SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (33 page)

“They’re trying to get perfect scores on their family history projects,” she said. “That’s probably all it is.”

I took a deep breath, clinging to my book bag for dear life.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” She inched closer.

“Who, me?”

Chelsea grinned. “I
know
you, Merry. You’re not the martyr type.”

“I need martyr’s grace,” I muttered, letting the first words of truth escape my lips. “But don’t you dare tell a soul.”

“So…you
do
like him!”

“Treat the truth with care,” I warned her, straight-faced.

She pushed her hair away from her face, laughing. “Merry, you’re such a kick. I love it when you get dramatic.”

I groaned. “Let’s drop it.”

“Whoa, Merry, don’t take it out on me.” Chelsea looked dumbfounded. “Relax, Mer. It’s just a little crush, right?”

“No comment.”

“It’ll go away eventually. Besides, you can do better than Jon Klein.” She put a carton of chocolate milk on her tray.

I glanced at the brown carton. “You’ll get zits from that.”

“That was an amazing leap of logic.” She laughed and so did I, and together we found a table off to the side, away from the noisy meanderings of students. My mind was stuck on what she’d said about doing better than Jon. What did she mean?

Things started to settle down as we ate. We talked leisurely about our family crests and Chelsea’s latest find at the library. I was even digesting my lasagna fairly well when Lissa and Jon came in together.

Instantly, my stomach lurched. I reached for my lemon-lime soda and mistakenly breathed in the sparkling spray off the top. It made me cough into my glass, nearly choking. Everyone around me stared. Jon too.

I could hardly wait for the weekend. Ninth grade had never been so traumatic!

After school, I hurried next door to see Rachel. She invited me to help with the milking. I accepted the invitation cheerfully for a change.

“Des gut,” she said, obviously excited.

I hurried behind her to the barn. As I helped wash down the cows for the milking, I thought of my great-great grandfather. If Joseph Lapp hadn’t left the Amish way back when, I might be doing this chore twice every day.

As it turned out, I spent nearly the whole weekend with Rachel, helping her bake bread early Saturday morning. Before lunch, we weeded and watered string beans in her charity garden.

Sunday was the Lord’s Day, but not a church day this week for the Zook family. The Amish attended church in one another’s homes every other Sunday. On the “off” Sundays they rested, did only necessary chores, and read from their German Bibles.

As soon as I arrived home from church and ate dinner, I carefully placed the next two letters from Joseph Lapp into the wide pocket of my backpack. I hoped Rachel and I might have a private moment together so she could translate them for me.

When I arrived next door, Rachel was getting ready for a walk and was delighted that I had come. Together, we headed for the woods behind the barn.

“Simple things are best,” I said as we walked into the deepest part of the woods together.

She understood fully and lifted her rosy cheeks to the sun as its warm rays filtered down through the branches overhead.

“Would you mind reading some more of my great-great grandfather’s letters?” I asked later when we stopped to catch our breath.

“Did ya bring ’em?”

“They’re right here.” I took them out of my pocket, plastic and all. We sat on the ground with the forest animals, squirrels and birds, skittering around us.

Rachel began to translate. “ ‘My dear Samuel, brother and friend.

I have thought to change my given Christian name. I wish not to bring sadness and shame to my family. I will not legally change my surname, but I have chosen to be called Levi Lapp. You will address me as Levi from this day forward.’”

“Levi?” I asked, confused. “Why a biblical name if he was leaving the Amish?”

Rachel scanned the next lines. “It says here that Mary Smith picked out the name for him. Maybe she was a Mennonite.”

“That’s strange,” I said.

She hung her head sadly. “I had almost forgotten about his changing names.”

“Maybe he needed a clean slate to start over.”

“Maybe so.”

We talked about other possible reasons, but the discussion eventually led to Levi, her brother.

“Grossdawdy wants Levi to be baptized this fall,” she said.

I wondered about that. Did her elderly grandfather feel he could die in peace if Levi was safely baptized into the church?

“Grossdawdy is afeared for Levi,” she went on, looking into my eyes. “He suspects that Levi is running with a rough crowd. Maybe even the Mule Skinners.”

I didn’t dare tell her that what she said was true.

“Such things could give Grossdawdy heart failure,” she said softly. “Me too.”

Was she worried that history might repeat itself? That her own brother might become as rebellious as Joseph Lapp from so long ago?

We stood up and began walking again. Then, coming to a patch of wild clover, we bent low and filled our pockets. I thought of Joseph changing his name to Levi for Mary, his bride-to-be. It seemed strange that their names matched Levi’s and mine.

Monday after school, Rachel showed me how to make a crossstitch design without a pattern. On Tuesday, we worked on quilted pillow coverings for her hope chest. And mine.

Of course, Rachel didn’t know that I owned no such thing as a hope chest. And as I sat beside her at the kitchen table hand sewing the quilted pillows, it struck me that if I were Amish, I would be steadily filling my hope chest, just as she was. In fact, if I were Amish, I’d probably be engaged to be married a few years from now. A startling thought.

Spending time at the Zooks’ helped me keep my mind off Lissa and Jon. They were showing up everywhere together. At school, at church. It was unbearable.

Because stress always made me hungry, I was exactly where I needed to be. Esther Zook
always
had warm, fresh bread and homemade jellies on hand, not to mention oodles of pies. After all, food was an Amishman’s middle name!

All the time I was spending with Rachel unfortunately posed an unforeseen problem. I hadn’t realized it at first, but Levi was beginning to mistake my reason for being there. He kept coming around, paying more attention to me than ever. It was one thing for him to flirt with me out in his potato field, but right under his parents’ noses?

I had to admit, Levi was making me nervous. Because, friends or not, I certainly didn’t want Abe and Esther Zook to think I was contributing to their son’s reluctance toward Amish baptism. Not now, not ever!

On Thursday after school, two days before the ninth-grade church picnic, Rachel and I moved all the furniture off her front porch—three rocking chairs and several plant tables. Both of us were sweeping, stirring up a cloud of dust, when the subject of Joseph Lapp came up.

Rachel got it started. She stopped sweeping and leaned on her broom for a moment. “I asked Grossdawdy more about Joseph Lapp.”

I perked up my ears. “You did?”

“Jah.” She tucked a strand of light brown hair into the bun at the back of her head. “Joseph Lapp refused to return and repent to his family and the church. He must’ve loved his Mary a lot to give everything up for her.” She sighed. “He even lost the farmland his father had planned to give him.”

I was silent.
Has Levi heard this part of the story?

“It doesn’t make sense,” Rachel observed. “Why would Joseph Lapp bother kneeling for baptism if he was just gonna turn around and leave?”

“It would’ve been better for him in the end if he hadn’t taken the baptismal vow, right?”

She nodded solemnly and slowly began to sweep again. “Baptism is sacred and permanent. If you don’t take it, you never have to worry about the Meidung…the shunning.”

“So right now you’re not really in or out of the church.”

“Jah. But most Amish teens who don’t take the baptism pledge end up leaving. Usually they end up Mennonites.”

“Why, because Mennonites allow cars and have electricity?”

“Jah.”

I swept my pile of leaves and debris under the porch railing and watched it fall to the ground. “Do you think Levi will be baptized this fall?”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders and her blue eyes grew sad again. “I doubt Levi will do it. I heard him tell Dat that he wants to get his hair cut.”

That got my attention. I wanted to ask her if she’d told Levi about the letters from my great-great grandfather, but instead, swept another clump of dried leaves away from the house.

All day Levi had been cultivating the cornfield, and I wanted to see him, especially after Rachel’s remark about his hair. It was hard to think of Levi with a contemporary haircut. Harder still to think of being his girl. As I headed for home that evening, I went out of my way to say hi.

Instead of stopping everything and greeting me like he usually did, Levi waved. “Hullo, Merry! Come ride with me.”

“I better get going,” I replied. “Mom’ll have supper waiting.”

He grinned, looking cuter than ever. “Come back after,” he said, pushing his straw hat forward, hiding his eyes.

I snickered at the cockeyed hat and walked along the row of corn to keep up with the mules and the cultivator. “What for?”

“Ach, just come, Merry. Will ya?” He said it playfully, but there was that underlying take-charge tone indicative of the Amish male. He took his hat off and shook the dust out of his hair. “Well?”

“I might,” I teased, turning to go. Why was my heart beating like this?

“Will you have your answer for me tonight?”

I turned around. This boy wasn’t giving up.
What should I do?

He was grinning again. “You can come back, Merry,” he urged, putting his straw hat back on. “No one’ll mind.”

“Your grandfather might.”

He frowned suddenly.

“I know he wants you to be baptized soon.”

“Himmel,”
Levi said. “Rachel’s been talkin’ out of turn.” And by my silent response I was acknowledging the truth.

I felt like a traitor. Rachel had confided in me, and here I was spilling the beans.

He waved as I stepped gingerly between the rows of corn, heading for home. Obviously, there were no hard feelings between us for what I’d said. Levi had always been one to forgive and forget. It was the Amish way.

Scurrying over the field to SummerHill Lane, I could hardly wait for supper. Not so much from hunger, but from mere curiosity. This was the night I would discuss Levi with my parents. I could only hope my brother wouldn’t make things difficult for me. Wishful thinking. Ridiculing his “little Merry” was one of the things Skip did best.

“You’re right on time,” Mom said as I breezed into the kitchen. “Hurry and wash up for supper.”

It bothered me that she was still saying the same things she’d said to me all my life. At fifteen and a half, I wasn’t a kid anymore. Why didn’t she realize that?

I glanced around the kitchen. Usually my brother was stuffing his face nonstop with junk food before
and
after each meal. “Where’s Skip?”

Dad strolled in from the living room carrying the newspaper under his arm. “He’s busy at church. The senior banquet’s tomorrow night.”