Tomorrow the real pranks would come. I’d heard of newly married Amish couples trying to do the family laundry only to discover that parts of their washing machine had been removed!
By the time we finished milking, wedding helpers, cooks and waiters, thirty in all, began arriving in horse-drawn buggies. Curly John, dressed in his new black Sunday suit, hurried to hitch Apple to the family buggy.
“He seems nervous,” Rachel said as we watched. “He’s off to Sarah’s place, to get his bride.”
I glanced at Sarah’s mother, who was already checking off a long list of chores as Amish friends and relatives filed into the Zooks’ farmhouse. Usually Amish weddings were held at the bride’s home, but this time the groom’s house was bigger, and every inch of space from living room to kitchen would be needed for the guests.
I could almost smell Aunt Teri’s waffles, so I said good-bye to Rachel and Lissa. “I’ll be back around noon,” I said. “In time to see Curly John and Sarah become husband and wife.”
We giggled. Amish or not, weddings were a blend of excitement and hope. Hope that someday each of us would be getting married, too.
Levi tipped his black felt hat flirtatiously as I left the barn. When I peered back at Lissa, I caught her eyes on us and she grinned.
All the way home, through the willow grove and down the lane, I remembered that grin. How thankful I was for the truly peaceful way about her. Best of all, Lissa was a child of God. I could hardly wait to tell my parents. Tonight!
Aunt Teri’s waffles tasted the best ever, even though I had to wash the last bites down with a glass of milk. I hurried upstairs to shower away the disgusting smell of cow manure. There were better ways to influence friends…and teachers.
Soon Skip was calling for me. “Hurry, Mer! You’ll be late for the bus.”
In a whirlwind of books and winter clothes, I managed to race downstairs, kiss my aunt and uncle, and remind Skip to pick me up by eleven-thirty. “Don’t be late!” I dashed down the steps in time for the bus.
Chelsea slid over to the window when she saw me. “How ya feelin’?” She gave me a wide grin.
“Not bad for a very short night,” I said, but caught myself before saying where I’d slept.
Jon was waiting at my locker when the bus dumped us out. “Lookin’ light and lovely, Merry, mistress of mirth.”
“Thanks. Feeling fine and fancy.” I thought of Lissa, dressing Plain and not-so-fancy these days.
“Still seeing moon shadows?” he asked.
Yeah, right,
I thought. Wouldn’t he be surprised to know about those moon-shadow police?
Jon leaned his tall frame against the wall, waiting for me to collect my books. “You should’ve been here yesterday.” His voice rose with excitement. “This place was crawling with cops—they nabbed anyone who even remotely claimed to know Lissa Vyner.”
“What?” I managed to say, in spite of my cottony throat. What would he think of me, his Christian friend, hiding Lissa from the authorities?
Jon promptly filled me in on the whole scenario.
“Anything new on the case?” I finally asked, feeling lousy asking such a question.
“Only that they’ve planted informants all over Lancaster County.” He shuffled his books. “Ready for class?”
I nodded, stacking up an armload of books, wondering what it would be like to have Jon carrying them. Maybe someday…
Halfway through history, I tuned out Mr. Wilson’s droning voice. What if the cops had planted one of their informants in the Amish community? Right now, someone dressed as an Amish farmer—or maybe his wife—was riding in a buggy, going to Curly John’s wedding.
I sat up like I’d been hit by lightning. In the process, my notebook flew off my desk, clattering to the floor. I stretched to retrieve it, counting the minutes till the end of first hour.
Jon’s concerned smile warmed my heart. He mouthed, “Are you all right?” from across the aisle.
I nodded, feeling foolish for reacting so strongly to my latest fears. Yet deep in my heart, I wondered. Was Lissa truly safe?
By the time Skip and I arrived at the Zooks’ farmhouse, there were gray-topped carriages lined up all over the side yard. Several black open buggies, called courting buggies, were parked here and there. So were a few cars and vans belonging to non-Amish neighbors and friends.
Skip and I headed in the back way, since the service had already begun. I looked for Lissa immediately and noticed a few empty spaces on the wooden benches in the kitchen. Mostly mothers of infants, and some of the bride’s aunts and cousins helping with food, sat out here. That way they wouldn’t disturb the ceremony when they checked on food simmering in the summer kitchen.
Amishmen always sat in one part of the house, while the women sat in the opposite end, facing one another the way they did for church. It didn’t matter where English friends like Skip and I sat, though. We took the nearest seats available, holding the long wedding gift on our laps—a white blanket I’d found in Mom’s “gift” drawer this morning. Aunt Teri had wrapped it beautifully while we were at school.
I spotted Lissa out of the corner of my eye. She was sitting near the wall, wearing Rachel’s green dress and black apron. She turned slightly when she heard us come in. Wisely, she turned away.
Whew, close call! Skip would recognize her profile in a second.
Curiously, I watched as Curly John and Sarah stood before the bearded Amish bishop. Sarah looked shy and demure in her long cotton wedding dress of pale blue. Her white cape and apron matched her attendants’, who sat in straight, cane-backed chairs in the front row. Curly John stood tall and proud in his black suit. I wondered if he’d found his suspenders in time for the wedding.
I leaned up to see him take Sarah’s hand. They seemed too young for marriage, but I could see the glow of love in their eyes.
The old bishop asked Curly John a question. “Are you willing to enter wedlock together as God ordained and commanded in the beginning?”
The groom answered, “Yes.”
Again, the question came. This time for Sarah, who answered, “Yes,” softly.
More serious questions were asked. Then came Curly John’s promises to his bride, and hers to him. At last, the bishop pronounced the couple husband and wife. Many people wiped away tears. I thought of the Lord saving our tears—the happy and sad ones. By the looks on the faces here, the tears were sober ones; the Amish understood that marriage continues until death.
No rice was thrown, no cheers were shouted, and no rings were exchanged. The mood was very serious.
My brother, however, wasn’t the least bit serious. “Chow time,” he whispered in my ear. And I remembered the main reason for his being here. After all, the Amish wedding feast was the most lavish part of the wedding festivities.
Complete with chicken and duck roasted in pounds of butter, and veal with rich gravy and stuffing, a kid could eat on and on into oblivion! I could almost taste the creamed celery and fresh applesauce. And washtubs full of mashed potatoes and platters piled with sausage, along with fresh bread, cheeses, and many kinds of candies. Not to mention thirty cherry pies and four hundred doughnuts!
The young people were dismissed, followed by the bridal party. The boys went outside while the girls and the bridal party went upstairs to the bedrooms, making room for dinner preparations below.
I heard the men setting up tables downstairs as I searched for Rachel and Lissa upstairs. I found them talking with the bride and groom in one of the bedrooms.
When Rachel and Lissa stepped back to let other girls visit with the bride, I went to stand beside them. “Hi, you two,” I said, careful not to call too much attention to Lissa. “Everything still
Plain
good?”
Rachel nodded and Lissa smiled.
I took a deep breath. “We may have a slight problem,” I said, filling Rachel in on Skip’s being here. “He’d recognize Lissa in a flash.”
“Jah, he would,” Lissa said softly.
Rachel’s eyes flashed concern. She probably wondered why Skip shouldn’t know Lissa was here. Especially since I’d told her Lissa was
our
company! But she remained silent.
I whispered in her ear, “Remember, I promised to tell you everything?”
She nodded.
“You have my word.”
Rachel brightened a bit, glancing toward the stairs. “Maybe if it works out, Skip might end up eating with some of the boys during the second shift,” she said.
“No chance,” I said. “He’s got his mind on food, and nothing this side of the Susquehanna River is gonna change that.”
Rachel adjusted her apron, smiling sweetly. “I know about menfolk. Curly John and Levi are the same way.”
Just then, I heard the familiar grinding of gears. “No, it can’t be.” I raced to the window. Sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed. Miss Spindler had just arrived!
Lissa frowned when she spotted her from the window. Old Hawk Eyes touched up her blue-gray puff and strutted to the back entrance.
“Was
she
invited?” I whispered to Rachel.
“All neighbors were invited for the wedding dinner,” Rachel informed us. “It’s
unserer Weg
—our way.” I knew what she meant. The Amish were the very best when it came to making guests feel welcome, English or not, especially at weddings.
“What’ll we do?” Lissa’s eyes looked serious.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll think of something.” It was time to go down for dinner. The bridal party had already gone. “Stay here till I can see where Miss Spindler’s going to sit,” I told Lissa. I knew that Rachel would sit with her brothers and sisters near the bride and groom, so Lissa and I were on our own.
When Rachel and all the girls had filed down the long staircase, I tiptoed down partway and surveyed the situation. In a separate room, off the side of the kitchen, I saw Skip sitting with several male cousins of the groom. With that problem settled, I searched for Miss Spindler.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Quickly, I went back upstairs. Lissa was staring out the window when I found her. “Look, we’re in luck. I think Miss Spindler’s going to eat with the second shift,” she said.
Sure enough, Old Hawk Eyes was standing out near the barn talking to a group of women. Since there wasn’t enough space for everyone to sit together, the Amish had scheduled the dinner in shifts.
“C’mon, Liss, now’s our chance,” I said, and we hurried downstairs and found two places in the far corner of the kitchen.
When every table was full, the bishop gave the signal for silent grace. Soon, everyone was eating and talking while waiters and helpers scurried around like worker bees, serving tables. Lissa seemed perfectly relaxed with the setup, in spite of possible threats to her security lurking outside…and in the next room.
I constantly checked the window, hoping Miss Spindler would stay put at least till we finished eating.
After the final dessert came another silent prayer. Then the first shift of guests were to leave the house and go outside while the next group came in. Nervously, I steered Lissa away from the kitchen door, walking in front of her all the way to the front door, trying to avoid a direct encounter with Skip.
Once outside, the first shift of guests went around inspecting the farm. Abe Zook passed out candy bars, visiting and joking with old friends and neighbors. Fortunately, it was a mild day for November—cloudy, but mild—so a light jacket was all I needed. Lissa wore a wool shawl like the other women.
We tried to stay in the middle of the group of guests touring the farm, dodging Skip by hiding behind the barn door once. Later, we maneuvered our way past him again by climbing the ladder to the hayloft.
“I’m gonna schedule a nervous breakdown when this is over,” I said, falling back into the hay.
Lissa tucked her Amish dress under her legs and pulled her shawl close as the dust settled. “What a day. I’m too stuffed to be scared!” She rubbed her stomach. “Have you ever seen so much food in your life?”
I groaned, holding my middle as I sat up in the soft hay. As I did, I spied Miss Spindler standing in line to go into the house. She happened to glance our way through the open barn door. I felt uneasy staring back at her, but then, unexpectedly, she pulled something out of her purse. Binoculars!
“Duck down,” I whispered.
Lissa obeyed.
I sat there, straight as the barn rafters above us, as Old Hawk Eyes gawked at me through her powerful glasses. “She’s up to no good,” I said like a ventriloquist through a fakey smile.
“What’s she doing now?” Lissa asked from her bed of hay.
I watched as the old woman stuffed the binoculars into her purse and marched off to her car. “I think we’re set. Looks like she’s leaving!”
“Really?” Lissa sat up like she’d popped out of a cannon.
I pushed her back down. “Not so fast.”
But it was too late. Old Hawk Eyes had glanced back just then and spotted her. Opening her car door, the old sneak leaned down, casting a leery look back at us.
Now
what was she doing?
I zeroed in on her hands, clocking her every move. That’s when I saw the cellular phone. “Oh no! This is so-o bad!” I wailed.
Lissa sat up again. “What is?”
“We’re finished!” I groaned.
Old Hawk Eyes peered over her shoulder as she talked on her phone.
“She must be an informant,” I cried, watching her in disbelief as she pointed triumphantly at the barn—at us!
“How do you know?” Lissa asked.
“Can’t you see—she’s calling the cops!”
I grabbed Lissa’s arm, pulling her out of Miss Spindler’s line of vision. “C’mon, let’s make a run for it. We have time!”
Lissa’s arm stiffened. “Wait!”
“There’s no time to wait. Let’s go to the Grossdawdy Haus. I’ll hide you there!”
“No,” Lissa shouted.
I whirled around, staring at her incredulously. “What did you say?”
“I can’t keep running, Merry. It’s time to tell the truth.” Her face had a look of peaceful determination. I wanted to throw my arms around her, to take care of her, to talk sense to her. But her words rang out. “I’m going to do the right thing. When the police come, I wanna tell them about my dad. I have the courage to do it now.” She put her hand on her heart as she spoke. “And,” she added softly, “we have proof—remember the pictures you took?”