by Linda Byler
“You could,” he said, with emphasis on the “you.” His eyes left no doubt about his feelings for her, and as always, she slipped away, made some excuse to extract herself from the conversation.
The thing was, her circle was so small. There was no way to meet other young men, unless she were to travel to a distant Amish community, but then everyone would see her as desperate. Most girls just stayed put and waited for the Lord to provide a man, something Emma found deplorable as she grew older. She would not settle for someone she did not love, and never would, just to save herself the humiliation of staying single.
Occasionally, there would be a girl who seemed happy with nary a man in their life, ever. Emma was starting to think this was, indeed, who she was. She was happy enough, wasn’t she?
She did not have to get married. Even the Bible said it was okay. So, she’d venture away from home, sit by the seaside, and allow her heart and mind to be cleansed of all the clutter that came with years of rumschpringa. All those years of spending weekends with friends, playing volleyball or ping pong, eating popcorn and cookies, and wondering if romance were around the next corner. Which it never was.
In the morning, she wet and combed her thick auburn hair, sprayed a liberal cloud of hairspray, chose a mint green dress and black bib apron, applied sunscreen in the form of a foundation that matched her skin, and surveyed the result. She had never found anything that successfully covered freckles, but the tanned skin on her face had already faded their appearance. Wide green eyes, fringed with black lashes, the tips receding to a reddish brown that matched her hair. Her nose and mouth were completely satisfactory. She had wide, full lips that had the perfect bow, like her mother’s. A mouth that was attractive when she was serious, enhanced by a wide smile that flashed easily.
She set the white head covering evenly, inserted two straight pins in the fettadale, and turned around to hold a small mirror to her face to check the back part of the covering.
Everything in place, she put the mirror in the pocket of her suitcase, threw her journal and pen on top, and zipped it shut. She gave one last look around her lovely bedroom, all the things she’d acquired from the many years of teaching school. A part of the attic was stacked with plastic totes from Wal-Mart or Dollar General, filled with sheet sets and towels, cookware and dozens of mugs and plaques with kind verses about good teachers. She had enough artwork from the children to fill the whole attic, but had burned some of it in the burn barrel.
She heaved the suitcase off her bed, set it on end, and straightened the quilt, adjusting the pillow shams before thumping down the stairs.
It was a bright May morning, the sun’s rays already stealing through the sides of the drawn shades in the living room.
“What a racket,” her mother observed.
“This thing is heavy.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. So you’re ready?”
“I think so.”
“We’ll miss you, Emma.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, something that occurred regularly. Dena said her mother could form tears on demand, anytime she wanted to make anyone feel bad, which made Emma laugh, thinking of her own secret rebellion at fifteen.
“I will miss home, Mam. All of you. Especially you, though. You know how much I like being your daughter.”
Her mother swiped at her streaming eyes, her mouth already taking on that loose wobbliness that meant a tearful deluge was imminent.
Small wonder Dena was dramatic.
“I like being your mother, you know that,” she said, turning her back to reach for Kleenex from the box on the counter.
“I’m so afraid for you, this summer. The ocean is so powerful and you are so daring. I know you can swim, but a pond or a lake is completely different from the ocean. Do you have to go swimming?”
“Mam, of course I do.”
“Oh, yes. I know. I know. But promise me you’ll be very careful. Did you pack your Bible? And you do realize that the man could become attracted to you, and for English people, that’s not verboten.”
Emma retained a snort of outrage, counted to ten, and said quietly, “I think this couple is completely devoted, Mam.”
“Well, you never know. And you’re going to be living in the same house . . .”
She left her dire predictions dangling at the end of her sentence, like a sticky fly hanger that attracted all sorts of dark and fearful thoughts.
“You be careful how you walk or handle yourself around him. Ach Emma, the world is so full of danger for a young woman, and you are so innocent yet.”
Emma hid her grin, the sparkle in her eyes.
Ah, mother dear, you may go on thinking that, she thought. Mothers simply did not know everything, now did they?
Breakfast was the usual happy clatter of dishes passed, forks and spoons scraped against plates, conversation flowing easily around the table, the children chiming in with their own plans for the day.
Sallie said she was going to wash her doll clothes, that Ada’s sleepers were looking gray around the collar, to which her mother said of course she should do that. It looked as if it would be a good wash day.
Abram and Steven rose from the table when their work driver pulled up to the end of the sidewalk. They turned to Emma, and with an awkward pat on her shoulder, said, “See you. Behave yourself,” and grabbed their lunch containers and thermos jugs.
“Have a good summer, guys,” she called after them.
“You too,” was flung out without a backward glance.
“Brothers,” Emma said, trying to laugh, but she found a quick lump of emotion had already formed in her throat.
Dena was silent, a sour expression written all over her face. She played the martyr well, but then, Emma knew this really would be hard for her. She’d have more responsibility around the house, plus Emma was her confidant, the one person Dena could safely share all her teenage feelings with.
Extracting herself from the ties of a close-knit family was much harder than she had imagined, so when the Forsythes arrived, it was a relief, really. She hugged and kissed the little girls and tried hugging Benjamin and Lloyd, who wriggled expertly out of her grasp and stood watching from the sidelines as she hugged the reminder of the family, promised to call or write, and picked up the heavy suitcase.
“Goodbye, Mam, Dat. See you, Dena.”
Dena waved silently, her hands clenching the back of a kitchen chair, her face a mixture of sorrow and self-pity.
“Goodbye,” they called, as she let herself out the door and into the brilliance of the May sunshine.
She found her parents and all her siblings trailing behind her and was vaguely embarrassed until she saw the Forsythes step out of the vehicle with welcoming smiles of appreciation, greeting the entire family warmly.
Her father’s manners were impeccable, looking tall and bushy with his Amish hair and beard, her mother with her rounded figure and homemade clothes and her eyes clouded with apprehension.
The meeting of two worlds, Emma thought, but was gratified to find the conversation flowed freely, with genuine interest from her employers, before the fond goodbyes started all over again.
“Remember your upbringing,” her mother whispered, inserting the final word of caution in her prolonged embrace.
“Bring us seashells,” Amanda said, looking to Sallie for confirmation.
“Starfish. And jellyfish. Some sand,” Sallie ordered.
Everyone was laughing as Emma climbed into the backseat beside the two children who were strapped into their car seats.
“Is that enough room?” Kathy asked. “Or would you prefer the seat in the back?”
“No, this is fine.”
“Okay, then we’re off.”
Roger got behind the wheel with Kathy beside him, and with many waves and goodbyes, the car moved slowly away.
“Oh my,” Emma said softly.
Kathy laughed. “That’s quite a family, isn’t it?”
“It took up most
of the morning, all those goodbyes.”
She turned to the children.
“How do you do? How do you do? How do you do again?” she quipped, a favorite greeting for small children she had used often for first graders as they entered the strange new world of the classroom.
Annalise giggled. Brent laughed outright.
“I am fine,” he said.
“Charlie Brown does not want to go to North Carolina,” Annalise said soberly.
“Oh, I know. Elephants don’t like to travel. They never do.”
Annalise nodded solemnly before taking refuge in her thumb. Emma took notice of the elephant’s ears being slipped between a thumb and forefinger when the thumb was inserted. She couldn’t help wondering about that, given that thumb sucking was discouraged among pediatricians. Or at least it used to be. She’d have to remember to write Ruth and Esther to ask—they always knew the latest parenting trends.
Roger drove through heavy traffic on 518, campers taking advantage of the sights before the summer influx began. Horses hitched to gray and black carriages traveled on the wide berm, allowing vehicles to pass at normal speed.
“Is this small town of Beaver Falls always like this?” Roger inquired, his dark glasses in the mirror giving away nothing.
“When school lets out, there are always the campers and RVs on their way to Beaver Lake. Everyone stakes out their spot before the rush.”
“I’m surprised. This far north.”
“Well, the main road through this area leads to the Pennsylvania Turnpike, so, yes, it can become congested.”
“Horses are okay with it?”
“Not all of them, no. From time to time, there are accidents.”
There was a brief comfortable silence.
“I have a question,” Emma said.
“Okay?”
“Why did you run an ad in a newspaper so far from Harrisburg?”
“Oh, we work in the city, both of us. But we live about halfway between your farm and where we work,” Kathy answered.
“I see.”
But Emma didn’t really see. Why would a person commute fifty miles to work every day if there were plenty of homes in and around the capital? What about the cost of fuel, their time? Wouldn’t it be more economical to live closer to their work?
“We bought a farm in State College, and my work is there, mostly. Roger drives to and from his work in Harrisburg. Sometimes I have to do the same, but not every day. We placed the ad in many different papers, all over the internet as well.”
“I see.”
But she didn’t see that, either. Miles must not be important. Going ten miles was a considerable distance for the Amish. She began to grasp the very small space that contained her existence.
Perhaps I do live a very secluded lifestyle, she mused.
They reached the well-traveled interstate highway, and as the vehicle hummed along, both children began to whine.
“Mommy, I’m thirsty.”
“Emma, in the insulated backpack below her seat, there is a box of juice.”
“I don’t want juice.”
“What do you want, honey?”
“Chocolate milk.”
Roger turned his head to stare at his wife, whose face had taken on a look of disbelief.
“What should we do?” she mouthed silently.
Roger glanced in the rearview mirror, drew himself to his utmost height from the seat in order to see his daughter’s face.
“Annalise, Mommy forgot to pack chocolate milk, okay? You can have some juice.”
Annalise flung both feet out, her legs as stiff as pokers. Charlie Brown went flying across the front seat and a howl erupted from Annalise’s small, wide open mouth.
“Anna honey. Baby, listen. Mommy packed your favorite. Grape juice.”
“No! I don’t want it.”
“Roger, we’re going to have to stop at the next exit.”
“She won’t drink the grape juice?”
“No. She won’t do it, I’m pretty sure.”
“Baby. Daddy is getting off soon, okay? We’ll get your chocolate milk.”
“I want Charlie Brown back.”
Quickly, the gray and white elephant was handed over and was crushed into Annalise’s clutches, followed by the thumb.
Brent reached into a pouch fastened to the side of his car seat and extracted a handheld Game Boy device of some kind, snapped it on, and in seconds was engrossed in a colorful display on the lit screen.
Emma felt her good humor dissipate like steam from a teakettle. What was this? Seriously. She felt a clenching, clawing lurch in her stomach. Did parents actually do this? Why were they giving in to their child’s unreasonable demand so quickly, and at the inconvenience of the rest of the family? Well, perhaps this was only on account of traveling. Perhaps they were just being a little indulgent because of how long they knew she’d be stuck in that car seat. They had a long ride ahead of them.
Relax. Go with the flow. Observe and learn, she told herself.
“McDonald’s?” Roger asked, maneuvering the car down the ramp.
Kathy shook her head.
“You know what will happen, Roger,” she said quietly.
He nodded and turned right into a Sheetz parking lot.
“Plastic bottle with a straw, if you can get it. Emma, would you like something to drink? Use the ladies’ room?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure? Brent, chocolate milk?”
“I want a Coke.”
“Honey, chocolate milk would be better in the morning. Don’t you want a chocolate milk?”
Emma gritted her teeth.
“I want Coke.”
Roger got out of the vehicle and returned in short time, bearing a Coke and a chocolate milk. He opened the back door and handed them both to Emma, with two straws in cellophane wrappers.
“There you go, kids.”
Emma opened the drinks, inserted straws, and handed them over as they pulled out of the parking lot.
“Thank you,” Brent said quietly.
“You’re welcome,” Emma replied.
Annalise threw a fit, saying it was not real chocolate milk. The bottle was not the kind Charlie Brown liked to drink.
Kathy became agitated, her voice rising quickly to a near hysterical pitch as she began pleading with her daughter.
“Annalise, it is good chocolate milk. Honey, don’t cry. It’s okay. Please stop. Baby. Roger, pull over. This isn’t working. Honey, look. See the brown cow? That cow is so awesome. Look, Anna.”
By this time, she had loosened her seatbelt and was on her knees, turned backward and leaning over the seat and begging Annalise to calm down. Annalise was slamming her head from side to side, her feet thumping the edge of the seat, her stomach thrust forward in a defiant arc.
“I don’t like that chocolate milk. I don’t want it!” she screamed.
Roger entered the fray with interjections of his own, saying the brown cow was good friends with Charlie Brown, which brought emphatic nods from his wife.
The chocolate milk went untouched.
Emma reached into the insulated bag and produced a purple juice box, unwrapped it, and calmly inserted the bendable plastic straw. She reached over and took the chocolate milk and put the grape juice in its place.
“Charlie Brown said he wants purple juice,” she said calmly and with total confidence.
Everything stopped. Slowly, Annalise looked from the elephant to Emma and back again. She thought for a moment the little girl would refuse, but she took the juice and began to drink it.
“It’s good,” she announced to Emma. “Charlie Brown loves grape juice.”
Both parents turned, sank into their seats, and sighed with collective relief. Seat belts were clicked into place and they drove away, Annalise drinking the grape juice she would have had in the first place.
For some time, Emma was very quiet. She felt her blood pressure rise and had to restrain hersel
f from making an unkind remark. For one wild moment, she wanted to ask Roger to take the closest exit, to turn this car around and take her back to her family. Back to the safety of a culture she understood.
What kind of parenting was this? How could this teach children the importance of obedience?
Well, Lord, you’ll have to see me through. She’d accepted this job, so it was up to her to see it to the finish.
A few hours later, both children had nodded off, after many different snacks, books, and video games. Emma found Annalise to be completely endearing after the display at Sheetz, and Brent quite an amusing little boy. She allowed herself to relax again, and even felt a prick of guilt for being so judgmental.
Brent would be five in November. On the sixth, he told her. He pronounced “November” with a long O, very properly, his English so much better than Emma’s first graders who had learned most of their words in Pennsylvania Dutch, the language learned from babyhood. English was the children’s second language, so by the time they completed first or second grade they were bilingual. But these children spoke the language very well, surely mimicking their highly intelligent parents.
At lunchtime, they all agreed to picnic at a rest stop. When they rolled to a stop somewhere in Virginia, the day could not have been more delightful. Warm spring sunshine, lush grass that had been mowed quite recently, clean restrooms and plenty of picnic tables dotting the landscape.
Kathy spread a plastic tablecloth while both children raced across the grass, eager to run. Roger brought a Yeti cooler and flipped the lid, taking out a jar of what appeared to be dark brown and purple olives floating in oil. There were saltine crackers, peanut butter, and apricot preserves. She saw several cups of yogurt and a bag of pita chips, plus one bar of dark chocolate with almonds, wrapped in colorful paper.
“We’re ready, kids!” Roger shouted.
Emma held back, unsure how to proceed. Kathy handed her a Chinet plate and a plastic fork and knife. She thanked her and watched Roger dig in, following his lead. First, they ate the yogurt, with a handful of golden raisins, followed by the saltines with both spreads, then the pita chips and olives, which turned out to be delicious. Kathy and Roger each took one tiny square of the chocolate bar, so Emma followed suit, turning her face away to hide the shock she felt at the bitterness. But it was good to be in the open air, surrounded by colorful scenery, the scent of lilacs and mountain laurel, both parents keeping up a lively conversation.