Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (26 page)

Ever kind and loving Rebecca. Katherine could hardly contain her feelings for the woman who'd raised her from infancy. "I miss you something awful," she confessed. "It's

not so easy living far from your childhood home."

"I 'spect so," Mare replied.

The subject of her newfound joy came naturally, though Rebecca seemed mighty skeptical, hearing her daughter call herself anything but Amish. "Saved isn't for us to know," Mam argued.

Refusing to upset her mamma on this topic, she let Rebecca speak her mind, not interrupting. She could only hope and pray that in time, Mare would see the light of Jesus in her shunned daughter's eyes and want it, too.

After lunch, Katherine felt restless--anxious to wander around Hickory Hollow. Lydia offered to drive her different places, but she wanted to be on her own. Reminisce alone.

She wished she'd brought along her guitar, for there was a spot she sorely missed. A very special place she hadn't laid eyes on for the longest time. This afternoon, with sun sizzling down on her bare head, she walked west on Hickory Lane, past Samuel Lapp's sandstone house, Bishop John's farmhouse, and the one-room schoolhouse, to Weaver's Creek.

Still barefoot, she scurried across the wobbly covered bridge, hearing the boards rumble gently under her feet. She cared not for splinters or nails, though her feet seemed mighty tender these days. On the opposite end of

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the bridge, she headed down the steep embankment to the creek below.

A cool breeze brushed her face as she stood there in the shade of giant trees, in awe of the site. Many an afternoon had been spent here during her teen years, though one clearly stood out above all others.

Lifting up her broomstick skirt just a bit, she waded into the cold creek, ignoring the age-old stepping stones and thrilling to the bold, splashing current. She did not hurry but took her time getting over to the huge boulder situated almost exactly in the middle of the rushing water.

"Ach, it looks smaller," she said aloud, eyeing the slab of rock. Without another thought, she climbed to the top and sat down.

Sunshine twinkled around her, making diamonds dance on the water, casting flickering shadows on the side of the bridge above. The boulder felt warm and hard beneath her hands as she sat there, breathing in the sweet air. She closed her eyes, thanking the Lord for all He had done in her life.

Three swallows flew- into the spruce ,tree above her, and she leaned back to watch them spring from one branch to another as they chirped their secret language back and forth. She even tried to mimic their sounds, but her voice frightened them away.

"Sorry," she said, hugging her knees, wishing the sun would stand still and the earth would stop spinning long enough for her to share her delirious contentment with all the world.

Softly, she began to hum the love song she and Dan had created on this very location. The birds warbled along and the creek picked up the rhythm. In her secluded world, unseen by anyone but her Lord, Katherine began to sing the old song out loud. Feeling carefree, she sang it again, this time changing the words. She was creating a love song for

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the Lord Jesus, her special gift for Him.

It was as she finished the final phrase, just as she'd stood up to balance herself on tiptoes on the peak of the rock-- just then--she heard whistling.

Quickly she crouched down, hoping she hadn't been noticed. Through the sun-dappled grove she saw a tall, clean- shaven man walking along the road, nearing the bridge. He could not be seen clearly, though she noticed snippets of blond hair through the trees. Had she been closer, she might've been able to make out who it was. Yet squinting and moving her head, trying to capture the full image, she concluded that the man was English, for there was no straw hat, no white shirt and suspenders. Curiously, she watched as he turned off the road and descended the steep bank of earth.

It might have been the vibrato in his whistle, the gait of his steps. Something. The way he carried himself erect per-

haps. But in that moment Katherine knew him.

Her hand flew to her mouth. Dan!

Certain that she'd only thought his name, she was startled that he answered. "Who's there?"

She stiffened, wanting to hide. Had he been following her? But how could that be? No one knew she was visiting here except Rosie and Fulton and her domestic staff. Surely Dan hadn't gone back to Canandaigua, discovered she was here, and pursued her. Surely not!

As he came into the clearing at the water's edge, the light

shone on his face. Their eyes met.

"Katie?"

They stared at each other awkwardly.

"What are you doing ... here in the Hollow?" he asked.

"I should ask you that question." She felt suddenly defensive, not willing to give up her tranquil setting.

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He held out his empty hands in surrender. "I'm out for a walk--nothing more."

She wasn't convinced. "So you weren't following me?"

Smiling now, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I was in the area.., heard Ella Mae was ill."

Katherine didn't budge from her perch.

"Honestly, I had no idea you'd be here," Dan said, still standing on the edge of the creek bed. "How've you been, Katherine?"

She nodded, not certain of what to say, though it was lovely hearing him call her by her true name. Yet telling him how she really was--at least, at the present mo- ment-would be a terrible mistake. She could say that she was feeling rather flustered at seeing him again, that she'd forgotten how handsome he was. Ach, she'd never admit such things.

Standing up, she said, "I'm fine, thanks, but I really have to be leaving now."

"Please... stay a few minutes, won't you?"

She thought it over. "Well, maybe. But not for long." Dan stepped on the smaller rocks that dotted a path to the boulder. Before climbing, he stood at its base, frowning. Then, surveying it in much the same way as she had, he commented that the "o1' rock has shrunk some."

She had to laugh, sliding over to make room for him. "That's just what I thought."

Dan seemed pleased, nodding at her as he sat down with

a sigh. "And I guess I'm getting older."

"Aren't we all?"

They chatted about Ella Mae for a while, then Dan grew quiet. He stared at their surroundings. "I miss it here. The Lord willing, I plan to set up my own drafting business here in Lancaster. Sometime in the fall, maybe, if things work

out."

She was conscious of his nearness, listening as he dis-

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cussed his hopes and dreams. "Will you be working with

Mennonite contractors?" she asked later.

He turned to face her, leaning his arm on his knee. "Since

I'm a shunned man, I don't expect to have any business dealings with Amish, at least not in Bishop John's district. But Mennonites, yes."

She smiled, fingering her heart-shaped locket. "So

you're not coming back to confess?"

"My confession is before God, and I can honestly say

that He's forgiven me."

"I know about divine forgiveness, too," she said softly. His eyes blinked rapidly. "Are you . . . have you... ?" "Yes, I've become a follower of Jesus. Ella Mae led me

to pray a sinner's prayer just yesterday."

"That's wonderful, Katie!" He shook his head, obviously

grateful. "I knew there was something different about you.

But I thought it was just the sunlight."

They laughed about it, and Dan announced that they

were now brother and sister in Christ. She heard the cheer-

ful ring in his voice, glad she'd stayed after all.

One thing led to another, and she found herself telling

him that she knew the truth of his lost years. "Mary told me why you stayed away. Honestly, I think I understand now."

His face was sober. "I prayed you'd forgive me someday,

though I didn't expect it would be this soon."

"The Lord works miracles. Sometimes when we least ex-

pect them."

"That He does." He was grinning at her now.

Feeling a bit unnerved at his ardent smile, she stood up

to stretch her cramped limbs. "Let's go for a walk."

He leaped to his feet. "C'mon, we'll go to the high

meadow behind the school." It had been one of the favorite

spots of their childhood.

She followed as he ran across the creek, marveling at the

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coolness of the grass along the brook. Then up through the wide, grassy terrace for a good acre or more to open pas- tureland. It was almost as though the years between them had dissolved. Almost...

"Katie," he called to her, "race me to the old outhouse."

"Never," she hollered back. "Aw, come on!" "Not on your life!"

He chuckled, letting her catch up with him. "That's my girl."

"What did you say?"

"I . . . uh, didn't mean to say that." He shrugged, a sobering expression followed. "Come back with me, Katie. Please, come back to Lancaster." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "I have no right to say this, but I still love you. With all my heart, I do."

She was out of breath from running and from this strange proposal. "It's... it's too late. I'm seeing someone else. Someone..." She couldn't go on. Her heart and mind struggled with differing emotions.

"Oh, Katie..." He reached for her hands, holding them in both of his.

She pulled away. "You and I--we've changed so much. I have a new home and new friends. I'm fancy now, just the way I've always longed to be. You're a Mennonite . . . still Plain."

"But we're both Christians." He argued for all the things they loved: the outdoors, their music, Lancaster County.

"I'm sorry, Dan, really I am. If there is to be anything between us, it would have to be honest friendship."

He moved to embrace her. "For all the old times," he whispered in her ear. She patted his back in response.

She agreed to let him walk her back to Lydia's, though

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their long talk turned to the weather and the landscape. Safe things.

As they approached the Millers' house, he offered his business card. "If you ever want to contact me," he said, pointing out his home address and phone number, "please, feel flee."

"Friends then, jab?"

He smiled at her Dutchy remark. "The Lord bless you and your new life in Christ."

"Thanks, Dan. God bless you, too." She waved and turned to go.

"I pray you'll be very happy," he called after her.

His gracious words rang in her ears as she hurried up the porch steps.

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Theodore listened as Katherine discussed with Fulton and Rosie the differences between Amish and Mennonite practices. They had been at it for more than an hour, and his lemonade needed freshening.

Excusing himself, he headed indoors, where Selig and Garrett were preparing lunch. "How many religious perspectives do you suppose there are in the world?" he commented.

"More than one can count, I'd say," Garrett spoke up as he sharpened a butcher knife.

"But you have to hand it to Katherine," Selig offered. "She's different somehow. And she plays hymns on that guitar of hers every spare minute. Quite rousing, if I may say

SO."

"Even the way she looks. Why, there's a radiance to her," said Garrett. "Have you noticed?"

Theodore agreed that he had. "Life's oo short not to be searching for heaven. I'm all for it."

Selig and Garrett exchanged shrugs and went back to doing what they had been doing.

He went to the pantry and opened up a new bag of white

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sugar. Taking two additional teaspoons, he sweetened his glass of lemonade further.

When her hospice work was finished for the week, Katherine decided it was time for some fall housecleaning. She offered to help Rosie tackle the library first, knowing that a thorough cleaning would involve dusting the many books shelved there. It would be too much for one person to accomplish alone.

"Good idea," Rosie said, scurrying offto get the cleaning supplies.

They were in the midst of dusting the topmost shelves, lifting handfuls of ancient-looking classics to clean them off, when Katherine stumbled upon several small leather-bound volumes hidden behind the thicker library books. "What are these?"

Rosie stopped her feather dusting and came to investigate. "My goodness, I believe you may have found Laura's writings."

"Her journals?"

Opening one of them, Rosie grinned. "The very ones. These are your mother's personal diaries."

It was all Katherine could do to continue the cleaning project. Rosie insisted that she stop what she was doing and take the books to her sitting room immediately for private scrutiny. Yet, in spite of her maid's coaxing, Katherine refused. What she'd started, she must finish.

So it was much later in the day, after both she and Rosie were fairly winded from climbing up and down the library ladders, dusting everything in sight, that she finally had a chance to sit down with the journals. Earnestly, she located the one Laura had spoken of on her deathbed--the bright blue journal with the correct year printed inside.

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Her stomach contracted into a tight ball. What things would she discover? Had Laura really intended for her to find and read these intimate writings?

Before ever reading the first entry, she prayed, "Lord, please guide me to what you want me to know about my birth mother."

Then, getting herself situated in a comfortable chair, she opened to January, the first day of the new year--six months before she was born, the year Laura was only seventeen.

January 1

Today, Mother and Daddy and I took another long drive to the country in the snow. It's nice to have off another few days .for the holidays before returning to high school. So far, no one outside my family but my boyfriend knows I'm going to have a baby. He's acting horribly strange about it, though.

Mother says not to worry. She and Daddy will take good care of me ... and the baby. (At least they aren't forcing me to go away to an unwed mothers' home like one of the senior girls had to last year.)