SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (51 page)

“I’m one-hundred-percent-amen sure.”

Mom smiled. “That’s good.”

I stretched on tiptoes, sliding two cans of tuna onto the top corner shelf. “Lissa says her mom’s going to invite him to the church potluck next week.”

“Great idea,” she said. “I hope he’ll come.”

I smiled, watching Mom dash around the kitchen, putting things away. The old tension-filled days between us were gone. Mom was relaxed now, no longer preoccupied with the loss of Faithie—my twin sister—who had died of cancer the summer she was seven. Actually, Mom’s cheerful demeanor surprised me because the anniversary of Faithie’s death was coming up. Three days from now—July 31.

Dad hauled in two more grocery sacks before sitting down with a glass of iced tea. “Sure will be nice to have your brother home,” he remarked to me.

My obnoxious big brother had gone to help out at a camp for handicapped kids—something he did every summer. This time would be his last before heading off to college next month. I couldn’t wait for that moment. Total peace and quiet—my life could possibly be stress-free for a change. “When’s Skip supposed to get back?” I asked.

“Let’s see.” Dad pulled a pocket calendar from his wallet. “He’ll be home the weekend after next.”

“Just in time for the church potluck,” Mom added happily. My parents missed their one and only son; that was plain to see. Losing their firstborn to college would be tough.

“Need some sugar?” I asked Dad, bringing over the bowl and setting it near his glass.

He waved his hand. “Nah, I’m cutting back on sweets all around.”

“Hey, that’s a first,” I teased.

“Your father’s counting calories these days,” Mom said, coming over to sit at the table. “He’ll be fifty next month, you know.”

Fifty in August,
I thought. Someone else was having a birthday next month. His seventeenth. But I didn’t want to clutter my brain with Levi Zook just now. Rachel Zook’s brother had shocked the local Amish community and decided to go off to a Mennonite Bible school. Oh, sure, he and I were still friends—very good friends, in fact—but I hadn’t exactly thought through a possible long-distance relationship. Levi hadn’t, either.

Besides, now that Jon Klein was available…well, I wanted to wait and see what might happen.

Later, during supper, I brought up the subject of the stranger. “Have you ever seen an old blue pickup around here? The jalopy has a really bad muffler.”

Mom shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondered,” I said. “The driver seems displaced, I guess.”

“Homeless, perhaps?” Dad suggested.

“I don’t think so. It’s hard to put a finger on it,” I said, “but I know there’s something truly strange going on.”

“Well,” Dad said, rubbing his hands together, “I’ll be on the lookout. In the meantime, keep the doors and windows locked at night, okay?”

I must admit I was glad our bedrooms were high up on the second floor. Without air-conditioning, it was way too hot to sleep with the bedroom windows closed. Around here, we called these sultry summer days, dog days. Even the dogs were hot. Cats too.

Mom pinched off the dead blooms on her African violets while I loaded the dishwasher. She had a knack for making them flourish—even the velvety green leaves looked plump. Her plants dazzled the corner of our country kitchen with blossoms of purple, pink, and snowy white.

“Do you think Dad has an enemy?” I said, letting the words slip out.

Mom straightened up and turned to look at me. “Honey, why would you think such a thing?”

It was the stranger. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I folded the dishcloth before responding. “It just seems weird that a guy would be asking around for a doctor, like maybe he was trying to track Dad down or something.”

“It’s most likely a simple coincidence,” Mom offered, going back to violet pinching.

“Maybe.” I left the kitchen with Mom still fussing over her plant babies.

Upstairs, I grew more and more impatient with the stifling heat. It was too hot for a shower up here, I decided. So I went to my room and found clean clothes, a bath towel, and a brush for my hair.

I dashed down the steep back steps leading to the kitchen and flicked on the light as I opened the door leading to the basement. Dad had rigged up a small shower in our cellar years before, but we rarely used it. My cats Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego followed close behind. Lily White, my kitten, was probably outside snoozing under the gazebo.

Musty and cool, the cellar was a welcome change in temperature, and I congratulated myself on this wise move. I ran the water, making it tepid, the perfect temperature to refresh my perspiring body. While scrubbing my arms, I thought of Faithie. She’d hated this dark cellar—in fact, she had recoiled at anything related to darkness. I remembered several moonless nights long ago when she had crawled into bed with me, trembling with fear.

Poor little Faithie,
I thought.

I missed her terribly. In all my nearly sixteen years, no one had come along to truly soothe the pain of loss. No one. And yet I longed for it. Prayed for it.

It wasn’t like I didn’t have good friends. I had plenty of them at school and at church. And there was always Rachel, my Amish girl friend in the farmhouse beyond the willows. Her youngest sister, Susie, and I had become close pals, too. But something always seemed unsettled—amiss—in the soul of me. I longed for a Faithie replacement. Someone exactly like her.

I reached up and turned the cold spigot just enough to cool the water, letting it beat on my back. Then I began to pray. “Dear Lord, it’s been such a long time since I mentioned this, but maybe you could find it in your will to help me. I feel sad, like I haven’t in a long time. Maybe it’s because of July 31…it’s coming so soon. Faithie’s gone-to-heaven day.”

The memory made my heart heavy, and tears spilled down my face. Purposefully, I turned and raised my face toward the splashing stream, letting the water bounce off my cheeks. In that moment, I comforted myself with the knowledge that Faithie was surrounded by light. By Jesus himself! Never again to experience darkness or the fear of it.

“Oh, Lord,” I cried. “Let some of that same light pour into my own heart.”

I lingered in the shower stall long after I wrapped myself in a heavy towel, hoping for an answer.

Hours later, as dusk approached, I sat outside in the gazebo. Wearing a T-shirt and gray shorts, I relished the evening breeze. My cats, all four of them, surrounded me with their purring, cuddly selves.

“You guys weren’t even born back when my twin sister was alive,” I told them.

Abednego, the oldest, lifted his head nonchalantly as if to say,
I’ve heard this story before, thank you kindly.

“Don’t give me that look,” I reprimanded. “You should be thankful I took you and your brothers in. Homeless strays, that’s what you were.”

Lily White shook her head and a dainty little sneeze flew out. Shadrach pounced on her, and off they went, down the white gazebo steps, rolling and playing. Meshach eventually got in on the action, but it was Abednego who stayed closest to me. Usually,
he
was the one off somewhere else.

“What’s the matter, little boy?” I touched his soft black head. “Too tired to play?”

He twitched his whiskers.

“Are you protecting your mistress Merry?” I chuckled, thinking of Jon Klein. He’d often referred to me as Mistress Merry, a direct result of our private alliteration word game.

Jon and his family were off on a camping trip in the Poconos. The Alliteration Wizard had actually called to say good-bye. The old spark was definitely alive between us.

Lissa, of course, knew nothing of it. She’d had her chance with Jon, and although they seemed to get along fine, I knew she wasn’t a candidate for alliteration competition. Not to boast, but for as long as I’d known Jon, he and I had had this amazing attraction to word play. Because of it, we were drawn to each other.

Merry, Mistress of Mirth
was Jon’s favorite way to address me. He was an intelligent, jovial guy, but totally spacey when it came to girls. I often wondered if he had any idea how I felt about him. Jon head-in-the-clouds Klein was special in more ways than one. He was one of the few friends I had who’d actually known Faithie—besides Rachel and Levi Zook and their family, of course, and a friend from school named Chelsea Davis.

“Merry!” My mom’s voice jolted me back. “Someone’s on the phone for you.”

“Coming.” I got up and hurried toward the back door. Abednego followed close behind. I held the screen door for him, then hurried to the phone. “Hello?”

“Hullo, Merry. It’s Levi. I’m calling from town.”

“Hi. What’s up?”

He paused, probably getting up the nerve to ask me out. “Uh…Merry, how would ya like to go to a concert with me a week from this Saturday night?”

“Saturday?”

“
Jah,
in Ephrata at a Mennonite church.”

It sounded like fun, but we were planning to attend our church potluck that same afternoon, and family church events often spilled over into the evening. Besides, Jon Klein would be back from camping, and I wanted to see him. “I hope you didn’t buy the tickets yet,” I said.

“Jah, I did. Just hopin’—ya know.” There was an eager, almost impatient tone to his voice.

“Well, I can’t go,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“
Ach,
Merry, won’tcha think about it?” Now I knew he was perturbed.

“Please don’t push me,” I responded.

“Merry? Is something wrong?”

I sighed. “I’m having a rough day.”

His voice grew softer. “I could come over and we could talk.” His gentle words tugged at me.

“Thanks, but I’m really tired.”

“Oh.” He sounded dejected. “Maybe if—”

“Not tonight,” I said, wishing things hadn’t been left hanging between Levi and me.

“Okay, then. I’ll talk to ya soon, Merry.”

“Good-bye.” I must’ve been in a fog standing there holding the phone because Mom waved her hand in front of my face. “Mer? Everything okay?” she whispered.

I exhaled and hung up the phone. I needed to talk to someone. Was Mom a good choice? Would she understand my frustration—being caught between
two
guys?

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and then freed it, studying her. “Mom? Can we go somewhere private?”

Her face broke into a full smile. “You name the place.”

“Ever been to the willow grove?” I asked sheepishly.

“Oh…the secret place?”

I grinned. “How do you know about that?”

We were already walking toward the back door. “Faithie took me there once,” she confessed.

“Faithie?” I was baffled. The secret place had always been off limits to adults. It was one of those special spots that often existed in the heart or the imagination—but this one had the benefit of being
real
.

“She took me there several weeks before she died,” Mom admitted, her eyes still shining.

Once again, Faithie had beaten me to the punch. She had always been an expert at it—loved being the first to show Mom things. Schoolwork, her drawings…everything. Maybe her need to do that came from having been the firstborn twin by about twenty minutes. I felt a twinge of resentment.

“Are you sure you want to go to the willows?” Mom asked.

“I’m sure.” I led the way outside through the backyard and around the long side yard, to the dirt road that was SummerHill Lane. Reaching up, I caught a firefly. “It’s been a long time since we really talked,” I began.

“And I take all the blame for that,” she said.

“You?”

She nodded. “Up until a few weeks ago, I couldn’t bring myself to this point. But now…” She stopped. “Of course, that has nothing to do with you. Anyway, I’m very sorry.”

Mom turned at the shortcut to the willows as though she’d been here more than once. I wondered but followed in silence. The path was only wide enough for walking single file, worn from constant use. Rachel and I met often in the secret place. Six-year-old Susie, too. It was a leafy green haven for the kid in you.

At last we found it, the secluded place—encircled by wispy willow tendrils, some thicker than others, and cushioned by the soft grassy floor beneath the arms of graceful branches. The air was thick with firefly light, creating a magical atmosphere.

“Just coming here helps sometimes,” I said.

“I know.” Mom brushed the hair away from her face.

“You’ve been here since coming with Faithie the first time, haven’t you, Mom?”

She nodded. “You’re a perceptive girl, Merry. Much like your father.”

“And Faithie was like you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I guess you could say there was a similarity.”

“She even looked like you,” I added.

Mom was quiet now. I studied her in the dim light of dusk, wishing she’d talk more freely.

“Did you ever think you were in love with two guys at once?” The question leaped off my lips before I could reconsider my choice of words.

She leaned back, looking at the sky. “There were two boys in my life when I was in high school. I can’t say that I
loved
them both.”

“What did you do?” I asked. “How did you decide?”