by Becki Willis
“I’ve always wanted to see the city.” There was a wistful note in the girl’s voice. “Mamm says I can go, but Daedd doesn’t want me to.”
Taryn didn’t want to talk about the city. She wanted to talk about the one percent of the population known to have violet eyes. She wanted to talk about the chances of them both having the rare eye color and not being related.
“Philadelphia’s an awfully big city,” she finally offered.
“That’s why I wish to go. I wish to see the big, tall buildings and the statues made of marble. I wish to visit the museums and see the history of our nation. I think it would be wunnderbaar gut.”
“Then you would love Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell.” Taryn smiled.
“Oh!” When she clasped her hands together in delight, Taryn thought the girl might be younger than she originally guessed. Susannah’s face lit with pleasure and her eyes, those so uniquely violet and so like Taryn’s, danced with excitement. “Oh, I would love to go there! Please, tell me all your favorite places in the city.”
The girl’s enthusiasm was contagious. Taryn set aside her own questions to answer the ones volleyed at her, one after another. Susannah helped herself to one of the chairs. She even took it upon herself to unpack the breakfast basket and lay the offerings out before her guest.
“Let me,” she said, waving away Taryn’s attempt to help. She set out an assortment of breads, with jellies and jams and freshly churned butter. After peeling the plastic wrap away from a bowl of fruit, she unveiled a plate filled with scrambled eggs, thick slices of ham, and an oblong chunk of something dark and not particularly attractive. “This,” she said, pointing with an accusing finger, “is scrapple. It has a rather strong and unique taste. Most Englisch must acquire a taste for it.”
Susannah arranged the silverware and poured fresh milk from a small thermos. “The same can be said for our milch.”
Taryn tilted her head to inquire, “Englisch?”
“What we call those whose first language is English,” she explained. “We speak Pennsylvania Deutsch. Plain children don’t learn your language until they start school.”
That explained the strange words Taryn had overheard.
“Plain?” she questioned.
“We are a plain, simple people. We hold ourselves apart from others. We are Plain by choice. But, please,” Susannah begged. “Keep telling me about your city. I hear it is home to America’s oldest farmers’ market!”
“I suppose. I went there once, with a friend.”
That friend was actually her ex-husband Collin, but she didn’t need to explain that to this sweet girl.
In truth, Taryn didn’t like thinking of herself as divorced. The word divorce held such negative connotations. In her mind, she and Collin hadn’t failed at marriage. They had succeeded in sharing a piece of their lives together and had parted as friends.
Susannah was still imagining what the farmers’ market must be like. She spoke about it the way most children spoke of Christmas. “Only once? I would go so often they would think I lived there! It would be a wunnderbaar gut place for my rumspringa, don’t you think?’
Taryn had heard of the strange tradition, when Amish teenagers were allowed to indulge in worldly influences. Some, she heard, ventured from their farms, and moved to the city to immerse themselves in modern pleasures. It was meant to be a time of reflection and experimentation, giving young people time to decide if they could commit their lives to the Amish faith. At the end of rumspringa, they had only two choices. Leave their roots behind and join life in the mainstream or commit to their family and their faith. If they chose the latter, baptism—and most often marriage—followed.
“Well, I —”
Before she could comment, Susannah rushed on in excitement. “Maybe you could be my sponsor!” She hesitated slightly, searching for the right word. “Perhaps not sponsor. More like my guide.”
Taryn was already shaking her head. “Oh, I really don’t—”
“Surely Mamm un Daedd would agree, since you are family!”
It was the opening she had hoped for, but it snuck upon her without warning and rendered her speechless. Susannah had no such infliction. She kept talking, spinning daydreams about Philadelphia, and having Taryn as her personal tour guide. She never noticed the way Taryn’s mouth had frozen into a perfect ‘O.’
“Susannah!” Lillian’s voice floated up to the deck. “Are you still up there? Susannah, are you bothering our guest?”
The girl jumped to her feet, appalled by her own manners, or lack thereof. Shame moved through her. “Ach!” she cried, hands against her face. “I—I’m so sorry! I intruded on your breakfast. I barged in and started talking, and I didn’t even think! Mamm says I am too forward. That I engage my mouth before I engage my mind. She says I must learn humility. I—”
Taryn reached out and touched the girl’s arm. “Please, don’t apologize. I’ve had a wonderful time visiting with you.”
“But the way I carried on!”
“I love your enthusiasm. And for your sake, I hope you get to visit Philadelphia, one day very soon.”
“Could you—could you put in a good word for me?” she dared to asked. She stopped herself with a wail of exasperation. “Oh, listen to me! There I go again! Just ignore me!”
Lillian’s voice revealed a pinch of impatience on the second call. “Susannah!”
“Coming, Mamm!”
She started for the stairs, remembered her original mission, and whirled back toward Taryn. “Can I get you anything else?”
Answers. She wanted answers. She let the perfect opportunity slip by earlier, and now the moment was lost. Taryn managed a smile. “Not right now. Thank you, Susannah. Please come back and visit with me again.”
“If Mamm lets me. Have a gut day.” She had a charming way of mixing her Pennsylvania Deutsch words in with her English. Taryn returned her wave as she disappeared down the steps.
Long before Susannah reached her mother, Taryn heard the girl chattering about the new friend she had made.
Chapter 9
Taryn spent most of the morning fretting over how she would broach the subject of family with her hostess.
She had no proof they were related, not really. They had the same uniquely colored eyes, but so did a few hundred other people in the world. At one time, the estimate was around six hundred. Six hundred, out of the billions of people worldwide. Yet even that small number didn’t mean she and this Amish family shared the same blood.
Scientists were at odds over the origin of violet eyes. Most said it was impossible to be born with eyes that color. The most common explanation for such a phenomenon was albinism. Or, defect. Sometimes, disease or severe sun damage could change the color of the iris. Mutation offered another explanation. If a mother carried a genetic mutation, it was likely her children would have it, as well. Other scientists insisted the eyes were, in fact, deep blue and only appeared purple under light.
Taryn didn’t know about science, or genetics, or the reflective qualities of light. She only knew her eyes fascinated people, and she had never met another soul who shared that same color. Until today. And if the girl at the hotel was right, Susannah wasn’t the only one in this family with violet eyes.
It wasn’t definitive proof they were related. Nor was the fact she was born in the same county, only twenty or less miles away. But did such rare coincidences truly exist? Taryn didn’t believe so.
Her mind heavy, her spirit dragging so low it all but scraped the soles of her feet, Taryn wandered out to the pond. It was a gorgeous day, spun of sunshine and soft breezes. Despite the sounds of a working farm and a busy blacktop road out front, it was peaceful there alongside the pond. Taryn welcomed the serenity as she stepped into the gazebo.
Suspended over the pond, the gazebo offered the perfect spot for quiet reflection. Even the creak of the porch swing hummed a relaxing melody. Bit by bit, the burden in her heart lightened. Ever so slowly, Taryn fel
t her troubles drift away, carried on the ripples of sky overhead and water underfoot.
Her pale eyes protected by the ever-present shades, she watched the horses in the neighboring pasture, the ones she spotted the night before. They were magnificent animals, sleek and muscled. She became fascinated with them, mesmerized by their movements. They ran with abandon, tossing their manes into the air, their powerful bodies cutting through the wind with ease. They moved with such grace and confidence.
Taryn found it difficult to pull her eyes away from the horses, even as she heard footsteps behind her.
On her approach, Lillian noticed how the horses captured the English woman’s attention. Her own voice held a quiet sense of reverence. “They are magnificent, ain’t so?”
“Indeed,” Taryn murmured in agreement.
She was slow in turning toward the other woman. Something in the air changed with Lillian’s presence. A new tension rode on the breeze, thickening the atmosphere of the open-air gazebo. As inexplicable as it was, Taryn experienced a mild sense of claustrophobia.
“My father’s farm produces the finest horses in Lancaster County.” Lillian’s tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of pride or praise. She simply spoke the truth.
Taryn turned to her in surprise. “Those belong to your father?”
“Jah. That’s his farm yonder, and his horses.”
“They’re beautiful.”
Small talk exhausted, Lillian motioned toward the swing. “May I sit?”
Taryn scooted over, even though there was plenty of room for them both. The swing could easily accommodate three or more people. “Of course.”
A long moment of silence yawned between them. Taryn turned her head as if to watch the horses once more, but she had difficulty concentrating. Only moments before, she saw their race along the fence as spirited and free. Now their movements struck her as restless.
Lillian was the first to speak. “Why did you come here, Taryn Clark?” The words were too quietly spoken to interpret as rude. “I do not advertise. Few folks know of our spare room.”
“Your neighbor. The—The girl at the hotel. She told me you had a cottage for rent.” Even she could hear the flimsy excuse in her sputtered answer.
“Again. Why did you come here, Taryn Clark?”
Lillian always spoke her full name. Strange, that Taryn should notice it now. Now, when there were so many more important things to focus on.
Those things came out slowly, daring to test the light of day. The words had been tucked away for so long, buried deep inside her soul. Hidden in the dark crevices of her heart, and all but forgotten in that secret spot, in her heart of hearts, where her most sacred dreams still lived.
“Roots,” she dared to whisper aloud. “I’m trying to find my roots.”
“You have… reason to believe they’re here?” Lillian’s voice came out higher, tighter, than it had before. Stretched taut like a bowstring.
Her face still averted, Taryn saw no reason to be anything but truthful. She was here to find answers.
“I’ve always known I was adopted. My parents made no secret of it, but they offered no details. All they ever said was that they had chosen me as their child. To search for my birth parents seemed an insult.” A sigh escaped her, along with an admission. “Besides, my birth certificate was amended, and the original records sealed. Even if I wanted to search, I had nothing to go on, so I never even tried, even after my adopted mother passed away.”
“But now?”
“I finally have a clue. I know I was born not far from here, at Lancaster Memorial. In Lancaster.”
She heard her companion’s tiny hitch of breath, but Lillian spoke not a word.
“The hospital closed down years ago,” Taryn continued, “and no one knows for certain where the records are. I was able to speak with a nurse who worked there. In fact, she was working on the day I was born.”
“Which was?” The words rode high and tight, as squeaky as any violin’s highest note.
Taryn turned toward her hostess, watching her expression as she answered. “January 1, 1980.”
Once again hidden behind darkened lenses, Lillian’s eyes didn’t reveal her thoughts. But Taryn heard that little hitch of breath again. She felt the woman on the other end of the swing stiffen, and saw the color drain from her face.
“The nurse remembered the day I was born. She remembered how frightened my mother was when she came in, so young, and all alone.”
With each bit of information, Lillian seemed to shrink there on the seat. Her shoulders dipped inward, until her spine was crooked and her body was little more than a ball. Taryn pushed on, determined to finish.
“She checked in under a false name and sneaked out in the dead of night. The nurse said she was afraid of something. Or of someone.”
A single sob broke from Lillian’s hunched form.
“Please,” Taryn begged, her voice now breathless. “Tell me the truth.” She laid her hand onto Lillian’s arm, drawing her full attention. Taryn slipped off her shades and looked directly into the Amish woman’s face. “Are you my mother?”
She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but the question burst from her, burning in its intensity to be free.
The words were a shock to the other woman, even more so than seeing Taryn’s eye color revealed. But to Taryn’s grave dismay, Lillian shook her head.
“No, Taryn Clark, I am not your mother.” She spoke the words with great sadness. She saw the tears that sprang to Taryn’s violet eyes, saw the raw pain that turned them a dark, stormy purple. Lillian laid her hand atop Taryn’s, which still lingered on her own arm. “I think I may be your aunt.”
Taryn stared at her in surprise. Beneath the crushing disappointment, a tiny ray of hope pushed through the rubble of her heart and dared to squeeze free. “My aunt?” she sniffed.
Lillian answered haltingly, “I—I… I had a sister.”
Taryn didn’t notice the past tense. Didn’t hear the sadness in her voice. She only heard the possibilities. She grasped at them with both hands. “Is her name Rebecca?”
The look on Lillian’s face turned leery. “How did you know?”
“I found a note. From her. From Rebecca, my birth mother.”
Lillian turned her face toward the horse pasture. “Jah. My sister’s name was Rebecca.”
It was so much more than she had hoped for. Even when she blurted out the question, asking if Lillian were her mother, she hadn’t expected an answer. Not really. Not so easily.
“Really?” she whispered in awe.
Her hands came to cover her mouth. There was no hope for the clamoring in her chest. Her heart raced wildly, a staccato so fast and erratic she might hyperventilate at any moment. But it was worth it. She had located her birth mother!
“Where is she? Can you take me to her? Can I meet her?” Taryn asked, already half off the swing. Her mind raced in a hundred directions. “Does she live nearby? Does this mean I’m Amish?”
“Sit.”
The single word, uttered without preamble, without apology, stopped her in her tracks.
Taryn sank back onto the porch swing, dreading whatever words she was about to hear.
“It’s true,” Lillian confirmed. Her back was straight once again, her shoulders squared. She held herself stiffly in the swing as she gazed toward the neighboring field of horses. “Die Schweschder was named Rebecca. She was older than me by five years, and I adored her. She called me der Schadde. Her shadow. Once upon a time, we did everything together.” A ghost of a smile cracked the veneer of her face, before falling away. “It broke my heart when I lost her.”
“She… moved away?” Taryn asked, hoping against hope that was all it was.
Her mind was already spinning explanations. Rebecca hadn’t come home after rumspringa. Deciding to adopt the ‘English’ way of life, she was shunned by her family. Wouldn’t that be the equivalent of losing her? No other explanation was acceptable. Not now, not when she was so close to fi
nding her roots. So close to finding a home.
With Lillian’s next words, her house of cards imploded. “She disappeared. Poof! Just like that. Here one day and gone the next.”
Taryn stared at her, slow to comprehend. “She ran away?”
Did Amish kids even do that?
“Call it what you may. Ran away. Forced to leave. The end was the same. I never saw my sister again.”
“Wait. Forced to leave? Are you—Are you saying she was kidnapped?”
“I never said that.”
“Then what? How could she be forced to leave?”
Lillian never said a word, but her eyes strayed toward the neighboring fields. Her face was set like stone.
Taryn gasped. “Are you suggesting your father sent her away?” Her voice dropped, hushed with a note of shock. “Was it because she was pregnant?”
Lillian shook her head. “Nee, I don’t believe she carried a babe when she left. Rebecca was too disciplined for that. She took her faith seriously.”
“Then why? Why would your father send her away? And if he didn’t, why would she leave?”
“That question has haunted me, all these years.”
“Did you look for her? Call the police?”
“Yes and no. We searched for her among our Amish friends and neighbors. Districts far and wide pitched in, helping with the search. My father refused to call the police.”
Taryn stared at her in horror. “How could he not call the police? What if someone hurt her? Kidnapped her? Forced her into a car against her will?” Her voice grew shriller with each scenario.
“The People prefer to handle matters in our own way. We don’t favor calling the police. Few Englisch understand our customs, thinking them too harsh. The police would have said Rebecca was a typical teenager, running away from home.” Resignation moved into Lillian’s sigh. “It’s happened before.”
Taryn still sputtered her outrage. “I can’t believe no one reported her missing! Why didn’t you just do it yourself?”
“I was a child. The elders made a decision, and it wasn’t my place to question them.”