trusting these days, at least not toward your heavenly Father.”
This comment seemed strange coming from Chelsea Davis, a former self-proclaimed atheist turned almost believer.
“You’re kidding,” I heard myself say. “You actually think that?”
“Let’s put it this way: Maybe if you spent less time reading that absurd poetry of yours…”
She didn’t have to finish; I knew what Chelsea meant. Reading the Bible was far more helpful—and important—in the long run.
“Well, if this isn’t a switch—you preaching to me.” I laughed, and wonder of wonders, the Alliteration Wizard turned around and smiled!
Jon began spouting alliteration-eze after his usual “Morning, Mistress Merry” greeting. “Whether wind be wintry or wild, we’ll wile away the wait for warmer weather.”
“What?” I said, prolonging closing my locker. With its door gaping wide and Jonathan standing near me, I felt sheltered from the world of school and students. It was only an illusion, of course. “W ’s, huh? Well, if you ask me, your sentence doesn’t make much sense,” I was glad to inform him.
His heart-stopping grin caught me off guard. “Better not boast ’bout brilliant comebacks,” he replied.
Man, was he good!
“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Pick a letter. Any letter!”
He thought for a moment, but as he was about to speak, Ashley Horton, our pastor’s daughter and probably the prettiest girl in the entire school, came trotting by with Stiggy Eastman, winner of this year’s coveted photography contest honors.
“Hello-o, Merry. Hi, Jon,” she cooed, waving.
“Ashley!” The Alliteration Wizard turned suddenly. “You’re exactly the person I need to see.” And with that, he dashed off after her, completely forgetting our word game. Forgetting something else, too—a proper good-bye.
All day long, the east wind blew. And with it came echoes—memories of my past days and years as Levi’s friend. Was I worrying too much about my next encounter with him? Or was something else bothering me? Anyway, I was truly miserable and told Lissa Vyner, another one of my church friends, about it during P.E.
“You know what’s discouraging?” I said. “Every time I think Jon and I might actually have a chance, Ashley comes flouncing along and interferes. It’s so-o frustrating.”
Lissa pushed her wispy blond hair away from her delicate face, looking at me with wide blue eyes. “Are you praying about this?”
“No,” I reluctantly admitted. “I know I should be. It just seems like some of us get all the breaks.”
I remembered that Jon had been interested in her for a while last spring.
Lissa didn’t say anything, and we hurried out of the gym locker room wearing our white shorts and tops, ready for a rousing volleyball game. “How about if I call you tonight?” she said, hurrying off to take her position near the net.
I spotted Ashley Horton on my team. Oh great, I thought. How was I going to play a d
ecent game with my competition hurling her smile around the court?
Off and on during the match, my mind seemed to play tricks on me. I actually started second-guessing my friendship with Jon. Maybe he was using me…could that be all it was? Was I simply someone to play his word game? I knew I was truly good as his partner in phrases. And I also knew for a fact that none of the other girls he’d ever liked had been introduced to the Alliteration Game.
What did it mean?
“Heads up!” The P.E. instructor blew her whistle.
I ducked.
But…too late.
The ball slammed into my head. I fell backward, stumbling onto the floor.
“Merry!” I heard Lissa call out.
But in nothing flat, I was sitting up, a goose egg on the back of my head.
I’d hit the floor hard, and the teacher was worried. “We better have the nurse check you out, Merry,” she said.
So with Lissa and Ashley on either side of me, I limped dizzily down the hall to the nurse’s room.
Served me right, I suppose. Men were a menace to the mind. Hey, I liked that!
And I made a mental note to communicate it to Jon after school.
Chapter
6
The knot on my head turned into a sickening headache by suppertime. Of course my dad made a big deal about checking the pupils of my eyes. “Have to make sure they’re dilating normally.”
“Do I have a concussion?” I asked, letting Mom baby me by bringing meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans up to my room on a tray.
Flicking on his penlight, Dad shined it in my right eye, then away. “Looks to me like you’ll be just fine, honey.”
“Why didn’t my head hurt earlier?”
Mom pulled up a chair and sat down, watching me eat. “Could be a delayed reaction.”
“Perhaps,” Dad was saying. “Often the body will kick in enough adrenaline to carry through the moment of injury and awhile beyond.”
“But then, look out—whammy!” I joked but avoided laughing. My head was throbbing too much for that.
SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 Page 12
