The Confession Page 8

  “Never mind that.”

  “Lucky for you your fussy butler didn’t decide to put away my suitcases.” She eyed the closet door, slightly ajar. “Now, exactly when is my signature supposed to appear on the dotted line? I can’t stay around here forever, you know. It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Heaven, indeed.” Dylan perched himself on a chair, scrutinizing the actress standing before him. “We have a deal … it wouldn’t do for you to become too hasty.”

  “Or greedy?” Her grin was discerning.

  He ignored the implication. “You’re taking orders from me until every last detail is accomplished.” He leaned back, bracing his hands behind his head.

  “And after your wife kicks the bucket, then what?”

  “You’ll get your cut, don’t worry,” he said, pondering yesterday’s brief conversation with Laura’s physician. The doctor had appeared highly concerned. And, yes, he’d assured Dylan that everything possible was being done to make her comfortable as the illness ran its deadly course. “Everything humanly possible,” the doctor had reiterated. “There’s always the hope of divine intervention, certainly, which is precisely what we must believe for if your wife is to survive the holidays.”

  Just the information he needed. Laura was not long for this world. Most likely wouldn’t last past New Year’s. Without question, her soul would fly straight to heaven, on angel wings. The woman was a saint. No need to concern himself over the spiritual side of things—if it turned out he was wrong and there really was a God. That is, unless He did intervene, and Laura didn’t depart this life on schedule.…

  He watched as the young woman knelt to open her suitcase. “I need a break from these Amish duds, Mr. Bennett.” She eyed him meaningfully. “But I don’t need an audience … if you know what I mean.”

  Alyson was surprised when he left with only a mild protest. She’d expected worse.

  And now that he was out of the room, she wished she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get rid of him. She’d needed more time to get acquainted with the traditions of the Old Order Amish. The initial coaching session had been nearly overwhelming. All those rules and regulations! How did people put up with it? She was to dress, speak, and behave as a young Plain woman, yet she’d had only a “crash course” in the little time since the contact with the talent agent hired by Mr. Bennett.

  Still, the money—or the promise of it—was incentive enough. Not to mention the challenge of the role. She’d give the performance of her life, Plain or not!

  Chapter Nine

  Katherine paid the cab driver and turned around, facing the stately mansion. Its stone exterior was embroidered with sections of thick ivy, multitudes of vines, dried up in the dead of winter, ascending lifeless, yet aligned, to meet the moonbeams.

  From her spot on the pavement, she took in the massive outline— adorned with numerous chimneys—now ominous and dark against a moonlit sky.

  Lingering there, she felt as if her eyes and her very soul were being drawn to the place. Years of forbidden cravings culminated in one sweep of the eye. “Himmel! What a place!” she whispered.

  She could scarcely wait to explore its elegance. First, though, she must get inside. To pass over its threshold … what glory!

  Clutching her suitcase in one hand and the guitar case in the other, Katherine made her way across the circular driveway, guided by lantern-shaped lights near the entrance. In a moment of near panic, she hesitated at the portal. What am I doing here? she wondered. Howwill I ever fit in with these rich folk?

  In that instant, her life seemed to pass before her—from earliest recollections as a young girl growing up Amish on a dairy farm in a remote area of Lancaster County, to the present and her chic, modern look.

  I do hope Laura Bennett will approve of me, Katherine thought, still uncertain. More than anything, she didn’t want to come across as a country hick—had practiced long and hard to overcome any such traits of speech and manner, in fact.

  Squaring her shoulders, she gave her hair a light toss. A dog howled in the distance, sending a shiver down her spine. She reached for the brass knocker and held her breath at the sound of footsteps.

  The door opened, and a tall man, looking for all the world like something out of a store catalogue, stood straight and still, eyeing her curiously. “Good evening,” he said, bending stiffly as if he were afraid he might break. “Hullo,” she replied. “I wonder if I might be able to see Mrs. Bennett.”

  The man stared at her, yet it was not a rude, cold stare. More of an inquisitive look, really. “Whom may I say is calling?”

  She was about to speak up, to tell him, without boasting, that she had traveled many miles to see her mother for the first time, her natural mother—Laura Mayfield-Bennett. But her thoughts, yes, even the breath she’d drawn ever so deeply, giving her the pluck to go through with it—all of that—was halted when a round-faced woman wearing a short white apron and a big smile appeared beside him at the door.

  “Fulton, show the girl in … bring her in out of the cold. She’s come about the job, of course … and must think she’s going to get it, too, for she’s brought along all her worldly possessions, it seems.”

  Whether she was mumbling to herself or to the man she’d called Fulton, Katherine couldn’t be sure. But she took note of the glance directed at her guitar case and clung to it all the more. But from the way the perky little woman addressed the towering fellow, still standing in the doorway—just the way she worked him over with her eyes—led Katherine to believe they were husband and wife.

  The maid, who, by now, had introduced herself as Rosie Taylor, bustled her into the house, helping her with her suitcase and guitar, then promptly handed them over to Fulton.

  Katherine had to chuckle silently at the way things had worked out just now. Here she was, inside her mother’s house, without ever having said who she was or on what business she had come.

  For a fleeting moment she thought perhaps the situation had been providential—something she had been taught to believe in from her earliest years as a little Plain girl.

  No time for reminiscing, though; Rosie and Fulton whisked her off to the kitchen, where a chair was pulled out for her beside a long table. A single-page application lay in front of her, but only after she’d removed her coat and gloves did Katherine reach into her purse to locate her ball-point pen.

  “May we have a look at your referral?” Rosie began when she and Fulton were both seated opposite Katherine.

  “I don’t have anything like that with me.” Katherine was beginning to feel uneasy. Maybe her thoughts of Providence had come too soon.

  “Aren’t you the woman sent over by the agency?” Fulton asked at once.

  “Agency?”

  “We always hire from the employment agency,” Rosie explained.

  “They screen each of our applicants beforehand.”

  “Oh …” Katherine looked over at her tattered suitcase and the guitar case propped up against the butler’s pantry. Now what? she wondered. Should she tell them she had no desire to be a maid anyway— that her one and only hope was to meet her birth mother?

  “We must stick by our policy, you understand,” Fulton was saying. “You’ll have to go downtown and be interviewed.”

  “Well, I really hadn’t planned to …” She paused, measuring her words. Was now a good time to reveal her identity?

  Fulton cocked his head, and Katherine felt as if the man were studying her. “We’re all quite busy at the moment—unexpected company, and at this time of year.” He sighed. “It would be best for you to contact the agency,” he repeated as he stood to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you out.”

  “Oh … sir, can’t you please let my … that is, Mrs. Bennett … know I’m here? Won’t you do that?” She felt as if she were begging.

  “Under no circumstances must the mistress be disturbed. This is a very special occasion,” Fulton went on to explain. “Mrs. Bennett has just re
ceived her only child—a daughter she’d given up as an infant. They’re dining together at the moment.”

  “Her … daughter?” Katherine’s words caught in her throat.

  “Yes, indeed,” Rosie spoke up briskly. “And the timing couldn’t have been better, with Christmas just around the corner.”

  The timing is dreadful, Katherine thought, standing and reaching for her coat. Had she gotten the wrong phone number clear back at the Millers’ place? Was this some bad-awful mistake?

  “You look pale,” commented Fulton. “Are you feeling quite well?”

  “Fine … I’m fine,” she said, biting her dishonest tongue.

  How can this be? she wondered, thinking back to Rebecca’s conversation with her at the farmhouse. The Wise Woman, too, had spoken of Laura Mayfield-Bennett … hadn’t she? Katherine’s thoughts lingered on Ella Mae who had certainly seen the handwritten name on the fancy envelope. Hadn’t she also vouched for the fact that the wealthy Mrs. Bennett had been out searching for her daughter in and around the Lancaster area?

  Rosie excused herself and hurried out of the room. Fulton, whom Katherine had decided must be the butler or someone important, seemed mighty restless, as if he were needed elsewhere in the house. Anywhere but here, apparently. After all, she had been a waste of his time—an applicant without the proper referrals.

  “I’ll find my way out,” she offered, feeling disheartened by the way things were turning out. “But I’ll be needing a cab.”

  “Oh yes, certainly.” He located a telephone book, then apologized for any inconvenience, and sped down the hallway.

  While she was preparing to use the phone, two young men flew past her into the kitchen. “We could use a bit of help,” the older man said, opening one of the several refrigerators and motioning to her. “I’m Selig, assistant cook. And you are?”

  “Katherine,” she said quickly, purposely leaving off her last name.

  He shook her hand but seemed preoccupied. “A pleasure … Katherine. Good to have you aboard.”

  She was opening her mouth to explain, but when he insisted she take off her coat and lend a hand by slicing and warming a tray of bread, Katherine did as she was told.

  “Wonderful,” Selig said. “You’ve come in the nick of time.”

  “But—”

  “We’re obviously a bit shorthanded due to the holidays,” the younger man explained while placing crystal goblets on a wide slate counter nearby. He stopped briefly to extend his hand. “Garrett Smith, head steward … at your service.”

  “Hullo,” she replied. They’d mistaken her for the new housemaid, for sure and for certain!

  Grinning, Garrett resumed his work. “I suppose you’ve heard—the daughter of the house has come home for the holidays.”

  His words pierced her soul. How many times must she hear this miserable news? What if she were to barge right into the mistress’s cozy supper … to lay eyes on Laura Mayfield-Bennett for herself? What about that?

  These were reckless thoughts, for sure. But how was she supposed to feel, for goodness’ sake—hearing that someone had taken her place?

  Determined to keep her helpless, angry feelings in check, Katherine followed instructions, cutting the loaf of bread on a large cutting block with an electric knife. After that, she placed the ample slices in the warming oven. Good thing she’d had opportunity to use such modern contraptions while cooking in Lydia Miller’s kitchen. She tried not to think of the hours of time she might’ve saved had she grown up with electricity, for bread making had forever been a daily chore in the Lapp home.

  When there was a lull between Selig’s and Garrett’s prattle, Katherine spoke up. “The mistress’s daughter … uh, have either of you seen her?”

  “Ah … she’s pretty enough, I suppose,” offered Selig. “Plain, really, though I presume that’s the Amish way.”

  “She’s Amish?”

  “Quite,” Garrett replied, going about the business of pouring beverages in the ornate gold-trimmed goblets.

  “So … she dresses Plain, then?” Katherine ventured, her heart in her throat.

  “Totally,” Selig said with a grin on his face. “Somewhat of an eccentric style, I must admit. Especially with that formal little head covering of hers.”

  The mere mention of the cap took Katherine back to the days leading up to the shunning. The final battles—whether or not to wear her covering in her adoptive father’s house—had been such a sore spot. As it turned out, he had required her to wear it, against her wishes, really, during one of those last days at home.

  At Garrett’s chuckle, Katherine’s thoughts flew to the job at hand. “Mrs. Bennett’s daughter could use a sound dose of makeup, if you ask me.”

  Katherine felt her cheeks warm with his brief, yet ardent scrutiny.

  “I do believe you could teach Katie a thing or two,” he observed.

  Katherine froze, nearly dropped the platter of warmed bread. “Did you say ‘Katie’?”

  Glancing up, the head steward nodded. “Interesting name, isn’t it? Her last name’s Lapp.”

  “Sounds Dutch to me,” Selig offered before dashing off just as several housemaids darted past with trays of dishes, probably the main course plates and silverware.

  “What do you think?” Garrett asked. “Does the daughter’s adopted name sound Dutch to you?”

  Her mind whirled. Should she tell this young man why she’d come? Tell him that her given name—her former name—was also Lapp? That she’d abandoned the name Katie because of her need to be Katherine … wholly Laura Bennett’s daughter?

  Ach! How had things got so ghuddelt—tangled—so quickly? And how was it that Laura Bennett’s daughter should have the same adoptive name as Katherine’s own?

  “Well, what do you say? Dutch or not?” Garrett persisted.

  “It’s Swiss, most likely … one of the more common names for Pennsylvania Amish,” she blurted.

  Raising his thick eyebrows, Garrett appeared amused. “And how do you know about Amish names?”

  “Oh, if you listen good, you pick things up.” She’d almost said “gut” and was mighty glad she hadn’t. The last thing the head steward should know was that there were, in all truth, two women claiming the name of Katie Lapp, under the Bennetts’ regal roof.

  PART II

  It is not the criminal things which are hardest to confess,

  but the ridiculous and shameful.

  Jean-Jacques Rousseau

  Chapter Ten

  Most of the lights were on inside the New Jersey bungalow when Daniel Fisher arrived home. Even the matching floor lamps on either side of the sofa remained lit.

  Looking around as he stepped into his plant-filled vestibule, he wondered if every light in the place had been left on. Wonderful, he thought. The new cleaning woman had followed his instructions to a tee.

  Whether working late on blueprints at home or arriving there afterhours from his drafting office, Dan insisted on being surrounded by light. Too many years of coming home to a dark farmhouse, maybe.

  It wasn’t only that he required light for his detailed renderings. No, it was much more than that. He’d discovered something extremely reassuring about rooms being lit up from early evening on. Because it was at night, when the sun toppled over the horizon, that he missed Pennsylvania—home—most. Missed his parents and brothers, and Annie his only sister, and most of all … Katie Lapp. His sweetheart girl would be worried sick if she knew he was living out in the modern English world, far away from Amish society. But she, along with his family and friends, believed he was dead. Drowned at sea.

  They deserved the truth. He’d decided this on more than one occasion through the years, yet had never been able to come up with a plan. At least one that would not cause severe complications as a result of his “resurrection from the dead.”

  To mark the Christmas season, he’d begun to grow a beard. Though facial hair was indicative of a married Amishman, he felt it might ease his way back
into Hickory Hollow when the time came. Stubble now, but the sure promise of a full beard as bushy as his father’s, all in preparation for a possible meeting with the man he’d wronged.

  He emptied his pockets of loose change and his keys, then reaching for the hall switch, he marveled once again at the ability to disseminate light at will. With the mere flick of a finger!

  For five satisfying years, he had enjoyed such benefits yet hadn’t consciously taken modern technology for granted. Nor did he wish to, though at times he agonized over the guilt of it. The deeply ingrained taboos, church rules, and regulations.…

  He had not been raised with electricity or fast cars. His father’s father and three generations of men—great-grandfathers before him— had lived their lives according to the Old Ways, das Alt Gebrauch.

  Yet his emotions often became jumbled when he thought of his father … the prospects Jacob Fisher had had for him. In an Amish household, the youngest son was expected to take over the family farm at the appropriate age. Daniel had chosen another path for his life.

  Surprisingly, in spite of all that had transpired between them— the passionate arguments over doctrine and such—he did not foster bad feelings toward his strict father. He had forgiven Jacob Fisher years ago.

  Now the time was ripe to offer his father the same opportunity. And to speak the truth of what had happened on that fateful day in Atlantic City.

  Dan glanced around his comfortable rental home, sparkling with holiday lights and trim. Too many Decembers had come and gone since his “accident.” Home fires burned brightest at Christmas. As for Katie, she was still to him the dearest girl in all the world.

  His thoughts flew back to their first Sunday night Singing together. Back when Katie had just turned sixteen.…

  The sky was filled with a thousand stars that early June evening. As if someone had sprinkled out a silo full of them all over the heavens. Daniel, eighteen, was hoping—without letting on to anybody—that Katie Lapp just might be coming to Singing. Her first ever. And if she did, she’d be riding over with Benjamin, her eighteen-year-old brother, in his open buggy, the way all the older teen girls in Hickory Hollow showed up for such things.