A Secret Identity (24 page)

She’d laughed. “That’s one of the truest things you’ve ever said!”

Smiling, I fingered the beads as I climbed out of Todd’s car. Heart relatives like Marnie were so much nicer than blood relatives like Amos—assuming he was indeed a relative. So why did Amos and the rest of the Biemsderfer clan mean so much to me? And what was wrong with me that they did?

“I had a thought last night,” Todd said as we walked across the parking lot toward the church.

I refrained from making a smart-mouth remark because he looked so serious.

“It occurred to me,” he continued, “that God is a proponent of adoption.”

“I’ve thought about that too. Jesus and Joseph? Raising the Son of God must have been a tall order. And there’s Pharaoh’s daughter and Moses and Eli and Samuel.”

“Well, if it was good enough for Jesus, why isn’t it good enough for you?” His question was asked conversationally, not confrontationally.

“But Jesus knew His Father. He knew His eternal background.”

Todd frowned. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But how about this? When we believe in Jesus, the Bible refers to us as adopted children of our heavenly Father. I always liked the old King James phrase ‘adopted in the Beloved.’”

“What are you trying to tell me, Todd? That Pop’s adoption has a spiritual parallel, and because it does, I shouldn’t be looking for our birth family?”

“No. But maybe I’m suggesting that your adopted family should be enough.”

I thought about his comment all through the worship service. It was one of those Sundays when I heard little the pastor said, but I knew God was very close. I thought about Amos and Jessica and their rejection of me. I thought of Alma and her friendliness, but I also thought of her not mentioning to me my resemblance to Morgan, though she’d told Amos about it. I thought of Morgan, who wanted to be a writer, and Pip, who wondered aloud if I were the child of one of his parents. I thought of Mick, who didn’t bother to talk to me after his initial response in the hallway. I thought of the branch of the Biemsderfers who no longer lived in Lancaster County but were scattered around the world. And I thought of Mom and Pop and Ward and Marnie and little Johnny.

And I realized that generation to generation doesn’t have to be blood generations. In theory, family should be bone of my bone as well as heart of my heart. But if you had to choose, maybe love and acceptance were more important than DNA.

When we left the service, I said, “You know I think adoption is good, don’t you?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you? Sometimes it seems you’re almost trying to undo Pop’s adoption with this great drive to find your blood family.”

I gave his comment careful consideration before I answered. “No, I don’t think so. That would say something negative and unfair and unjust about my great-grandparents, and I’d never want to do that. From everything I’ve heard, they were wonderful people. Great-Grandfather Bentley was a doctor and Great-Grandmother was an artist. I have some of the most beautiful hand-painted china that she did. Painting china was popular with the ladies in those days, you know.”

“Um, no, I didn’t know.” Todd’s mouth twitched.

“Now why am I not surprised?” I grinned at him. “Most of the ladies who painted were no-talent dilettantes, but Great-Grandmother Bentley’s work is absolutely wonderful. If she lived today, she’d be an artist in great demand.”

We stopped to avoid getting bowled over by three little stair-step brothers running out the doorway of the Sunday school wing. One ran so close that my skirt swayed in the breeze he created.

“I’m sorry,” their mother panted as she ran after them with a fourth little boy in her arms. “But at least they like to come to church.”

“See how much they look alike?” I said as I watched the boys disappear into the parking lot. “That’s genetics. Great-Grandmother Bentley might have been talented, but it didn’t rub off on me. What abilities did Pop’s birth parents have that we know nothing about? That’s one of the strange things about adoption: who do your abilities, your talents, your likes and dislikes come from? Was there a Biemsderfer somewhere who liked to write?”

“Does it matter?” He shrugged.

“Doesn’t it?”

I was still mulling these ideas over as Todd and I stopped for something to eat on the way home following the service.

“It’s like Pop’s a coin with two sides,” I said over a burger and fries. “I know the Bentley side. I’d like to know the Biemsderfer side too. I think for some who search, there is a driving need to find where they’ve come from, an intensity that is painful and overwhelming and utterly compelling. The need for roots is an unhealthy compulsion for some because they think it will fix all the problems in their lives, and of course it won’t. Locating the Biemsderfers isn’t that all-consuming for me, probably for two reasons: I’m not the adopted person, and I love my family. I’m not looking to replace them. But I can’t deny a compulsion to find out about the Biemsderfers, even the ones who are all over the globe.”

“In spite of the fact that an omnipotent God allowed the Bentley side of Pop’s coin?”

“I’m not denying our side of the coin. Truly I’m not. I appreciate and love my family too much to do that. It’s just that I can’t deny the other side either.”

I was swallowing my last fry when my cell phone rang.

“This is Elizabeth Yost,” a voice told me when I answered.

“Oh, Mrs. Yost,” I breathed, looking at Todd with excitement.

“Jessica?” Todd said in surprise.

I shook my head and mouthed, “Aunt Lizzie.”

“I want you to come and visit me,” she said. “I was so disappointed we missed each other on Thursday. Sometimes this old heart gives me such trouble, and at the most inconvenient times. But I’m feeling fine now, and I want to meet you. Alma has told me all about you.”

“I’d love to come, Mrs. Yost,” I said. “But Amos asked me not to.” Now that was a kind way of explaining his uncompromising order.

“I’m Aunt Lizzie to you, child. And I don’t care what Amos says.”

I liked this woman already.

“He’s always trying to tell me what to do,” she continued. “I’m not senile yet, and I make my own choices. After all, I’m the mother here; he’s the child.”

Referring to Amos as a child made me want to laugh out loud. He was very much a petulant little boy who demanded his own way.

“Please come. I want to meet you. And I want to tell you a story.”

“When do you want me?” I asked.

“How about later this afternoon?”

“Later this afternoon?” I repeated with a look at Todd. It didn’t strike either him or me as odd that I expected him to come with me. He nodded. “We’ll see you then,” I told her.

“I think,” I said to Todd as we drove to the farm, “that it’s okay if I look for family if I don’t
need
them, if I can function without them. If I find them and they accept me, I’ll know a fuller life. If I find them and they reject me, like Amos did, I’ll know sadness. But it’s not the end of the world. My life is still rich and full—full of people I’ll love and who love me. I keep thinking of what St. Paul wrote: ‘We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.’ That’s me and how I feel about Amos.”

I felt tears rising again, as I had frequently since we’d left Amos’s last night. “I feel struck down by last night’s events, but I’m not destroyed. I realize more strongly than ever that if I were looking for my birth family to make me whole, I’m looking in the wrong place. Only God can fill my deepest longings because only He understands them. People come and go, but God is forever.”

“He’s there when you don’t know who your family is,” Todd agreed. “And He’s there when you do, but they don’t necessarily give you much emotionally.”

I looked at him sharply, ready to give sympathy since he was obviously speaking of his situation. But he was already distracted.

“Would you look at that!”

I looked and saw the entire Zook drive was full of buggies.

Todd pulled to the side of the road. “I’ll have to let you out here,” he said. “I don’t want to get in the middle of all that. But I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Why not try to get a nap?” He looked at the circles under my eyes. “I’d say you didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“I’d say you’re right. And I’d also say my eraser stick isn’t working as well as it should.”

“Oh, one thing I want to mention before I forget.” He looked at me with concerned eyes. “There are wisps of rumors in the legal community that Amos and Jessica are having trouble with one of their sons. It’s all vague, no specifics.”

“And given your affection for Amos, you haven’t tried to find out any details, right?” I refrained from noting that guys tended to let the most interesting pieces of information go unexplored.

“I don’t like gossip. But think about it. Do you want to get involved with a family that has a kid who’s trouble?”

“Like legal trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

“It must be Mick. He was very sullen and angry last night.” I pictured him slouching on the sofa, arms folded across his chest. And he was the one who grabbed me.

Todd leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Just another piece of information to tuck away in that overactive mind of yours.”

“Overactive is good,” I said as I climbed out of the car. “The alternative is boring.”

He laughed and I watched him drive away. Then I threaded my way up the drive and inside. The large open room that filled the downstairs was full of people, some of whom, I’m sorry to say, weren’t using deodorant on this very hot June day. The men in their black Sunday suits and white shirts occupied the living room end of the house and were talking in Pennsylvania Dutch. The women occupied the kitchen end of the house, fussing over food, and also talking in Pennsylvania Dutch.

When I came in, everyone fell silent, the hush sounding terribly loud to my embarrassed ears. Everyone smiled and nodded politely to me, and Elam gave a little wave before returning to his conversation with two other young men. Esther walked over.

“They’re here to visit Mary,” she explained. “They’re taking turns going upstairs.”

“I see all the buggies,” I semi-whispered, “but where are all the horses?”

She giggled and answered in the same sotto voce manner. “They’re tied behind the barn at a special hitching rail Elam and John set up.”

“Ah.” I nodded sagely. “You guys are so practical!”

Just then an older woman in a royal-purple dress, black apron, black shoes and hose, and white kapp appeared at the bottom of the steps.

“She needs a nap,” the woman announced and everyone nodded. “We should eat.”

I slipped upstairs to my rooms as the men began filing into the kitchen to fill their plates with the cold food prepared yesterday since cooking on the Sabbath was prohibited. I wondered if Elam’s Mary Clare or his rival young Joe Lapp were here, but the only one I could ask was Jake, and he seemed to be hiding out in his apartment.

As I entered my room, I wondered if any of these people knew Mary’s secret. What would they think if they knew she painted? And worse yet, sold her work to the English through Kristie’s efforts?

I changed into khaki cropped pants and a white shirt and was sitting in front of my fan reading; Rainbow was draped on the back of the chair. I heard a knock at my door. It was Esther, looking worried and unsure of herself.

I hurried to her. “Come in, Esther. What’s wrong? Is Mary all right?”

Esther shook her head. “She’s in a lot of pain today, and she’s run out of medicine. Could you call her doctor and ask for more? It’d save me running down to the phone shanty at the end of the road.”

“Sure.” I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number Esther gave me. In a remarkably short time, the doctor returned my call and agreed to call in a refill. When I hung up, I asked, “Who’s going to pick this up?”

“I can skate down for it,” she said.

“But it’s Sunday! You shouldn’t skate on Sunday, should you? And you shouldn’t go to the store on Sunday either.” Surely both were anti-
Ordnung
. “Besides you’re caring for the guests. Let me go get it, okay?”

She bent and picked up Rainbow, who had left her queenly perch and was wrapping herself around Esther’s ankles. She buried her face in the cat’s soft fur. “I’d do it for Mary.”

“I’ll go.” I reached for my purse and keys. Esther smiled her thanks. We put Rainbow on the bed and with a final, “Remember the litter box, baby,” I followed Esther downstairs.

I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get my car out of the drive with all the buggies that were there, but the men had graciously left room for either Jake or me to back out. I walked to my car and reached for the door handle. I missed on my first grab. I had just extended my hand again when I realized something was very strange about my car. The handle was lower than it should be.

I stepped back, looked, and with a gasp realized all my tires were flat. All four of them!

I bent and looked more closely. My skin crawled. In each tire were long slashes where someone had taken a knife and cut and cut and cut. I stared in shock. My tires! Someone had purposely sliced my tires. Why? Who? I looked at all the buggies but quickly dismissed that idea. Not one of the Amish guests. Aside from the fact that they were peaceable folks, there was no privacy to do the deed. Surely slashers liked—needed—privacy.

I looked back at my car and was overwhelmed.
Why me? Why my car?

I turned to look at Jake’s van. His tires were fine. No one had done anything to his vehicle. Just to me. To my tires. And whoever it was hadn’t been satisfied with a single cut. Far from it. I shivered in the shimmering June heat.

I pulled out my cell phone and made two calls. First, I called the police. Not that I expected they could find who had done the vandalism, but they needed to know it had been done. Then I called the automobile club.

“Tell whoever comes to bring four new tires,” I told the dispatcher.

“Four?” Disbelief edged her voice.

“Four.”

The police came quickly, pulling into the drive. I stood with a sturdy-looking officer beside my wounded car answering questions for his report. We were surrounded by men in black suits and broad-brimmed hats who had come streaming out when the police car pulled in. Jake sat supportively by my side, his hand holding Hawk in place.