Heritage of Lancaster County 02 The Confession (7 page)

words to that effect--was nothing short of boastful. Pride. The deadliest of sins.

As if to dispute her thoughts, the Mennonite sisters, all four of them, sang the words about going to heaven and what a glad day that would be. It seemed to Katherine they lifted their voices with complete confidence in what they were singing. And she wondered what made the Ordnung so much more important--in Amish eyes--than the Bible itself.

As a child it had all seemed acceptable and right--those regular teachings of the bishop and other preachers. Katho erine's best friends were her first and second cousins and classmates at the one-room Amish school--girls and boys in her own church district. Girls like Mary Stoltzfus, who knew her nearly inside out. They dressed alike, wore their hair the same, spoke the same two languages--English and Pennsylvania Dutch--and thought pretty much alike, too.

None of them, except some of the carpenters and

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furniture-makers in the community, ever had to associate with outsiders, and they'd been taught that Mennonites, Brethren, and other Christian groups around them were living in sin. If you weren't Amish, chances were good that when you died, you'd be thrown into Outer Darkness or cast into the Lake of Fire. Both, probably. So who'd want to be friends with wicked folk like that?

The Ordnung ruled--shunning or no. And even on this bright and shining day--the blessed Lord's Day before Katherine planned to step into her future, her fancy English future--the Old Order reached out to discourage and dismay her.

"Tell me one of your stories, Rebecca," Annie Lapp said as she and her mother-in-law sat together in Annie's kitchen.

Rebecca's knitting needles made a soft, rhythmic click- ity-click pattern in the silence, but she did not speak.

"It's been ever so long since [ heard one of your stories," she pleaded.

Still Rebecca declined, shaking her head.

"Storytellin's a gut thing," Annie insisted. "For the teller and for the listener, ya know."

Sighing audibly, Rebecca folded her hands, staring at her knitting. "Jah, I reckon." Yet she made no attempt to start up one of her stories.

Something was terribly wrong with Katie's mare; Annie could see that. The pain in Rebecca's eyes, the bend of her back, ach, how she'd aged. And in such a short time. Annie supposed it had to do with Katie, but she dared not mention the wayward woman's name.

Elam, Annie's husband, had taken a firm stand against anyone referring to his shunned sister about the house--or

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anywhere else, for that matter. He'd gotten the idea from his father. Both men had decided that neither the immediate family nor the extended family must ever mention her again. Which turned out to be a whole lot of folk, so interconnected were they, what with all the marrying and intermarrying amongst themselves.

Fact was, it had gotten so, here lately, that nobody was talking about Katie Lapp anymore. Truth be told, Annie felt like the People were trying to put the agony--of losing one of their own to the devil--clear behind them. Not out of anger or hatred, no. They were simply trying to go on with

the life God would have them lead in Hickory Hollow. With or without Katie.

"What if I tell you a story this time?" she spoke up. "Gut, des gut," Rebecca replied.

Annie rocked her newborn bundle in her arms, telling her mother-in-law the story she'd never shared before. Not even with Elam.

"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, al

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though 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

69 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.

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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.

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"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.

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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

"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

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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.

Perhaps 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

74 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