Heritage of Lancaster County 02 The Confession (16 page)

Dylan noticed her immediately upon entering the parlor area of Laura's suite. She very nearly blended in with the Christmas trees on either side of her. Would have, too, had she not been wearing that frumpy black apron over her long green dress. Amish green the seamstress had aptly described the fabric wrapped around the long bolt at the fabric shop.

He noticed, too, her slumped stance.., the droopy face. Was she missing Christmas with her boyfriend?

He wanted her to stand erect, to behave as if she were enjoying herself. Excellent posture and a pleasant facial expression went a long way toward playing a convincing role. She was being paid well enough!

"It's nearly Christmas Eve, isn't it?" he announced, fingering the lapels of his suit coat. The question was rhe- torical-mindless small talk--primarily for Laura's benefit.

152 Perhaps she would feel a stab of guilt for not including him at her party and relent.

He was well aware of her lovely attire. She was dressed to the nines for an evening of exquisite dining and intimate conversation with "Katie," the clever actress otherwise known as Alyson Cairns. Had Laura had a change of heart about wanting him seated at her table?

The actress strutted over and sat down across the sofa from him, casting occasional shy glances around the festive room. Those innocent expressions seemed only to emerge when either Rosie or Laura spoke to her, he noticed. The sensual parting of her full lips and those smoldering eyes-- they were for him. Embarrassing, though it was.

What was going through her mind? he wondered. Certainly not the task at hand--portraying herself as an innocent Amishwoman... Laura's daughter. He frowned, hoping she was not discouraged with her role.

Had it not been for the fact that the hired model was wearing the homespun getup he'd acquired from the best seamstresses in town, she might've been any young college student.

For a moment, he recalled Laura in her prime--before the disease had left her gaunt and hollow eyed, a shadow of the vibrant beauty she'd been.

Several times he caught "Katie" looking back at him as he attempted a lively conversation with Laura, juggling the frequent asides with Rosie and now Nurse Judah, who had come in from the hallway to join the group.

It struck him that Laura seemed fidgety. Had she been adequately medicated? This was not a good time to risk a lighter dose, what with those horrid tremors and contrac- tures erupting seemingly out of nowhere. Perhaps he should have a word with Natalie.

He was about to motion the nurse to join him in the hall when Rosie spoke up. "We'll be having the appetizers served

153 here in a few minutes, sir." She eyed Dylan with dark, probing eyes, growing even darker as she stared pointedly.

So that's how they're going to play this, he thought, pulling his gaze away from Rosie and purposely concentrating on Laura.

He waited.

But her eyes remained fixed on her lap, more precisely, her hands. Yet he continued to regard her. Would she speak up--invite him at the last minute? Now was her chance if ever there was to be one. She could show her true colors, display her undying devotion to the man who'd brought her Amish daughter home to her.

The waiting turned awkward; an annoyingly empty space of time ensued, one devoid of a response.

So be it. She'd dug her grave.., let her lie in it. This he thought without remorse.

"Do have a wonderful evening, all of you." His words slipped out, smooth and measured. He dared not look at "Katie" now. Neither Katie nor Laura.

His wife desired an evening alone with her daughter, and he presumed to know the reason. For questioning, no doubt. For gaining an understanding of Amish life and its peculiar customs. For catching up on all she'd missed through the years.

He almost sneered as he contemplated it. Thankfully, he'd already anticipated the cozy scene between mother and daughter. And Katie Lapp--model and actress--had been well rehearsed for just such a quiet evening alone with Laura. He had been over this business--what to say.., how to respond--a million and one times with her.

Tonight was the night. With or without him at the table, his wife's supposed daughter was on the verge of pulling the entire woolen cloak over the eyes of the soon-to-be- deceased mistress of the Bennett estate. Conning her way into Laura's good graces, she would inherit Katherine's

154 birthright, which would, in due time, be transferred to lan's own hefty accounts.

He could scarcely wait for a report of the evening. A play-by-play would be most entertaining, indeed. He stood and excused himself. Then, planting a guileless grin on his face, he went around the wheelchair, leaned over, and gave Laura a tender kiss on her cheek.

Not exactly a victory kiss, he thought. Oh, but very close. That kiss would be forthcoming.

"Good night, my darling," he crooned. "Have a marvelous evening.., both of you."

"Thank you" was all she said. Her manners were intact, obviously. Yet he knew without a doubt that she was most eager to get on with becoming better acquainted with Katie. Was ready for him to be gone, on his way.

Irritated, he rushed up to his office and rang for a chauffeur. He'd misjudged the final outcome of the evening entirely. Thought he had Laura figured out better than this. "Fulton," he thundered into the intercom, "have Theodore bring a car around to the front."

"Theodore's busy presently, sir."

"Oh?"

"I believe he's en route with Mrs. Bennett's commissioned artist--a Mr. Justin Wirth."

"Yes, yes, I know of him." He was now feeling annoyed at Fulton, of all things. One delay after another.

Justin Wirth, indeed. His sickly wife was certainly cunning when she wanted to be.

"Shall I page Rochester for you, sir?" asked Fulton.

"Rochester will do." The new driver was rather young. Not his first choice on any given day.

Intent on getting out for the evening, Dylan was rather looking forward to a fine dinner and a few drinks. Heaven knows he needed a diversion.

Looking out over the grounds, he watched the snow as

155 it fell. Heavier now and falling fast. Would it never let up? Just as well. There'd be no arguing with Alyson over staying on for Christmas if she was snowed in. Boyfriend or no.

Laura's "heir" would have no recourse but to fulfill her contractual agreement. In short, play the part to the finish.

Besides wanting to figure out a way to get herself into

Laura's private suite, Katherine was eager to lay eyes on Katie Lapp. She knew, from recent experience, that she wouldn't sleep a wink tonight if she didn't get herself some answers. At least a sensible explanation to set her mind at ease.

Therefore, she must determine if the Katie woman

strolling the corridors of this house wore the Amish devotional cap. Finding out for sure had become an obsession as she spent her day working in the kitchen, assisting in dining room preparations for the feast, and, in general, filling in wherever Garrett or Fulton needed help.

An unexpected turn of events came early in the evening

when Selig asked for help shaping and rolling the hors d'oeuvres. "I'll need someone to take this platter to Mrs. Bennett's sitting room shortly." He looked right at her. "Katherine?"

When she realized he was addressing her, she replied,

"Me? You want me to take the appetizers to the mistress?" Selig nodded. "They're hors d'oeuvres, Katherine." "Yes... I know." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the housemaids coming out of the pantry. Rosie Taylor. The woman wore a most suspicious smile on her face and tossed a conniving glance at Selig as she bustled into the kitchen.

Putting two and two together, Katherine felt just as she

had the first time the wind had caught hold of her covering,

156 making it stand straight out behind her little-girl head. Tendrils of loose hair had tickled her face that day. She was schtruwwlich, for sure and for certain. But never mind her unkempt hair; she had experienced total exhilaration.

She felt the selfsame way now. Her Christmas Eve wish might be coming true after all. Katherine Mayfield, fancy English girl at heart, was about to lay eyes on her one true mamma.

Glory be!

157 Ctt PTER FIFTEEI

The smell of fresh pine was heavy in the air as she carried the silver tray down the marble hall. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might lift the ruffle right off her maid's pinafore apron.

Ach, she hoped her hair was in place, lipstick on straight. How many times had she imagined this moment? Too many to count.

And the dream last night, that unrelenting nightmare .... She must've dreamed it half a dozen times.

Always, she was on the wrong side of an enormous door. That door, how it towered above her. Yet she could hear the sound of Laura's voice behind it, inviting her, nay, pleading for Katherine to come inside.

The door represented a blockade, as honest-to-goodness real as any she'd suffered in life. Yet the vision had persisted, its message one of despair. She had been kept from her real mamma by a door--a door of secrecy, a door of deceit.

She shivered, thinking of the lengths her Amish parents had taken to hide the satin baby gown.., to keep the secret hidden all the years of her life.

Now ... now she stood before a pair of wide French doors. Glass, with lovely rounded transoms overhead. Just

158 inside, four women sat around a roaring fire, two of them with their backs to her, talking softly. A nurse, a maid-- Rosie--a young Amishwoman, apparently, and a patient in a wheelchair...

A sob caught in her throat. The woman in the wheel- chair--was it Laura Bennett? How could it be that she looked so young and so very ill at the same time?

It was Laura's hair that captured her attention. Caught it and pulled her gaze so intensely she found herself longing to touch it. What of the texture? Richly auburn in color, yet was it thick--so heavy at times the tresses weighed heavily on her scalp?

The woman's profile seized her as well. She couldn't take her eyes off the fine nose, the delicate chin line.

So many similarities .... Why hadn't anyone noticed? Katherine tried desperately to control the joyful tears that threatened to spoil her view of the gathering. It was all she could do to keep the floodgate in check. But she knew if she gave in to one little drop, there'd be more tears than a body could count.

Taking a deep breath and refusing to cry, she gradually regained her composure. She did it partly by turning her scrutiny away from the mistress and concentrating hard on the youngest woman of the group--the one wearing the Amish dress and unusual cap--the strangest getup she'd ever seen. Was this the woman who called herself Katie Lapp?

She wanted to step in closer, see if the clothes might be similar to the ones worn by other church districts in Lancaster. Then she remembered she was supposed to be serving appetizers, not gawking at strangers, for pity's sake.

Overcome with rapture at seeing Laura even from this distance--the gladness all mixed up with apprehension-- she was stopped suddenly by a slight commotion. The Amishwoman had gotten up out of her chair and was hurry-

159

ing over in Katherine's direction. The young woman looked frantic, as if, for all the world, she needed some air.

Pushing past her at the threshold, Katie Lapp nearly knocked the tray out of Katherine's hands. "Excuse me" came the muttered words.

Katherine peered over her shoulder, wondering what was going on. Had someone said something to upset her? "Are you all right?" Katherine asked, turning to inquire.

"Just feeling a bit.., uh... oh, I don't know. It's getting too hot in there--so close to the fire."

Strange, she thought, no one else is complaining. In fact, when Katherine glanced back at the cozy threesome re- maining-Laura Bennett snugly wrapped in an afghan-- there was no evidence to suggest any of the other women were suffering from the heat.

"Are you sure you're too warm?" she pressed.

The woman seemed to force a smile. "Maybe more

lonely than anything."

"Lonely?"

"You know, homesick. For my family. We Amish are very close-knit."

Katherine was caught off guard. She understood that feeling, all right. The woman looked so absolutely miserable. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No, there's nothing anyone can do. But it would be wonderful to get my hands on a phone somewhere." Her eyes lit up as she spoke. "That would be real nice."

Katherine's ears perked up. The Amish didn't use phones for the sake of carrying on a conversation or visiting. They got in their carriages and went off to see their friends and relatives. The bishops liked it that way--kept church members more closely connected.

She was about to explain but caught herself. Shouldn't be letting on what she knew about Plain life. Wouldn't be right smart.

160

"There are plenty of telephones in the house," Katherine found herself saying instead.

"Oh, I know. It's just that..." Obviously frustrated, Katie flung her arms wide, bumping the tray. Quickly, the women righted it.

"Here, let me take this for you," the young woman offered, "since I ought to get back in there anyway."

"Oh no, it's my job." While still holding the tray, Katherine got a closer look at the woman's dress. It buttoned down the front, of all things. Lancaster Amish used hooks and eyes, sometimes straight pins, but never, ever buttons!

Then, somewhere between suplosing anct knowing, she got a bright idea. Squinting out at the thick snow flurries, she said, "Des is bidder kalt haus."

Katie looked at her with a wary expression in her eyes. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, I thought you spoke Dutch," Katherine replied, her heart in her throat.

Katie mustered up a feeble "I used to."

"Well, then?" Katherine realized she was in way over her head, as Dat would always say.

For the longest time, Katie stared at her. "My family hasn't spoken Dutch in years," she scoffed. "We ain't Old Order anymore."

"Oh? What are you, then?" Katherine insisted, thinking she'd rather be asking, "Who are you?"