The Secret Keeper Page 12

  Finally, after considering it to death, Jenny got up the nerve to tell Rebecca about the strange note she’d seen on Mary Beiler’s refrigerator. “I wondered if I should say anything,” Jenny said quietly. “I don’t want to be inappropriate.”

  “Well, I’m glad ya spoke up.” Rebecca’s naturally rosy cheeks drained of color.

  “What do you think it means—or isn’t it important now that they’re . . . um, outside Amish jurisdiction?”

  Rebecca nodded slowly. “S’posin’ if I’d seen it, maybe I’d know who wrote it. That’d be a clue.”

  “I guess there’s a lot I don’t understand about being Amish.”

  “Never mind that, Jenny. Either the bishop was informing Mary, or vice versa, is my guess.”

  “A warning?” asked Jenny.

  “Katie and her husband are adults,” Rebecca said, frowning. “What they do is their business.”

  Jenny wasn’t surprised at her response. On one hand, Rebecca had every right to be defensive. Yet on the other, shouldn’t she reflect the mindset behind the shunning and in line with the church ordinance? And the bishop.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Jenny said.

  “Nee, I’m glad ya did.” Rebecca took out another of Samuel’s shirts before she said more. “It’s just that I sometimes feel awful sorry for Katie. Same for Daniel.”

  Jenny heard the pain in her voice. “I’m sure you miss them terribly.”

  Rebecca pressed her lips together and said nothing for a moment. “More than I could ever say.”

  “I shouldn’t ask this, but do you exchange letters sometimes?”

  “Now and then,” she replied, adding quickly, “’cause writing letters is allowed.”

  Jenny noticed an odd blink of Rebecca’s eyes and a twitch of her head. Was the probing question out of order?

  “Talking about this makes you sad, I can see that.” Jenny sighed. “I’m sorry for that.”

  Rebecca remained silent. And Jenny decided to say no more regarding the agonizing topic.

  The afternoon was perfect for drying clothes on the line, thanks to a brilliant sun and a steady breeze. Jenny finished sewing the last of her new dresses while Rebecca worked on the final three pink roses on a pillowcase to be sold at market.

  Rebecca set down her work at the kitchen table and mentioned that the bishop had dropped by that morning to speak to Samuel. “He was mighty impressed with your ‘gut judgment’ last week when his cows got out.”

  “I’m sure he was equally grateful for your help, and Samuel’s, in bringing them back.”

  “Jah, that, too . . . but he’s been tellin’ everyone what you did, Jenny.” Rebecca’s eyes were serious. “You did well. Wasn’t like it was a planned test.”

  But a test, all the same.

  They worked silently for a time, and Jenny let Rebecca’s words sink in. To think this had come from a man she still had not had the occasion to meet.

  Seemingly out of the blue, Rebecca said, “We must always work to improve ourselves, ya know. It’s one of the best goals.”

  “Where does grace come into play?”

  “Ah, the age-old question of God’s grace versus our obedience to His commandments. Many mistake obedience for tryin’ to work one’s way into the kingdom,” Rebecca said solemnly.

  Jenny wished she weren’t so hung up on whether she was doing the right thing. “Do you think the Lord sometimes wants us to move out of our comfort zone?”

  “Depends on what ya mean.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jenny said hesitantly. “What would you say if I invited my parents to visit me here?”

  Rebecca’s needle stopped in midair, and she looked toward the window. Was it just Jenny’s imagination, or was Rebecca trying to gather her wits? “Perfectly fine with me.” Rebecca put down her sewing and looked right at her.

  “I’ve been considering it for a while.”

  “Well, I’d say that’s a wonderful-gut idea, Jenny. It may be time your family knows your plans, ain’t?”

  “I’ve gone back and forth—even had a dream about it. It feels right to me now. And I’m more confident about talking to them.”

  “’Tis gut.” Rebecca fixed her eyes on her.

  Just then Jenny saw Marnie coming down the road. She excused herself and dashed out to grab the shawl off the wooden peg.

  Marnie saw her waving and headed into the lane. “Hullo, Jenny. Wie geht’s?”

  “Recht gut.”

  Marnie smiled at Jenny’s reply, and they chattered happily, though mostly in English. Marnie noted how well Jenny was picking up common phrases in Deitsch.

  “How was your cousin’s wedding?” asked Jenny.

  Marnie filled her in on the special day, her eyes alight when she revealed that her boyfriend from Bird-in-Hand had spent the whole day with her. “And . . . we’ve got some interesting plans. But that’s all I best be sayin’.”

  “A boyfriend, you say?” Jenny smiled. “Sounds to me as though you have more than one secret!”

  “Most definitely . . . and I hope I don’t catch it later.”

  “You aren’t going to run off and get married, are you?”

  “Goodness, I wouldn’t miss out on havin’ a regular wedding. Not for anything.” Marnie grinned.

  “Great, since I’d like to attend.”

  Marnie asked if she had the pictures of her family. “Not to pester, but I’d like to see ’em.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to show you.” Jenny invited her into the house, stopping for Marnie to greet Rebecca, who was still sewing at the table.

  When they were upstairs, Jenny latched the bedroom door and went to the dresser to retrieve a small book of photos. “It’s the only album I brought,” she said, going to sit with Marnie on the edge of the bed. “Funny, but I haven’t looked at it even once since I arrived.”

  “Really?” Marnie cocked her head. “Do ya think it will make ya miss your family more?”

  Jenny hadn’t thought of that. “I guess we’ll find out, jah?”

  Marnie placed her hand on top of the album. “Seriously, I don’t have to see it today.”

  “Don’t be silly; I want you to.” Jenny opened the book and displayed more than a dozen pictures of her parents, Kiersten and Robb, and Cameron. Slowly, she flipped through the snapshots, answering Marnie’s questions about who was who and the events surrounding each photo. It was nice to see Marnie so interested.

  Then, turning to the last page, Jenny was shocked to see a shot of Kyle Jackson and herself smiling, cheek to cheek. “What’s this doing here?” she muttered. I thought I destroyed all the pictures!

  “Who’s that?” Marnie peered closer, her Kapp strings falling forward.

  “Just a guy.”

  “Well, it looks like you’re in love with him.”

  Jenny recalled the special evening and all the joy surrounding that day of her college graduation. Kyle had surprised her, flying in with her parents and brother. Jenny remembered the way he’d leaned close to her right as the picture was taken, how he had smelled of spicy cologne.

  She felt overwhelmed at the clarity of the memory and the many emotions the picture evoked.

  “Jenny . . . are you all right?”

  “I did love him, Marnie,” she whispered, tears welling up. “I loved him very much.”

  “And by the looks of you, maybe ya still do?” Marnie touched her arm.

  “Actually, I don’t know why I said that. It’s ridiculous.” She explained that the relationship had ended sadly—he couldn’t understand her passion for the Plain life, the one thing she longed for. “But that was two years ago,” she added. “He’s apologized since for not handling our breakup with more tact. He’s not a bad guy . . . just not the one.”

  “Your first love, then?”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Roy’s mine.” Marnie shook her head and looked at the ceiling. “Honestly, I don’t know how I’d manage without him. Ach, I shouldn’t ha
ve said that. Don’t mean to make things hard—”

  “Don’t worry,” Jenny assured her. “I’m happy for you.”

  Marnie opened her mouth to say something but stopped and shook her head.

  “What is it?” asked Jenny.

  “Just thinking, is all.”

  Jenny wondered how long Marnie had been dating Roy but didn’t ask, thinking perhaps she and Marnie had shared enough for one visit. “Would you care for a snack?”

  “Sure, I’m always ready for sweets.”

  Jenny put away the album, still shocked the photo of her and Kyle had managed to follow her here. Our best picture together, too.

  Leading Marnie downstairs, Jenny felt embarrassed that she’d mentioned Kyle Jackson. Considering the reason for their breakup, he was the last person she ever wanted to talk about in the midst of her adjustment to Amish life.

  Chapter 23

  As was her custom following Bible reading and silent prayers, Jenny usually spent the rest of the evening prior to bedtime in her room reading her devotional book or writing in her journal.

  Tonight, however, she decided to go ahead with the letter she had been formulating in her mind for days. Time to tell all.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Thanks for your patience. You’re probably wondering what I’ve been up to. I hope you will try to understand what I’ve been doing for the past nearly two weeks. And where I’m living.

  Do you remember when I pleaded for an Amish bonnet for my twelfth birthday, Mom? You somehow managed to purchase a handmade one, and I proudly displayed it on my dresser mirror.

  Well, my goal is to own—and wear—a real head covering someday: the Old Order Amish kind. So I’m renting a room from Samuel and Rebecca Lapp, who live in a small area of Lancaster County called Hickory Hollow, just east of Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. I’m surrounded by farmland, and I love it. My hope is to live, dress, and work here as a baptized Amishwoman for the rest of my life.

  This isn’t an easy path, but it’s my heart’s desire . . . and perhaps you’re not too surprised. Haven’t I always loved the countryside and doing things the old-fashioned way?

  I’d really love for you to visit me here and to meet the Lapps and the other wonderful people I’ve come to know. Samuel and Rebecca have encouraged me to invite you, so you’ll be very welcome.

  Please reply to me at the return address on the envelope.

  With love from your daughter,

  Jenny

  She held her breath thinking how her mother, especially, might receive the news. Rereading her letter, Jenny felt it was a bit stiff, even unemotional. But not knowing any other way to relate to her parents, she folded it and placed it in the bedside table drawer.

  What if Mom and Dad show up and want to take me home? she thought unexpectedly. She could almost hear her father expressing his concern about certain cults or brainwashing.

  Will they try to interfere?

  Jenny felt restless. Once or twice before, she’d contemplated going down to the springhouse to pray, and tonight she needed the fresh, cold air. So, taking her flashlight downstairs, she slipped on her warm outer bonnet and Rebecca’s shawl. She opened the back door, thankful it didn’t squeak, and made her way over the walkway and toward the peaceful haven. How she looked forward to talking with God! She yearned for more humility and for divine help in caring less about how she appeared to others. It’s prideful to worry so, she thought, still hung up on the possibility of future faux pas . . . even her hair, though she was slowly getting used to not peering into a mirror each morning. She seemed to be in a tug-of-war with submission. Could she ever be as meek and obedient as Rebecca?

  Turning off her flashlight, she knelt near the pond adjacent to the entrance of the little springhouse. Jenny folded her hands and bowed her head. “Dear Lord,” she began to pray quietly, “my heart is bursting with thanksgiving tonight. I’m so grateful for your constant help . . . your continual presence.”

  She raised her eyes to the dark sky and watched the stars appear, one by one. “Please soften my parents to my plans,” she whispered. “Prepare them for my letter. I know it will be strange, but if it is your will, please help them understand my heart for the very first time. . . .”

  She paused. Just then across the pond, she saw a flicker of white. Was someone there?

  Peering into the murky darkness, she saw what looked like the figure of a man perched on the stone wall near the water. Concerned, she stood quickly and hurried toward the steps away from the springhouse.

  “Jenny . . . is that you?”

  The voice was deep and familiar.

  She turned. “Andrew Lapp?” Her reply echoed against the pond’s surface.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, coming her way, his flashlight guiding his steps.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, rattled at the knowledge she hadn’t been alone.

  “I come here to pray, too. Have for years.”

  She nodded dumbly, still trying to get over her surprise at being discovered here . . . and by him.

  His chuckle lifted into the night. “Did I disturb you?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but smiled instead.

  “No better place to be alone with the Lord God, in my opinion,” he said. He stood there looking at her, and she remembered bumping into him on the porch at Preaching service that first Sunday. “It’s a wonderful-gut spot.”

  “Jah,” she said softly.

  “When it’s bitter cold, I sometimes sneak inside the springhouse to finish my prayin’.”

  A twig cracked loudly in the near distance, and Andrew turned to look.

  Jenny thought she saw movement in the trees along Hickory Lane. “Is someone watching us?” she whispered, unnerved.

  “Prob’ly just a small critter.” He smiled down at her. “I hope you’re not nervous.”

  She was surprised he’d noticed. “I guess I am,” she replied. “I wrote to my parents tonight, and I’m a little worried what they’ll do when they read the letter.”

  “Just a little worried?”

  She laughed timidly. “Okay, a lot.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I doubt they’ll understand.” They never have. . . .

  He was still for a moment. “But Gott does, don’t forget.”

  “Denki for the reminder.”

  He inhaled audibly. “And, Jenny . . . something else.”

  “Jah?”

  “I’m prayin’ for you, too.”

  She blushed and wondered whether he could tell in the glow of the flashlight. “That’s so kind of you.”

  “Honestly, I doubt I could do what you’re settin’ out to do. I mean, if the tables were turned and I was tryin’ to find my way in the English world . . .”

  “Thank goodness you aren’t,” she blurted before thinking. “I mean—”

  “Don’t fret; I think I know what you meant.”

  “Denki.”

  “You’re one very thankful woman, I daresay.” Andrew stepped back slightly. “Well, I’d best be on my way now. Gut Nacht, Jenny.”

  She almost hated to see him go. Waiting for a moment, she knelt again on the cold cement. But try as she might, she could not recover her prayerful attitude, not when she could hear Andrew’s footsteps heading up the rocky wall toward the plowed cornfield.

  So the private little area was not exclusively hers. A shared altar of sorts, she thought, feeling not at all disappointed by the discovery, but surprisingly warm inside. Warm . . . yet tentative.

  Jenny rose, turned on her flashlight, and made her way back to the farmhouse.

  Before going to bed, Jenny composed a letter to her friends Pamela and Dorie—the two sisters were roommates. While she wrote, she prayed their reactions, especially Dorie’s, wouldn’t be as negative as she feared. Though justly deserved.

  Jenny considered inviting them to Hickory Hollow, too. But she decided against it before sealing the envelope and placing
it in the drawer with the letter to her parents.

  Later, as she nestled beneath the bed quilts, it was neither her parents nor Pamela and Dorie who occupied her thoughts. Rather, the memory of Andrew Lapp’s emergence from the darkness at the springhouse looped round and round in Jenny’s head.

  Chapter 24

  The Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market parking lot was crammed with cars, SUVs, and minivans Wednesday morning. Jenny presumed the milder weather had coaxed people out of their homes this mid-November day. After the cold snap of the past two days, the sun felt wonderfully warm, and there was not a cloud in the alluring blue sky.

  Jenny and Rebecca carried in the carefully ironed embroidered pillowcases and hand-quilted potholders and matching place mats from the carriage, hoping to sell them within the first few hours. Two teen girls, obviously tourists, looked Jenny over, staring at her Amish garb. It wasn’t the first time—there had been glares and pointing, even smothered laughter. All the same, Jenny felt embarrassed for the many Englishers who’d ever made fun of anyone unlike themselves.

  Rebecca stopped to introduce Jenny to a number of vendor friends, including Elizabeth Miller and her pretty strawberry-blond daughter Tessie at Country Crafters. She also stopped at Groff’s Candies and Aunt Ruthie’s Specialties. But it was Emmalyn Lapp who caught Jenny’s notice as Jenny took care to place the handmade items in the correct piles on the display table. Jenny was pleased as she stepped back to take a better look, glad she’d come to help Rebecca today.

  Jenny kept tabs on Emmalyn out of the corner of her eye as the young woman inched closer. So as not to postpone the inevitable meeting, Jenny told Rebecca she would be right back and wandered over to the booth where Emmalyn was selling wooden horses and other handmade toys. “How are you, Emmalyn? I thought I’d come say hi.”

  “I saw you the other night,” Emmalyn said, not bothering with a greeting.

  “When?”

  “Just think about it. . . .” Emmalyn’s voice held a strange tone.