Page 1 of A Gathering of Secrets

PROLOGUE

She didn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept through the night in a long time. There was too much darkness, not the kind that was restful. At dawn, when her mamm peeked into her bedroom and told her it was time to feed the animals and get ready for worship, she was already awake, waiting. Ready.

Ever the obedient daughter, she pulled on her dress, tugged her hair into a bun, and covered her head with her kapp. Stepping into her winter tights and sneakers, she left her room and took the steps down to the living room. She avoided the kitchen, where she could hear her mamm clanging breakfast dishes and frying sausage, and went out through the side door and into the cold. The morning was wet and gray, drizzle floating down from a sky the color of iron. Once in the barn, she tossed hay to the horses, filled their water buckets, dumped scratch into the chicken feeder, and gathered six brown eggs.

She’d never lied to her parents. Not once in all of her seventeen years. But when Mamm told her to get cleaned up for worship, she complained that she’d been sick and throwing up half the night. Mamm wasn’t pleased that she would miss such an important day. But what could she say?

Morning chores complete, she went back to her room and lay down on her bed. She stared at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of the house. The voices of her younger siblings. The scrape of silverware against plates. The silence while the gebet nach dem essen or prayer after meal was recited. The slamming of the door when her datt went out to harness the buggy horse. The pound of feet on the wood floor when the little ones went out to help.

Oh, how she would miss them.

At half past seven the back door slammed. A few minutes later, she heard the clip-clop of the old Standardbred’s hooves against the ground. Rising, she went to the window and parted the curtains to see the buggy moving down the lane toward the road.

Time to go.

It was a cold morning, well below freezing outside, but she didn’t bother with a coat. Pushing open her bedroom door, she stepped into the hall. The lingering aromas of toast and coffee and kerosene from the kitchen heater comforted her as she descended the steps. She thought about her little brothers and sisters, and the pang of melancholy that assailed her nearly sent her to her knees. She’d known this would be difficult, but she also knew it was the only way. She’d asked God for guidance, after all, and He’d sent her a sign. Unlike her, He never, ever lied.

At the base of the stairs, she went left, through the kitchen, trying not to notice the still-warm cup of tea and dry toast her mamm had left. The sight of it made her smile. Dry toast and tea were her mamm’s cure-all for everything that ailed the world. If only life were that simple.

I’m sorry.

The words echoed inside her head as she crossed through the mudroom, pushed open the back door and stepped into the early-morning drizzle. She didn’t feel the cold or wet as she ran down the stone path to the barn. Shoving open the big sliding door, she walked into the dimly lit interior. The aroma of her datt’s pipe tobacco mingled with the earthy smells of horses, alfalfa, and damp earth. The hay wagon was parked against the wall to her right, her datt’s pitchfork leaning against the side. Ahead, the old plow horse stuck its head over the stall door and whinnied. If the circumstances had been different, she might’ve taken a minute to stroke its muzzle. This morning, there was no time to spare.

The stairs to the hayloft were to her left. Not giving herself time to debate or dawdle, she took them to the second level. There were only two windows in the loft. Not much light penetrated the grimy glass. But even in the semidarkness she knew the place by heart. It was her refuge when things got bad. This morning, she knew exactly where to find what she needed.

Her sneakers padded softly against the wood plank floor as she crossed to the mound of loose hay beneath the window. Kneeling, she raked it aside with her fingers, uncovering the coil of rope she’d hidden yesterday. Datt had bought it last summer when he’d made the swing for the boys. He’d had a few extra feet left over and stowed it in the shed for some future project.

She didn’t let herself think about her family or what this would do to them as she uncoiled the rope. They wouldn’t understand, and that would hurt them. But there was no recourse. God had spoken to her, and she had listened. This was the only way she could keep her secret.

The coil consisted of about ten feet of rope. It was about half an inch in diameter. She thought it might be cotton, but she couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. She carried the rope to the place where the floor opened and the rafters were visible. Below, she could see the wagon and pitchfork and the horse in its stall.

Lying down on her belly, she looped the rope around the nearest rafter and tied a triple knot. She yanked it a couple of times, testing it, deemed it strong enough to hold. Sitting up, she studied the other end, not exactly sure how to fashion it. Her fingers shook as she formed it into a loop and tied another triple knot. A couple of quick yanks told her it would do.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she slipped the loop over her head, careful not to skew her kapp. The rope felt stiff and rough against her skin. At some point, she’d begun to cry. But she thought they were tears of happiness, of relief. Mamm had always told her that death was part of God’s divine plan. This morning, she believed that with all her heart. She knew the Lord would welcome her with open arms. He would see her through this. Her family would just have to have faith in His wisdom. Someday, they would join her, and they would all be together again.

Still, she trembled as she rose, trying not to notice the quiver in her stomach, or that her legs weren’t quite steady. She didn’t think about what came next, but prayed it would be over quickly enough. Once it was done, she would be free.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

Closing her eyes, she stepped forward and fell into space.

CHAPTER 1

Six months later

He dressed in his English clothes. Blue jeans. Plain white T-shirt. The cowboy boots he’d laid down a boatload of money for at the Western store in Berlin.

Anticipation sizzled inside him as he left his bedroom and stepped into the darkened hall. He didn’t like this secret thing he’d become. The part of him he barely recognized these days. But there was no stopping it. He’d learned to live with it. Some small part of him had learned to embrace it.

His parents’ bedroom door stood ajar; he could hear his datt snoring from within. The door to the room where his sisters slept was open halfway. He thought he could smell their sweet little-girl scents, and he smiled as he slid past. The door to his other sister’s room was closed. She’d been doing that for about a year now. Growing up, he supposed. Girls kept secrets, too.

He wasn’t unduly worried about getting caught as he started down the stairs. He was on Rumspringa, after all. For the last few months he’d pretty much done as he pleased; his parents pretended not to notice. He’d tasted whiskey for the first time. Bought his first car. Experienced his first hangover. Smoked his first Marlboro. He’d been staying out late and coming home at all hours. Of course, Mamm and Datt didn’t like it, but they held their tongues. They made excuses to his sisters. Your brother’s working a lot, they would say. But they prayed for his soul. It was all part of growing up Amish. Maybe the best part.

Around him, the house was silent and dark, the only light filtering in through the windows in the living room, twin gray rectangles set into infinite blackness. The aromas of lamp oil and the remnants of the fried bologna sandwiches they’d had for dinner mingled with the cool breeze seeping in through the screens. He pulled the note from his pocket as he entered the kitchen. Pausing at the table, he plucked the tiny flashlight from his rear pocket, shined the beam on the paper, and read it for the dozenth time.

Meet me in the barn at midnight. I’ll make it worth your while. ☺

She’d written the words in purple ink. There were hearts over the “i”s and frilly little curlicues on the tails of the “y” and the “g.” The smiley face made him grin. He almost couldn’t believe she’d finally come around. After weeks of cajoling, and a hundred sleepless nights filled with the longing that came often and with unexpected urgency now, he would finally have her.