SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (9 page)

“Honey, are you all right? You sound—”

“Please, just come,” I pleaded.

Again he asked. “Merry, honey, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but hurry.”

He said he’d be on his way, and it was comforting to know that there’d be another adult in the house. And soon.

“Thanks, Dad.” I shuddered to think how he would feel when he got here and saw the police car and heard the horrifying story of Chelsea’s missing mother.

Dad arrived a few minutes later looking relaxed and fit in his black sweats—nothing even remotely close to the way he dressed to work at the hospital. Today was one of the few days he’d had off all month. Being the head of the ER trauma team at Lancaster General and on call most of the time made it difficult for Dad to have leisure time.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he came up the front steps. He’d arrived before Chelsea’s dad, and it was truly a good thing because it gave me a chance—with some help from Chelsea and Officer Vyner—to fill Dad in on exactly what had been going on.

After Dad heard the story, he offered his medical assistance. “I’d be more than happy to help the department in any way,” he said.

“Well, for starters, we’ll have the phone line tapped,” Officer Vyner informed us.

Chelsea brightened a bit. “You mean, you can do that without my dad requesting it?”

“I’ll be talking with your dad soon enough,” he said, sliding the clasp on his pen over his shirt pocket.

We heard the sound of tires on the dirt road out front.

“Daddy’s home!” Chelsea shouted and ran out to meet him. I was close on her heels, with Dad trailing a few inches behind.

Mr. Davis was clearly surprised to see Officer Vyner and my dad hanging around his house. He eyed Chelsea nervously. “What’s going on here?” he grumbled.

Officer Vyner spoke up. “I understand your wife’s missing?”

Mr. Davis ignored him and kept walking toward the house.

“Daddy!” Chelsea called. “Please talk to him.”

Her father stood still and erect, not moving for a moment as he faced the screen door, perhaps contemplating a response. Then he opened the door and went inside.

“Now what’ll we do?” I said, worried for Chelsea.

She scuffed her foot against the dirt near one of the many flower beds her mom had tended through the years. “Daddy’s been like this ever since…” She stopped and pulled out her tissue. “What’s
wrong
with him?”

Officer Vyner tried to explain. “Your father’s hurting, Chelsea. He may be in denial, but no matter what, you must give him your support…your love. He needs you now more than ever.”

She dried her tears. “What exactly is the occult?” she asked. “Is it the same thing as a cult group?”

Dad was quick to answer her questions. “The words do sound similar, but the occult is most often linked with astrology, psychic prediction, and sometimes magic or witchcraft. The word
cult
simply means a group of people whose leader persuades them to believe he deserves unquestioned loyalty and obedience. Some cult groups may employ occult practices, as well.”

Dad’s gentle eyes studied Chelsea as she stared down at her mother’s flower bed, now hard and dry.

“Thanks for coming, Doctor Hanson,” she said, turning to face Dad. “And for explaining things.”

“We’ll be praying that your mother is found soon,” Dad told Chelsea as we headed for the car. “Please keep us informed. I know Merry will be in touch.”

“Thanks again,” she said. “And don’t worry about me, Merry. I’ll be fine.”

I waved to my friend. “I know you will.”

Dad opened the car door for me and hurried to get in on the driver’s side after stowing my bike in the trunk. Nothing was said about hanging out with the wrong company—none of that. Dad was sweet. He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re all right, dumpling.”

He started the car and drove down SummerHill Lane to our house.

“Do you think they’ll find Mrs. Davis?” I asked.

Dad glanced at me. “Chelsea and you did the best thing for Mrs. Davis by getting the authorities involved.” He explained that there was a special forces unit at the police department. “They have a number of highly trained dogs who can follow car-exhaust fumes and pick up many other kinds of scents.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. So you think it’s possible Mrs. Davis might be coming home soon?”

Dad shook his head, wearing a gloomy expression. “I didn’t say that. You have to realize that members of cult groups lose their ability to reason clearly. Their minds become prisoners, controlled by a leader who is often power crazed.”

“Is that what you call brainwashing?” I asked, remembering the repeated sentences in the diary.

“People adhering to mind-controlling practices—and, in this case, mystical formulas—often don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. Their minds can be trapped in a short time frame.” He steered the car into our driveway.

“Do you really think Chelsea’s mom could fall for something like that?” I asked, afraid to hear his answer.

“Didn’t Chelsea say that her mom has always been intrigued by the mystical?”

I grimaced, remembering how Mrs. Davis was obsessed by astrology—especially reading her horoscope and forecasting her future. “I’ll pray she comes to her senses.” I got out of the car, heading for the kitchen door. I hoped Chelsea’s mom would be found soon.

My cats were waiting inside. “Hello, babies,” I cooed, scooping up Lily White. Then I turned to Dad as he came in. “Thanks for helping Chelsea and me today.”

He nodded. “I only wish you had told your mother and me right away, when you first heard about Mrs. Davis.” He lifted the lid on the strawberry-shaped cookie jar and reached in, pulling out two homemade chocolate chip cookies.

I truly hoped getting Dad and Officer Vyner involved might speed up the process of locating Chelsea’s mom. I hoped it with everything in me.

“Want some Kitty Kisses?” I asked my feline foursome. Abednego, the self-appointed spokescat for the group, licked his chops.

“Okay, that settles it—liver and tuna crunchies coming up.” I pinched my nose shut with one hand and reached into the box with the other. “Chow time!” I divvied up the smelly, heart-shaped cat snacks.

That done, I washed my hands and headed out front to get the mail. There was a fat pile waiting, and without glancing through any of it, I hurried into the house.

“Mail call,” I said, putting the stack of letters and bills on the corner table in the wide entryway.

Mom emerged from her sewing room looking dazed. She often appeared rather intense when she was designing a pattern for a new outfit. I told her briefly about Chelsea’s nightmare and what had transpired in the last several days.

“Merry, honey,” she said, pulling on her hair. “You should’ve told us. Something like this…you shouldn’t have carried the burden all alone.”

I knew she would say something like that. “It’s okay, I guess. I usually learn the hard way.”

She was relieved to know Dad had been up to see the Davis family. “We certainly must follow up on them. Chelsea and her father will need all the emotional support they can get. Plenty of prayer, too.”

We talked for a while longer, and then I excused myself to go to my room.

I was approaching the top of the long front staircase when Mom called to me. “Merry! I think you’ll be very interested in this.” She waved a white envelope.

“Is it from Levi?” I asked.

There was a surprising smile on her face. “Looks as though he wrote a scripture on the back of the envelope.”

I flew back down the steps. “Levi loves studying the Bible. He’ll make a great preacher someday.” I snatched up the letter and darted up the steps, taking two at a time.

Shadrach and Meshach must’ve taken my galloping as an invitation to follow. Here they came, tearing up the stairs and down the hallway.

“Hurry up, little boys,” I said, waiting for them before closing my door.

Ah, privacy. After the hectic, emotional events of yesterday and today, I was more than happy to pack away my camera and settle down with a long letter from Levi Zook. Four handwritten pages!

My dear Merry,

For such a long time, I have been wanting to write to you. Many wonderful-gut things are happening to me here in Virginia. I am excited to be learning how to write and spell better. My English is improving, too, which I am thankful for. Also, the way I am understanding the Scriptures more and more urges me to get out and preach the Gospel as soon as possible.

How are you doing, Merry? Do you enjoy your new position this year at your high school?

I chuckled as I read the last sentence. Levi hadn’t remembered to call me a sophomore. Since Amish young people only attended school through the eighth grade, they didn’t have to bother with class names like we English did in public school.

I eagerly read on.

Receiving your letters has been very much enjoyed by me, and I must say that they have helped me learn about writing my own thoughts more expressively.

I miss your laughter, Merry, and your bright eyes. If it is not too much to ask, would you mind sending me a photo of you? You see, now that I am not going to join the Amish church, I feel it would do me no harm to carry your picture in my wallet.

I reread the last paragraph. He wanted my picture for his wallet!

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of loss came over me. I don’t know if the sadness was triggered by a delayed reaction to the dire situation with Chelsea’s mother or what. But a hard, dry lump sprang up in my throat. My vision blurred, and I reached for the blue-and-white striped tissue box on the nightstand.

Why was I crying over Levi’s letter? This was the boy I’d grown up with. His Amish culture was as familiar to me as the palm of my hand. When he had struggled with his decision to leave the Amish church, I’d tried to be patient and listen to his reasons. I’d worried about the consequences. But Levi wanted God’s will above all things, so who was I to regret his leaving SummerHill?

Of course, my loss was nothing compared with that of Levi’s parents, Abe and Esther. They’d always had high hopes for their next-to-oldest son. Like any faithful Old Order Amish mother and father, they longed to see each one of their children follow in their footsteps.

But Levi had sometimes been rebellious as a child, pushing the limits. He loved learning and books and constantly asked questions, too. None of that set well with traditional Amish society. Being obedient and submissive to the rules laid out by the
Ordnung
—the agreed-upon blueprint for Amish life—was the top priority in the Plain community.

And here I was, missing Levi Zook. Missing him and wishing he were home. Drying my eyes, I continued to read his letter.

I hope you will not be very disappointed to know that I am planning to go overseas to help build a church. Because I have not been assigned to a country yet, I cannot tell you where I will be working. I suppose all those years of raising barns in a single day will help me assist other Christian carpenters.

My eyes drifted away from the letter. Building a church overseas? This meant that Levi would not be coming home at the end of the first quarter as planned. I wondered when I’d see him again. Thanksgiving? Christmas, maybe?

I was eager to know.

You must please forgive me, Merry, if this news comes as a surprise. We will have many other happy times together, I trust.

But when? If Levi went overseas and got involved in building projects, maybe he’d
never
want to return home.

I finished reading the letter, hoping against hope that he might explain further his decision not to come home in two weeks. But there was no additional explanation.

Feeling empty, I put the letter in my desk drawer and headed over to the Zooks’ dairy farm. Maybe Rachel, Levi’s younger sister, could explain things. Besides, a visit to my Amish neighbors was sure to do me good.

Through the willow grove and past the white picket fence, I flew. The sun cast angular shadows over the meadows as it played peekaboo through a fleeting cloud.

Rachel was outside beating rugs with her sisters, Nancy and Ella Mae, and they stopped to wave to me. “Hullo,” they called in unison as I sprinted across the meadow toward the old white farmhouse.

The girls wore long brown work dresses with buttonless gray aprons over the top, fastened in the back with straight pins. The strings on their white-netting prayer
Kapps
flapped in the breeze.

“Looks like someone’s having house church tomorrow,” I said, running up to the long front porch.

“
Jah
, it’s our turn,” Rachel said. “Wanna help?”

“Sure.” I picked up a multicolored rag rug and beat it against the porch railing. “Have you heard from Levi lately?”

“Only that he’s not comin’ home fer a bit.” They’d heard about the overseas project, all right.

I sighed. “He must like his new college life.”

Rachel nodded, careful not to say too much in front of her younger sisters. “We miss him around here. ’Specially
Dat
. He’s not as young as he used to be, ya know, and farmin’s gettin’ to be harder for him.”

Especially hard the way they do it
, I thought. Mules instead of tractors, and kerosene or gas lamps instead of electricity. The inconveniences and hardships of Old Order Amish life were mind-boggling.

“I’m thinkin’ that Levi’s gonna get spoiled,” Rachel said. “There’s no chance he’ll ever come back to farmin’. ”

“You’re probably right,” I said, helping the girls carry the rugs inside. I stayed around awhile, mostly to visit with Rachel. She and I hadn’t seen each other as much as we liked because of my homework load this semester. Rachel, too, seemed busier now that her younger siblings were back in school for the year. Sometimes Rachel had to help with the more strenuous outdoor chores, filling in for Levi in his absence.

I wanted to ask her about Matthew Yoder, the Amish carpenter’s son down the lane, but no opportunity presented itself. There was simply no discussing such things as guys in front of the rest of her family.