Heritage of Lancaster County 02 The Confession (3 page)

sink and began washing her hands. Then, with Katie's help, she put away three discounted boxes of dishwashing detergent and an array of other housecleaning supplies. "So . . . who'd you call, if it's any of my business?"

"I talked to a lady operator in Rochester, New York...

Glancing over at Katie, Lydia hurried to set her at ease.

No need for the dear backward girl to divulge the entire phone conversation. "That's all right, really 'tis. You don't have to tell me more."

"Oh, but I want to!" Katie closed the refrigerator door

and rushed to Lydia's side. "I can't believe what I did today. Honest, I can't."

Studying the young woman next to her, Lydia sensed the yearning. "So, tell me, what did you do?" she asked softly, wondering if her cousin's daughter had already attempted to locate the ailing birth mother.

Katie pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, touching

her long auburn locks, flowing free in wavy curls. Her brown eyes sparkled, and Lydia noticed a trace of eye makeup. "There are forty-eight people with the last name of Bennett."

"Forty-eight? Ei yi yi, such a lot of long-distance calls." "From what Mamma remembered, Laura lives somewhere near Rochester, I think. A city that sounds something like 'Canada.' "

"Well, have you looked on the map yet?"

"Just the one in the phone book, ya know, to get the

29 right area code." Katie beamed, looking right proud of her-self--proud in a good way, no doubt--being able to spout off modern things like area codes and such,

"How on earth will you know if you've located the right person?"

Katie nodded. "Could be awful tricky, I 'spect. But I have some gut . . . uh, good.., ideas."

Lydia sighed, feeling somewhat relieved. "Then you haven't made any personal calls there yet?"

"Not just yet." The hesitancy in the girl's voice was evident. "I wanted to ask your permission first ... let you know I'm willing to pay for all the long-distance calls I might hafta make."

"Then we should get busy." Lydia located a book of maps from the shelf under her corner cupboard. "Here, let's have a look-see. Maybe we can find a city in New York th,at sounds like 'Canada.' "

They put their heads together, leaning over the map on the kitchen table--Lydia's, primly supporting her Mennonite cap; Katie's uncovered hair shining, tousled curls springing free, at odds with her upbringing.

After searching and not finding anything, Lydia checked the index for cities in New York. Her pointer finger slid down the page as she calculated each entry. "Here's one," she said. "I wonder, could this be it?" She pointed to Canandaigua. "Sounds a bit like 'Canada' to me. And the population is rather small, so there shouldn't be as many Bennetts to call."

Katie laughed. "Ach, you rhymed just then."

"I did at that."

The two women chuckled merrily and set about preparing supper. Katie peeled potatoes while Lydia warmed up leftover ham and buttered green beans in the microwave

oven.

"Have you thought of praying about your search?"

30 ventured Lydia. "It would be a wise thing to ask our heavenly Father for His guidance. Don't you think so?"

Katie kept peeling potato skins without looking up. "I don't know how to pray thataway. Didn't learn, really. Never thought it was the right sort of thing to be doing, neither."

"Well, I believe I know just the person to teach you," Lydia replied, an excited feeling welling up in her. "Just the one."

Looking up, Katie broke into a shy smile. "Ach, really?" "I wouldn't fool you about something like that." Lydia turned and went to gaze out the large bay window, framed in hanging ferns. "My husband has taught many a soul to pray, Katie."

"Katherine," Katie reminded her.

Lydia was silent. For a moment, she came close to apologizing but let it go this time. She had considered the arrival of Rebecca Lapp's only daughter as somewhat of a mixed blessing. The poor thing was really groping her way these days, insisting on a fancy name like "Katherine Mayfield." Peculiar, it was. This, and the fact that her and Peter's home--dedicated to the Lord's work years ago--and their close proximity to the Amish community, made it rather convenient for the young woman to run from her past and rent a room outside her church district.

Lydia wondered if she was doing the right thing by the shunned girl. And what of Samuel and Rebecca Lapp ... and their sons? What must they be feeling?

The situation perplexed her, and she had the oddest sensation overall. While pondering earlier, she'd wondered why Katie had reacted so harshly to her parents keeping her adoption a secret. Was this what had caused the young woman to deny her own identity? Or was it the shunning-- the heartrending way she'd been treated by the People-- that had changed everything so?

31 Lydia shook her head, bewildered. She couldn't get over the young woman's worldly clothing. She'd lost no time in buying a fancy red wool skirt and that shiny satin blouse with swirls of red, blue, and gold flowers, of all things. She figured Katie must've surely shaved her legs, too, because she was wearing the sheerest of hosiery lately. And such a hairdo! All wavy, and oh, so much shorter than any Plain woman--Amish or Mennonite--would ever dare to think of wearing.

Katie's shoulder-length hair bothered Lydia to no end-- the girl was constantly fingering it and tossing it about. The usual head covering was missing. Of course, now, what with all of Katie's bright-colored clothes, the veiled cap would look completely out of place.

She sighed and turned from the window, touching the back of her own cap, Mennonite in styling. Surely there was a devout Plain woman--called Katie--hidden away somewhere inside the newly modern girl.

Surely there was.

:-I : :

Katherine's room was high in the house, situated under the eaves, and neat as a pin. The smell of lilac had already begun to permeate the room because of the many handmade sachets she'd brought with her from home.

There was a down-filled comforter all decked out with sunny yellow tulips, and a white-and-yellow striped bed- skirt that fancied up the four-poster bed. The place was mighty large, yet different from anything she'd ever seen in an Amish household. And the maple furniture, every piece--thanks to Cousin Peter's woodworking skill-- matched the other: a triple dresser with wide, moveable mirrors; a tall chest of drawers with bright, colorful doilies; and two square lamp tables.

32 No dark green window blinds, cold hardwood floors, or mountains of Amish quilts. Also noticeably absent was any sign of a cedar chest, where a single woman could store hand-stitched items, awaiting her wedding day.

Katherine brushed aside the annoying thought. She'd gone and run out on her own wedding, leaving a disgusted widower-groom behind. A man who'd turned out to be the sternest bishop Hickory Hollow had ever known--Bishop John Beiler, the imposer of die Meinding--the shunning.

Ach! The very thought of it stung her to the core. But she was Katherine now. Body, soul, and spirit.

She stared at the foot of the bed where a hope chest might've been. 'Twasn't so important to have such a thing in a room for rent. Still, she couldn't help recalling the many lovely items she'd made during the years in preparation for her wedded future. All of it, every last hand-sewn piece, she'd packed away in the Lapps' attic. Just thinking of it, she had to laugh--a choked sound--for it was the dusty attic of her childhood home, where everything had begun to crumble and change.

Crossing the room, she went to sit in the upholstered chair near a beautifully draped window. She lifted her tired feet to the hassock and let out a weary sigh. Above her, the ceiling light shone brightly, and she decided as she relaxed that this room was her haven against the world. The world of her People who had pierced her very soul.

Shunned... for all time Once again, she was stricken

with the paralyzing thought.

Purposely, she stared at the gold light switch across the room, and Cousin Lydia's words flickered through her mind. Ask our heavenly Father for guidance, the Mennonite woman had said.

But Katie--Katherine--had no idea how to do such a thing. Her strict Amish roots went too deep in her, maybe. Still, she mustn't accept that as a reason not to pray Cousin

33 Lydia's way. Besides, she wanted to break all ties with her past, so praying as if you were talking to God... now, that would be one way to go about it.

She got up and knelt beside the chair. "Dear Father in heaven, there's a Mennonite downstairs who says I should talk to thee.., er, you, about findin' my real mother. I do hope thou, uh, you won't be minding too much .... "

She stopped. Such a strange way to speak to the Almighty. She resorted to beseeching Him in German, as she was accustomed. "O Herr Gott, himmlischer Water," she began.

It was difficult--no, downright bossy--to ask anything personal of the Lord God, heavenly Father, especially since she was in bald-faced disobedience to His commandments. So she didn't make a request at all but recited a prayer from Christenpflicht, the standard Amish prayer book, instead of a spontaneous one.

After the prayer was done, she felt as though she'd broken faith with the new person she was attempting to be- come--Katherine Mayfield.

Before getting off her knees, she spied the beloved guitar lying under the double bed. Retrieving it, she sat on the hassock, exhilaration replacing her sadness as she strummed the once-forbidden strings.

The lively songs she sang were old ones, some she'd made up as a little child. Another was a slower tune, one she and her first love, Daniel Fisher--who'd drowned in a sailing accident five years before--had written together during the last week of his lift.

Dan, she truly hoped, would be pleased up there in Glory if he knew what her plans were for tomorrow. He was a spirited fella, Daniel Fisher. Never gave up trying till he got what he wanted. Especially when it came to religion and the Bible.

She remembered him being mighty stubborn for a young

34 Amishman--liked to ramrod his ideas through to those who

didn't see eye to eye with him.

Katherine sang on.

Don't prejudge the dead, she could hear the conscientious voice of Rebecca Lapp, her Amish mamma. Herr Gott was the final Judge when all was said and all was done. The Almighty One was sovereign. Come Judgment Day, He would decide what would become of her dear Beau's eternal soul.

Louder she sang, defying the thought of Daniel ever being anywhere but in Blessed Paradise. Never before and never again had someone understood or loved her more. And tomorrow, if Dan was looking down on her, she'd make him grin ... chuckle, maybe.

She planned on using Cousin Lydia's telephone to dial up that long-distance operator in Canandaigua. She would not give up till she got hold of a woman named Laura May- field-Bennett. Laura, who would understand perfectly. Laura, who would recite the day of her daughter's birth and say at last, "Welcome home, Katherine."

What a fine, wonderful-good day that would be.

35

Katherine waited for the house to clear out a bit before heading to the hall phone the next morning. She'd written and rewritten the directory assistance number for long distance on a scratch pad from the kitchen, anticipating the moment.

But when she walked up the stairs and approached the telephone, she could only stare at it. There were so many things to be thinking about. If she picked up that phone...

Hmm. It just might be best not to know anything about her natural mother, really. Might be best to leave well enough alone.

Her dear friend Mary Stoltzfus would say, "Stick to doin' the right thing, Katie." Well, if she was to do the right thing, would she be standing here in this Mennonite house this very minute?

She shrugged off the crippling thought. Her heart, fractured and feeble, insisted on knowing the truth.

But when she got up the courage to dial the number, the electronic answering service came on the line. Katherine waited, insisting on speaking with a real "live" operator.

36

"What city?" the woman asked.

"Canandaigua."

"One moment, please."

Katherine waited, her breath coming in shallow spurts. "What listing?" was the reply.

"I need a number for someone with the last name of Bennett."

"Spell it, please."

"B-e-n-n-e-t-t."

"Thank you, one moment." The operator's voice sounded stiff, and Katherine wondered if that was how all of them talked. But she wasn't about to give up. She wouldn't let one uppity operator discourage her.

"There are fifteen Bennetts listed. Is there a first name?" the operator asked.

"Please try Laura Mayfield-Bennett. It might be under that name."

Almost instantly, the woman said, "I'm sorry, there's no

such listing."

"Oh..."

"Would you like to try another?" came the wooden voice.

"No, thank you, but could you give me the phone numbers for those fifteen Bennetts?"

"I am authorized to give only one listing per call." Only one? Katherine's heart sank. "But it's an emergency. Someone's dying ... someone ... uh, it's my real mother, she's dying.., and I hafta find her."

"I'm very sorry, miss. You may continue to call back, however, if you wish to try all the numbers for that listing."

Katherine resigned herself to the way things must be done. After all, hadn't she always followed the most rigid rules in dress, in word, and in deed since toddlerhood? Why not go along with one more?

37

The operator gave her the first name--Arthur O. Ben- nett--and the number.

"Thank you," Katherine said and hung up.

Then, fingers trembling, she began to dial, remembering to include the area code.

Such a life these modems have, she thought. On the other hand, she was still getting used to the simplest of conveniences.

Last evening, before retiring, she'd discussed her plans with Lydia and Peter, asking permission to use their telephone again. They had agreed to let her reimburse them for the long-distance calls when the monthly bill arrived. It would take quite a bit of her money, but Katherine thought it cheaper than hiring a private detective. Letting her call long distance like this was one of the nicest things anyone had done for her lately.