SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 Read online

  SummerHill Secrets: Volume 2

  Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2007

  Beverly Lewis

  Cover illustration by Eric Walljasper

  Cover landscape photography © 2006 Ed Heaton

  Previously published in five separate volumes:

  House of Secrets © 1996 Beverly Lewis

  Echoes in the Wind © 1997 Beverly Lewis

  Hide Behind the Moon © 1998 Beverly Lewis

  Windows on the Hill © 1999 Beverly Lewis

  Shadows Beyond the Gate © 2000 Beverly Lewis

  Unless marked otherwise, scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society. www.zondervan.com

  Scripture quotations identified TLB are from The Living Bible © 1971 owned by assignment by Illinois Regional Bank N.A. (as trustee). Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Wheaton, IL 60189. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  E-book edition created 2011

  ISBN 978-1-5855-8664-6

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Books by Beverly Lewis

  BOOK ONE: House of Secrets

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  BOOK TWO: Echoes in the Wind

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  BOOK THREE: Hide Behind the Moon

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  BOOK FOUR: Windows on the Hill

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  BOOK FIVE: Shadows Beyond the Gate

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  From Beverly . . . To You

  Looking for More Good Books to Read?

  About the Author

  BEVERLY LEWIS, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, fondly recalls her growing-up years. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain family heritage has inspired Beverly to set many of her popular stories in Amish country, beginning with her inaugural novel, The Shunning.

  A former schoolteacher and accomplished pianist, Beverly has written over eighty books for adults and children. Five of her blockbuster novels have received the Gold Book Award for sales over 500,000 copies, and The Brethren won a 2007 Christy Award.

  Beverly and her husband, David, make their home in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, reading, writing, making music, and spending time with their three grandchildren.

  Books by Beverly Lewis

  GIRLS ONLY (GO!)*

  Youth Fiction

  Girls Only! Volume One

  Girls Only! Volume Two

  SUMMER HILL SECRETS†

  Youth Fiction

  SummerHill Secrets Volume One

  SummerHill Secrets Volume Two

  HOLLY’S HEART

  Youth Fiction

  Holly’s Heart Collection One†

  Holly’s Heart Collection Two†

  Holly’s Heart Collection Three*

  www.BeverlyLewis.com

  * 4 books in each volume † 5 books in each volume

  To

  Verna Flower,

  whose loving hospitality

  eased my homesickness

  during college days …

  and

  who read

  my first book manuscript

  with editorial encouragement.

  Thanks, Aunt Verna,

  for your prayers

  and love

  all these years.

  You spread out our sins before you—

  our secret sins—and see them all.

  —PSALM 90:8 TLB

  Chapter

  1

  Eerie and still, the study hall classroom echoed my words. “What do you mean your mom’s disappeared?”

  I stared at my friend Chelsea Davis. Her thick auburn hair fell around her shoulders.

  Her voice trembled as she searched in her schoolbag. “Sometime in the night … she … Mom must’ve written this note. And now …” Chelsea paused, staring at the folded paper in her hand. “Now she’s gone.”

  She scanned the study hall cautiously, waiting until the last student vacated the room. Then she handed me the note.

  “Do you really want me to read this?” I said, noticing how very pale her face had become.

  Chelsea nodded, and slowly, I unfolded the paper.

  Before you wake up, I’ll be gone. Don’t try to fin
d me. I’m happy where I’ll be.

  My throat felt tight as I read the frightful words. Startled, I refolded the note.

  I’m happy where I’ll be. … Questions nagged at me, but I said nothing.

  Chelsea’s voice cracked, breaking the silence. “I guess you never know how important your family is until one of them is gone.”

  Her words struck a chord. I, too, had experienced the loss of a family member. My twin sister, Faithie, had died of leukemia at age seven.

  But this? This was far different. Surely Mrs. Davis would return to her family. Maybe she and Mr. Davis had argued; maybe she needed space—time to sort things out.

  “Give it a few days,” I said almost without thinking. “I mean, your mom’s got to come back home.”

  Chelsea sighed. “I hope you’re right, but this morning I poked around in Mom’s closet. She didn’t take much with her, but she’s definitely gone.” Chelsea stared at the underside of her watch. “For no reason, she just walked out … left Dad and me.”

  I slipped my assignment notebook into my schoolbag. “How’s your dad handling things?”

  “Well, we talked at breakfast.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. “You see, Mom had these new friends … a superweird guy and his wife. They were always whispering with her the few times they came to our house. They were into some of the same stuff Mom likes—astrological charts, seances, and stuff like that. Anyway, Mom went with them for coffee several times about a month ago, around the time she got laid off from work. Next thing I knew, she was going to their house for supper, and a couple of times the three of them went to some metaphysical fair in Philadelphia.”

  “Did they invite your dad along?”

  Chelsea nodded. “Mom and Dad both went to a secret meeting with them at a hotel once.” A frown crept between her eyes. “The thing is, Mom seemed awfully excited about these people—about their mysterious activities.”

  “What about the meeting? What was that all about?”

  “Beats me, but after the first time, Dad refused to go again. Mom was furious. I heard them talking in the kitchen late one night, and I crawled out of bed to listen at the top of the steps. Mom was beside herself—nearly hysterical—trying to get Dad to see what she said was ‘the true light.’ Over and over she kept saying it—that he was resisting ‘the true light.’ ”

  Describing the scene really seemed to bug my friend—the crimped sound in her usually mellow voice and the way she blinked back angry tears told me more than her words. Somewhere along the line, Chelsea Davis had declared herself an atheist. I wondered if she resented her mom for this spiritual encounter—or whatever was going on.

  I took a deep breath. “Do you think your mom’s friends influenced her to leave?”

  Chelsea shook her head. “All I know is that Mom seemed desperate to make some sort of pledge or oath, but she couldn’t get Dad interested. From what I overheard, he thought the whole thing was ridiculous.”

  “An oath? What for?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” she replied. “Mom wanted to keep attending the meetings. She pleaded with Dad, trying to persuade him, but he wouldn’t go back.”

  “Did your mom ever go again?” I asked, wondering what on earth had really happened with Chelsea’s mother.

  “Three or four more times, I think. In fact, Mom was hardly home all last week. Oh, and something else …”

  I cringed. There was more?

  “She suddenly started cooking up these vegetarian meals for us—wouldn’t allow red meat or pork in the house. And she refused to drink water or anything else with her meal. Crazy stuff like that with no word of explanation.”

  This was beginning to sound truly strange.

  “But the weirdest thing about it—Mom seemed super relaxed. Content, I guess you’d say,” Chelsea added. “And she’d been horribly miserable before and depressed about losing her position at the hospital.”

  I’d heard about the cutback. “Too bad her job was phased out. Your mom loved her work.”

  “The hospital only needs so many administrative nurses, and she had worked there the fewest years.” Chelsea puffed out her cheeks, then forced the air out. “Then these people, this couple, seemed to appear out of nowhere.”

  “What do you think they wanted—I mean, isn’t it a little bizarre?”

  Chelsea gathered up her books and we headed for the hallway. “I wish I knew.”

  My heart went out to my friend. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” I volunteered, keeping pace with her.

  “Thanks.” She gave me a pained smile. “And, uh, Merry, if you don’t mind, could you keep it quiet—you know, all the stuff I told you?”

  “Count on me,” I reassured her.

  We walked down the hushed hallway to the long row of lockers. It was late. We’d missed the school bus, yet Chelsea took her time opening her combination lock, and I found myself deep in thought as I did the same. How would I feel if my mom vanished into thin air?

  We dropped off our books and sorted out only what we needed for homework. I cast a rueful glance at my friend several lockers away. Chelsea had just confided a deep secret, not knowing I’d been praying for her all through junior high and now as a sophomore in high school. Sometimes she put up with my talk about God—the God she said didn’t exist. Most of the time, she wasn’t interested.

  But what Chelsea said next really rattled me. Shook me straight to my heart.

  “I’m … I’m scared, Mer,” she cried, standing in front of her locker. “I’m afraid I’ll never see my mom again!”

  I ran to her and let her bury her face in the shoulder of my jacket. “Oh, Chelsea, you will. You will.” I hoped it was true.

  She clung to me, her body heaving with sobs. “I have to find her … I want her back,” her muffled voice said into my shoulder.

  I could almost feel the autumn chill, the cold, damp rawness, seeping through the cracks in the windowpanes as Chelsea cried.

  Silently, I prayed.

  Chapter

  2

  After Chelsea dried her eyes, I gave Mom a quick call from my cell phone.

  Mom answered on the first ring. “Where are you, Merry?”

  “Still at school, but don’t worry. Something came up. Could you come get me? Chelsea too?”

  “I’ll leave right now,” she said without probing.

  It would take Mom about fifteen minutes to arrive. We lived in a remote Amish farm community on the outskirts of Lancaster County. We weren’t Plain folk or farmers, but most of our neighbors were. SummerHill Lane was actually a long dirt road that wound its way past fertile fields and pastureland owned by Old Order Amish. I must admit, it wasn’t easy leaving the picturesque setting behind every morning, even to come to school.

  Chelsea and I decided to wait inside the school’s double doors, peering out through the window every now and then. To pass the time, we read our boring English assignments out loud. It was Chelsea’s idea. “This way, we can knock down some homework before we get home,” she said.

  Soon, my mom pulled up to the curb, and we hurried out to meet her. Chelsea sat in the backseat, I in front.

  “Something came up and we missed the bus,” I offered as an explanation.

  “Nothing academic, I hope.” Mom’s eyebrows flew up.

  “Oh no, nothing like that.” I was quick to set her scholastic worries at ease.

  Off we sped toward the highway. Chelsea blew her nose. I hoped she wasn’t crying again, but I didn’t turn around to investigate.

  “Everything okay?” Mom asked, glancing in her rearview mirror. She was like that—picked right up on things.

  I’d promised to keep Chelsea’s secret, so I ignored Mom’s question. “What a hectic day. And the homework! I think the teachers have totally spaced out what it’s like being sixteen. You’d think they’d try to ease their youngest students into the halls of higher learning. Instead, I think they have a contest going to see who can pile on the most assignme
nts.” I groaned for emphasis.

  Mom smiled dutifully. “Speaking of higher learning, your brother called today. He sounded homesick, says dorm life is dismal.”

  I tried not to snicker. Silly Skip. Probably misses good home cooking and his own bed. He’d made such a pompous fuss about going off to college—managed to get top grades his senior year—and couldn’t wait to show the world what a cool college man he was. Now he was coming home for the weekend—homesick! It was hard to believe my haughty big brother had actually admitted his weakness to Mom.

  I flashed a superior grin. “Is this the same smart aleck we sent off to college at the end of August?”

  “Now, Merry, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mom defended. “Skip simply wants to come home for the weekend. I think it’s wonderful.”

  She would think that. Six weeks into the first semester, and he already needed a steak-and-potato fix. Truly disappointing to say the least. I just hoped Skip wouldn’t make a habit of returning often. I’d waited a long time to have the run of the house—and all the parental attention.

  Suddenly, my thoughts turned back to Chelsea. Here I was fretting over having to share my parents’ affections, and her mom wasn’t even around anymore. Overwhelming feelings weighed on me—worry and concern for my friend. What would Chelsea do?

  Mom turned into the driveway in front of Chelsea’s house, an old, two-story Colonial similar to ours.

  “Call me,” I said as Chelsea slid out and closed the car door.

  “I will, and thanks for the ride, Mrs. Hanson. ’Bye, Merry,” she called.

  A lump rose in my throat as I watched my friend lean into the wind, heading up the brick walkway toward the house. Please help her, Lord, I prayed.

  I pulled my jacket tightly against me and longed to curl up in front of a crackling fire somewhere, but not because I was cold. I was terrified.

  Slowly, Mom backed out of the driveway and headed down the hill. I stared out the window at high, wispy clouds moving rapidly across a hazy October sky. Indian summer days were fast spinning into deep autumn. Flaming leaves of orange, red, and shimmering gold danced on thick, wide branches on either side of SummerHill Lane.