Plain Roots

by Becki Willis

  Taryn had to admit, the Amish chose their clothes wisely, with thought to unrestricted movement, durability, and easy care. The fabrics were no-wrinkle polyester.

  “You’ll need to put on your shades,” Bryce cautioned. “I know several others in the family have the same color eyes as you, but you don’t want to call any attention to yourself. The idea is to blend in.”

  “Then this should do the trick.” She made certain the black kerchief was secure on her head. “I think my aunt is secretly enjoying this. She has my day all planned. After working in the garden, I’m to sit out here and shell peas. If I finish with that, I get to hoe the flowerbeds. I’ll have good visibility of any customers stopping by.”

  “I doubt these people will give up after just one day,” Bryce warned.

  “Don’t worry,” she all but groaned. “My aunt has plenty of work for me.”

  “Remember to keep your cell in your pocket. Call me if you need to. Try not to talk to the visitors more than you have to, in case you slip up and say something decidedly English but see if you recognize anyone.”

  “Deborah has a plan for that,” she assured him. “I’m her ‘simple-minded’ cousin, visiting from Ohio. She says she can pretend to train me, so she’ll be doing all the talking.”

  “Then I’ll get out of here and let you enjoy your day playing Amish dress-up.”

  She saw the glint lingering in his eye. “I think you’re enjoying this, too!” she accused.

  “Amish is a good look on you.”

  In response, Taryn stuck out her tongue at him, in a very un-Amish way.

  At least a half dozen cars stopped that day. The first was a group of four women, visiting from the Baltimore area. Deborah worked her charm, sending them each away with a brown paper bag. Two couples stopped by, one of them leaving with a pieced lap quilt and matching pillow. While Taryn stood aside and pretended to watch and learn, Deborah sold jelly to one man, and a dozen fresh eggs to another.

  The egg buyer made Taryn nervous. He drove a light-colored car, possibly the same one that had followed her. He sat in his car for a moment before getting out, seemingly on his cell phone, but his eyes roamed curiously over the area.

  That, in itself, wasn’t unusual. Most people had an insatiable appetite for insight into the Amish way of life. Even when they knew of the Amish aversion to having their photographs taken, they snapped away on their cameras and made rude attempts to pry into their privacy.

  But the egg buyer seemed particularly interested in Taryn’s car, parked there in the driveway. While most of the other tourists marveled over the buggies in the three garage bays, this man seemed more intrigued with her ordinary automobile.

  The last customer of the day came about thirty minutes after the egg buyer left. Taryn couldn’t help but wonder if the two weren’t using a tag-team system. This man drove a blue Camry.

  “Say there, Missy, did you make this butter?” the man asked, deliberately directing his question to Taryn.

  “I made it,” Deborah said quickly. She tucked her head and looked at the man from beneath her prayer cap, appearing particularly humble. “Well, to be honest—and the gut Gott says we must be—die Grossmammi helped me, just this morning.”

  “Is this your die-ga-mammy?” the man asked, butchering the pronunciation as he all but leered at Taryn.

  When Deborah broke out giggling, Taryn followed suit. “Nee, this is not my grandmother! My grandmother is old. Ach, but don’t tell her I said so!” The girl hid her snicker behind her hand, pretending that the words had simply slipped out. “This is my cousin, from Ohio. Where are you from, Mister?”

  “Huh? Oh, Harrisburg,” he answered in a distracted manner.

  “Is that in Pennsylvania, or in Ohio?” the girl asked.

  “It’s the capitol of Pennsylvania. Don’t they teach that in those little one-room schoolhouses?”

  “We’re out for summer break,” the child explained. “This butter is wunnderbaar gut. We just churned it this morning. Would you like some, sir, to take back with you to the capitol?”

  The man was insistent about talking to Taryn. “Say, pretty lady. Tell me about churning butter.”

  “She didn’t help with it,” Deborah reminded him.

  “But isn’t the process the same?” He kept his eyes on the older of the two. “Do you use a churn, like they did in the old days?”

  Taryn was at a loss for words, unsure of how to answer. She knew Lillian had a stainless-steel churn set inside a five-gallon plastic bucket, with a battery-operated drill attached through a hole in the lid. She had also seen a modern-day food processor on the counter in Lillian’s kitchen, powered by another drill. Someone mentioned making smaller batches of butter in this fashion. She wondered if the man would know the difference, if she answered incorrectly.

  Deborah came to her rescue. She moved slightly in front of her cousin and motioned for the man to lean closer. She dropped her voice and said in a conspiratorial manner, “Don’t confuse her, Mister. She’s a bit schtupid. Pretty as a flower, but ferhoodled in the head.”

  Playing along, Taryn giggled again. She twisted her hands shyly in her apron, managing to find her phone within her pocket. With any luck, she could snap a picture of the man and send it to Bryce.

  The man studied her for a moment, but Taryn kept her expression blank, and her smile as guileless as possible. When a butterfly passed nearby, she pretended fascination. She chased after the colorful creature, laughing gaily as she pretended to have no other cares in the world. She heard the man grunt in disgust and conclude his deal with Deborah. He bought two sticks, never knowing when Taryn snapped his picture. Deborah had him engaged in deep conversation, trying to talk him into taking her last apple pie.

  When he was gone, Taryn hugged her young cousin in glee. “You were brilliant! With those acting skills, you should be on Broadway!”

  “Is that in Pennsylvania, or Ohio?” the child asked with an innocent smile.

  The rooster’s craggy call bumped into Taryn’s dreams, jostling her awake. Her first instinct was to bury her head beneath the pillows and go back to sleep. She was having a perfectly delightful dream about horses. The steed she rode was large and powerful, and she rode with abandon, racing across grassy fields and meadows covered in daisies. She could all but feel the wind in her hair, rendering it a tangled mess at her nape. The rooster was an intrusion, startling the horses in her dream world. Their graceful gait faltered, and Taryn fell from her mount, only to be trampled by the galloping mob behind her.

  She pried one eyelid open at a time, fearful of the injuries she would find. Her bleary eyes settled on the white clouds, floating there on the horizon. She concentrated on focusing, until she could determine those weren’t clouds, at all. They were the lacy curtains in her room, and that grassy horizon yonder was the standard green shade beneath them. There were no horses.

  Taryn rolled onto her back and groaned aloud. Why, then, did she ache all over?

  The memory of the day before came back quickly. This city girl wasn’t accustomed to working in the gardens. Bending and picking, hoeing and weeding, called upon seldom-used muscles. They all screamed at her now, as she reluctantly dragged herself from the covers.

  Her cousins came to dress her in a drab green dress on this day, with a black apron completing the ensemble. Taryn glanced down at her hands. She had taken off her nail color yesterday morning, so as not to call attention to her pampered hands and feet. Her manicure was truly ruined now. Telltale traces of dirt lingered at her cuticles, hiding there in the crevices. She remembered ripping the edge of one nail, as she struggled to pull a stubborn vine free from its hold in the ground. She dared not look too closely at her feet. Perhaps ignorance, in this case, was bliss.

  The day repeated itself, with Taryn working in the flowerbeds at the front of the house, nearest the sales stands.

  The first car to pull in for the day was the blue Camry. Taryn nudged Caroline, who knelt beside her in the damp s
oil. “That’s the same car as yesterday, but they’re up to something. That’s a different man.”

  “I shall handle this. You stay here.” Caroline deftly rose from the flowerbed and brushed off her hands.

  The man walked slowly toward the stand, his eyes darting all about as he scanned the area. His eyes probed Caroline’s face before moving on to survey the other woman in the yard. Taryn kept her head slightly averted as she tugged on the unwanted weeds and discarded them into a pile. She took great care in her ministrations, seemingly absorbed in the tedious chore. The man dismissed her, his gaze moving on to the house and the vegetable gardens beyond. His attention lingered on the car, parked there in front of the triple garage.

  “May I help you?” Caroline offered. “A jar of fresh strawberry jelly? Fresh eggs, or butter?”

  The man picked up one of the jars, but his eyes kept roaming. “This fresh?”

  “We just made it.”

  “Local berries?”

  “Grown right here on the farm.”

  “I don’t see the vines.” It wasn’t for lack of trying. The man still hadn’t met her gaze, his eyes too busy prying into the landscape behind her.

  “They’re here,” she assured him.

  “I’ve never seen an Amish farm before,” he said. He finally reined in his roving eyes and settled them upon hers. “You give tours?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not. We are much too busy working to offer such interruption.”

  He didn’t take the subtle hint. “Sure would like to see those berry vines. Make a nice story, when I take this jelly home to the little wife.”

  “If you’ll look closely on the way out, you’ll see the vines growing wild all along the fence. Do you need a bag for that?”

  “What? Oh, no.” He glanced down, as if surprised to see the jelly in his hands. “I can carry it.” He pulled a few bills from his pocket, his gaze once again roaming the perimeters. “Say, I thought you Amish didn’t believe in cars.”

  Keeping her head tucked, Taryn moved in closer, to the flowerbed circling the tree nearest the stand. She knelt with her back to the man, but her ears tuned in to the conversation.

  “We don’t,” Caroline said simply.

  “Then why’s there a car parked in your garage?”

  “Can you believe it? The woman just up and left it! Right here in our way!” The indignation in Caroline’s sharp words sounded so convincing, even Taryn was startled.

  “What woman?” the man asked.

  “The one who came to stay in the room. Left in the middle of the night, with only a note. Said to keep the car for payment. Now I ask you. What do we need with a car!” Caroline propped her hands onto her hips and put on such a convincing performance, Taryn had to bite back her laughter. She kept sneaking peeks from beneath her kerchief, thoroughly amused by the confusion on the man’s face.

  “You rent rooms?” he finally thought to ask.

  “Not anymore!” Caroline threw up her hands in an act of outrage. “Not with der Gascht like that! You should see the filth of that room! Such a mess she left behind.” She broke out into a tirade of angrily sputtered Pennsylvania Deutsch.

  Looking more than perplexed, the man made a hasty retreat and left with his jar of jelly.

  Deborah came running into the yard as the man backed away and left. “I missed one?” the girl asked in disappointment. Her eyes followed the car longingly down the drive.

  “No concern. He was not a good buyer,” her sister-in-law assured her.

  “No,” Taryn said, coming to join them with laughter in her voice, “but you are an excellent actress! The two of you make quite a team. You should take your show on the road!”

  Neither of her Amish companions understood the reference. They looked down the lane toward the public thoroughfare in confusion, then back at Taryn. “We should move to the road?” Caroline asked.

  “No, it’s just an expression.” She bumbled her way through an explanation but knew from the look on their faces that neither understood her ramblings. “You did a good job,” she finished lamely.

  “Oh, good. Good,” Caroline said in relief. “I was nervous.”

  “It didn’t show,” Taryn assured her. “You did an excellent job. I think he believed you.”

  “I don’t like telling an untruth,” she admitted, “but I told myself it is like playing a der Schabernack on Samuel. Just a joke.”

  “That’s a good way to think of it,” Taryn agreed. She hated the thought of causing her family distress over their part in the charade.

  “I told him I was only teasing, so my conscience is clear,” she went on. “Is it my fault if the man does not speak Deutsch and hear my apology?”

  Taryn was still laughing when she went back to her weeding.

  By mid-afternoon, the white car returned. Deborah flew out of the house and was there to greet the customer before he even crawled from the car. Taryn sat in the shade of the porch, shelling another mess of peas with Melanie and die Grossmammi Zook.

  “You were here only yesterday,” the child remarked with candor. “Did you like the eggs that well?”

  The man managed a sheepish look. “The truth is, I dropped them and broke them, before I could even take them home to my wife.”

  “Then you should buy two dozen today,” the girl suggested innocently. “And some quilts to wrap them in.”

  “I don’t need a quilt,” the man said.

  “A nice table runner, then? See? You can wrap it around the eggs, like this.” She picked up a colorful runner quilted in blues and browns, stitched in the wedding ring pattern, and deftly wrapped up the egg cartons. “Buy the runner, and the eggs are free.” Even at ten, she had long since mastered the art of marketing.

  “Okay, sure,” the man said. He was obviously distracted, his attention on the grounds he surveyed with his sharp gaze. He ignored Taryn, sitting there on the porch between an old woman and a teenager. He was looking for an ‘English’ woman, and all he saw were three Amish females of varying ages, shelling peas in their strange clothes and their strange language.

  “That will be forty-five dollars,” the child said proudly, slipping his purchase into a plastic grocery bag.

  His eyes jerked back to the young shyster. “For a dozen eggs?”

  “Two dozen, and a hand-stitched table runner. Your wife will love it!”

  He didn’t look pleased, but the man pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it at the child. “You may as well keep the change,” he grumbled, “before you try to sell me something else.”

  “Would you like to buy a car?” she asked quickly, her eyes lighting with mischief.

  That was one item he never expected to buy here, of all places. “A car?”

  “I saw you eying that one there when you came by yesterday. I’ll sell it to you, if you like.”

  “The woman who owns it might not be too happy about you selling her car,” the man said, but he looked intrigued with her offer.

  “Won’t matter. She’s long gone by now.” The girl shrugged in a casual manner.

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Gone. Puff. Like smoke up a flue, der Holsweg nausgagne.” She used her hands to demonstrate. “Up and gone, with only the car and a big mess left behind.”

  “Where did she go?”

  The girl scrunched up her face, pretending to search for an English word to translate. The man didn’t need to know she was sending a silent prayer to God, asking for His forgiveness for such open deceit. “Der Daedd said to Good Riddance.” She spread her hands wide again. “Wherever that is.”

  Chapter 31

  Taryn relayed the day’s events to Bryce over dinner. They ate at a busy family-owned smorgasbord, well known for its huge and varied offerings, and the uncompromising quality of their food. Many of the employees were of Mennonite or Amish faith, and all trained in excellent customer service and the preparation of authentic Pennsylvania Dutch cuisine.

  “Why are you
just now bringing me to this place?” Taryn playfully accused.

  Bryce wiped the ham’s honey glaze from his mouth. “If you think this is impressive, you should see their breakfasts. I can only afford to eat here on rare occasions, unless I want to buy myself a whole new wardrobe.”

  Taryn marveled at the swarm of activity around the huge dining room. “I can’t believe this place is so busy. There’s still a steady stream of people coming through the line.”

  “Makes it a good choice for meeting in public,” Bryce agreed, slicing his fork through a generous hunk of meatloaf. “Hard to stand out in a place this big and populated. There’s a gift shop in the basement, every bit as big.”

  “Maybe Deborah should get a job here. The girl is a natural salesman.” Her voice held true affection.

  “Sounds like she’s quite the performer, as well.”

  “And Caroline, too. Both were very convincing.” Taryn dipped her fork into a pile of hand-whipped potatoes.

  “It sounds like your family has done a good job of covering for you. Any more messages on your phone?”

  “Just my daily ‘poem.’”

  The last two had been variations of the first.

  Roses are red, violets are blue.

  Eyes so pure were always a clue.

  And today’s offering,

  Roses are red, some violets are blue,

  Forgetting the past, is best for you.

  Bryce continued to quiz her. “And you haven’t recognized any of the people who stopped by the farm stand?”

  “No. But I’m fairly certain it’s the same car that’s been following me. Did the license plate number I sent you come back with any clues?”

  “It’s registered to a Wilford Downing in Philadelphia.” He saw the way her eyes narrowed. “Do you know him?”

  “No, but the name sounds familiar.”

  “Couldn’t find much on him. No record, no outstanding warrants, no red flags. Works for a pharmaceutical company there in Center City.”

  Taryn shook her head in dismissal. “I’m not sure. It just sounded vaguely familiar.” She popped a fresh asparagus spear into her mouth. “To convince these people I’ve left town, I can’t be seen in my car. Can you drive me over to Lancaster tomorrow, so I can rent a vehicle for the next few days?”