He grinned. “I have eaten with you before. You are very civilized.”
She returned his smile. “I promise not to throw my food.”
Rebekah tugged on her hand. “Come. I’ll show you the chickens on the way back.”
Leah tossed Ethan one last glance and followed the little girl outside. The bright sunlight made her squint. She gazed around the beautiful stretch of farmland. Far back on the property, she saw another house. “Who lives over there?” she asked, pointing.
“My sister Sarah and her husband, Israel,” Rebekah said.
“I remember.” During their hospital stay, Rebekah had told Leah about her sister’s Amish-style wedding: very different from most weddings.
“Yes, and guess what?” Rebekah lowered her voice, although there was no one around to overhear. “Sarah’s going to have a baby.” The little girl giggled. “Her stomach is fat. I saw my cat have kittens, so I know these things.”
Leah suppressed a smile. “That’ll make you an aunt. And your mother a grandmother. And your oma a great-grandmother.”
Rebekah’s eyes grew large. “I’ll be an aunt?”
Leah stroked the child’s head, which was covered by a black prayer cap, and remembered how she used to long for a sister when she was growing up. “Yes, you will.”
After looking over the chickens in Rebekah’s charge, Leah accompanied the girl to the house. They entered a spacious kitchen filled with the smells of baking bread, roasting meat, and simmering vegetables and gravies. A table, filled with mixing bowls and resembling a command center, stood in the center of the room. Cupboards reached to the ceiling along two walls, and a sink with a hand pump stood under a window. Leah saw Elizabeth toss wood into a large black cast-iron stove. The room was overly warm. Then she realized that the house had no electricity, so that meant, along with a woodstove for cooking, no air-conditioning or fans.
“Rebekah, set the table, please,” Mrs. Longacre said.
“What should I do?” Leah asked when Rebekah had scurried away.
“Help me peel carrots,” Charity answered.
Leah started scraping vegetables into the sink. “Ethan looks great,” she told Charity quietly. “Thanks for letting us be alone together.”
“He’s been eager to see you.”
Pleased, Leah said, “I wasn’t sure. I mean, I know I’m not the ideal girl for him to bring home to Mom and Dad.”
“Our family has had English here before.”
“Really? Who?”
But Charity clamped her lips together, and bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken of the past.”
Leah knew they couldn’t talk freely with Charity’s mother and oma so close by, but she was puzzled. What did she mean? And why act so secretive about past dinner guests?
In an hour the meal was ready, and Mrs. Longacre stepped out on the porch and clanged a large bell. “Calling the men in from the fields,” Charity explained.
When the men arrived, Charity introduced her family. “You remember Papa and Ethan. And this is my grandfather, Opa, and my brother Simeon.”
Leah smiled at the Amish men without meeting Ethan’s eyes. Mr. Longacre welcomed her, but his greeting seemed stiff and formal.
In the dining room a long table with straight-backed chairs took up most of the floor space. No pictures hung on the walls, no rug covered the hardwood floor. A pull-down shade was the only decoration on the window. Serving dishes, heaped with food, garnished the bare tabletop. Mrs. Longacre hung an oil lamp from a low ceiling hook over the table and lit it with a long match.
Mr. Longacre took his seat at the head of the table, and the other men sat to his right in descending order of age. Mrs. Longacre took a chair on his left, and then the girls sat, with Leah between Charity and Elizabeth. Baby Nathan’s high chair was wedged between the parents. Leah tried not to fidget.
“We shall thank God,” Mr. Longacre said.
The blessing was brief and spoken in both German and English. The men passed the bowls among themselves first, then to the women. No “ladies first” rules here, Leah thought. The meal was quiet, the only sounds being those of bowls scraping against wood and utensils striking plates. When a bowl was emptied, Charity or Elizabeth, taking turns, went to the kitchen and refilled it. Leah thought the food was good, but she was too nervous to really enjoy the meal. She sensed tension in the room and wondered if her presence was the cause of it.
“Bud threw a shoe this afternoon,” Opa said at one point.
“He’ll have to be taken to the blacksmith,” Mr. Longacre said.
“I can take him tomorrow,” Ethan said.
“You have other tasks,” his father replied.
“I will take the horse,” Ethan said, surprising Leah. His tone almost sounded defiant—not at all Amish.
Ethan’s father gave Ethan a hard look. The grandfather said, “Let him take the horse, Jacob. It is his choice.”
Mr. Longacre gave an imperceptible nod, and although Leah knew something out of the ordinary had occurred, she didn’t have a clue what it was. Her stomach continued to tighten, and by the time the meal was over and the table cleared, she wanted to jump out of her skin.
When the women began cleaning up and the men retired to the barn, Leah followed Charity out into the yard. Night had fallen, and without a porch light, Leah could hardly see two feet in front of her. Charity began to fill a large pot with water from the outside pump.
Leah caught her friend’s arm. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Please tell me, Charity. What have I done to offend your family?”
THREE
Charity set the pot down. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I could tell something was wrong tonight,” Leah said in a rush. “Everyone hardly said a word at the dinner table.”
“Oh, Leah, forgive me. I forget you are not accustomed to our ways.”
“No, I’m not,” Leah said, quietly. “And now I feel the differences more than ever. I’m English. Your family dislikes me. Maybe I’d better just go away.”
“Do not say such a thing. My family does like you. You were so kind to Rebekah in the hospital. We will never forget that.” Charity took Leah’s hands in the dark. “Let me try to explain things to you. It is true we do not talk much at meals. For us, mealtime is not a time for idle chatter. It is a time to reflect on God’s bounty and generosity to us.”
“Your father and Ethan talked. And they didn’t exactly sound happy, either. What’s the big deal about taking a horse to get a shoe?”
Charity dropped Leah’s hands. “Walk with me,” she said.
Leah went with her to the edge of the yard, where the light from the kitchen windows dropped off. An old wagon wheel had been propped against a large rock and a flower bed had been planted around it. The sound of chirping crickets broke the stillness, and fireflies flickered in the darkness.
“Family is very important to us Amish,” Charity said.
Family was important to Leah too. All her life she had wanted to belong to a family—a real family, not the kind her mother kept manufacturing. Her mother couldn’t make any marriage work. She kept getting divorced, and she and Leah kept moving from place to place. Leah had never known her real father, and she had seen her beloved grandmother—also someone her mother didn’t get along with—die of cancer. Leah still felt keenly the loss of her grandmother, her father, and the family life she’d never known. “I can see how close your family is,” she said, “but I know there was something going on tonight between Ethan and your father. Is it me? Tell me the truth.”
Charity didn’t answer right away, and when she did speak, her words were halting, as if her thoughts were difficult to express. “Among us Amish, no man is baptized until he knows he wants to accept our ways and live according to all Amish traditions. After baptism, he becomes a church member. He marries and works. He obeys the church elders and lives simply.”
Confused, Leah asked, “Why are you te
lling me this?”
“Because Ethan is not yet baptized.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that he still has freedom to choose what he wants to do with his life,” Charity said quietly.
“What kind of freedom?” This news surprised Leah, for she had assumed that the Amish way of life was ordained from birth.
“When an Amish boy turns sixteen, he is free to experiment with worldly things. It is called rumspringa—‘taking a fling.’ All our fathers have done so, and they give their sons much leeway. Boys are exempt from chores and even church on Sundays. They are allowed to stay out all night on weekends with other Amish teens at parties and dances. Parents don’t forbid this kind of thing because the Bible teaches that forbidden fruit becomes more appealing. Amish parents hope that if they look the other way, then their boy will eventually grow tired of the pleasures of the world and come back to simple ways. Most of them do.”
Leah asked, “What about you girls? Do you ‘experiment’ too?”
“Yes.”
“Have you?”
Charity was quiet, and Leah wondered if she’d pushed her friend too far. She’d already heard more than she’d bargained for. Finally Charity said, “I have played with my hairstyle. And put on makeup and worn English clothes. I—I have allowed a boy to kiss me.”
Leah almost smiled. She’d been doing these things for years. But she could see that for Charity, such actions could be daring. “I’d like to hear about your boyfriend.”
“You will not tease me?”
“Why would I tease you?”
“It is—” Charity stopped, then started again. “Sometimes teasing is done among us. I do like it. Ethan does not like it, but it is the way of our community. Others think it is funny to tease. That is why we keep our feelings inside. That is why we hide the things we do from others’ eyes—even from our family. Especially when it comes to having a boyfriend or girlfriend. When a boy invites a girl to ride home in his buggy from Sunday-night singing, he is careful to conceal it from his friends, because they will tease him.”
The implications of Ethan’s asking Martha to ride in his buggy took on new meaning to Leah. If he would risk being teased by his friends and family, then he must truly care about Martha. Leah felt jealous of an Amish girl she’d never met or even laid eyes on. “And so, is Ethan starting to experiment? To test? Is that why your father sounded cross with him?”
“Ethan is testing, yes. But he does not tell me much. He keeps to himself, and none of us knows what he’s doing. Or thinking.” There was hurt in her voice.
“But Ethan is seventeen, and when we met in the hospital, he didn’t seem to be experimenting.” Leah had trouble accepting what Charity was telling her because it went against everything she’d come to believe about the Amish. All-night parties? No church attendance?
“There were reasons why Ethan chose not to begin at sixteen, but I cannot speak of them.”
That bothered Leah, but she couldn’t force Charity to tell her. Instead she asked, “What other things do Amish boys do when they’re taking their flings?”
“Some get fancy buggies. They buy radios and CD players. Some get driver’s licenses and some even own cars. More liberal Amish parents allow the cars to be parked behind their barns.”
“And these parents just pretend not to see it?” Leah was amazed. “What else?”
“They wear worldly clothing. Drink alcohol. Smoke,” Charity answered, sounding uncomfortable. “Other worldly vices.”
Like trying out worldly girls? The light of understanding turned on in Leah’s head. She could be nothing more than an experiment to Ethan. She could be just a diversion in his fling-taking. She swallowed hard. “How about drugs?” she asked, embarrassed to let Charity know what she was thinking.
“Never. Well … I’ve never heard of anyone around here trying drugs. Boys are still expected to work on the farm or to take a respectable job in town or at a factory. They still live at home, and when at home they must be part of the family.”
“How long do they get to experiment?” Leah kept her tone calm. Inside, she was still reeling.
“Until they decide to be baptized. Or leave the community.”
Leah saw that Amish boys were no different than other boys she’d known. She felt disappointed.
As if sensing her disillusionment, Charity said, “Amish people are not perfect, Leah. We separate ourselves from the world, but what is easier? Giving up something you’ve never done, or choosing to live plainly after you have tried the English way of life? What good is a sacrifice if it isn’t truly a sacrifice?”
The screen door opened and Charity’s mother called for her to come inside.
Feeling guilty for keeping Charity talking instead of doing her chores, Leah said, “I guess I should be going.”
“Since tomorrow is Saturday, we have many preparations to make for Sunday,” Charity explained. “We don’t work on the Sabbath, so everything must be done ahead of time. Tomorrow, I will make bread and rolls for Sunday dinner.”
Leah realized that Charity wasn’t inviting her to join them. “I start work Monday, and I have lots to do before then,” she said, knowing it wasn’t the truth. She had nothing to do.
Quickly Charity glanced over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come to our Sunday-night barn dance? Amish kids will be there from all over. You can meet them.”
“But I’m English.”
“You will be welcomed because you are with us. We will ride together in Ethan’s buggy. We will have a good time.”
Leah wasn’t sure she should tag along. But Charity’s invitation sounded sincere. “Well … maybe …”
“Come to the house Sunday around six o’clock,” Charity said hurriedly. “I must go inside now.”
“Tell your Mom thanks for dinner,” Leah called as Charity returned to the house. She stood in the yard for a few minutes, feeling alone, and wondering if she’d done the right thing by coming to Nappanee for the summer. She couldn’t stand the thought that her mother might have been right.
And now that Charity had explained about fling-taking, Leah was more confused than ever. Had all that she and Ethan shared in the hospital been part of some lifestyle experiment?
Leah went to her car. The brightness of her headlights made her squint. She turned toward the road, looking back only once. In an upstairs window, she saw a curtain move. In the window, backlit by a flickering lamp, Ethan stood peering out at her. Her heart ached. She gunned the engine and the tires spit gravel as she left the old road for the highway.
A phone call from her mother and Neil to say goodbye before they took off woke Leah on Saturday morning. After hanging up, she realized she’d never gone to the grocery store and didn’t have a thing in the house to eat. She showered, dressed in jeans, grabbed her car keys and headed for the closest fast-food restaurant. After eating, she drove slowly around the town that was to be her home for the next three months. Heads turned at the sight of her bright red car and made her feel self-conscious.
She saw Amish buggies in parking lots and in front of stores. They looked strange, dark and antiquated, amid all the modern cars and pickup trucks. The horses seemed unfazed by the noise of traffic. She pulled alongside a buggy at a traffic light, and the horse never gave her a glance. “Want to race?” she asked the uninterested animal.
Leah shopped for groceries, put the sacks in the backseat and headed to her apartment. Just as she pulled into an intersection, from out of nowhere, a boy wearing in-line skates zipped in front of her car. She hit the brakes hard. He threw his hands against her fender, careened backward, and landed hard on the asphalt.
Heart pounding, Leah cried out, turned off the engine and jumped from the car. “Are you all right?” She hurried to where the boy sat dazed on the ground. When she got to him, she gasped. Her car had just struck Simeon Longacre.
FOUR
“Simeon! Oh my gosh! Are you hurt?”
He reached for hi
s broad-brimmed straw hat, which had been knocked off. “I am all right,” he told her. But Leah saw that the palms of his hands were scraped and bleeding. His pant leg was torn.
Leah was shaking. “I’ll take you to a doctor.”
“No. I am fine. Please, do not worry about me,” He struggled to his feet shakily, and she reached out to steady him.
“What are you doing out here anyway? And on skates?”
“I deliver small packages from the pharmacy on Saturdays to people who are shut-ins. Ethan brings me into town.”
“Let me take you to get checked over. Please.”
“No, I am fine, really. I have fallen before.” He examined his skates. “I think they are undamaged.” He started to push away from Leah. She caught his elbow.
“No you don’t. In the car.”
“I am fine. I can manage.”
“No way. Where’s Ethan?”
“At the blacksmith’s.”
“Tell me how to get there.”
As she followed Simeon’s directions, Leah fought to calm herself. What if she’d run over Simeon? That would certainly ice it with Ethan and his family! She glanced at Ethan’s kid brother. “I didn’t know Amish could own skates,” she said above the drone of engine.
“They are allowed,” Simeon said, poking curiously at the buttons on her dashboard. “Roller skates and ice skates have always been allowed. But these are the best because they are both.”
“You know, maybe you should wear a helmet. Knee pads, elbow and wrist pads might not be a bad idea either,” Leah said. “It’s so much safer.”
“Those things are showy. Not for plain people.”
Leah was amazed by Simeon’s logic, but she didn’t argue with him.
Leah drove to the outskirts of town, turned onto a paved country road and followed it until Simeon pointed to an old barn set back from the road. She turned into a rutted driveway that led to the barn. An unhitched black buggy stood in front. From inside, she heard the sound of metal hitting metal. She saw Ethan holding the rope halter of a large draft horse while a man hammered an iron horseshoe on an anvil. An open furnace glowed red.
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