SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (24 page)

“I brought you something.” I pulled the gift bag off so he could see the Bible.

He kept staring into space and rocking back and forth, his arms and hands bandaged and limp in his lap.

I thought my heart would break. This was not the same boy who’d sat in church with me, sharing my Bible. And the night he’d stood and clapped at our youth meeting—where was
that
Elton?

His grandma started to talk about the fire, but the counselor intervened. That subject was obviously off limits, and I could see why. Zooks’ fire had changed everything.

That night, after supper, Dad and I had a long talk in his study. He did his best to explain Elton’s problem to me. “Autism is a mental disorder that occurs in one out of every one hundred fifty live births,” he said. “It’s found more often in boys than girls.” He continued to describe some of the behaviors of autistic people. Elton had nearly all of them.

Everything seemed so complicated, but it was good to know Dad wanted to take time to explain. “There’s something else I want to say, Merry,” he continued.

“What, Dad?”

“This has to do with your views concerning Elton’s innocence.” He paused for a moment, scratching his head. “I want you to know I respect your opinion about your friend, and I hope the best for him.” He smiled.

“Oh, thank you!” I said, rushing into his arms. Things were so much better now. Finally, Dad was sounding less like the resident shrink, and more like my father.

With little fuss, my parents agreed to let me go to the Zooks’ barn raising. “As long as you get your homework assignments finished before tomorrow,” Mom said.

“And please be careful with your arms,” Dad said, glancing at the bandages still there.

So it was set. I was looking forward to a frolicking good time, as Susie Zook would say. Frolicking good had its limitations, of course. Tomorrow wouldn’t be half as much fun with Elton locked up.

Setting my alarm for six o’clock, I climbed into bed early, wishing and praying that Elton were free. And struggling with what to do to make it happen.

When the alarm sounded the next morning, I was in a deep sleep, dreaming that I was dragging my camera collection through a field. Things were hazy and I tried my best not to stop dreaming, but the alarm clock had done its work. The dream faded away.

Later, I stood in my closet trying to decide what to wear. That’s when I remembered my Polaroid camera. I’d loaned it to Elton. Had it burned in the fire? Frustrated about not knowing, I pulled on a lightweight shirt, careful not to disturb the new, clean bandages on my arms. There was really no way to ask Elton about anything these days.

It was full light when I hopped onto my bike and rode over to the Zooks’. I didn’t want to offend my Amish friends by carrying a camera in plain view, so I wrapped it in a paper bag, securing it in my bike basket.

The Old Order Amish didn’t allow photographs of themselves. The scriptures about not making any graven images were taken literally.

Abe and Levi were in the field welcoming friends and directing buggy traffic when I arrived. More and more horses and buggies pulled into the yard and parked, lining up all the way to the wagon wheel mailbox at the end of the private lane. Minutes later, a bus came bouncing down SummerHill, packed with Amishmen from Strasburg and surrounding areas. They were wearing their work clothes.

By seven sharp, everyone was present—about three hundred Amish folk. Even the Zook grandparents settled into their rocking chairs to sit and watch and visit with the others their age.

Rachel waved when she saw me. “Come on inside, Merry!” She hobbled around on a single homemade crutch.

I parked my bike near the back door and went into the kitchen. Rachel and her mother were arranging homemade pies and cakes baked by the women whose husbands would build the barn.

Soon the women began stewing chickens for the noon meal. Rachel and I helped fry potato chips with several other women until her mother caught our attention. “Rachel! Merry!” she called. “You girls go and get off your feet now for a while.” She shooed us out of the kitchen like flies. Then, turning to her Amish friends, she said, “Ach, that fire was such a terrible fright.”

Terrible was putting it mildly, and I thought of Elton again as Nancy and Ella Mae showed up with their wagon for their big sister. I smoothed out the wrinkles in the quilt and helped Rachel get situated.

“Ask Mam if we can take some angel food cake and cookies with us,” Rachel told her sisters.

The girls scampered into the house, letting the screen door slap against the frame. I watched Susie play a game of chase with a friend in the backyard near the old pump. Aaron Zook was hauling tools with a wheelbarrow, helping his dad.

I could hear the joking going on among the men as they divided into groups to begin erecting the main timbers and frame. It would take sixteen strong men to lift one beam into place.

Nancy and Ella Mae came running with two large pieces of angel food cake and six peanut butter cookies. Nancy handed the plates wrapped with clear plastic to Rachel, who sat like a princess in the wagon.

“That’s a very good after-breakfast snack,” Rachel said. “Can you bring us some lemonade later on?”

Ella Mae smiled broadly, showing her missing front tooth. “Where are you two going now?”

Rachel looked up at me and I leaned down to pick up the wagon handle. “Merry, where do you want to sit and watch the barn go up?” she asked.

“How about the secret place—in the willow grove?” I suggested. “You girls can come later if you bring us some lemonade,” I teased Nancy and Ella Mae.

They giggled and chased each other barefooted as I pulled the wagon over the yard. I stopped to get my camera out of the bike basket before heading down Zooks’ bumpy lane to the main road.

“Don’t you go hurting your arms pulling me around,” Rachel said.

“It’s no problem.” I turned off SummerHill Lane and headed down the well-worn path to the thickest part of the willow grove.

Under the graceful covering of branches and leaves, I spread out the quilt from the wagon and helped Rachel sit down. “How’s that?”

“Look at this view we have,” she said as I sat beside her on the quilt. She was right—the view was perfect. We could see everything from here.

The men crawled over the beams like ants, working at a feverish pace while Rachel and I talked leisurely about the summer coming up. “My aunt Teri’s expecting twins this summer,” I said. “In June, I think.”

“Twins?” Rachel looked a little surprised. Maybe because she knew Faithie and I had been so close. “You’re going to have two new cousins at once.”

“That’s right,” I said. “They’ll be her first children.”

“Will she hafta teach the little ones how to sign?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “I guess so.” I reached for the plate with the angel food cake and gave a piece to Rachel. After that, we nibbled on our cookies, soaking up the sun. Feeling lazy and good.

By ten o’clock, it was time for the first break, and we could see all the activity from our vantage point. Women and girls scurried here and there serving sandwiches and doughnuts in baskets to their husbands and fathers. It was a holiday atmosphere, with plenty of laughter and lots of pranks.

After they served Abe and Levi, Nancy and Ella Mae came dashing across the pasture, climbing over the picket fence with tall glasses of cold lemonade splashing out as they came.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of the cold drink.

“Anything else?” Nancy curtsied to us, pulling on her black apron, pretending to be our maid.

“No, thank you, not for me,” I said. “And you?” I turned to Rachel, playing along.

“I’ll have a sandwich, if you please,” she said, sounding like a regular English lady.

Ella Mae got the giggles and Nancy challenged her to a race to the picket fence.

I reached for the bag with my camera inside and set up a shot of the quilt and lemonade glasses. “Don’t worry, I won’t get you in the picture,” I promised.

Rachel smiled, trusting me. She leaned over to steady her glass. “That’s better.”

I stepped back several feet, away from the cozy retreat. Aiming at the quilt, I made the lemonade glasses the focal point.

Click.
The picture was done, but something behind Rachel caught my eye. Something red and blue. Something plaid.

I hurried to investigate. When I knelt down, I discovered it was Elton’s backpack!

“What did ya find, Merry?” Rachel asked.

Almost reverently, I carried the small plaid backpack over to our quilt. “This belongs to the boy who saved my life,” I said softly.

The zipper was open, so I peeked inside. “Oh, look at this.” I pulled out my Polaroid camera. “It wasn’t burned up after all.” A truly happy feeling swept over me.

Rachel peered over my shoulder as I felt around inside the backpack. “What else?”

“Oh, just some pictures he took for an art project,” I said, pulling out the developed shots he’d taken.

We looked at Elton’s pictures together, and Rachel seemed to enjoy them. “There’s our old barn,” she said, pointing to the silo.

I looked at the next one. It was the same barn. Same silo. Cows grazing peacefully. Martins flying overhead. A car parked in front of the house…

“Wait a minute!” I showed Rachel this one. “Look at that!”

Rachel gasped. “Ach, no! That’s Ben Fisher’s car. What is it doing out in front of our house?”

Quickly, I looked at the next picture.“Who’s that walking toward the barn?” My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t see straight.

“Oh, Merry,” Rachel said, holding her chest. “It’s Ben!” She stared at the picture, squinting.
“Himmel,”
she whispered. “That’s a gasoline can.”

Our eyes locked.

“Ben Fisher
did
burn down our barn!” she said.

Trembling with relief, I placed my Polaroid camera and Elton’s pictures inside the blue-and-red backpack. I’d found proof. The proof Officer Vyner needed to clear my friend!

Rachel assured me she’d be okay there in the secret place until I got back. She grinned at me, clapping her hands as I carefully threaded first one bandaged arm, then the next, through the camera strap and Elton’s backpack. The scene was something out of my early morning dream.

“Thank you, Lord!” I shouted through the willows. I ran like the wind down the narrow dirt path toward SummerHill Lane. “Thank yo-o-u!”

Elton didn’t nod or shake his head or anything when I asked him later that evening to go to Spring Spree with me.

“It’s tomorrow at the church, in case you forgot.”

He stared straight ahead.

“I’m paying. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes blinked.

Grandma Winnie came out on the porch of their home and sat down, smiling. “Elton’s been mighty excited about your gift.” She leaned next to him, adjusting his head bandage.

“Really? How do you know?” I asked.

She picked up his pen and handed it to her grandson. “He’s wanted to ‘talk’ about Bible stories since yesterday.”

“That’s good,” I said. “What’s he saying?”

“Just watch,” she said as Elton’s pen began flying over the sketch pad. A drawing of Adam and Eve began to take shape. They were situated in a beautiful garden. A garden with dense trees, some shaped like willows. And there was something else. I watched curiously as he sketched.

Then I saw it. Way in the very back of the garden. “It’s a covered bridge!”

Elton’s face remained unchanged, but the windows of his soul were shining.

“You’ve got a great sense of humor,” I said, looking right at him. “Maybe you could team up with Anthony, the artist from Vermont.”

Suddenly, Elton reached over and began thumping on his Bible. I was sure it was his way of saying thank you. Maybe much more.

All the pieces didn’t quite fit yet, but I knew the encounter in the hallway at school hadn’t been an accident after all. Besides that, there was a photo that had yet to be printed. One featuring a very special person.