8

If there was one thing David had learned in the years since he had drawn the lot and become ordained as a minister, it was that he never knew what was coming next. He had just experienced the strangest Sunday service he’d ever seen as a minister, ever even as a church member.

It was a brisk, bright mid-November morning. David and Abraham shook hands with the men and women as they strode into the Smucker farmhouse where church would be held. The kitchen had been cleared of table and chairs to make space for the benches; every room was lined with benches, and every bench was lined with people. Because church members entered by gender and age in the same order each Sunday, absences were easily noted. Women and girls entered first, in descending age, and sat on the women’s side. Then the ministers and older laymen entered, followed by the other men and boys in descending age. The ordained men all sat together. Such seating symbolized the importance of the church community, even above family ties.

But on this morning, Freeman and Levi Glick had yet to appear.

The morning’s service officially began as the Vorsinger drew out the first note of the mournful hymn, a long, sustained, piercing note. Time slowed and slowed, and slowed even more. Eyes closed, minds focused, hearts softened in anticipation of worship. The rest of the men’s voices, low and deep and rumbly, rolled out, and soon the women’s voices, high and sweet and warbly, spun out to join the men. The walls of the humble farmhouse practically swelled with the voices, young and old, male and female. This sound, David always sensed, deep in his heart, pleased the Lord. Many voices, one note. A beautiful illustration of unity, of oneness.

And still no Freeman and Levi in sight.

As the long hymn got under way—over twenty verses—David and Abraham went upstairs to a bedroom for Abrot, a time for counsel and prayer, as was their custom. They barely knelt to pray when into the room came Freeman, with his typical tall-in-the-saddle confidence. Behind him came Levi. And behind both of them was Marvin King, the bishop from a neighboring church who had visited David at the store a few days back. David and Abraham looked up in surprise, silent and curious, waiting to see what they had to say. It was not unusual to include visiting ordained leaders into Abrot. Marvin knelt to pray. Freeman and Levi did the same, keeping their eyes averted and their heads down.

David wanted to take their late arrival as a good sign, that they might have come today with soft, penitent hearts, ready to confess their sins, to ask for forgiveness. He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.

And that was his first mistake.

A little later downstairs, when the time came to deliver the sermon, Freeman stood quickly, rather than wait until David and Levi deferred to him, as they normally would have. He preached the way they sang their hymns, in a slow, singsong rhythm. His dark eyes flashed with the passion of his words. He mentioned, twice, that his own ancestors had come over in 1748, all the way from Rotterdam, risking their lives to find a place to worship in freedom.

Freeman’s sermon was filled with references to “God works in mysterious ways.” It couldn’t be faulted, not at all, yet David wondered if behind the theme was Freeman’s way of insisting that he was bishop because of God’s mysterious ways, not because he had switched the lots.

Then Freeman sat down and Marvin King stood to give the second sermon. There was nothing unusual about that. Visiting bishops or ministers were invited to give sermons. It was a privilege for the church members to hear the messages from other leaders. And then Levi took his turn to affirm the points made in the sermon. David’s sermon, obviously, would have to be postponed to another Sunday. And then it was time for the closing hymn.

After the benediction, during the time of announcements and before everyone was dismissed, Abraham rose to his feet to say he was relinquishing his lot as deacon. Freeman only nodded and said he accepted his decision, because he was certain Abraham had been directed by God to do so.

A silence filled the church. A thick, enveloping, smothering silence. A waiting. David leaned forward on his chair, expecting—hoping, praying!—Freeman and Levi to follow Abraham’s lead.

Nothing.

Freeman gave a closing prayer, then off he strode, through the kitchen door, Levi following on his heels. Marvin rose quickly and walked behind them. Usually, the ministers were the last to leave. Their work for the morning was done and they remained on the bench, a little spent.

Many in the church, though not all, had astounded looks on their faces as they watched the three men stride toward the door. Then they turned to look at David with their open, honest faces. God-fearing people, good people. He knew what they were thinking: Wasn’t he going to do something?

David hadn’t known what to expect from Freeman on this Sunday morning, but he hadn’t expected . . . nothing. Acting as if everything was right as rain? Why, it was preposterous.

Amos Lapp sidled up to him and sat beside him. “Marvin’s sermon kept circling around the block, didn’t you think?”

David smiled. It was true. Marvin kept hammering home the same point: “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” All.

David agreed wholeheartedly with Marvin’s point. Many, many times he had experienced the Spirit’s conviction of his own sin, faced fully the regret and remorse, and then, the sweet relief that came with confession. Yes, we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. All.

Amos crossed one leg over the other and clasped his knee. “You know, don’t you, that Marvin King is a Glick?”

“Wait. He’s what? He’s a Glick?”

“Marvin’s mother and Freeman’s father were siblings.”

No. No, David hadn’t realized the connection. Of course! Now the conversation he and Marvin had in his office a few days ago made complete sense. Marvin was laying the groundwork to excuse Freeman’s actions.

David was disappointed—in Freeman, in Levi, in Marvin, in himself. He had hoped that giving Freeman the space to confess and repent would suffice, that he would seek the Lord’s direction. What purpose did confession play when it was forced on someone? No, it needed to come from within to be genuine. But that strategy wasn’t making much of an impact on Freeman and Levi.

During the fellowship meal, David tried to sit near Freeman, tried to get his attention for a private moment, but he was surrounded by his sons or relatives. There were enough Glick relatives, David realized today, to shelter Freeman and keep him in his role as an unrepentant bishop. And that would be a grave mistake. The root of all sins is the denial of sin, the refusal to admit sin.

But the reality of the situation was that David, alone, wasn’t making much of a dent. He closed his eyes in exasperation. What next?

Abigail might have looked as if she was concentrating on the sermons during church, but her mind was miles away. She was thoroughly preoccupied by the Letter Identity Deception and wasn’t quite sure how to proceed from here. She was uncomfortable with dishonesty. Dane was an innocent victim in the Letter Identity Deception and didn’t deserve to be misled. He had no inkling that she was the writer of those letters and not her father. No inkling at all.

Briefly, she thought about telling Dane the truth, that she was the writer of the letters, not her father. Wasn’t the truth always, always, the best plan? Absolutely. Always.

But not in this situation.

Her mind raced as she thought of all the things she had written in those letters to Francis/Dane. Admitting that she—posing as her father—had never felt as if she fit in, even in her own family. That she had never had a true friend, other than her sister. That she preferred books to people, because books were predictable. People were not.

No, the truth would be counterproductive in this particular situation. She created a mental list of reasons to not reveal the truth to Francis/Dane:

1. Her first priority was to break through the brick wall and discover the identity of the missing Glick ancestor.
2. Her second priority was to return to Ohio with the information so that her father would feel that his work was valued and important.
3. Francis/Dane might feel embarrassed if he knew the truth. Quite possibly, he too had revealed more than he intended to in their correspondence.
4. If Francis/Dane did know Abigail’s true identity, he would reject her.

Somehow, she needed to stay on course, to see this brick wall through. She had an idea, but she needed help.

After the fellowship meal, she intercepted Dane as he walked to his horse in the parking pasture. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Dane looked at her with unmasked delight. “Yes, what?”

Nervously, she fingered her apron edge. “Yes, I’ll accept your help with my project.”

He looked like he’d just been handed the moon. “Really?”

“Yes. I believe so.” She bit her lip. “I think this might be an ideal solution.”

“How can I help?”

“Have you heard about the Genographic Project?”

“No,” Dane said.

“It was started in 2005 by the National Geographic Society.” She explained that with a sample of DNA, scientists could trace his distant ancestry. He was fascinated. She was pleased with how she described the Genographic Project: Just enough information, but not too much. The Amish were fans of the National Geographic Society but would probably not be in favor of the computational technologies required to process and analyze the genetic information of Dane’s DNA. She offered to have Dane’s DNA processed through a kit. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any specific questions about the kit. She had already bought it in anticipation of meeting Francis, but she hadn’t read the directions yet. She wasn’t entirely sure what might be required of Dane to collect his DNA. She had heard about the scraping of cheeks to collect a sample. Blood was better.

He was quiet for a moment, then a big smile wreathed his face. “I’m all yours.”

Excellent.

David had intended to find a moment to introduce Birdy to his mother after church, but he was thoroughly preoccupied with trying, unsuccessfully, to find a moment alone with Freeman. And by the time he realized that wasn’t going to happen, he couldn’t find Birdy. Andy Miller was coming out of the barn as David was walking into it. “Andy, have you seen Birdy?”

“Katrina said Thelma wasn’t feeling well, so the three of them left, about an hour ago.”

Ah, a missed opportunity.

“David, have you had a chance to look through those leases?”

“Yes. I read through them. I’m amenable to this project, with one change. I want the leases to adjust from five years to three.”

“Katrina told me how you felt about that.”

“If that’s something the lease company is willing to agree to, then I think there’s no reason you can’t go ahead.”

“I’ll follow up. I think it’ll work.” Andy smiled and put out his hand to shake David’s. “This, this is going to be good for everyone in Stoney Ridge.”

David returned his handshake. “I hope so too.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll get home to tell Katrina the good news. She’ll be thrilled.”

“And Thelma,” David said. “Tell them both.”

Dane gave Abigail a two-finger wave with a big smile as she walked past him with her grandmother and sister, uncle and cousins, on the way to their buggy. She looked away, pretending not to see him. She had already said goodbye to him. Why say goodbye twice?

Ruthie caught up to her. “How could you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Brush Dane off like that.”

“I didn’t brush him off. I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly.” Ruthie rolled her eyes dramatically. “Half the girls in town would swoon if Dane Glick made a point to wave goodbye to them. But not Gabby Stoltzfus.”

“Abigail.” How many times did she need to remind her? Between forgetfulness and eye rolling, she wondered if Ruthie might have some overlooked neurological issues.

Ruthie rolled her eyes yet again, then veered away abruptly to join her father. Uncle David drove his daughters home from church in the wagon, and Abigail, Laura, and Mammi followed behind in the buggy with Thistle. Laura took the reins, Mammi sat next to her, and Abigail climbed in the back.

“Listen, Gabby,” Mammi said, turning her head slightly. “Ora Nisley is coming to supper this afternoon. Change into your blue dress.”

“Who? Today? Why?” Abigail winced. It was starting. Mammi the Meddler’s meddling.

“Ora Nisley. He’s a widower. An eager-to-remarry widower.”

Laura flicked the reins to get the horse moving faster. “Does he have children?”

Mammi mumbled something.

Laura leaned to her right. “How many?”

“Four.”

“Mammi!” Laura said. “A widower with four children! That’s not the kind of suitable man we had discussed finding for our Gabby.”

“They’re all grown. In fact, he has some—” She stopped herself abruptly.

“Grandchildren?” Laura said. “Were you going to say that he has grandchildren? Oh Mammi. That is definitely not the kind of man we had discussed for our Gabby.”

Abigail completely agreed, though she resented being talked about in the third-person point of view while she was right here. Inches away!

“It’s a perfect opportunity,” Mammi said. “I asked Fern Lapp about him. She said that Ora Nisley has a thriving greenhouse business.”

“I saw you and Fern talking,” Laura said. “Did Fern have anything else to say about him?”

Mammi shifted uncomfortably.

“Mammi, what else did Fern have to say?”

She huffed. “She said that he might have a few unusual habits.”

Abigail leaned over the front bench. “Such as?”

Mammi stiffened. “Such as he washes his hands rather a lot.” She looked out the window. “There’s nothing wrong with a man who values cleanliness.”

Absolutely right. She could have been describing me. “Not unless it’s untreated obsessive-compulsive disorder. The constant washing of hands is one of the top ten indicators. I’ve read all about this disorder.”

Laura gasped. “Wait! I know the man you’re talking about. He’s the one who came into the kitchen after lunch to supervise how we were washing the dishes. Oh Mammi, he’s so old!”

“He’s not at all old! Only fifty-four.”

Abigail gave a sideways glance at her grandmother, who was sixty-two.

Mammi noticed. “Age isn’t important. Gabby likes things organized and so does Ora Nisley. I thought they might be very compatible.”

“He’s old and he’s odd. That man’s insistence on cleanliness bordered on the ridiculous. He drove us all crazy. We finally left him alone in the kitchen to clean up. And it was Sadie Smucker’s kitchen!”

A trickle of pleasure rolled over Abigail. Her grandmother had noticed that she was well organized. Compliments did not come her way very often. However, that didn’t mean she wanted to be courted by a grandfather with obsessive-compulsive disorder. “He does sound as if he might be on the extreme side of tidiness.”

“At least I’m trying, Gabby.” Mammi sighed. “You’re acting like I want this more than you.”

“This? But what is ‘this’?”

Her grandmother sounded exasperated. “For you to fall in love and get married.”

Abigail didn’t answer her right away. “Of course I want that. Of course I do.” She had always thought she would get married, but after the Black Raspberry Incident, she was considering abandoning that assumption. Finding a compatible partner, for her, was proving to be highly unlikely. Too complicated. Too disappointing. She thought of the feedback she’d been given: too awkward, too blunt, too direct, too logical, lacking humor, unemotional, uncaring, unfeeling. “But I don’t want to marry an old man.”

It was as if Mammi had not heard her. “I expect you to be here for supper. Wearing your blue dress.”

Dane like Rain, with that perpetual smile on his face, popped into her mind.

His interest in her, albeit surely temporary, might just be the solution to her problem. Not that she considered her single status a problem. But her grandmother did, and if she thought Abigail had a suitor, she might leave her alone to do her work. And in doing so, Abigail would help her father get back on his feet. Literally.

Abigail glanced down at the tips of her shoes. “Jesse asked if I would join him and a friend on a hike today.” She had told her cousin a firm no, but she was suddenly rethinking that decision.

Her grandmother shifted in the bench to look at her askance. “With . . . a male friend?”

“Yes, in fact.”

Her grandmother brightened.

“Jesse’s friend Dane.”

Her grandmother’s eyebrows nearly shot right off her head. “Dane . . . ?”

“Yes. Dane Glick.”

“Glick?” The light left her grandmother’s face like a cloud covering the sun. “Dane Glick? The one who raises sheep? The one who came to supper the other night?”

Abigail clamped her mouth shut, wishing she hadn’t reminded Mammi of his last name.

“Cancel it. You absolutely, positively must be home to meet Ora Nisley.”

Laura turned slightly to give Abigail a wink, then smiled sweetly at Mammi. “Oh, she couldn’t possibly do that. It would be rude. You don’t want Gabby to get a reputation for brushing off one fellow to chase another.”

Her grandmother was frowning. “I suppose you might be right . . .”

Laura had saved the day, as she often did, and found the opening for Abigail to slip away without any way for Mammi to object. This was an example of how intuitive and adroit her sister’s people skills were.

But there was a glitch. Abigail wasn’t trying to chase one fellow or the other.

Jesse could think of dozens of ways he would like to spend a sunny autumn afternoon. Instead, he was the acting chaperone for Dane Glick and his cousin Gabby as they hiked around Blue Lake Pond. Dane led them around the narrow trail and did 90 percent of the talking. Dane reminded Jesse of C.P., his horrible puppy: happy, lighthearted, eager for anything, and completely unaware that Gabby wasn’t equally enamored with him. Gabby kept glancing at her wristwatch, as if she was either late for something or wanted to avoid something. He wasn’t sure which.

Jesse looked behind him to make sure C.P. was following. Naturally, the dog had gotten distracted and was far behind, sniffing something. Jesse whistled and C.P. came bounding toward him, tail turning in circles like a whirligig.

Dane and Gabby were far ahead on the trail, and by the time Jesse caught up, he found he hadn’t missed much. Dane was telling Gabby about what it was like to grow up on a dairy farm in an Amish community that didn’t use any mechanical milking equipment. Each cow was milked by hand. “I was the youngest in the family, so it was my job to get up early and call the cows in.” He put his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Whooee, whooee, whooee!”

Birds shot out of trees, C.P. barked frantically, and Dane laughed. “Had the same effect on the cows. Woke my brothers up too.”

“So that ear-piercing sound would coax the cows to come in?” Gabby seemed amazed.

“Absolutely. They knew that hay was waiting for them in the barn. Each cow would head for her stall, and as soon as she was in place, with her head in the hay, I’d fasten the stanchion around her neck and put kickers on her hind legs.”

“What are kickers?”

“Restraining chains.”

Gabby looked puzzled. “Then they should really be called anti-kickers.”

Dane howled with laughter over that, not at all sentient to the fact that Gabby wasn’t trying to make a joke.

“My older brothers would make their way to the cow barn, groggy and bleary-eyed.” He grinned. “Took us about two hours to milk the cows and get those big silver milk cans over to the milk-processing house. Morning and night.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t miss it for a minute. Though . . . I do miss some of the cows. My brothers thought I was crazy, but I always thought each one had a unique personality.”

He held a branch up for Gabby to pass under, then let it go, striding forward to catch up with her. The branch slapped Jesse in the face.

“I remember one time,” Dane said, “a cow got into some bad water and we found her dead. We hitched chains to her legs and had the horses drag the body far to the edge of our property, out to the bone pile. All the other cows followed behind us, mooing mournfully.”

“Oh my goodness,” Gabby said. “Did they think they were going to a cow funeral?”

“Yes!” Dane grinned at her. “Exactly like that. It was their way of honoring their friend.”

Dane and Gabby walked on ahead, talking about cow funerals, while Jesse waited for C.P. He couldn’t see the puppy’s black tail anywhere, so he backtracked, whistling and calling. He heard a familiar bark and took a shortcut down a steep embankment, sending rocks tumbling down to the beach below. There was C.P., wagging his tail in that big circle motion in front of a blazing fire. Bending down to pet him was Mim Schrock. And next to Mim was Danny Riehl, setting out a picnic. Jesse’s archrival and, most unfortunately, a very nice guy.

This bleak afternoon outing just took a turn for the worse.

Abigail threw some bits of bread crust at a green mallard duck and his plain brown wife. They snatched at it, and she tossed more bread crusts at the ducks, but that only acted as an invitation to the flock. She started backing away as ducks emerged from the pond and waddled toward her. Duck after duck! Like a small army, they kept advancing on her. She turned to Dane, who sat on the beach, watching her. “Help!”

Dane laughed and rose to his feet. “You have to think like a duck.” He took his sandwich and threw pieces of it into the water. Immediately, the ducks lost interest in Abigail and chased toward the water.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes on those ducks, just in case. She looked down the shoreline of the pond and saw Jesse, sitting over at a bonfire, with two other people. When was he planning to return to them?

She stuffed more food into her mouth than she should have, trying to hurry things along and get the picnic over with, but then she had to figure how to chew and swallow without gagging.

Dane took his time. He was a man who seemed decidedly lacking in urgency.

Once he’d finally finished eating, Abigail was all for retrieving Jesse and going straight back to her uncle’s house, but Dane wanted to walk around the lake. “Why?”

“Why?” He looked up, squinting against the sunlight that splashed through the trees. “Because it’s a nice afternoon. Because it’s probably one of the last autumn days we’ll have before winter arrives.” He reached out a hand to help her up, and she noticed that the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “Most of all, because there’s no reason to hurry home. Is there?”

A breeze came up, brushing the surface of the pond into ripples, stirring leaves on the trees, rustling, whispering, crackling. She considered not answering him, assuming it to be a rhetorical question, but Dane seemed to be waiting for one. “My grandmother is bent on marrying me off. She’s trying to match me up with an old widowed grandfather.”

A smile lifted the corners of Dane’s mouth. “An old man?”

“Yes. Extremely old. Fifty-four years old. She invited him to supper, but I told her I was going to the lake with Jesse and a young man. By now, I think, the old man would have gone home. Old people need to get to bed early.”

Dane’s smile grew larger. “So I’m your decoy?”

Honesty, she believed, was always the best policy. “Yes.”

Dane burst out laughing.

Abigail felt the tips of her ears flush, and her heart thrummed in her ears. “Why is that so funny?”

His laughter faded, but his smile remained as he studied her. “You’re quite fascinating, you know.”

Fascinating? She had never heard herself described with that particular adjective. It was nice of him to say that, but she was sure he didn’t mean it.

“I never know what you’re going to say next.”

Oh. That. That was not a new complaint. Her mother considered her candor as a problem of massive proportions. “Think, Gabby. Think before you speak!” was a constant refrain. But the thing was, Abigail did think. She thought quite a lot.

As they ambled on down the trail that circled the lake, the dead leaves beneath their feet crunched as they walked over them, a carpet of dry leaves. In the late afternoon, as the breeze had died down, the lake became flat and still and solid as marble, with the setting sun shining off its surface. For a moment, there seemed no need to rush or plan.

Too soon, they were nearly back to their starting point on the beach. Abigail saw Jesse and his dog had left his friends’ bonfire and returned to their blanket to polish off the remains of their picnic. Her cousin looked to be sound asleep; his black hat covered his face and his long legs were stretched out like a cat on a windowsill. His puppy lay curled up beside him with its head on Jesse’s stomach. The moon was coming up over the treetops, competing with the last glimmer of light from the dying sun, as the day gave way to evening.

Abigail felt a little sorry the afternoon had come to an end. She had enjoyed herself. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Dane held her gaze a little longer than necessary. “You’re very welcome.” Then his face broke into that big, delighted grin. “I’m at your service. Happy to be your decoy any time you need one.”

She felt herself smile in return and thought it was probably a very wide and foolish smile, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. Then the worst possible thing occurred. The worst! She fought against it, but the pressure started building in her cheekbones, a tickling sensation built in her nose, making tears well into her eyes. Abigail squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her sneeze under control.

Words of kindness had always been difficult for her. As far back as her memory could take her, she had coped with her mother’s steady criticism, her grandmother’s constant disappointment, and school peers’ snubs by separating herself with detachment. Kindness, though, brought up feelings she couldn’t control.

She pinched her nose to try to stifle the sneeze, but unfortunately that only made her feel as if her head might explode. She sneezed once—then sneezed again. And again. A triple threat, her signature sneeze attack. Finally, the tickling in her nose stopped and she had herself back under her control. Her eyes opened stealthily, halfway, as if she hoped to see that Dane hadn’t noticed her sneezing attack.

He remained a foot apart, watching her with an expression of wonder, his hand stretched out with a handkerchief in his palm. He had noticed.