The Imposter (7 page)

Jesse peered into the open door of the buggy shop, though there was no sign of life. It was a glut and bedlam of a place, utter chaos. Tools lay scattered on every horizontal surface, crinkled brown bags filled with tacks and grommets and
nails lined the floor, spare buggy parts sat heaped in piles, fishing rods angled against a wall. Spectacles lay atop a worn ledger—had Hank Lapp forgotten them? Jesse poked around in the dimly lit room, wondering how anyone could ever find a tool in this mess. His heart sank. This apprenticeship was a terrible idea. Then a sliver of hope grew in his heart. If Hank Lapp were nowhere to be found, it seemed entirely reasonable for Jesse to return home. What good was an apprentice without a tutor?

Jesse was of medium height—still growing, he fervently hoped—but when he turned around, he was staring straight into a shock of wild white hair. Hank Lapp stood before him, wearing work coveralls that showed no evidence of work. One eye peered right at Jesse, the other eye wandered to the open door.

“Why, Jesse Stoltzfus,” Hank said, his voice as gravelly as a gizzard. “You've gone and gotten tall!”

Jesse swept his hat off his head and bent over at the waist in an exaggerated bow. “Your humble apprentice is at your service, O wise one.”

Hank held out a knobby hand for a shake and grinned at Jesse like an elf. Although he was only somewhere in his late sixties, he did not look strong: he was a slight man, with a willowy look, as if the powerful gusts of wind that swept through Stoney Ridge yesterday could've easily lifted him up and carried him off. In his mind's eye, Jesse saw Hank in his overalls and shirt, arms flailing, being picked up by the wind and cartwheeled through the sky, off toward Philadelphia somewhere, and dropped down suddenly on the ground, confused, in a bustling city.

“What's so funny?” Hank asked, frowning.

Jesse corrected himself quickly. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was thinking of something else. Funny things come to mind.”

“Well, don't keep them to yourself. This world is in serious shortage of laughing matters.”

“Hardly.” A tall, thin, stern-faced woman stood at the open door, fixing a look on Jesse as if she had shrewdly caught him at something.

“FERN! Here's my new apprentice, Jesse. He's going to take over the buggy shop when I retire.”

A small smirk lifted Fern's stern countenance. “I thought you'd already retired.”

“Nope! Just the tired part.” Amused at his own joke, Hank slapped his knee in delight. “Jesse, best part of the job is taking the noon meal in Fern's kitchen.”

Jesse had hoped the wages might be the best part of the job.

Fern looked Jesse up and down. “I can tell from here, your belly button is hitting your backbone. Wash up, the pair of you, and come on up to the house.”

The table was laid for three when Jesse followed Hank up to the house. Fern popped out of the kitchen with a pan of hot-from-the-oven cornbread and nodded to where he was to sit, saying, “Amos won't be joining us.”

Tucking in his napkin, Hank dropped his head to signal a silent prayer. Then Fern speared a broccoli crown and passed the dish to Jesse. “You must have hit Hank when he was hard up for help.”

“I was as taken by surprise as you appear to be,” Jesse said honestly.

“Do you have experience with buggy repairs?”

“Not really.”

“He doesn't hire just anybody.”

Hire! There was a word that appealed to Jesse's sensibilities. He felt a glimmer of hope rise within. “We hadn't quite finished that conversation when you called us in.” He looked expectantly down the length of the table at Hank.

Sadly, the hint fell flat on Hank's ears. He was preoccupied with buttering his cornbread, lavishly and thoroughly. “Where's Amos?” He lifted his empty coffee cup.

Fern poured coffee into Hank's cup, then filled her own.

“Sugar there behind you,” Hank grunted. Jesse reached over to the counter and handed him a sugar bowl. Hank stirred in the sugar, added cream, took a sip, added more sugar, took another sip, let out a loud “Ahhhhh,” apparently satisfied.

“Freeman Glick is making his rounds to assess everyone's finances, and Amos had to go down to the bank to get a copy of the most recent statement.”

Hank looked like he had bit down on a sour pickle. “Freeman's poking his nose into everybody's business.”

Between bites, Jesse asked, “He's the minister, isn't he?”

“Bishop,” Fern said. “Elmo Beiler passed on a month or so ago and Freeman Glick drew the lot.”

Hank lifted a fork in her direction. “I blame myself. I shouldn't have slept in that morning. Mighta changed everything.” He shook his head. “Freeman Glick is the type who takes pleasure in kicking puppies.” He glared at Jesse with his one good eye. “If you find yourself around him, you better watch your sweet—”

“Hank! Don't blaspheme.”

“—step, is all I was gonna say, Fern.”

“He's our bishop,” Fern said, in a tone to put an end to Hank's tirade.

“That man is tougher than—” sawing strenuously at the piece of pork chop on his plate, Hank glanced in Fern's direction and hedged off—“leather.”

“Hank, rules,” Fern said. “Use a knife, not a fork.”

“So Hank, I hoped you could enlighten me about the parameters of this gainful opportunity.”

“Righto,” Hank confirmed, spooning more sugar into his coffee.

“The kinds of hours you keep, for example. And then there's sala—”

“NOW YOU'RE TALKING!” Hank slapped the table resoundingly. “Come early, stay late!” A rooster belted out a loud crow, and Hank paled, then “Chickens!” came from his lips in a hoarse whisper. He thumped his chair down on all four legs and bolted to his feet. “Blast it all! I forgot to feed Edith's chickens. She'll skin me alive.” And suddenly he bolted for the door.

Jesse popped the last crumb of cornbread into his mouth. “Edith?”

“Edith Fisher. Jimmy's leaving left her in a pinch with all those chickens to feed and clean up after. Hank's trying to help her out.”

Fern Lapp and Jesse considered each other. An awkward silence filled the room—awkward, at least, for Jesse.

He finished swallowing his last bite of pork chop and bowed his head, then quietly rose to his feet. “I thank you, Fern Lapp, for the splendiferous and robust meal.”

“Save your charm for the girls,” she said. “You don't need all that embroidery with me.”

Jesse blinked innocently back. “Why, I meant it!”

She nodded. “I'm sure you always do.”

“I'll be off, then.”

“Just where do you think you're going? You're on the clock.” Her arched eyebrows expressed all that was needed.

Jesse wondered if it would make a difference if he pointed out that there really was no clock because there really was no work to do because there was no boss. Upon deeper consideration, he chose not to debate that point. Fern Lapp did not seem to be a woman who invited questions. “Regrettably, I am not seer enough to know what Hank's intentions are.” He smiled, then swallowed it when she frowned at him. He tried again. “Unfortunately, in his haste to depart, Hank failed to give me instructions about what to do in his absence so that I could be of better assistance. Therefore I will wait until—”

Fern leaned over the table. “Boy, you have a brain. Make yourself useful.” Her eyes swept downward toward the buggy shop. She swept a few dishes off the table and whisked them to the sink. “Freeman wants an inventory of everything on this farm. Every cow, every sheep, every tool. He said he wants it down to the number of nails in a brown paper bag. You get started on the buggy shop. And while you're making the inventory, do a little cleaning. We're hosting church in a week's time. Everything in that shop needs to be spick-and-span. I'll be down within the hour to check on your progress.”

And that was definitely that.

Caught by surprise, Jesse had an odd feeling that the supervision of his apprenticeship had just changed hands and he was now reporting to Fern Lapp.

A blast of wind slammed into the windows, and upstairs something rattled.

Katrina stretched out under her covers, gobsmacked by the exhaustion that had plagued her for the last few days. She'd had indigestion all last night, so badly that she had to get up for Tums six or seven times, and it still bothered her now. Eating eased it a little, though the coleslaw she'd had for supper hadn't helped.

Neither had the fact that John had yet to return her phone call.

She had tossed and turned every night since making that call, dozing off and on, reviewing their relationship, flashing on memories she'd struggled to stop thinking of. It amazed her to think that leaving a simple phone message for John would cause her to lose sleep. How many times would she and John sit together and talk for hours about everything and nothing? Just ordinary things, all of it.

Gone.

She wondered if Bethany was feeling the same way after
Jimmy Fisher's abrupt departure yesterday. Why did love have to be so difficult, so filled with peaks and valleys? More valleys than peaks, it seemed.

She finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed. She checked on Thelma, listened for a moment to her whiffling snore, and decided to take a walk before breakfast. A soft morning light was gently, slowly filling the sky. Chickens clucked and flapped when they saw her, expecting breakfast. Her ladies, Thelma called them. “You'll have to wait a little longer, ladies,” she said as she passed the henhouse. She took a deep breath of sweet morning air and found that it eased her anxiety a little. Just a little, but it helped.

She climbed the path that led to the moss hill. The sight of the morning sun hitting the bright green giant pincushions caught her right in the throat and she halted, almost aching. The rocks were almost glowing, nearly iridescent, in the slant of the morning sun.

She sat down on a rock and took a deep breath, in and out. The pain she'd been carrying let go, as if she'd dropped a heavy backpack to the ground.

This. This was what she needed. Time alone, time without responsibilities. Time to think. To heal.

She turned around and saw Andy cresting the hill. She lifted a hand in a wave.

“You're up early,” Andy said. He'd come up the path, carrying a shovel in one gloved hand and a heavy burlap bag in the other. He pushed the brim of his straw hat back with one hand, and she could see that he'd been working hard. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face.

“I couldn't sleep.”

He hesitated, then set down his shovel and sack and sat
down on the rock next to hers. He was staring at the trees that lined the base of the hill, and this gave Katrina a chance to study him. He was quite a fine-looking man. Different than John, but definitely attractive in his own way. She wondered what Bethany Schrock might think of Andy Miller, now that Jimmy Fisher had abandoned her for Colorado.

He turned toward her so suddenly that he caught her staring at him and his blue eyes crinkled with amusement. Probably used to women admiring him, she thought.

“I've never given much thought to moss before I came to stay with Thelma.”

Andy brushed a hand over the cushion top of a rock. “Moss is an all-purpose sponge. It stores water, releases nutrients, houses tiny critters. Pretty amazing stuff, actually. But it has to be harvested carefully.”

“How do you harvest it? By stripping the rocks?”

“Yes, but you never gather it all,” he said. “Not if you want it to grow back again. Always leave clumps behind to help the plant regenerate. It's spore-driven. To thrive, it needs moisture, cool temperatures, and shade. And plenty of runoff, because moss can't tolerate saturation.” He spread his palm in a wide half circle. “Just what this hillside has to offer.” He rose to his full height, towering over her.

“How long will it take to grow back?”

“All depends—if it's taken properly, it survives and grows back. Sheet moss is the most common moss that's harvested illegally. That's why I'm trying to harvest it properly, here.” He tilted his head. “Come with me. I'll show you where I've been harvesting this morning.” He led her through a wooded area on the north side of Thelma's hill and pointed to a section on the hillside that had been harvested. She had never
noticed moss before, and suddenly, it was everywhere. On the trees, on the ground, on the rocks.

“So that's what's in the sack you were carrying? You're taking a sack of clumps to the greenhouse to transplant?”

“Yes. I place those clumps of moss on a similar substrate. It's critical to keep them moist until they reestablish rhizoids.”

He had launched into that overexplaining thing, a characteristic of most every male she knew, but she also realized this was as much as Andy had ever spoken to her—he didn't have much to say at meals, only to answer Thelma's questions—and, curious, she tossed out another question. “Where did you learn so much about moss?”

“My grandmother.” His face softened and Katrina could see that he had special feelings for her. “She loved plants, all kinds. Taught me everything I know. She died when I was thirteen. Thelma reminds me of her.”

Oh! So that's why he was so protective of Thelma. Frankly, she couldn't imagine anyone better suited to help Thelma get her moss business up and running. To think he was the first one who called about the job! A fortuitous event. “Amazing to think that she found you, or you found her.”

His mouth tightened, and something flashed over him, a memory of his grandmother, she thought, sensing there was a story there, one she'd like to hear. She found herself intrigued by Andy. She couldn't quite figure him out. At times he seemed so kind and tender, other times, aloof and a little mysterious.

Then he gave her one of those dazzling smiles. “Pretty fortunate for both of us.”

“So, this work. You really like it, then?” She wondered if he had plans to stay, or if he was a tumbleweed, like she was.

He gave a quick nod. “Picking moss is hard work on a hot day. Sweaty. Dirty. But I like the solitude and independence of it.” He grinned. He reached down and picked up his sack. “I'd rather harvest moss than deal with most people,” he said, hefting the heavy sack over his shoulder. “Did you know the color green is supposed to reduce stress?”

She could believe that. As she stroked the soft carpet she felt less stress. Peaceful, even. She felt the first glimmer of optimism, a sliver of hope that everything was going to be all right.

David stood in the small cemetery where so many of Stoney Ridge's earliest worshipers were buried. It was a pretty spot, this hill, shaded by trees. He was driving past it this afternoon and stopped by, just on impulse. He knelt in the grass by Elmo's new grave and brushed some leaves away from the plain marker. This afternoon the sun shone warm and bright in the sky, but on the day they'd buried Elmo, it had been raining. He heard the clip-clop of a horse trotting along the road as it slowed to a stop. He looked over to see Amos Lapp climb out of his buggy and make his way through the graveyard.

“You've saved me an errand,” Amos said with a grin. “I was heading over to your house and saw your horse.” He dipped down at the grave of his first wife, Maggie Zook Lapp, to brush away a spider's web. “David, I thought you should know there's rumor brewing that Freeman wants to split the church.”

David wasn't surprised by that news. Disappointed, but
not surprised. He looked down at Elmo's grave. “I didn't know Elmo well, but I did know that he was passionate about keeping the community intact.”

“That he was. Stoney Ridge was one of the first Amish communities in America.”

David turned slowly in a full circle, his mind thinking about each family that filled the land he gazed on. Mattie and Sol Riehl, whose son Danny was one of the brightest boys he'd ever met. He sensed a mantle on Danny's future, that God had an unusual plan for him. Another half turn and he was looking at Carrie and Abel's farm. How many children did they have now? Over eight, at last count. If they moved away, like he'd heard they were considering, they would take a substantial part of Stoney Ridge's future with them.

Another slight shift to the right and he saw the rose fields of Rose Hill Farm. Jonah and Lainey Riehl had moved to Florida over a year ago, leaving Bess and Billy Lapp to manage the roses. They wouldn't leave, would they? He'd heard such stories of Bertha Riehl's passion for her old-fashioned roses. Would Bess be able to leave her grandmother's roses?

Another turn and David could spot the tops of the pine trees that belonged to the Inn at Eagle Hill. Certainly, Rose and Galen King wouldn't leave after all the work they'd done to make the inn profitable. But he knew that Galen's uncle had asked him to move to Kentucky to take over his horse breeding farm, and if there was one thing that could make Galen leave Stoney Ridge . . . it would be the lure of horses.

Even Abraham, the deacon, and his wife, Esther, were considering a move to live closer to family in Iowa.

“Amos, am I wrong in wanting Freeman to slow down? To think of the long-term consequences of his decisions?”

Amos swept his hat off his head and ruffled his hair. “Maybe it would help if you tried to see things from Freeman's point of view.”

“I do understand his concerns. I do. Farmland in Lancaster County has become exorbitant.”

“It's not just the price of a farm. Taxes are increasing. Folks can cash out their farms and live on half as much in another state. Jonah Riehl told his daughter Bess that he lives all year in Florida on just the taxes he paid in Pennsylvania.”

“So you think Freeman is on the right path?”

Amos took a long time answering. “He's our bishop.”

For a moment their gazes met, then David averted his face to hide his thoughts.
Yes, Freeman is our bishop. That means his word is
final. That means the entire community depends on his leadership
.
But he also knew that settlements failed when leadership failed.

Squinting, Amos put his hat back on and looked out over the sun-seared graves. “The Lord chose Freeman to receive the bishop's lot. Maybe it's better not to think too much about his ways. To just try and accept his will.” He adjusted his hat on his head. “Well, I'll be off. I just wanted to be sure you had a heads up about the church split.”

As Amos walked back to his buggy, David pondered his remarks. God's ways were indeed mysterious. But this conflict with Freeman didn't feel like something to file under that subject.

David had a strange sense of things being out of kilter. It felt as if he had to keep his guard up, alert to whatever was coming. But what was coming?

It happened two more times that week. Luke Schrock was stung or bitten by some insect, right during class. If Birdy hadn't seen the welts swell up on his neck right before her eyes, she would've thought he was just trying to get attention. Luke would do anything to get noticed. But he was starting to look like he had some kind of hideous disease or an unusual case of hives.