SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (18 page)

The familiar sound of clip-clopping seemed to come and go as it mingled with my early morning dreams. Had it not been Sunday, I would’ve been content simply to sleep away the exhaustion of the night before. But Sundays were the Lord’s day at our house, and no matter how late we’d gotten to bed the night before, Sunday mornings meant early rising.

It wasn’t just difficult to wake up Lissa, it was next to impossible. She had burrowed herself into my blue-striped comforter. I piled my sleepy cat trio, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, on top of her. A moan drifted out of the blankets. Abednego took it as a signal to play. He pawed at the covers, leaping on the mound that was Lissa’s head.

“Rise and shine!” Dad’s deep voice resonated through the hallway.

“Lissa,” I said, shaking her. “Better wake up, or we won’t have time to talk.”

While I waited for her to respond, I stared at my collection of framed photography on the far wall—my gallery. It was a display area for my best work. Everything from scenes of trees in autumn and Amish windmills to Faithie’s gravestone adorned the wall.

“C’mon, Lissa. Wake up!” I jostled her some more.

“I’m tired” came her sleepy voice. “Can’t you shower first?”

“Only if you promise you’ll be up when I’m finished.”

She giggled under the covers. “You sound like a drill sergeant.”

“Well, I am, and you’d better get up or—”

“Merry,” Mom called through the door. “I need you downstairs as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling cheated. Now when would I get to hear what Lissa had on her mind?

On my way to the closet, I passed my bulletin board. Elton’s charred sketch of me hung in the middle of it. I studied the drawing for a moment, once again amazed at his talent.

By the time I was out of the shower, Lissa was dancing around, anxious to claim some privacy in the bathroom. Quickly, I dressed and towel-dried my hair in my room, waiting for her to come back out and get her clothes before her shower. But she was taking forever and soon Mom was calling again. Frustrated, I left my room and hurried downstairs.

“Looks as if the Zooks are having church today,” Dad said as he stood at the sink, gazing out the window. “Good thing they got those milk cows back in the barn last night.”

“Sure would like to know who’d do such a thing,” I said, setting the table. “Cows don’t get out by themselves, you know.”

He turned around, wearing a serious look on his unshaven face. “I think it’s time the police heard about Ben Fisher, don’t you, hon?”

Mom grabbed the skillet out of the pantry. “It’s hard to know what to say or do,” she said, pouring a cup of pancake mix into a bowl. “The Amish have their own way of dealing with things like this.”

I spoke up. “But Dad’s right. Something should be done, before someone gets hurt.” I hesitated to say more. Rachel would be upset if I told my parents everything that had been happening.

Dad kept talking. The more he talked, the more I realized he already knew about everything: the hate mail, the broken window, the poisoned chickens…everything.

“I think I’ll go over and have a neighborly chat with Abe,” Dad said, stroking his prickly chin.

Since the Amish Sunday meeting usually meant sitting around and visiting long after the noon meal, Abe Zook would be busy with his friends and relatives till afternoon milking. I reminded Dad of that.

“That’s true,” he said. “And we’ll be getting home too late from our evening service for me to go over then.” The Amish always went to bed with the chickens, around nine or so—whether they had any or not.

“Should I tell Rachel you’re coming tomorrow?” I asked.

Mom spun around, her hand steadying the mixing bowl. “That’s not such a good idea,” she said. “I don’t want you getting involved with this, Merry. It sounds a bit dangerous to me.”

“But Rachel’s my friend!”

She nodded. “The Zooks are good neighbors and fine people, but they don’t meddle in our affairs.” She sighed, casting a look at Dad that I interpreted to be a plea for unity. “My vote is we let them work things out according to their traditions.”

Dad pulled out a chair and sat down, opening the Bible and leaning it against his empty plate. His eyebrows danced as he turned a deaf ear to Mom’s chatter. Dad, being a medical doctor, focused his life on helping people. That’s probably where I got my strong inclination to do the same.

Anyway, out of nowhere, Elton Keel popped into my mind. Maybe it was because he was always silent. Dad, on the other hand, was only trying to be silent at the moment. I resolved with more determination than ever to help Elton fit into our school, and possibly our church.

Lissa showed up for devotions at the same time Skip did. My brother appeared dressed and ready to walk out the door for church, but Lissa still wore her bathrobe. I could tell by his sideways glance that he thought Lissa was totally uncool coming that way to breakfast.

Maybe he’d forgotten Lissa’s background. Her father had had an abusive streak and nearly every time he’d gotten drunk, Lissa and her mom had suffered beatings. The cycle of abuse had gone on most of her life, until last November when Mr. Vyner turned himself in and started getting help. Lissa told me once she couldn’t remember ever sitting down with her parents and sharing a family breakfast. Maybe that’s why she liked it here so much.

As Dad read the morning devotional, I wished there was something I could do to get Skip to be polite to my friend. I thought of kicking him under the table, but that seemed a bit childish. Besides, I was sure Skip had only one thing on his mind at the moment: food!

After a breakfast of pancakes and scrambled eggs, I hurried around the kitchen, assisting Mom by clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. Lissa excused herself and went upstairs to dress. Skip stuck his head in the refrigerator, searching for more food.

Mom ignored the Bottomless Pit. “Thanks for your help, Merry,” she said as I finished up.

“Any time.” I dried my hands on her strawberry towel. Mom had no idea why I was hurrying around. The truth was, if I finished up fast in the kitchen, Lissa and I would have time for our talk. But I was wrong.

Halfway up the back stairs, I heard someone pounding at the kitchen door. I waited, listening, as Skip flew past me with two pieces of jellied bread. “You’re gonna be late, cat breath,” he said.

“Go away,” I muttered, listening for some clues from the kitchen.

Soon Mom called, “Merry, it’s Rachel.”

My throat went dry. What on earth was Rachel doing here with church going on at her house?

I sensed trouble. Big trouble.

Rachel was waiting for me in the kitchen wearing a Sunday dress of bright purple and a black apron.

I greeted her. “Hi, Rachel. You okay?”

She nodded, but I knew better. Rachel wasn’t her cheery self. When people grow up together, it’s easy to know things like that.

Mom left the room to get ready, and probably to give us some privacy. When she was out of sight, Rachel spoke softly, “Can you come over this afternoon?”

“What’s up?”

She touched the strings on her
Kapp
—the white prayer bonnet—on her head. “There’s a culprit that needs to be caught,” she whispered.

I didn’t have to be told whom she was referring to. Evidently, the Zooks wanted proof that Ben Fisher was the one causing trouble for them.

“So your parents want me to help, is that it?” I asked, a little surprised.

Rachel shook her head. “No, no.
Mam
and Dat don’t know a thing about this, and we must keep it that way. My brother and I want you to help us do some spying.” She took a deep breath. “To help our family.”

“Levi and you?”

She nodded. “I’ll tell you later what we’ve got planned. Jah?”

I walked with her to the door. “Are you saying you’re taking things into your own hands?”

Her eyes brightened. “You may call it what you wish, dear cousin.” Rachel liked to call me cousin, even though we were only distant ones. Our family trees branched back to the same Anabaptist ancestors. She gave me a long hug, then hurried out the door and down the steps.

I waved as she passed the white gazebo in our backyard. “You can always count on me,” I called. Grinning, Rachel returned my wave.

I closed the back door and made some tracks of my own for my room. When Dad wanted to walk out the door on Sundays, the family had better be ready. It was the one day of the week he showed little patience for stragglers.

Briskly, I flipped on the blow dryer and brushed my hair, wondering about Lissa. Had it been my imagination, or was she avoiding me today?

Quickly, I applied some makeup, leaning close to the mirror as I brushed on some blush and a smidgen of lipstick. Mom didn’t care if I wore makeup, as long as it was in good taste. Her approach made me feel sorry for some of the church girls my age who weren’t allowed to wear much of anything on their faces.

I skipped the mascara. Instead, I spent the last few minutes fixing my hair, all the while a nagging thought threatening my peace of mind. Had Lissa changed her mind about having our personal talk? She’d gone downstairs to call her mom about something. Was it a stall tactic?

I was snatching up my purse and digital camera and saying good-bye to my cats when Lissa burst into the room. “I can’t hold it in any longer, Merry.”

I stared at her. “Hold what in?”

“Do you like Jon Klein or not?”

I looked at my bulletin board and Elton’s burnt drawing, avoiding her stare. “How many times do you have to ask?” I said.

“Well, do you?”

“He’s just a friend.” I didn’t even say a good friend. I didn’t want anyone to know how I really felt about the Alliteration Wizard. It wasn’t like Lissa was my best friend or anything. In fact, I hadn’t really had a best friend since Faithie died.

Slowly, I turned around. Lissa sat on the edge of my bed, looking up at me like she had something earthshaking to say.

I inched toward her. “What is it, Liss?”

Quickly, she looked down, playing with her tiny gold bracelet. “I guess you could say…I kinda like Jon.”

My heart stopped. “You mean you like Jon, uh, as in boyfriend?”

She nodded, her blue eyes wistful. “I think I sorta do, Merry. I mean…oh, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” I could tell she was having a whammy of a time.

“I really wanted to have this talk with you.”

“So, what’s the point? We’re talking, aren’t we?”

She sighed. “Well, that Spring Spree thing is next weekend, and I just thought…” She stopped.

I wanted her to speed it up, spit it out.

Her eyes shone. “I think I want to ask Jon to go with me next Saturday.” She stood up quickly, like she’d said something she was sorry for. “Oh, Merry, you’re not mad, are you?”

My heart had stopped beating, but I managed to say, “Mad? Why should I be mad?”

She came over and hugged me, blubbering something about being awfully grateful.

I probably would’ve freaked out right in my own bedroom if Dad hadn’t called up the stairs just then. And I must admit I don’t even remember the ride to church. Frustration had taken on a life of its own. And that was putting it mildly.

We strolled into Sunday school together, Lissa and I. But I felt like a walking prayer request. If someone had taken my up-to-the- minute spiritual temperature, I might’ve passed for a corpse, thanks to that private talk with Lissa. Worse yet, I noticed Jon sitting with our new pastor’s daughter, the beautiful Ashley Horton.

Lissa leaned over. “When should I ask him?” she whispered.

I toyed with telling her to go over right now, in front of the competition, but being a Christian friend was more important than any sarcastic comment I could’ve made. Besides, I had led Lissa to the Lord five months ago. She certainly didn’t need her “older” sister in Christ acting like a jerk.

“Wait till after class,” I suggested as calmly as possible.

Our teacher, Mrs. Simms, arrived dressed in a rose-colored challis shirtdress; her blond hair in its usual free-fall style hung down past her shoulders. I wasn’t surprised when she started in by giving us girls a pep talk. “Don’t be shy about inviting someone to the Spring Spree,” she said, smiling. “This is your moment, ladies. A terrific cause, and maybe the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.” She pushed her long hair behind one ear. “And, guys, make things easy for the girls, okay? Be gentlemen.”

I happened to notice Jon’s face brighten at that remark. Only there was a problem: He was looking at Ashley!

I glanced at Lissa. She’d noticed, too.

Just then, Elton Keel came in sporting tan dress slacks and a brown short-sleeved shirt. He was wearing his red-and-blue plaid backpack. From where I sat, it looked like my Polaroid might’ve found a home inside.

Mrs. Simms stopped everything to welcome him to class. He spied me and, with a childish wave, headed toward my row of chairs. Lissa and I slid over to make room for him, and although some kids might’ve felt uneasy sitting next to a special-ed guy with a firebug label, it didn’t bother me one bit. I knew the truth.

Seeing him here made my day. Maybe I wasn’t such a spiritual zombie after all. I offered to share my Bible, even though it was next to impossible to keep my thoughts focused on Mrs. Simms and the Sunday school lesson. Besides replaying Lissa’s earlier conversation with me, I had to endure Jon sitting next to Ashley, probably the prettiest girl in church. Ashley was not only pretty, she was also the epitome of goodness—which smashed the preachers’-kids-arerotten theory to pieces. I could only hope that Ashley Horton had no brains. That, and that alone, might give me an edge with the Alliteration Wizard.

In order to take my mind off this truly stressful situation, I tried to decide on my favorite month of the year. Sometimes a mental exercise can mean the difference between surviving and not.

The best month of all was a toss-up between September, my birthday month, and October, the last days before winter’s power punch. I loved the sound of October leaves under my feet—like walking on a field of Rice Krispies.

In the midst of my deciding, I observed my friend Lissa. She seemed intent on the lesson. Or was her concentration on Jon?