SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (57 page)

We stopped to let the lamb roam freely for a while, waiting for my dad and Abe Zook to catch up with us. “Miss Spindler’s hooked up and turned on to the computer age,” I told Levi. “Did Rachel tell you?”

He sat in the grass near the pond. “Well, she tried to, but honestly she lost me. Sounds like you finally did some snooping, though.”

“I sure did.” I had to stop and laugh, recalling all the topsecret sleuthing that had gone on at my elderly neighbor’s. “With her permission, I even took a picture of her high-techattic to prove it.”

“Speaking of pictures, I have a request.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, I don’t know how to ask this.”

I had no idea what he was going to say.

“Would you be willing to take a picture of Martha and me for our engagement photo?”

I chuckled, not at the question, but at the idea of asking
me
. “A professional photographer might be a better choice, really. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He shone his flashlight on Jingle, watching her play. “I’ve seen your work, Merry. You’re very good.”

“Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll be happy to take the picture.”

“Would tomorrow work for you, near Mam’s rose garden?”

“That’ll be such a pretty backdrop. I’ll come over after school. Count on me,” I said.

Our chatter turned to Miss Spindler again. “I notice you’re not calling her your favorite nickname,” he said.

“Not anymore.” I couldn’t wait to tell him why. “Sure, she’s a little peculiar. But I have to tell you, she was wonderful to me when I lost Abednego last month. I don’t know how I would’ve found my cat without her help.”

“Sounds like things are changing mighty fast around SummerHill,” he said, getting up and chasing Jingle playfully.

Well, I had news for him. Miss Spindler wasn’t the only one. “My mom wants to start an antique shop,” I told him. “Can you believe it?”

“Rachel said something about that. Sounds interesting.”

“I’m trying to get used to the idea. It’s a little strange, I have to admit.”

“How’s your friend Jon Klein?” he asked out of the blue.

I wondered how to describe Jon to Levi without sounding like a girl in love. “Well, let’s see…”

Levi carried the lamb over and sat down beside me again. “I’m all ears.”

“Jon’s not the Alliteration Wizard anymore, so that’s another change. We’re done with word games. But he’s taking a photography class, which means we have cameras and lenses and pictures in common.”

“You’re skirting the issue,” said Levi, laughing. “I asked a simple question.”

“And you want a simple answer, right?”

I looked up at the sky, wondering if tonight was the right time. “This is between you and me, okay?”

“I promise.”

I took a deep breath. These were precious words. “I think Jon and I are becoming best friends.”

“That’s just what I hoped you’d say, Merry.”

I was one-hundred-percent-amen happy!

Dad and I walked home the rest of the way together. I thought of the events of the evening. How I’d lost my way trying to find a missing lamb. I thought, too, of the changes occurring between Levi and me. Between Levi and his own dear family.

Some of the biggest changes had taken place inside me. And I knew I was ready to talk to Mom about Faithie. I could hardly wait!

Mom was terribly worried about the cuts on my fingers. She hovered near me as I ran cold water over them at the kitchen sink. Then she insisted on using antibiotic ointment to cleanse away any possible infection. On top of that, she made me get out of my drenched clothes and put on warm, dry ones. All this before we ever sat down to a late supper.

My cats seemed happier than usual to see me, too. “Guess I should get caught in a rainstorm more often,” I teased.

Mom gave me a sideways look, which meant my comment was ridiculous. “Let’s pray and eat,” she said.

With bandaged fingers, I took my place at the table. Leave it to Mom to keep the meal hot for all this time. I could tell Dad was mighty glad. He stopped to relish almost every bite. Mom got a big kick out of it. But more than that, she seemed eager to dote on me, obviously thrilled that I was safe. “I’m so glad you’re home, Merry,” she went on and on.

“What a night to remember,” I said, grinning at both Dad and Mom.

Mom shook her head. “Well, I can’t imagine being lost out in that vicious storm…and wandering around in the woods!”

“God answered our prayers for Merry,” Dad said, interjecting a positive remark.

“We’re so glad He did!” Mom offered me more mashed potatoes and gravy. Instead of refusing, I actually took a second helping, recalling how cold and lonely—and terribly frightened—I’d felt only a few hours before.

It was truly good to be home.

While Mom and I cleaned up the kitchen, I brought up the subject of her clothesline. “I wondered if you’d thought about it…with customers coming, and all.”

“I don’t mind if
they
don’t,” she said. Then, smiling at me, she added, “Even if they object, it’s staying!” She tossed a dish towel at me, and I began to dry the pots and pans. I wanted to make it easy for Mom to talk about Faithie but hesitated, hoping for the right time.

“Your friend Ashley Horton called during the storm,” Mom said.

“I don’t believe this! Every time I’m gone, someone calls.”

“You have a busy life…and that’s a good thing.”

“What’s on her mind?” I asked.

“She’s having a sleepover this weekend. She said Chelsea and Lissa were planning to go.”

“What’d you tell her?”

She stopped to look at me, her deep brown eyes now very serious. “I told her that you are your own social planner. That you’d return her call.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re so cool.”

Her eyes widened. “So…I’m evolving? To
cool
?”

“Yep.”

“Well, hearing that makes my day,” she said, turning back to the sudsy sink.

I finished drying one of the pans. Then, all at once, tears began to cloud my vision. I sniffled a little, trying to keep them under control. “Mom, you made
my
day,” I said, “the day you gave birth to Faithie and me.…”

“Oh, honey.” She dropped her dishcloth and wrapped me in her arms.

“I thought I was the one…who hurt the most…when my sister died,” I said, sobbing. “But Faithie and I grew inside you. You gave us life.
You
lost your baby girl!”

Both of us were crying now. Thank goodness Dad didn’t stroll through the kitchen just then. Except, if he had, he would’ve discovered a mother and daughter sharing their deepest pain. Their loss. And best of all, their most precious memories.

I openly talked to Mom about Faithie. Even grabbed her hand and took her upstairs. I closed the door in my room and sat her down on my bed, propping her up with pillows. At first, she wasn’t too thrilled about having the cats join us for a tender look back into the past. Our past.

But it didn’t take long before she was oblivious to the cats curled up around her. What a long time since I’d invited Mom or anyone to see my scrapbooks. So I took things slow and easy, sharing each memory—even the tiniest one—as it came to me.

Mom, too, had meaningful things to say about each picture. Some things I’d completely forgotten or, better yet, never known. “Faithie insisted on parting her hair on the opposite side to yours,” Mom said, pointing to a picture to demonstrate the point.

I nodded, staring at it. “Sometimes I actually got the feeling Faithie resented being a twin.”

Mom’s arm was around me again. “Your sister was a very independent little girl. But she adored you. And you must surely know that is true.”

“I wish I had more gumption,” I confessed. “Like Faithie did.”

Mom turned to the next page. “God made the two of you unique. No one knows that better than your father and I. And we loved you both dearly.” She went on to recite various incidents when Faithie had exerted her strong will.

I slid around the side of the bed so I could look at Mom as she talked. In the end, I spent more time gazing at her face than at the scrapbook. After all, I’d nearly memorized the pages. But it had been a long time since I’d concentrated on my mother.

“This storm is coming to an end, isn’t it?” I recalled the words I’d said to comfort the lamb in the forest.

Mom was very still. Then she got up and walked across the room to my bookcase. She reached for my Bible and opened to Psalm seventy-one. “Listen to this, honey,” she said, reading to me. “ ‘For you have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth. From birth I have relied on you; you brought me forth from my mother’s womb. I will ever praise you…you are my strong refuge.’ ”

I let the words sink in. How amazing they were!

Our eyes met and locked. “God is our refuge in the storms of life,” she said. “He protected us, as He always will.” She sighed, closing the Bible. “Yes, Merry, I believe the storm is past.”

Jingle Belle took her milk from Ol’ Nanna on Friday afternoon. She had graduated from the nursing bottle to a new “mama.” A triumph!

I asked Rachel if Jon Klein could come for a visit “to take some pictures around the farm.”

She agreed. “That’s fine. Anyone who’s a friend of yours is welcome here.”

I was almost sure she’d feel that way. “Jon’s eager to see Jingle,” I told her, following her around the side of the brick farmhouse.

“Sounds like her fame is spreading,” she replied, straightening her long apron. “I’d say we’ve got ourselves a perty gut little lamb, don’tcha think?”

“She’s healthy…she survived the storm. And now, looks like Ol’ Nanna’s just what the doctor ordered.”

“Jah, Dr. Merry.” Giggling about it, Rachel took me around the side of the house. We strolled past colorful flower beds of petunias, marigolds, and pansies of every imaginable hue. But it was in Esther Zook’s rose garden that Levi and Martha were waiting to have their picture taken.

I made sure the sun was at my back, even though it shone in their eyes a bit. From experience, I knew that kind of lighting would produce the best results. “I never take only one shot,” I explained.

Rachel said, “She’s right,” but didn’t say how she knew. Truth was, I’d taken numerous pictures of her last winter before she decided to settle down and follow the Amish ways. Levi, of course, had other plans—ones that didn’t include the Old Order rules and regulations. So he posed nicely with his bride-to-be, and I snapped away. Not once did I feel a twinge of sadness for losing my friend Levi to Martha Martin. As the Plain folk liked to say, their love for each other was ever so
providential
.

I found Mom and Miss Spindler cleaning out the potting shed when I returned. They’d already swept out the dirt and cobwebs—shined up the windows, too. Dad was nailing up window boxes all around, and I spied the red geranium plants just itching to be planted. The place was going to be as quaint and cute as any antique shop in Lancaster County.

“Merry, dearie,” Miss Spindler called. “Come have a look-see at this here curtain fabric.”

I stepped inside the shed-turned-store. She was holding up a soft yellow-striped fabric in one hand, a busy floral in the other. Her blue-gray hair was perfectly coifed in her usual puffed-up do. Her face shone with a radiant joy, the same sort of delight she’d displayed last month when Rachel presented her with a gray kitten.