SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (49 page)

Mom took Rebekah from Aunt Teri, and Uncle Pete placed Benjamin in Miss Spindler’s skinny arms. I stood back, observing Uncle Pete as he began signing rapidly for my deaf aunt’s benefit. She broke into a big smile as Mom and Miss Spindler oohed and ahhed over her darling babies.

I don’t know why, but it took me several hours before I could get it together enough to hold them. I’d heard it was important to feel truly confident when holding an infant, and I certainly didn’t feel that way now. Their teensy bodies, so fragile and delicate, could fall right through my fingers.

So for my first encounter with Ben and Becky, I sat on the living room sofa and held them. One at a time.

I half expected my new baby cousins to cut loose crying when they sensed my uncertainty, but thank goodness, both of them slept right through their initial visit with me.

After lunch, I called Chelsea Davis to see if she was back from her Disneyland vacation. When Lissa Vyner answered, I was completely thrown off.

“Uh…is Chelsea there?”

“Oh, hi, Merry,” Lissa said, recognizing my voice. “Just a sec.”

Chelsea got right on the phone. “What’s up, Mer?”

“How was California?” I asked.

“Hot, hot, and guess what?”

“You met a guy,” I replied.

“How’d you know?”

“I have my ways,” I said secretively.

“Well, how are you and Levi?” she asked.

“You won’t believe everything that’s happened.” I filled her in on Susie’s accident and miraculous recovery.

“Really? She pulled out of it, just like that?”

“Well, it wasn’t really all that fast. I mean, she was out for almost
three
days.”

“Man, I’d hate to think what I’d be missin’ being stuck in the hospital that long,” Chelsea said.

“Wouldn’t we all,” I whispered.

“By the way,” she continued, “what’s the deal with Jon Klein?”

“Better ask Lissa.”

“She’s not saying much. Are they—”

“Uh-huh.”

“So does that mean you and—”

“Don’t say anything! Promise me?” I said.

“Yeah, okay. But you better hurry and snag that boy before Ashley Horton does. I saw her eyeing him at the river hike today.”

“
You
went on our church hike?” This was unbelievable!

“Now, don’t go getting all excited,” she said.

It’s a beginning,
I thought, thrilled that my atheist friend had found her way to a church activity.

“Well, so what do you think?” she asked.

“About what?”

“About Ashley, your pastor’s daughter? Does she have a chance with Jon or not?”

I honestly thought Ashley was a thing of the past. At least for Jon. “Probably not,” I said.

Chelsea started laughing. “So…sounds to me like you’re still interested in you-know-who?”

“Aw, Chelsea, for pete’s sake.” I groaned. “Is Lissa hearing all this?”

“She’s in the kitchen raiding our cookie jar. Mom made brownies this morning.”

“Bring some over,” I teased.

“Maybe I will.”

“Hey, you’ve gotta see my baby cousins,” I said.

“Oh, so
now
you tell me!”

I peeked around the corner at the portable bassinets in the dining room. “They’re sound asleep, but they’ll be waking up soon to nurse.

You should come see them before my aunt and uncle leave.”

“Lissa too?”

“Sure, that’d be great.” I went on to explain that Lissa and I had made up at the hospital.

Chelsea was confused. “What was
she
doing there?”

“Trust me, it’s fine.”

I happened to glance out the window as I hung up the phone. Looked like a parade of buggies parked next door. Was there a work frolic going on?

Stepping out on the back steps, I strained my neck to see, but the willows blocked the Zook house from view. Still, the lineup of buggies and all the people made me wonder.

Surely, Rachel would’ve invited me if they were having something special for Susie. But it wasn’t like the Amish to throw parties. Unless…

Fear clutched my throat. “Mom!” I raced inside.

Mom was sipping iced tea at the kitchen table with Uncle Pete. “Mom,” I said softly. “Can you come outside a sec?”

I guided her out to the backyard.

“Look.” I pointed to the Zooks’ front yard and their long dirt lane. “Have you ever seen so many buggies?”

Mom frowned. “I hope Susie’s all right.”

“Me too!”

We both heard the phone ring, and Mom rushed inside to get it. In a few minutes, she was back outside, standing in the grass beside me. “Honey, that was Miss Spindler calling. She just saw the Amish funeral director drive away.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “No! Not Susie!”

I ran faster than ever before down SummerHill Lane and through the willow grove. Over the picket fence and into the meadow.

My heart pounded ninety miles an hour.
Susie…Susie…Susie.

The Amish expected visitors to enter the house without knocking at a time like this. I caught my breath as I stepped through the front door and surveyed the large gathering of Plain folk. The partition between the large living room and the kitchen had been removed, and relatives and friends were seated in a wide circle of somber faces.

Women scurried around in the kitchen, all of them dressed in black—washing dishes and busy with food preparations. Men were seated, silent and resigned. Only an occasional word was spoken by Abe Zook, who invited me to join the others.

Soon, Rachel came in and sat beside me on the wooden bench, briefly touching my hand. Her face was solemn and pale.

My throat was dry, too dry to speak. I coughed down the tears. “What happened?” I whispered. “What went wrong?”

“He died in his sleep.”

“He ?”

“Grossdawdy,” she said softly. “He sat down in his rocking chair after lunch and…was…gone.”

I was overcome with emotion. Grandfather Zook? How could it be? I thought back to how he had come to the hospital Tuesday night…read his poem to Susie and…and…

Then I remembered his trembling hands. The way he’d said that his work was done.

My heart ached, remembering how I’d embraced the old gentleman. Overwhelmed, I let the news slowly soak in. Little Susie was alive…Jacob Zook was dead.

“He wanted to die at home,” Rachel whispered. “If it was to be, it’s best this way.”

I nodded, my brain hazy. “How’s Susie?”

“She’s resting upstairs. Wanna see her?”

I nodded, and we tiptoed through the sitting room to the steep wooden stairs. When we arrived in Susie’s room, she glanced up from her bed.

A smile swept across her rosy-cheeked face. “When are we gonna catch fireflies again, Merry?”

I hurried to her and smoothed the handmade quilt at the foot of the maple bed. “As soon as you feel better.”

“I’m gut, really I am,” she insisted. “Mam wants me to rest up so I can go to Grossdawdy’s funeral.”

I looked at Rachel. “When will it be?”

“Monday.” She folded her hands and stared at the floor.

Susie pleaded, “Oh, Merry, you must come.”

“Sh-h!” Rachel warned. “Keep your voice down.”

Susie nodded her head slowly, looking repentant.

Rachel moved across the uneven floor to a framed piece on the wall above the bed. Carefully, she took it off the nail and showed it to me.

It was the firefly poem, beautifully framed in solid pine. “Your grandfather made this?” I stroked the wood, feeling its silklike smoothness.

Rachel nodded. “After breakfast Grossdawdy was out in the barn hand-rubbing the wood.”

I studied the poem, written in Jacob Zook’s own hand. “ ‘Night of the Fireflies,’ ” I said thoughtfully. “He finished it just in time.”

“Read the last verse to me,” Susie said, leaning forward slightly.

I turned the framed poem so she could see it. Pointing to each word, I began, “’Tis the night of the fireflies, ’Tis the night of God’s call. Dusk comes and is gone, and now…True light shines on us all.”

Tears filled Susie’s eyes as she chanted the refrain. “Come one, come all, to the firefly ball…”

Suddenly, Rachel’s face grew serious. “Ach! Grossdawdy must’ve known.” She peered over my shoulder. “Look, it says, ‘’Tis the night of God’s call.’ ”

It was hard to put into words, but looking at the last verse, it almost seemed that Grandfather Zook
had
known—that he was preparing us.

After a silent moment, Susie spoke. “I like this line best.” She pointed to the last line. “ ‘True light shines on us all.’ ”

“Jah,” Rachel whispered. “Jah.”

Three different clocks chimed nine times in the Zooks’ house on Monday morning. When the last clock stopped, the Amish bishop removed his hat. At once, all the other Amishmen took off their straw hats in a swift, precise motion.

Benches had been placed parallel to the length of each of the three large rooms. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were packed with nearly two hundred fifty people, as many as had attended Curly John and Sarah’s wedding last November. They, along with the other Zook family members, sat facing the unpainted pine coffin at the end of the living room with their backs to the ministers.

I noticed Esther glance at Susie once during the thirty-minute
first
sermon. The speaker made reference to the fact that God had spoken to us through the death of a brother.

“We do not wish our brother Jacob back, but rather we shall prepare to follow after this departed one. His voice no longer is heard amongst us. His hand is absent at the plow; his presence—’tis no longer felt. His bed is empty, his chair…”

I tuned the minister out. Hearing the way these people solemnly accepted the death of this dear, dear man made me even sadder than his passing. Where were the words of comfort, the words describing his beautiful, joyous life? The joy, the love he’d passed to others? The way he loved God?

Fidgeting slightly, I wondered how Levi felt about all this now. Was he feeling the pain, too?

A second minister stood to his feet and began to say that a call from heaven, a loud call, had come to this very assembly. “The holy Scriptures admonish each one of us to be ready to meet our death. We do not know when it is that our own time will come, but most important—we
must
be ready!”

I studied the steady rising and falling of Susie’s, Aaron’s, Ella Mae’s, and Nancy’s shoulders as they sat next to one another, looking like stairsteps. Rachel and Levi sat at the end of the bench row. Their bereaved grandmother sat between Abe and Esther, and occasionally, she slumped in her chair. I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t pass out or maybe even pass away in front of our eyes.

Amish funerals usually lasted about two and a half hours. I felt truly sorry for Grandma Zook. Then, when the minister began to direct his comments toward the teenagers gathered there, I began to feel sorry for Levi.

“My dear young people,” he said, “when you reach the age to think of joining the church, please do not put it off.” The words were accented with strong emotion, and I wondered if they would have an impact on Levi and his plans for the future.

Two long passages were read from the Bible. But no one said anything about Jacob Zook’s life. The thrust of the sermons was an appeal to the people to live godly, righteous lives. To prepare for death, as well.

Next, the first minister stood up and read a brief obituary. “Jacob’s memory is a keepsake—with that we cannot part. His soul is in God’s keeping. We have him in our hearts.”

There were no flowers at this funeral. No music, either. Someone read an Amish hymn, then all of us sitting in the living room went outside while the ministers arranged for the coffin to be placed on the front porch—the most convenient area for the final viewing.

Abe, Esther, Grandma Zook, and all the Zook children stood behind the open coffin as the long line of friends and relatives filed past. Some shed tears, but I didn’t hear any weeping. Not even from Jacob’s widow. It was surprising how matter-of-fact these dear friends were about embracing death.

I wondered if things would’ve been different if Susie had been the one lying in the pine box today. But it was Jacob’s time, the minister had said.
Jacob’s.

When I stood in front of the coffin to say good-bye to Grandfather Zook, Susie left her family and tiptoed silently to stand beside me.

Gently, she slipped her small hand into mine and whispered, “Come one, come all, to the firefly ball. Dance with ’em, laugh with ’em. Run straight and tall.”

Through my tears, I saw Grandfather Zook’s body dressed in the traditional white—a special white burial vest and trousers. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed for the occasion.

I held in the sobs that threatened to burst out, remembering the feel of his cheek against my hand in the hospital, then my arms around him. I remembered the exuberant way he’d first read his poem to me, here on the front porch while he sat in his hickory rocker. And the way he’d brought the jar of fireflies to the hospital for his unconscious granddaughter.

“ ‘True light shines on us all,’ ” I whispered. “I’ll miss you, Grandfather.”

Susie let go of my hand and slipped back into line with her family. I walked to the driveway to stand with the rest of the mourners, waiting for the horse and buggy processional to the graveyard. I glanced over at a group of Amish teen boys preparing the hearse—a one-horse spring wagon with the seat pushed forward.