Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (9 page)

"Having church here doesn't come around for us all too much anymore," Rachel added. "The district's gotten so big, it's near burst its seams."

Mary laughed. "The seams are runnin' from Weaver's Creek all the way out to the highway." "Jah, one of these days Preacher Yoder's gonna be callin'

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for some of us to divide up, I 'spect. Make a new district of families."

Mary was surprised to hear it. "Ya mean it? We're that many Amish?"

Her mamma nodded, going to the pantry for some flour and sugar. "Ministers' council will be coming up here before long. Decisions will be made then."

Mary kept her thoughts to herself. In all truth, she was more than happy to hear of it. She could only hope that somehow or other, the People might be allowed to speak to Katie, if ever the shunned girl returned to Hickory Hollow. But if not.., and if the Samuel Lapps were among the families chosen to move to another church district, well then maybe whoever became Preacher for that group--by the drawing of lots--might confer with the new bishop about the matter. 'Course, she had plans to speak to Bishop John about that very thing herself.., someday. Even so, women were expected to keep their noses out of church affairs. And on top of that, she didn't want to take any chances with the budding romance. Nothing--well, hardly anything--was worth losing the interest of John Beiler.

Katherine marked her spot in the book she was reading and placed it on the tea table in front of her chair. She walked the length of the library to the tall window and looked out. Snow was falling nearly slantwise and so thick with its steady motion that she felt momentarily dizzy. Leaning a knee against the low windowsill, she fixed in her mind the setting, taking in the expanse of meadow, the ridgeline of trees far to the east--the most beautiful place on earth. How all of this had come to belong to her, really and truly, she could scarcely comprehend. Yet it was so.

Here she was, settled in and quite snowbound, sur

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rounded by shelves of intriguing books, flickering candles, and a roaring fire. At once, she realized that aside from the lovely furnishings, rugs, drapes, and wall hangings, she might well have been standing at the front room window in Samuel Lapp's home in Hickory Hollow, enjoying the afternoon without the luxury of electricity or indoor heating.

"What do you see when you look into your future?" Daniel had asked her the question when they were yet young, back one summer while the two of them ran barefoot down a dusty lane, chasing after a stray pony in the squelching heat. Dog days, they'd always called the hottest weeks of July and August.

He'd asked the same question the following winter while they played outside during school recess. 'Course, she had no idea what he was really trying to say, and she went about patting the snow into a hard round ball.

She remembered the day as if it were yesterday--the way the snow had come down hard all around them, piling up steadily and erasing the footsteps that led away from the one-room schoolhouse in less time than it took to have recess. The first real blizzard of her life!

She recalled the heavy old boots she'd worn, the giant snowman she and Daniel had begun to make together. Still, they'd had so much help from their cousins and Plain friends that before they knew it, the snowman stood tall and finished, looking quite cheerful with eyes made of olives from somebody's sack lunch. The turned-up mouth was designed with broken bits of carrot sticks, as she recalled, and the black felt hat young Daniel's.

He'd stepped back to survey the fat creature, laughing right out into the frosty air, laughing harder than she'd ever heard him. The sound rose from his belly, deep in the pit of him, and his face had turned peach red when she'd started chasing after him, yelling at him to please let her catch him.

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And he had. He'd turned himself around without warning and stopped in the snow.

She'd plowed into him ... hard, landing against his strong chest, but only because the snow was so deep and so slick she couldn't really help it at all.

Smiling now, she could see his eyes--blue as berries and all twinkly--like he was mighty glad she couldn't stop, glad she'd crunched into him like that, and probably glad she'd found herself all flustered up about it, too.

She moved back from the library window, wishing to let such childish memories fade, hoping that recollections from the past might not continue to confuse her, creating havoc with her recent decision to send Daniel away.

Garrett Smith came into the library just then, placing a round silver tray on the low table near the fireplace, a stately presentation. "Tea is served," he said, bowing. "Selig made your favorite cookies."

She knew without looking. "Please tell Selig thank you for me."

Garrett stood waiting for her dismissal as she strolled to the area where four matching wing chairs were situated around a wide oval table in the center of an expansive rug. "I was wondering," she began. "Could you ... would you be willing to play a game with me?"

His eyes grew wide, followed by a peculiar grin. ' ....wlss.7"

"Checkers," she said. "Will you play a game of checkers with me?"

He nodded, bowing again. "At your service, Miss Katherine.

She shook her head, tiring of the proper conversational tone. "I won't call you 'sir,' if you'll promise not to call me 'miss.' How about that?"

He nodded, his cheeks turning red in the firelight.

"And furthermore, let's disband with such formal talk. It's starting to make my brain hurt.., really 'tis."

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"As you wish," he said, forgetting.

"Try saying 'gut idea.' " She watched him closely, his face not about to crack. "And make sure it sounds like 'goot'... jah?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then nodding, he agreed. "Very well."

"Very goot," she prompted him.

"Goot" came the echo. And with that, the young steward poured a cup of tea, letting a few drops of milk drip into

the china cup. "Sugar?"

"Always."

A game table was brought out, set up, and placed in front of the fire, so the blaze might light the checkerboard.

"You take the first move," she said as they sat opposite each other.

"As you wish."

"No... no." She wagged her finger at him, playfully. "Ah, yes. Very gut."

She leaned forward, her eyes intent on him. "This is going to be a right-gut game. Ain't so?"

"Jah, right-goot," he said, surprising her.

Katherine beat Garrett at checkers--three rounds worth--then called for Rosie. "Are there any lanterns arounc.

"In the outbuildings, perhaps," Rosie replied. "Would you like one for your room?"

She rose and went to the fireplace. "Seems to me we could all gather here in the library for supper tonight. But it might be a bit dark without a lantern or two."

"Or at least a few candles," Rosie suggested. "Power lines are down all over the county. There may not be electricity yet tonight."

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Katherine waved her hand. "I think we can adjust." She turned her back toward the fire. "It might be right fun, really."

Rosie cocked her head. "Perhaps you can teach us to enjoy it."

She knew the maid was referring to Katherine's childhood days--the absence of modern conveniences. "Oh, here's a thought. After supper, let's tell stories around the table."

Rosie chuckled and went to find someone to look for a lantern.

"Denki," she called after her friend and housemaid. Then, to herself Katherine whispered, hoping to make the words ring true, "A wonderful-gut night this will be."

She would try to enjoy herself while having supper in the library and sharing stories with her new friends around a crackling fire. Though, try as she might, it would be impossible to numb the sting of knowing that Daniel was alive . . that he had been all along.

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The postman got his little white truck stuck in a snowdrift, smack-dab in front of the Stoltzfus mailbox. Mary's father ran out to help push as she observed the situation from her bedroom window.

The day had dawned bright, with the hope of much sunshine, but scudding clouds soon rolled over the Hollow, bringing with them heavy snow.

Mary had to laugh, watching her father huffing and pushing while the mailman revved up the engine of the tiny truck, spinning his tires to beat the band. Now, if he were Amish, the man could've hitched up a horse to a sleigh and gone about his duties, delivering the mail without any worry, just the way Dat used to take her and her older brothers to school back years ago on the worst days of winter. 'Course, there was no tellin' them Englischers how to carry the mail around to folks. She shook her head, thinking that there was nothing like right fancy tires for getting a body stuck in snow. Guaranteed.

She sat down at the window, entertaining thoughts of her next visit with John Beiler. When would he invite her to go with him somewhere again? Maybe he'd see her after church and speak to her about another ride in his family

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Kutsch. Or maybe sooner. She could hope, because being around the bishop seemed so awful right.., like the Divine Providence he often preached on. Spending time with John Beiler was just the way she'd always supposed it might be-- back before he was ever really free to dream of. Back when he was engaged to marry Katie Lapp.

"Mail's here!" Abe Stoltzfus called up the steps to her. "There's a letter for ya, Mary."

For me? Hurrying to the steps, she ran down all the way. "Who's it from?"

"Hard to say. Looks like a New York postmark." His eyes squinted almost shut as he studied the return address. "Know anybody by the name of Taylor? Mrs. Rosie Taylor's the name."

She shook her head. "Never heard of such a person." But she was eager to read it anyway and headed for the kitchen, where she found a sharp knife and sliced the envelope open.

Sitting by the woodstove in her father's rocking chair, she began to read:

Saturday, January 17

Dear Mary,

Although I have never met you, I am told that you are a kind and devoted friend, and that you will understand fully the nature of this letter.

It has come to my attention that there is a young woman whom you know, but with whom you may no longer have contact. I am thinking of Katherine Mayfield, formerly Katie Lapp. I must confess to you that I do not understand such things as Amish shunnings, nor do I wish to pry. The reason I write today is for the sake of your friend Katherine, who does not want to cause trouble for you. Rather, she would like you to know that she misses you greatly and has not forgotten the many kindnesses you

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have shown her in the past. She is also concerned about Rebecca Lapp, the woman who raised her, and hopes that you might relay the message that Katherine loves and misses her mother as well.

She would not think of writing to you directly, though she would be pleased if such a thing were permitted. Katherine is not certain as to this way of corresponding--whether or not your bishop would allow such a way of "speaking" to her dear friend.

On behalf of Katherine Mayfield (formerly Katie Lapp), Mrs. Rosie Taylor

Mary folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, hoping Dat would not come into the kitchen just now and see that she was breathing hard, fingers trembling. Pressing the letter to her heart, she held it there, desiring with all her might that she could reply to the sender, to the thoughtful woman, Rosie Taylor, who'd written this message with both Katie and Mary in mind. What a wonderful-gut lady she must be.

Leaning back in the rocker, Mary was thankful that dear Katie had met someone so kind, even though Rosie must surely be English, for sure and for certain. Mary might've spent the entire afternoon stewing over Katie, missing her terribly, wishing she'd never left Hickory Hollow, but there was work to be done. So she got busy with her mother and Mammi Ruth--her father's Mam--patching Dat's work trousers.

They sat around the kitchen table telling stories and enjoying each other's company. After a bit, Mary took to darning socks, thinking how she'd like to be doing the same thing for Bishop John someday--for his children, too. She felt that it wouldn't take much time at all before she would be feeling true compassion for the whole family.

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"Abe mentioned a letter postmarked somewhere in New York," Mammi Ruth said, glancing up over her needlework.

Mary was silent for a moment. Wasn't sure what to say to her grandmother about it.

Rachel, however, didn't wait for Mary to speak up. "Isn't that where Samuel Lapp's daughter headed to? Seems to me Rebecca said it was."

Mary wouldn't go hiding the truth from her loved ones. Still, she wanted to keep the letter just for her own eyes, precious as it was. "The postmark was Canandaigua, a city up in New York somewheres," she managed.

"Jah, and who do ya know up there?" Mammi Ruth shot back.

Why the woman had to be so pointed, Mary didn't know. But she wished she might've kept the letter a secret, at least for a day or so. Then, if she had to say anything, it would be her idea alone.

"Mary?" Now Mamma was inquiring, and not about to let up on her, it seemed.

"Someone by the name of Rosie Taylor wrote to me," she replied with a sigh.

"Rosie?" Mammi Ruth stuck her needle in a spool of white thread and scratched her head through the prayer covering. "I don't know any Rosies in New York, do you, Rachel?"

Mary wondered if she should just go ahead and spill the beans on Katie ... on herself, too. For if the People found out that Samuel's shunned daughter was using a stranger, an Englischer no less, to convey a message to one of the membership, well, there was no telling what an uproar might come of it.

Both women were looking over at her now, having abandoned their mending, just staring across the table.

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"Ach, I don't know of any Rosies livin' up there, neither," she finally said.

"Well then..." Mammi Ruth picked up her needle and

the loose knee patch, resuming her work.

"Jah, well . . ." Mamma did the same.