The Confession Page 6

  “It’s about a dream I keep having,” she began. “I don’t understand it and probably you won’t, neither.”

  Rebecca’s eyes brightened. “Go on.”

  “Well, it always starts out on a bitter cold day. Right out of the fog, here comes my dead brother walking up to the house. Marches up the front porch steps and knocks on the door. His frame looks the same, but his face … and his eyes … well, Dan Fisher looks like he’s been gone for a gut long time.” She stopped to wrap another blanket around baby Daniel. “It’s like he’s come back from the dead.”

  “We all know that’ll never happen,” mumbled Rebecca.

  “Still, it bothers me no end havin’ that dream keep on a-comin’.”

  Rebecca looked hollow eyed again. “How often?”

  “Couple’a times a week, I ’speck.”

  “It’s just wishful thinkin’ is all.”

  The women fell silent, each with her own thoughts, although Annie wondered whether or not Rebecca’s mind might not be clouded up in something other than reality.

  “Lord knows if thinkin’ could make dreams come true”—the older woman spoke up suddenly, startling Annie with the force of her words—“I’d have my girl back home by now.”

  Annie gasped outright. She’d never heard Rebecca talk in such an irreverent way. They’d been taught all their lives that speakin’ out the Lord’s name for any reason but for His honor and glory was downright sinful. And here was Rebecca, sitting in her kitchen, spouting off a near curse. “Mam? Perhaps we oughta be readin’ the Scriptures out loud,” she suggested quickly.

  “I’ll not be staying.” Rebecca rose. “I best be heading home.”

  “Wait … don’t leave just yet.”

  “It’s for the best.”

  “But we were just starting to visit, and I—”

  “What is it, Annie?” demanded Rebecca, turning to stare sharply at her. “You afraid?”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “That I think you’ve gone daft over your dead brother?”

  Annie got up to put her sleeping little one in his cradle. “ ’Course I’m not insane, if that’s what you mean.”

  Rebecca kept walking toward the back door. “There’s a fine line betwixt sanity and mental, I’m sorry to say.”

  The words were strained and ragged around the edges. Rebecca’s voice sounded a bit needlich. To be so cross was not like Katie’s mamma. Not at all.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, worried.

  “Never better.” Rebecca’s eerie chuckle was tinged with hysteria—a mixture of wailing and laughter—the high pitch of it enough to raise the hair on the back of Annie’s neck.

  “Why, of course you’ve been better, Rebecca. Much, much better.” With that, she hurried to the door to help the poor woman with her coat, wishing Christmas wasn’t so near.

  Something about the Lord’s birthday made one want to rejoice— or despair. It was clear her mother-in-law needed some counseling help, and mighty quick, at that. A talk with the Wise Woman might do the trick.

  Second thought, maybe she would drive the carriage over to see Ella Mae one of these days—tell her about the recurring dream. She wondered what the Wise Woman would make of it.

  Chapter Seven

  With Christmas only two days away, the Bennett estate was aflutter with activity. Freshly cut greens decorated wide doorways and narrow landing windows. The tangy aroma of pine pleased Laura, and she asked Rosie to wheel her out into the grand hallway.

  At one end stood an enormous, fragrant tree, and at the other, parted glass doors led to the dining room, resplendent in bowed greenery and brass candelabra.

  Scanning the entrance to the dining room and beyond, she felt as though she were seeing it for the first time. Or, perhaps more accurately, attempting to see it, reluctant to admit to herself—let alone to another human being—that her vision was becoming more and more hazy.

  Less than a week ago, her eyes had been clear, and except for some occasional smarting behind the sockets, she wouldn’t have thought her eyesight to be failing. She wasn’t as certain today, however, and contemplated speaking to Nurse Judah about it.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Rosie.

  No need to alarm her dearest and best maid, and she was doing better as far as her leg spasms were concerned. “I would say this is one of the better days for me … in weeks.”

  Rosie grinned, heaving a huge sigh. “Bless your heart,” she said with obvious delight. “I prayed this might be a wonderful Christmas for you, ma’am.”

  Selig, along with the head steward, rushed past Laura’s snug spot in the wheelchair, and she heard their chatter as it faded with their footsteps.

  “You won’t catch a draft out here, will you?” Rosie asked, glancing down the hall toward the entrance of the house.

  “It would be next to impossible—the way you have me bundled up.” She smiled at the round-faced woman, her brown eyes dark with concern. “You do take such good care of me, Rosie.”

  “And what a joy it is” came the meek reply.

  Laura felt a soft pat on her arm and wondered if now was a good time to mention the phone call she’d made earlier. “What if I told you I’m thinking of hiring a private investigator?”

  “Why, Mrs. Bennett, whatever for?”

  “Regarding my daughter, Katherine. You do recall, I trust?”

  At that, Rosie came around to stand in front of the wheelchair. “Yes … I’ve heard you speak of her, but why—” She broke off, frowning slightly.

  Laura paused. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. You see, I have reason to believe that Katherine was never legally adopted.” Rosie gasped. “How could that be?”

  “In all these years, I have not received a letter of intent from the couple … not that there had to be one for the baby—my daughter— to be raised and loved and—”

  “Oh … but, Mrs. Bennett, it’s nearly Christmas,” Rosie interjected. “Perhaps you could wait until after the holidays. Won’t you give it a bit more time?”

  “What time? I haven’t any, have I?” She touched her hands to her knees. “I’ve lost nearly all balance and strength in my limbs … how long must I wait?”

  “Three more days?” Rosie implored. “Christmas is upon us.”

  “Christmas, indeed!” a male voice was heard.

  Laura turned to see her husband strolling toward them. “Hello, Dylan,” she greeted him.

  He was looking fit as usual, dressed in one of his favorite casual tweed sports jackets. But it was the mischievous look in his gray eyes that gave him a boyish appeal. “ ’Morning, ladies.”

  She did little, however, to encourage his outward display of affection— not raising her cheek to his reckless kiss.

  He stepped back, his shoes clicking in precision, and folded his arms. “I have a Christmas surprise for you, Laura,” he said with a quizzical half smile. “The holidays are a few days off, I realize, but I think you’ll understand when you see my present.”

  She didn’t know how to respond, partly because Dylan seemed absolutely overjoyed with the prospect of presenting his early gift.

  “Can you be dressed—in your finest—for, say, afternoon tea?”

  “Today?”

  “This very day.” Her husband seemed near to bursting.

  Rosie nodded. “I’ll see to it that Mrs. Bennett wears her holiday best.”

  “Good. Take care of it, then.” Dylan turned to go, then backtracked and leaned over to kiss Laura’s forehead.

  “My goodness, the master is jovial today, isn’t he?” Rosie said as she wheeled Laura back into her private suite.

  “Yes … he is. Quite a long time … since I’ve seen him that happy.” In the excitement of the moment, Laura felt a moment’s hesitation. What was the urgency behind the gift? she wondered.

  Giving it no further thought, she shrugged the singular feeling away. Perhaps her murky vision had annoyed her unduly.

  Perha
ps there was nothing to question at all.

  Natalie Judah arrived a little before the usual afternoon tea, completely out of breath. “The streets are terribly slick,” she explained her late arrival. “The weather seems to be getting worse by the minute. And all those last-minute shoppers aren’t helping matters a bit.” She removed her coat and hung it in the small closet in the sitting area of the cozy room.

  “It’s a good thing you don’t have to go back out tonight, then,” Rosie commented, fussing with Laura’s hair.

  “What a relief!” Natalie sat across the room, watching as Rosie brushed up the thick red mass and secured it with shiny golden combs high on each side.

  Mrs. Bennett looked over at her, smiling broadly. “It’s such a blessing having you tend to me twenty-four hours a day.”

  A blessing? Natalie had never thought of nursing in that light. This was her job, and she was more than adequately paid for her services. But there was more—that wrenching compassion for her dying patient. Maybe that’s what Laura Bennett was feeling.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked, observing Laura’s upswept hairdo.

  “My husband has a surprise.”

  “Oh?”

  Rosie nodded. “Something that evidently can’t wait for Christmas Eve.” A hint of sarcasm edged her voice.

  Natalie ignored the comment, glancing toward the hallway door. “Will Mr. Bennett present the gift here?”

  “In this very room,” explained Rosie. “And I do hope whatever it is, it won’t take too long.” She covered Laura’s legs with an afghan.

  Natalie wondered about Rosie’s comment. “Are you feeling worse today, Mrs. Bennett?”

  “Not really worse, just …”

  In an instant, the nurse was on her feet and at Laura’s side. “What is it?” She noted the sudden pleading in the sick woman’s eyes. And Rosie, who seemed to understand the unspoken gesture, excused herself immediately.

  When they were alone, Laura’s voice grew soft. “I’ve been experiencing some discomfort … pain behind my eyes.”

  Natalie approached her patient. “Let’s have a look,” she said, gently lifting Laura’s left eyelid. She examined the eye, hoping for a sign of inflammation or something else. Anything but another symptom of the disease’s deadly progress.

  She found nothing. Stepping back slightly, she studied the woman’s pale face, then—“Has this pain come on just recently?”

  “I’d say in the past three days or so.” Mrs. Bennett went on to describe the annoying sensation of fuzziness as well.

  Not a good sign, thought Natalie. It distressed her, hearing such bad news this close to Christmas—most likely Laura Bennett’s last.

  Rosie, feeling maternal toward her charge, who was in actuality eight years older, had returned to stand inches behind the wheelchair. Her fingertips were poised on the handle grips as the master of the house made his entrance into Laura’s private sitting room. He carried with him a large bouquet of red roses.

  Nothing new, she thought. Mr. Bennett often gave his wife flowers for known and unknown reasons. Today, however, it seemed indicative of something—perhaps only a prelude—of what was to come.

  “My darling.” He spoke in tender tones, coming to kneel before his wife and take her delicate white hands in his. “I don’t want to startle you …” His voice trailed off, but his gaze was unwavering. “Someone is here to meet you,” he continued, “someone you’ve been longing to see.”

  Rosie stiffened, glancing across the room at Nurse Natalie, who was staring in shocked expectation. What was the man up to?

  “Laura, my dear, I believe I may have found your daughter—your Katherine.” Mr. Bennett turned and glanced toward the doorway. “She’s waiting just outside the door.”

  A little gasp escaped Mrs. Bennett’s lips, and Rosie struggled to subdue her own concern. She sincerely hoped this revelation would not set her mistress back in any way—but then, it wasn’t her place to speak up.

  Master Dylan paused, perhaps allowing his wife a moment to weigh his words. “Are you ready to meet your only offspring?” he asked. “She goes by the name of Katie Lapp now.”

  “Katie?” came Laura’s faltering voice.

  Rosie shot a desperate glance at Nurse Judah, who stood quickly and came to her patient’s side, leaning gently on the right arm of the wheelchair. “This is quite unexpected, sir,” she remarked, slanting her patient’s husband a sideways glance. Then, to Laura—“How do you feel about this, Mrs. Bennett?”

  Without warning, the chair began to shake. But it was not from a tremor brought on by the disease. Laura Bennett was crying, soundless sobs.

  Rosie felt a peculiar urge to shield the woman but restrained herself, allowing the moment to unfold. After all, who was she to step in and keep the mistress from laying eyes on her daughter, at long last?

  It was nearly Christmas, for goodness’ sake. Miracles were supposed to happen at Christmastime.

  Laura dabbed a tissue at her eyes repeatedly. Then after a time, she nodded—said almost pitifully, “Bring my dear one to me.”

  Rosie braced herself, planting her eyes on the wide doorway, and gazed at the empty spot. She felt as if she were waiting for the heroine of a play to make a grand entrance.…

  She was pleasantly surprised when a young Amishwoman, dressed in Old Order garb and head covering tiptoed into the room, accompanied by Master Dylan himself. The slender girl, who couldn’t have been a day over twenty, had eyes for Mrs. Bennett entirely. Her oval face burst into a spontaneous yet coy smile. “Hello, Mother,” she said.

  The master was quick to speak, even before Laura could respond to her daughter’s first words of greeting. “Darling, I’d like you to meet Katie.”

  In spite of her husband’s attempt to offer a formal introduction, Laura’s gaze never once veered from the Amish girl. “Oh, Katherine, is it you? Is it really you?”

  Rosie surrendered her hold on the wheelchair and stepped aside, surveying closely the glint of—what was that strange look in Dylan Bennett’s eyes? Certainly not glee … or was it?

  “Oh, do come closer, my dear,” Laura said, fighting back tears that only served to cloud her vision further. “I want to have a good look at you. You won’t mind, will you?”

  The Amish girl came near, and Nurse Judah promptly pulled up a chair for her to sit, facing Laura.

  “Denki,” came the reticent reply.

  Laura noticed Katie’s polite nod toward the nurse. Her heart fairly skipped a beat as she gazed happily at the young woman before her.

  Katherine, her beautiful daughter, was here at last! Here … in this very house!

  The young woman spoke again. “Ach, but I want to look at you, Mam.”

  The Plain, simple words seemed to hang in the air. Yet Laura fell silent as fluctuating emotions overwhelmed her. Elation, bittersweet joy.…

  The two of them—surrounded by Dylan, Rosie, and the nurse— observed each other curiously.

  Laura soon found her voice. “Katherine, my precious girl. Oh, I’ve waited so long, so very long for this day.”

  Her daughter nodded, smiling sweetly.

  Laura’s eyes filled with tears, and she brushed them away quickly, fearing she might look up and find that her dear one had vanished. “The Lord has surely answered my prayers,” she whispered, reaching for the dainty hand. “How happy I am you’ve come, Katherine.”

  “Please, you must call me Katie. It suits me just fine.”

  So, thought Laura, her birth daughter’s Amish parents—the Lapps—had modified the name she’d chosen. Renamed her Katie. Indeed, there was something simple yet charming about it. The short, fanciful name did suit her.

  “Then, Katie you are,” she answered, surprised how the charming nickname rolled off her tongue. It was perfectly right—an acceptable substitute, being a derivative of Katherine, after all.

  The notion that she had provided this name warmed her heart, made her feel more closely connected to this
stranger somehow. Gave her a link to the past. A past the two had never shared. Lost … lost days. Gone forever.

  Still, they had this moment. She must cling to that. They—she and this adorable girl named Katie—had now. And with all the love she’d carried in vain for her daughter these many years, she decided they would indeed enjoy this time that was every bit as much a divine gift as it was Dylan’s.

  Scarcely able to keep from staring at her child, Laura was struck by Katie’s lovely face—the creamy white complexion, picture perfect. And the quiet smile. Everything about her charmed Laura. Yet if there was any disappointment at all, it might’ve been in the color of Katie’s hair.

  Laura had always fantasized that her flesh and blood would surely share her own fiery red locks. Still, strawberry blond was most becoming and enhanced the girl’s light brown brows and lashes beautifully.

  If only she could really see this vision of love before her, marred only by the inability to focus her eyes and truly savor her daughter’s appearance. “Oh my, there are so many, many things I want to tell you,” Laura heard herself saying. “Things that a mother and her longabsent daughter might share.”

  Behind her, she was aware of Rosie’s sniffling, and Laura was quite sure there were tears in her husband’s eyes as well. A swell of gratitude to him took her breath for the moment. She must ask him how he’d managed to locate Katherine—and so close to Christmas. But that could wait. “We must take our afternoon tea together,” she told the girl. “Just the two of us.”

  At that, Dylan spoke up, emerging from the corner of the room. “Tea is on the way.”

  “Wonderful.” Laura kept her chin up, looking directly at him, though he appeared as a blur to her fuzzy vision.

  Nurse Judah checked Laura’s pulse before excusing herself. Rosie seemed more reluctant to leave and leaned over to whisper, “Are you certain I won’t be needed?”

  “Thank you, but no,” Laura said, though a hammer in her heart tripped at an unceasing pace. The pain of the years, the excruciating loss … all of it came sweeping through the room, overpowering her. The weight of worry, the haunting memories nearly engulfed her as she sat helplessly in her wheelchair, and for one dreamlike instant, she had to glance around to secure the moment—to reorient herself as to what had just taken place.