Heritage of Lancaster County 02 The Confession (27 page)

"I'd love to do that for you, Mrs. Bennett, but I believe

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it would be futile to try," the nurse said.

"Please, see if someone will listen to you," Katherine pleaded. Then when Natalie had left to do whatever she could, Laura's daughter told her something her friend Mary Stoltzfus had always said, growing up in Hickory Hollow. "Ya never get if ya don't ask."

When Laura asked her to repeat it in Dutch, Katherine laughed and obliged her, putting on the thickest German accent she'd ever heard. But she loved it, every minute spent with her adorable Katherine.

Not long after, Natalie returned, sporting a broad smile. "I guess I should've pleaded your case before this. The hospital has consented to give you unlimited time together-- the two of you. That is, if Mrs. Bennett agrees to rest periodically."

Because of the new glasses, Laura noticed happily that Katherine appeared as delighted as she.

The drive to Lancaster seemed much longer than Dan had remembered, even without a horse and buggy. It may have only seemed long because of the many boyhood landmarks along the way, especially once he made the turn off Highway 340.

The closer he came to Hickory Lane, the more he found himself slowing down to savor the rolling hills, the tall, tall trees, the way the sun played on blanketed white fields. Even in the dead of winter, this part of Pennsylvania was rich with beauty. And the memories.., how they beat a path to his brain.

Fighting off the impulse to drive past the Lapps' red sandstone house--see for himself if Katie still lived there-- he turned onto a narrow road, leading to Weaver's Creek. It was here that he and Katie had written a love song together

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while sitting on a boulder. They'd watched the creek ripple past them that day, and he'd tried to tell her of his doubtings, his questionings about the Amish church. He had tried, but the only thing he could even begin to say, really, was that no matter what happened, no matter if he got himself shunned, he'd still always love his Katie.

Of course, if his recollections were true, about the only thing he did do that day, at least when it came to declaring his love, was kiss her. Again and again. Till she had to wriggle free from his arms and take him on a walk toward the bridge and the creek below.

There, perched on a boulder in the middle of the stream, he had pulled out some folded staff paper and a pencil from his pocket and shown Katie how to notate music for the first time.

The music .... How he'd always longed to share it as a gift to his People, to his precious Katie, so full of melodies and lovely lyrics herself.

Yet the Ordnung forbade it.

Over the years, prayer and fasting had brought him to his knees in holy communion with his Lord and Savior. But it was the music and spiritual worship within the church walls, like a balm of Gilead, that had soothed his splintered

SOU1.

He wondered how Katie had ever survived without it, for he questioned whether anyone might've come along to fill his disobedient shoes in that regard. Who else would've offered her the same sort of bonding--the love of music they'd shared so intensely? Still, it was sin, according to the Amish church. And for her sake, he rather hoped she hadn't pursued that particular interest, especially if she wanted to remain in good standing with the People of Hickory Hollow.

Checking his watch, he realized the appointed hour was upon him. For in his second letter to Annie, he'd asked her to meet him near the old one-room schoolhouse, knowing

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it would be vacated well before four in the afternoon. It was the perfect place for him to change into Amish clothing, too, and he hoped she wouldn't disappoint him in this.

Annie was right on time, and he waited in his car for a bit before getting out, allowing her to pull the carriage into the school lane.

Spying each other at almost the same instant, they literally ran into each other's arms, laughing and crying. "Daniel!" sobbed his sister. "I can't believe it's really you." And she pulled back to look him over. "You're so tall, ach, you're a grown man, ain'tcha?"

He picked her up then and twirled her around. "I've missed you, Annie!" he shouted into the frosty air.

Holding hands, they ran together toward the Amish school, letting themselves inside. "I didn't know what on earth to think when I got your first letter," Annie began. "I thought it was some kind of horrid joke at first. But then, before long, I knew it was you." Her voice grew softer. "By reading it over and over again, I knew."

She was full of questions, so many it made his head spin. But what she wanted to know more than anything was the truth of what had happened in Atlantic City five years ago.

He pulled in a deep breath, then began, praying she'd understand, could forgive him. "I ran away on my birthday, angry at Dat," he explained. "It started out to be an innocent

outing--a sailing expedition, all by myself."

"Just you, alone?"

Dan took it more slowly, gave her a moment to digest his news. "I needed time to think.., to think where my life was headed. So much of what I knew about religion and God had been passed down to me from our parents--their parents before them. I know you may have trouble with this, but I needed something in writing, something I could read for myself. For another thing, I wanted to be sure I was

261 saved, so... I was secretly studying, even memorizing parts of the Bible."

"You were?" The light left her eyes.

"I wanted to spare you, Annie. Wanted to protect you and the rest of the family from thinking I was sinning." He didn't go on to tell her that he'd had the same reason for shielding Katie Lapp, as well.

Continuing with his story, he recalled the unexpected storm. "A severe one . . . I was knocked overboard. Almost drowned swimming to shore."

Dan told the truth, all of it. In the end, there had been ample opportunity to explore a faith to stand on--not one built on tradition or man-made rules. Now for him, he told Annie, the Ordnung had long since been replaced by the Word of God. Many long hours of personal Bible study and fellowship with other Christians had convinced him, had served to boost his confidence and faith in the Almighty.

"Ach, I don't know what to say," Annie spoke in a near whisper.

"I don't expect you to understand, Annie, or forgive me--neither one, for that matter." He shrugged sadly. "I was a foolish nineteen-year-old boy, terribly immature. But I've come home to repent."

"Well, you'll be needin' these if you're to meet with Dat." She held out a bag of clothing. "And don't forget this." She handed him a black felt winter hat.

"Thank you, Annie. I appreciate your help."

"Ach, my husband has plenty of hats, ya know." Then she told him about her marriage to Elam Lapp.

The Lapp name touched a nerve. For the life of him, Dan couldn't bear to hear Annie spill things about Samuel's daughter... Katie. Who she'd married, where she lived... things like that.

The huge lump in his throat made it difficult to speak.

262 He cleared his throat. "I hope to see you again before I leave."

"Leave?" Her eyes widened. "But you just got here." "I'm Mennonite now," he told her. "Then why'dja come back?"

"To confess my wrongdoings, to come clean before the Lord and Dat. I had a spirit of rebellion in me back in my younger days. Our father needs to hear that I am truly sorry."

Annie appeared stunned, as though she couldn't believe her ears. "But don't you know that if ya leave, you'll be shunned?"

"I've come to face it like a man.., at last."

She burst into tears. "Oh, we've got the harshest bishop ever!"

"Who?"

"John Beiler, remember?"

"But he's always been hard on the People."

Annie shook her head. "I never thought much about it, till here lately." She began to cry again. "Oh, I wish ya didn't have to go through the Meinding, Dan."

He reached for her, wrapping loving arms about his sister. She sobbed bitterly, and when he thought she might never quit, she looked up at him through wet lashes. "Don'tcha see? It'll be like losin' ya twice. Like you're dead again. Oh, Daniel, can't ya stay? Can't ya come help Elam work the farm for a bit . . . live with us? Just don't leave again. Please, don't."

Her pleas tore at his heart.

"We have a baby son," Annie said suddenly, as if telling him might make him change his mind. "We named him Daniel . . . after you."

Drawing a deep breath, he touched his sister's chin, realizing, as he stood near the desk where he'd learned his ABC's, that if he didn't change into Elam Lapp's clothing

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soon, if he didn't drive over to his father's house, he might never be able to go through with any of this. It saddened him that much.

"If ya hafta leave again, will ya at least come say goodbye?" beseeched Annie, and she told him how to get to her and Elam's house.

"Yes, I'll come," he said. "I won't leave this time without saying 'God be with you,' sister."

It had been an awful selfish thing not to tell Daniel about Katie Lapp's shunning--that his former girlfriend was off in New York somewhere, searching for her birth mother. Annie pondered the problem while driving the horse back to the house.

If she had told her brother about Katie, if he knew his sweetheart no longer lived here in Hickory Hollow, well, she could almost predict how Daniel would react. And then, even if her father did talk some sense into Dan after he offered his confession, even so, she understood the drawing power of love. Their love--a love so sweet, so strong, that if truth be known, she'd have to say she'd envied it through the years. Oh, she hadn't committed the sin of envy. No, it was more like the wonder in a child's heart on Christmas morning. It was that kind of feeling she felt when she saw them together.

'Course, Bishop John might not think so if he knew about it, but she didn't care. Main thing was, she had high hopes of Daniel returning to the Amish church. And by keeping this one little secret from him, least for now, it was the best thing she could do. For Dan, mostly, but also for herself.

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Katherine was shocked when she heard the news.

"You'll... be the mistress of the manor, darling.., after I'm gone," Laura Bennett gasped out.

Shaking her head, Katherine could only reply, "I'd rather be poor and have you alive, Mother .... "

"Nevertheless, what's mine today.., will be yours . . . soon."

With growing horror, Katherine realized that the deadly pneumonia was squeezing the life out of her mother's lungs. There'd be no more talk of the inheritance--not now. She must hear Laura's story--how it came to be that she'd decided to give her newborn infant to an Amish couple. Still, when that moment came--later in their conversation-- she'd be very, very careful how she phrased the question. The subject was much too painful--for both of them.

Meanwhile, sitting here beside the hospital bed, Katherine realized how very similar they must appear. Hair color and texture, even their noses matched.., and the bold, determined line of their chins.

Catching her studied appraisal, her mother smiled. "I'm afraid I'm not looking.., my best," she managed with a wry

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look. "My hair ... so thin now ... probably the medication."

Katherine took the fragile hand, like a bird's wing, it

seemed. "Did the boys ever tease you about being a redhead?" she asked in a lilting tone, hoping to steer the conversation to more pleasant paths.

"Your... father did sometimes.., your birth father." The comment caught her off guard. She hadn't considered another man--other than Samuel Lapp--as her father. Strange, how she'd felt so instantly at home with her natural mother, with not a thought for the young man--her real father--who'd loved Laura as a teenager, then left her pregnant and brokenhearted.

There was a pause when the nurse came in to check for

vital signs and see that her mother's IV and oxygen tube were in place. Immediately after that--when they were alone again--Katherine began to ask more questions. Several that had remained lodged in her recollection ever since the day she'd first spied the baby dress.

"Why did you pick satin fabric for the dress?" she

wanted to know.

"Perhaps it was because... I've always loved the feel...

the swish of satin."

There were other such questions--favorite foods,

whether Laura had a craving for sweets .... Then--how it was that her mother had happened to be in Lancaster on the day of Katherine's birth.

At that, Laura's face blanched pale as death, followed by

a pained expression. "Oh," her mother moaned. "Quick...

the nurse!"

Katherine ran to the door to summon help. "My mother's in terrible pain. Please help her!"

A rush of nurses swept through the door, one politely

asking her to leave the room.

Had her never-ending questions set off her mother's ill265

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ness . .. caused undue stress? Katherine fretted. Why couldn't she have been content to sit beside Laura's bed,

letting her mother talk only when and if she chose to. Why must I be so bold, so curious?

Standing outside the hospital room door, she prayed that if this flare-up was to cause her mother's passing--/f it were--that the dear Lord Jesus, Savior of the world, of Lydia Miller and Laura Mayfield-Bennett, might ease the pain and cushion the tug-of-war between life and death.

Recalling the past hours of intimate conversation, Katherine counted up her blessings. Not only had her natural mother desired to pass on a vast fortune to her only offspring, but her strong faith as well. Laura had explained her relationship with Christ Jesus--in glowing terms of love and acceptance--such things Katherine had never heard.

The idea that God's Son should come to earth and die for her--hardheaded and conniving as she was--made Katherine stop and think. Really think about her place in "God's kingdom," as Laura had put it.

As she waited in the hallway, hovering close to her mother's door, she recalled the sweet moments spent talking about spiritual things. It was then, while thinking back over this part of their conversation, that she began to comprehend how unimportant it was to know who you were--her biggest hang-up in life, it seemed--but whose you were.