SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 Read online

  Dashing to my bedroom, I started pulling the sheets off my bed. In short order, Mrs. Gibson and I had the room ready for company. While she cleaned the bathroom, I sat on my bed, dreaming up a new scheme and deciding what role our housekeeper might play.

  I needed a way to distract Old Hawk Eyes while I made a run for next door. What if I get Mrs. Gibson to pay her a little visit? I waited till she was gathering up her things and saying good-bye before I sprang it on her. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?” I said, following her to the front door.

  “Of course, Merry. What is it?”

  “Could you go around the corner to Miss Spindler’s house and tell her everything’s fine over here? She’s been calling a lot lately. I think she’s worried about Skip and me.” I went on to tell her briefly about the visit from the police, playing it down as best I could.

  “Well, of course, I’d be happy to.” She tucked a loose strand of dark hair into her bandana. “Tell your mother I’ll be back next week, same time. And if there’s anything I can do before then, just give me a call.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, waving as she headed for her car. I ran to the kitchen and hid behind the back door curtains, watching old Miss Spindler’s place. In a few minutes, Mrs. Gibson’s car pulled into the driveway. She got out and walked to the front door—my cue to hightail it out of here.

  Past the gazebo, down the lane, and through the shortcut I ran. By the time I leaped over the last picket fence, I was out of breath. Walking up to the back porch, I hid behind the ivy trellis, trying to see in the window. Suddenly, a familiar face greeted mine. Lissa was washing windows with Rachel!

  “We could use another pair of hands,” Rachel said as I entered the back door.

  I sniffed a familiar scent. Glancing around the kitchen, I noticed two Amishwomen working over the hot cookstove, baking doughnuts and…molasses cookies! I tried to keep from pinching my nose shut, and held my breath instead.

  “What are you doing, ditching school?” Lissa whispered, wearing one of Rachel’s work dresses.

  “Skip said I was too sick to go.”

  “You look fine to me,” Rachel teased.

  “I feel fine,” I said, holding the bucket of water for the window washers. “Must’ve been that strange dream I had last night.”

  “A dream made you sick?” Lissa asked.

  “I got too hot, I guess,” I said, hoping to move on. I backed away from the woodstove, noticing how crowded the house was with all the helpers. “Looks like everything’s going well here.”

  Lissa nodded, seeming more relaxed than she had in a long time. “Rachel showed me how to milk a cow today,” she whispered. “It felt…” She stopped, looking up at the ceiling, then scrunched up her face. “Let’s just say it was real different.”

  I sucked in my breath and bit my lip, worried about Lissa blowing her cover.

  Rachel must’ve seen my concern. “Don’t worry, Merry. Everything’s Plain good.”

  I smiled. It was like a secret code. Her way of saying no one suspected a thing. So far.

  After two more windows, we took a break. Rachel led us upstairs to her room. She showed Lissa the cross-stitched pillow she’d made for her brother’s wedding gift. When Rachel’s mother called, she responded quickly, leaving me alone with Lissa at last.

  “How’s everything going today?” I asked, eager for more details.

  Lissa grinned. “You were right, I do like Rachel,” she said, obviously not catching my concern. “I love it here, Merry. I really do.”

  I forced the air through my lips. “Please be careful about getting too friendly with the other young women. If you talk too much, they might suspect something. For one thing, your accent’s a little off.” “Jah?” Lissa answered, smiling. “How’s that?”

  I motioned her away from the door. “You can’t take any chances,” I warned, filling her in on the phone calls from Old Hawk Eyes. “I’m worried about what Miss Spindler might do. She knows lots of Amish people around here. I mean lots of them.”

  Lissa frowned. “What do you think she’ll do?”

  I sighed. “Miss Spindler suspects something. I know she does. I’m not sure how far she’ll take it.”

  Terror returned to Lissa’s face. “You mean I’m not safe here, either?”

  “We can’t be too careful.” I turned away from Lissa’s piercing eyes and picked up the hand mirror on Rachel’s dresser. “Have you seen yourself lately?” I held the mirror up to her.

  Lissa backed away, her lips set. “Plain women never admire themselves.”

  I laughed. This remark, coming from her, seemed weird. “What are you talking about?”

  “Their religion teaches against making an image of themselves to save or admire. It’s part of not being proud,” Lissa explained as though I didn’t already know.

  “I know all that stuff, but what do you care?”

  She smiled knowingly. “I thought if I was going to pretend to be Amish, I’d better act it.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not Amish,” I announced. “Life could be mighty tough without a camera.”

  “Maybe you could learn to make quilt designs or something else,” she suggested as a tiny smile crept across her face.

  I got up and went to the curtainless window. Dark Amish-green shades were rolled all the way up to allow the morning sun to heat the room. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Gibson’s car drive down the lane yet,” I said absentmindedly, “but I’m sure as soon as it does, Old Hawk Eyes will take up her post again.”

  “Well, I guess we’d better let God worry about her,” Lissa said out of the blue.

  “What did you say?”

  Lissa ignored my question. “Did you know there’s stuff about birds in the Bible?” She reached for the German Bible on the dresser. “I found a verse last night.” She flipped back and forth between the pages. “I can’t find it in German,” she said, “but I know it’s in the Bible you loaned me. Something about not one little bird will fall to the ground unless God lets it happen.” A look of excitement crossed her face as she stood up, slowly making her way to the window.

  I watched her stare at the birdhouse outside. There was a thoughtful, faraway look in her eyes. Lissa’s voice was soft. “Birdhouses never have doors.”

  And without a word of explanation, I knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Chapter

  17

  I hated to spoil the moment, but I wanted to impress on Lissa one last time to be careful. “Please remember, you’re being watched,” I warned. “Even though Miss Spindler may have thought you were Rachel Zook last night, she did see the limp. The police are telling Lancaster residents to be on the lookout for certain details. Specific things.”

  Lissa’s eyes expressed fear.

  “It’s everywhere, Lissa. All over the media—TV, newspapers. Like it or not, you made the front page of the morning paper today!”

  “It’s a good thing the Amish don’t have newspapers or TVs,” she said, sounding relieved. “Don’t worry, Merry. I won’t do anything dumb, I promise.”

  “We have to keep you hidden till my dad gets home. It won’t be long now.” I glanced at my watch. “Oh no, it’s almost noon!”

  Grabbing my jacket, I flung it on, muttering brainlessly to Lissa about being late for Miss Spindler’s apple pie. I hurried toward Rachel’s bedroom door, vowing to return later.

  “Don’t forget to tell Skip you’re spending the night over here,” Lissa reminded me.

  “Good thinking.” I waved good-bye.

  Halfway home, I stopped walking and turned to look at the Zooks’ farm through the willows. Why hadn’t I told Rachel about Miss Spindler’s snooping? More than anything I wanted to go back and warn her, too, just in case. But it was getting late. Old Hawk Eyes herself would be arriving at my house any minute.

  Eventually, the apple pie was delivered. Miss Spindler—her hair a puff of gray-blue—brought it over. As usual, her tongue was flapping to beat the
band.

  “What a frightful thing it was last night. All those police officers surrounding your house!”

  I tried to comfort her. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine now, Miss Hawk…er…Spindler.” I nearly choked! But she kept chattering on and on, never even noticing my slipup.

  Finally, she left, and I sat down to some lunch, topping it off with two slices of pie for dessert. Before I cut into it, I went upstairs to get my digital camera. I had to take a picture of the lightly browned, fork-dotted crust. I don’t know why, I just did.

  Click!

  I ate the scrumptious dessert, enjoying the moist, delicious fruit and the crispy homemade crust. When I was finished, I aimed my camera and took another shot.

  Click!

  The before-and-after thing was something I’d picked up at the photography contest last year. Several kids had used the approach, and when I thought about it, I realized I’d been doing it, too. Mostly since Faithie’s death.

  Long before Skip arrived home from school, I called Chelsea Davis to get my homework assignments.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Lots.”

  “So I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow?”

  “Only in the morning,” I explained. “My brother and I are going to an Amish wedding around noon, so I won’t see you after school.”

  “Well, have fun with Levi,” she said, chuckling. “He’ll be there, right?”

  “It’s his brother’s wedding, silly.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said, playing dumb. “Well, maybe you’ll rack up some extra credit for your social studies grade.”

  “Maybe. Except I’m only going to witness the marriage vows. The rest of the wedding ceremony starts at eight o’clock and goes till about noon.”

  “Why so long?” she asked.

  “For one thing, there are two preachers. One tells Bible stories from Creation to the Great Flood, and the other preacher finishes with love stories like how Isaac married Rebecca. And, of course, there’s the Amish favorite: the great love story of Ruth and Boaz.”

  “Ruth and who?” Chelsea asked. “I never heard of a Bozo in the Bible.”

  I giggled. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  After we said good-bye, I headed downstairs to set the table. I wasn’t sure when Aunt Teri and Uncle Pete would arrive, but I set places for them anyway.

  Halfway through Skip’s supper of overcooked cheese omelet, our relatives arrived. I dashed to the back door and flung it wide.

  “Merry, Merry,” Uncle Pete said, greeting me. He always said my name twice.

  I hugged and kissed Aunt Teri as she followed her husband’s fat stomach into our kitchen. She spied the omelet morsels left on our plates and promptly began signing to Uncle Pete. Something about stirring up a decent meal for these poor orphans, to which Skip mouthed a hearty, “Amen!”

  We sat down, except Aunt Teri, who moved around the kitchen with the ease of a ballerina. We were talking ninety miles an hour, probably because we hadn’t seen Mom’s sister or her husband since last summer. But with the talk flying so fast, we caught up quickly, especially on family matters.

  The biggest news was that Aunt Teri was pregnant!

  “How soon?” I asked.

  Uncle Pete sat up tall and proud in his chair. “Next summer—and it’s twins,” he boasted, turning to sign so Aunt Teri wouldn’t be excluded from the conversation.

  I almost swallowed my tonsils. Thank goodness Uncle Pete started yakking his head off, otherwise it might’ve been obvious that I suddenly clammed up.

  “Mom’s gonna be so-o surprised,” Skip was saying. But I tuned them out, and in a few minutes excused myself to do my homework.

  As for Skip letting me sleep over at the Zooks’, it was no problem. Uncle Pete, however, threw a royal fit when he heard I was going to the neighbors’ so he and Teri could have my room.

  “Everything’s cool,” I assured him. “You’ll see me in time for breakfast tomorrow.” No one in her right mind skipped out on Aunt Teri’s mouth-watering waffles!

  Skip waited to take me to Rachel’s until after dessert—Miss Spindler’s apple pie certainly had come in handy.

  Thick clouds covered the moon as I followed my brother out to the car. The clouds were a heaven-sent blessing. Old Hawk Eyes would have a troublesome time focusing on the comings and goings of Merry Hanson on a night like this!

  Skip drove me the short distance to the Zooks’, even though I could’ve walked. Rachel and I always ran back and forth, even at night. After all, SummerHill Lane wasn’t a superhighway or anything. The most traffic we ever had was the scurry of Amish buggies heading for house church or the market. I’d taken Skip up on his offer only because I didn’t want to cause trouble between us. No need to stir up new suspicions about Lissa’s whereabouts.

  Loaded down with my overnight case in one hand and schoolbag in the other, I hopped out of the car near the wagon wheel mailbox on Zooks’ private lane. I waved to Skip as he backed up and headed home. I felt good about outsmarting Old Hawk Eyes once again!

  Feelings of excitement grew with each step. I thought back to my plan to disguise Lissa as an Amish girl. Sure it was risky, but it worked. Mom and Dad would be proud of how I’d handled things. Protecting Lissa from her horrible father. Sharing God’s Word with her. Encouraging her…

  Suddenly, I saw headlights coming over the crest of the hill. The car came fast, spitting dust out beneath its tires.

  Was it a squad car? Had the police returned? Uneasy about what to do, I stood frozen in the middle of Zooks’ private lane.

  The moon slipped out behind the clouds and I could see more clearly. The car kept coming closer…. Anybody could see it was definitely not a squad car.

  Concerned that the driver was out of control, I stepped back, away from the main road. The car swerved to the far left, coming straight for me. Just when I thought it would jump the ditch and ram the mailbox, the car squealed into Zooks’ lane and stopped in a cloud of dust.

  Instantly, I thought of Lissa’s father. My mind filled in the blanks easily enough. This must be one of his wild and drunken joyrides…. He’d seen me walking alone at night. Yee-ikes! I was about to become a statistic!

  Chapter

  18

  Just when I was close to totally freaking out, I realized the car was a snazzy red sports car—Miss Spindler’s! In a split second, the darktinted window on the passenger’s side glided down automatically.

  “Hello there, Merry,” she called to me, leaning over in spite of the shoulder harness. “Is every little thing all right?”

  Her favorite expression, I thought, not amused by her dreadful timing. Or the way her driving had triggered my imagination.

  “Thanks for asking,” I said, trying not to exhibit my fright. “I’m just spending the night at Rachel’s.” I nodded my head in the direction of the house. “You probably heard my aunt and uncle are staying at our house, in my room.”

  Now maybe the questions would stop. I hoped so.

  She fluffed up her blue-gray kink of hair. “Oh yes…that’s right, I do remember that dear cleaning lady of yours saying something about it.” Miss Spindler stared curiously at my schoolbag, which was gaping open, revealing my camera. “It was awfully kind of her to stop by for a chat and a cup of hot coffee.” Her eyes were still glued to my camera. I could almost hear the wheels spinning in her nosy blue-gray head.

  “Well, I’ll see you later.” I took two steps away from her red wheels, hoping the conversation was over.

  “How was the pie?” she continued.

  I turned quickly. “Oh, we finished it off at supper. Thanks very much,” I said, squelching the desire to ignore her.

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” she said and put the spiffy car in reverse, grinding the gears as she backed down the lane behind me.

  “Close call,” I muttered, but I kept walking, refusing to look back. No way did I want her snooping around here with Lissa hanging out with
the Zooks!

  When I got to the Grossdawdy Haus, I peeked in the living room window. Lissa was sitting in one of the rocking chairs, beside Rachel’s grandmother. I tapped on the door, and Grandfather Zook let me in. Quickly I explained why I’d come.

  “Oh, please make yourself at home. There’s always room for one more around here,” the grandfather said, smiling and tapping his pipe in his hand.

  Lissa seemed pleased to see me, but I knew something else was on her mind when she pulled me into her bedroom.

  “Hey, you’re not limping that much,” I remarked as she closed the door. “It’s good we got photos of your bruises for my dad.”

  She nodded, but by the eager look in her eyes I knew the subject at hand wasn’t her recent abuse. “Remember how you told me you didn’t cry when you were born?” she began. “And how I said I cry all the time?”

  “Uh-huh.” What was she getting at?

  “Well, I was reading your Bible again, and I found the coolest verse.” She stopped talking and I saw her eyes glisten. “Oh, Merry, I used to be so ashamed of my tears, until now.”

  “Show me the verse,” I said, moving the lantern closer.

  Placing her hand over her heart for a moment, she appeared to gather courage. Then she turned to Psalms, and I peered over her shoulder as she read. “ ‘You have collected all my tears and preserved them in your bottle. You have recorded every one in your book.’ ”

  Lissa looked up. “You know what that means, don’t you? Our tears are precious to God—so precious He keeps them.” She was obviously amazed at this news.

  I was silent as she took the lantern from me, placing it back on the dresser. “Thanks for bringing me to this peaceful place,” she said. “I will never forget this day as long as I live.”

  “I’m glad you trusted me to help you,” I said, still grasping the significance of Psalm 56:8.