SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (50 page)

I glanced at my watch. “Good…that’s perfect.” I would be sure to make it home by then.

Mom looked tired. No, she looked totally wiped out. I watched her drive the car forward, creeping into the barnyard area. As she came back around, I flagged her down, stopping her. “You okay?” I asked, leaning on the car window.

“Just a little tired,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll take a nap later.”

A nap?
Mom
never
took naps!

“Will you please take it easy?” I asked.

She nodded. “Don’t miss your phone call,” she said, blowing a kiss. She headed down the long dirt road and was still waving out the car window as she made the turn onto SummerHill Lane.

I giggled at her girlish approach to
my
love life. Yep, Mom was on to something, tired or not. Most likely she’d guessed how much I liked the former Wordplay Wizard from James Buchanan High. Jon and I had discarded our alliteration absurdity. Yet I still found myself creating phrases with matching vowels or consonants, almost without will. The difference was that I wasn’t constantly
trying
to alliterate when Jon and I were together. And neither was Jon. Our friendship was secure and strong, much better now that we weren’t hung up on trying to impress each other with our wits.

Turning back to the task at hand, I was glad Rachel and her sisters had slipped away into the house. I suspected they were helping their mother with baking bread and pies for church. Tomorrow was their turn to have Preaching service at their house.

Meanwhile, I had loosely tied the newborn lamb to one of the fence posts. It was the post nearest a young willow tree. A nearly eleven-year-old tree, to be exact. I knew its age to the day because I’d sat in the grass the afternoon it had been planted—though by accident.

I’d never heard of a fishing pole becoming a tree. Stories like that came from tall tales. Some of the Old Order Plain folk were known for such entertaining yarns, but the truth was this: Faithie’s willow stick—her fishing pole—actually grew into a tree. I never forgot the surprise on her delighted face, weeks later, when that skinny pole began to sprout in our Amish neighbors’ yard!

The long-ago August day had been so exciting for Faithie and me—two little English girls spending the day on an Amish dairy farm. We’d gone fishing with the older Zook kids, hoping to bring home at least one small fish for our mother to cook in the frying pan. After all, Levi and his big brother, Curly John, caught fish like that all the time.

On that particular day, Levi—a year older than my sister and me—helped us hook our bait. He and Rachel showed us the best place to cast our lines. But it was my twin sister’s determination to catch a fish that spurred me on. By afternoon’s end, neither one of us had caught anything, but that didn’t dampen Faithie’s spirits. She wanted to come back and try the next day. Except that was the Lord’s Day, so we knew better than to ask Daddy’s permission.

“We’ll go fishin’ again next week,” Levi had said, wearing Curly John’s baggy hand-me-downs.

“I think my willow stick’s too green,” Faithie had told us, laughing as we tromped toward the barn, away from the pond.

“Maybe that’s why the fish wouldn’t bite today,” I said, not knowing for sure. After all, we were young—just one month shy of six years old.

“Better get yourself a sturdier stick next time,” Rachel offered, pointing to a hint of green beneath the bark.

“Jah, gut thinkin’,” Levi said, waving as he headed for the house.

Rachel stood and talked with us a bit longer, lingering near the fenced area. There weren’t any new lambs that year—at least I don’t remember them. If there had been, I’m sure Faithie and I would’ve leaned on the fence, coaxing one of the soft little ones over so we could pet it. Faithie and I were both crazy about animals.

When Rachel’s mother called for supper, Rachel hurried off to the house. I figured we’d be heading home soon. But for some reason, Faithie wanted to sit in the grass and “watch the sheep.”

“What for?” I’d asked, sitting next to her.

“Just ’cause.”

So we sat there, gawking at the Zooks’ sheep. Faithie told me a strange story that afternoon. Not a tall tale or anything like that. But she shared something of her young heart with me while she fooled with her fishing pole, pushing it down…down ever so slowly into the ground.

“Know what, Merry?” she began.

“What?”

“Last night I dreamed we had our tenth birthday.”

I giggled at that. “That’s silly.”

“Ten’s a long time away, isn’t it?” Faithie said, still pushing on her fishing pole.

Turning ten
had
seemed a lifetime away! Besides that, girls who were ten were nearly grown-up. At least, it seemed that way. We didn’t talk about that so much, though. It was the passing of years that was most heavy on Faithie’s mind.

“Birthdays are weird,” she continued.

“Huh?”

“You change to a new number.” She sighed, letting go of the fishing pole. “But when you’re seven, you’re still six inside. And five and four and three—all the
old
birthdays wrapped up in the next number. Uncle Tim was in my dream, too. He explained all this to me.”

I didn’t really get what she was saying. Besides, it seemed weird to me, especially because our uncle was dead. “What do you think Uncle Tim meant?”

“He
told
me when you’re six or seven or eight, you’re still five and four and three inside.” She looked frustrated, as if she was struggling to explain.

I thought about what she’d said. “Do you mean sometimes you wanna cuddle your teddy bear…so it’s like you’re still two years old or even only one?”

Faithie started giggling. “That’s it! When you act like a three-year-old, you still
are
that number. And when you set the table for Mommy and do something more grown-up, you’re four or five, too. All at the same time.”

“How old will we feel when we’re ten, I wonder?”

Suddenly, her eyes were big and round. “Maybe we won’t feel different at all.”

“We’ll have to just wait and see,” I said.

She looked pleased with herself. Like she’d finally made her dream clear to me. “Birthdays are like tiny puzzle pieces that all fit together. Uncle Tim said one year goes inside the next.”

“Wow. Uncle Tim’s very smart since he’s gone to heaven.”

“I think so, too.” Then she kissed me all over my face, knocking me down in the tall green grass.

“What age are you now?” I teased.

By the time we left for home, the fishing pole was stuck in the hole. “Leave it there,” Faithie had said, patting the ground around it. “Maybe it’ll sprout someday.”

I laughed, wondering where on earth my sister had gotten such an idea.

A clap of thunder startled me, and I rushed to get the lamb back inside the fence. Jingle had taken only a small amount of milk from the bottle. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t eventually get used to the bottle, though, because I was
not
giving up!

After getting the lamb back inside the fold, I ran to take shelter. On the Zooks’ front porch, I watched the rain come pelting down, spawned by a determined cloudburst. The lone willow swayed, keeping company with the wind.

Maybe we won’t feel different at all
….

How sad that Faithie hadn’t lived to experience her tenth birthday; not even her eighth. And yet the seven years we had together were mighty strong in me. I would never forget them. Or her.

More than that, I felt incomplete without my sister. Like a tree that has shed its leaves in the autumn, I still felt bare without her. Something would always be missing for me. I’d read that all twins feel that way if separated at birth or if one of them dies. Well, it was definitely one-hundred-percent-amen true!

Staring out over the grassy meadow, I spotted the frail little lamb. Her ribs poked through her sides. It pained me to see how scrawny she was. Sighing, I understood how she must feel, losing both her mother and twin sister. She needed a reason to live, to want to take nourishment.

It was then, as I stood on the Zooks’ long white front porch, in the midst of a midday thundershower, I knew exactly what I must do. As soon as possible!

I borrowed Rachel’s umbrella for the walk home. The rain was still coming down fast, but I couldn’t let it stop me. I was anxious to get home for Jon’s phone call, so I hurried down the Zooks’ lane as the dirt quickly turned into a muddy path.

While I was removing my muddy shoes at our back door, I heard the phone ring. Dad would answer. No rush.

“I’m home if it’s for me!” I called, coming inside.

Sure enough, the ringing stopped in the middle of the second ring. I waited, holding my breath…hoping. Was it Jon calling?

When I didn’t hear my name, I assumed the call was for Dad and headed upstairs to my room. I removed my soggy socks and greeted my cats. All four of them were huddled inside my closet. I didn’t blame them for hiding, not after those amazingly powerful claps of thunder. And poor Abednego…well, I’m sure it brought back harrowing memories of the day he ran away from home. All because of a vicious storm.

“You okay, kitties?” I cooed, getting down on my hands and knees to nuzzle each of them. “Thunder never hurt anybody.”

Abednego was trembling so hard, I picked him up, fat and heavy as he was. “Aw, little man, it’ll be all right. Merry’s here with you.”

Lily White wasn’t impressed with the attention my eldest cat was receiving. She pushed her face against my hand, and I decided it was time to dish out equal time. So I sat on the floor of my closet, with the only light filtering in from the bedroom, talking baby talk to my cats. “Let’s pretend we’re only three years old,” I caught myself saying. “So it’s okay if we’re scared, right?”

Of course, I wasn’t really frightened by the thunder or the storm. But it comforted the cats to see me calm and in control.

While I petted Lily White, I glanced up at the shelf above me. Scrapbooks of Faithie and me stood neatly in a row. Did I dare open them today? Stir up even more memories? I wondered if possibly my memories of Faithie’s illness might help me nurse Jingle Belle back to health. Maybe I
should
take a peek, I decided. It had been quite a while since I’d cozied up with one of the scrapbooks.

Just as I was putting Lily White down, I heard Dad calling up the stairs. “Merry! Kiddo, the phone’s for you.”

I could hardly believe my ears. Had Dad been talking to Jon Klein all this time?

“Coming,” I said, leaving my cat foursome to deal with the storm on their own. I hurried to Skip’s bedroom, just down the hallway from my room. Not wanting to sound too eager, I counted to five before I picked up the phone.

Jon was happy to hear my voice. At least, he
sounded
upbeat and happy. “Hi, Merry. What’re you doing today?”

“Hanging with my cats right now. Before that, I was over at Rachel Zook’s.”

“That’s cool.”

I had to know, so I asked. “Were you talking to my dad, uh, before?”

“Yeah, he was giving me some pointers on my new camera. Nice guy, your dad.” Then Jon began to tell me about his latest photography project. “This class I’m taking is really great. Mostly outdoor shots…nature, trees…stuff like that.”

“Sounds fun,” I replied, thinking that he should come out to SummerHill and take pictures of the new lamb. But no, I didn’t want to invite him. Not yet.

“Would you like to go with me—with the youth group—next Tuesday night?” he asked.

“Where to?”

“Hiking. I thought we could go out afterward for ice-cream sundaes.”

I wasn’t sure what shape Rachel’s lamb might be in by then. “I’ll have to see,” I said, holding back.

He was silent for a second. “Everything okay?”

“It’s just that I might be busy, that’s all.”

“Too busy for a hike and ice cream?” There were more questions in his voice, but he didn’t push.

“I’ll have to let you know,” I said. “Thanks for calling.”

After we hung up, I worried that he might’ve thought I didn’t want to go. But I wasn’t concerned enough to call back.

And at church the next day, I didn’t say a word about the lamb, either. I guess I felt it was my thing…this sickly lamb and me. My thing and God’s.