by Sarah Price
“There’s a singing tonight,” one of the sisters said while they waited for the bishop and preachers to enter the room. “Jared Troyer’s family is hosting it.”
“I don’t know Jared Troyer,” Catherine responded.
“They are cousins with the other Troyers, your friends’ niece’s family.”
“Ah.” That didn’t surprise Catherine. In most Amish communities, everyone had some relationship with the other families, or so it seemed.
The other sister sighed. “It’s going to be hot in here today. I can tell already.”
The banal conversation bored Catherine, but she tried to remain cheerful and open to dialogue. The only problem was that she didn’t care for the dullness of their exchange.
Exhaling through puffed lips, Catherine glanced around the room, watching as the older women began to sit at the benches in front of them. She didn’t like the way that this church district was so informal about the seating arrangements. Back home, the women walked single-file into the worship area and sat down all at once, not like this g’may, where it seemed so willy-nilly. Her eyes caught on Wilma, who was talking with a woman, both appearing very animated and happy. Catherine wondered who the woman was when she saw Wilma peering around the room in the direction of the benches. Once they made eye contact, Wilma waved frantically for Catherine to join them.
Relieved to be rid of the two dull sisters, Catherine politely excused herself and hurried over to where Wilma stood.
“Catherine! Kum now! Look who is here! Susie Troyer!” Wilma laughed in a frivolous sort of way. “We’ve been saved!”
As Catherine joined them, she greeted Duane’s niece with a smile. With Amish families typically being rather large, it wasn’t unusual for aunts and uncles to be close in age to their nieces and nephews. Catherine suspected that Susie was almost the same age as Duane. However, she did not resemble her uncle in the least. Unlike Duane, Susie was a tall woman with almost white hair and a willowy figure. Her eyes were pale, almost gray in color, and her skin wrinkled around her eyes, but nowhere else.
Wilma reached for Catherine’s hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “This is our dear Catherine,” Wilma said, smiling at her ward before returning her attention to Susie. “Such a tolerate companion she’s been. I must confess we both felt rather lost without knowing anyone the other day.”
Empathetically, Susie clicked her tongue.
“I’m so relieved to see you here. Why, I didn’t know what we would do during fellowship. We’ve no one to introduce us to the people in Banthe! It’s a terrible feeling when you’re an outsider.”
“Never fear. We’re home now.” Susie Troyer glanced around and waved at another woman before she continued talking. “Truly, I felt awful that I wasn’t here to greet you, but I trust that you settled in nicely, ja?” She didn’t wait for an answer but turned her attention toward Catherine. “And you, Catherine, why, you simply must meet my dochder, Ida Mae.”
Wilma leaned over to Catherine. “She only has the one dochder.”
“And she’s more than enough!” Susie laughed. “She must be just about your age! What are you? Twenty?”
“Nineteen.”
Dismissively, Susie waved her hand. “Close enough. Why, my Ida Mae knows just about everyone in this town. So many people coming and going all the time. The poor dear. It’s hard to live in a town that caters to so many vacationers.”
Catherine hadn’t thought about that. How could Ida Mae, or anyone else, have any real friends in a town with limited year-round residents? How lonely it must be, she thought and made a mental vow to befriend Susie Troyer’s daughter.
“Ach! Perfect timing.” Susie raised her hand and waved it over Catherine’s head. “Here she comes now!” With a warm smile, Susie greeted her daughter and gestured toward Catherine. “Ida Mae, meet Catherine. She’s here with the Andersons.” Susie took a step backward as if to open up the space between the two young women. “You both are just about the same age. I reckon you have tons in common, ja?”
“Catherine? Catherine Miller?” Ida Mae asked as she extended her hand. Her pale gray eyes peered at Catherine from beneath thick eyelashes. “From Fullerton?”
Catherine shook Ida Mae’s hand, knowing instantly that she would like this young woman. From the way her eyes sparkled, to the softness of her voice, there was clearly nothing to dislike about her. “Ja, I’m from Fullerton. How did you know?”
Ida Mae glanced at Wilma who was now deeply engrossed in conversation with a small group of women. “Aren’t the Andersons’ from Fullerton?”
Feeling a bit foolish for not having made that connection, Catherine changed the subject. “Have you’ve visited there?”
Ida Mae gave a soft smile, almost coy in nature. “Nee, but I intend to.”
Catherine wasn’t quite certain how to interpret that comment.
Ida Mae placed a finger to her mouth and looked up toward the ceiling as if thinking of something. “And I seem to recall that I’ve met your bruder James. He’s friends with my older bruder, John.”
“Ja, James mentioned that he had met you at some youth gatherings.”
Instantly, Ida Mae dimpled. “Did he? I’m so glad he remembered us!”
Catherine could see why her brother would remember Ida Mae. Catherine found her to be a lively young woman with a pretty face, even if her eyes were pale and her nose sunburned, most likely from helping outside on the family farm. Her dark blond hair was neatly tucked under her prayer kapp and she wore a dark peach dress, a color that Catherine had not seen before. Clearly, she was adventuresome and energetic, perhaps even someone who might become a good friend.
After the introductions, Catherine and Ida Mae moved toward the benches to claim their places while the rest of the women began to filter to their own rows and take a seat. It wasn’t long before the bishop and preachers entered through another door and made their way along the seated women, pausing to shake their hands when it was physically feasible.
“How different this is!” Catherine whispered to Ida Mae.
“Oh? How so?”
Catherine shrugged. “I just never realized that church districts that were so close in distance might have different manners of gathering. In our church, the bishop and the preachers greet the women while they are still standing. Only when they sit down do the women occupy the benches.”
Ida Mae laughed. “That seems rather strange to me!”
One of the older women glanced over her shoulder at Ida Mae, giving her a stern look that instructed her to be quiet and stop laughing. Ida Mae covered her mouth with her hands and giggled into Catherine’s shoulder. Even though she knew better, Catherine couldn’t help but smile at her new friend’s antics.
Almost three hours later, by the time the last sermon had been given, hymns sung, and prayers prayed, Catherine’s back ached and she felt fidgety, as if she were still a child and not a young woman. For some reason, the different style of worship at this service made her restless. She had even dozed off for a minute or two during the silent kneeling prayer. In her own district, ten minutes was the longest they knelt to pray. But this preacher had them kneel and pray for almost twenty minutes, and that was ten minutes too long for Catherine.
“My word!” Ida Mae whispered to Catherine as the congregation dispersed, the men to convert the benches into tables for the noon fellowship hour and the women to organize the food distribution. “That second sermon was rather long, don’t you think?”
Catherine wasn’t certain how to respond. She didn’t want to say anything negative about the preacher, but she certainly agreed with Ida Mae. However, she didn’t know the people and their relationships to each other. And she did not know Ida Mae well enough to complain that it was, indeed, boring, not from content but from delivery. “I … I suppose I’ve sat through longer ones,” she said at last. “At least it was interesting.”
“What. Ever!” Ida Mae waved away Catherine’s comment as if she swatted at a pesky fly
. “Every time he preaches, he says the same thing … about the dangers of the world and how technology is just no gut! He drones on and on and on in that same monotone.” She rolled her eyes. “And he stares at the boys, barely addressing any of his sermon toward the women!”
“Mayhaps he thinks the boys are more likely to be tempted by worldliness,” Catherine offered.
Ida Mae made a scoffing noise and rolled her eyes. “Man and woman are more equal than Preacher gives us credit for, ja? I’ve seen just as many young girls fall into temptation as boys. Just the other week I saw something glowing from within the front pocket of Alice Burkholder’s apron!” She leaned over and whispered into Catherine’s ear, “She had a cell phone!”
Even though she didn’t know who Alice Burkholder was, Catherine understood the implications of what Ida Mae shared. She gasped and leaned backward. “No!”
Ida Mae nodded. “And she didn’t look none the sorrier for having been caught. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Indeed, Catherine could not. “Who on earth would she call?”
Once again, Ida Mae leaned forward, lowering her voice so that no one else could overhear. “She’s not the only one in the district with a cell phone. In fact, several other young women have them. And, of course, many among the boys!” Straightening up, Ida Mae brushed some imaginary dust from her sleeve. “So, you see? The preacher might focus his words on the young men, but he should realize that the young women are just as wicked when it comes to worldliness.”
Back in Fullerton, there were very few opportunities for young people to interact with Englischers. Most of the youth lived on farms, and while there were some non-Amish families that lived scattered throughout their neighborhood, most of them either kept to themselves or were considered friends. The Englischers that caused trouble tended to be the tourists who snuck photos, asked silly questions, or invaded their privacy. Fortunately, Fullerton did not have many tourists. Indeed, the tourists tended to flock to Shipshewana instead, thus leaving the Amish in Fullerton to live in a more secured environment without external intrusions.
During the fellowship hour, Catherine stayed with Ida Mae, mostly because Ida Mae remained glued to her side. They talked about everything under the sun, leaving no stone unturned. Or, rather, Ida Mae talked about everything. Catherine seemed to do no more than nod her head and say “Ja” once in a while. Several times, while Ida Mae continued to chatter, Catherine caught herself looking around for Henry Tilman, but each time, she silently scolded herself. She knew that he wouldn’t show up for the noon meal since he hadn’t come to the service, so hoping otherwise was senseless.
Until, of course, Ida Mae finally paused to take a breath after asking Catherine what she did for fun in Fullerton.
“Oh, me?” Catherine was almost startled that Ida Mae had asked her anything at all. “Oh I … well … it’s much quieter than Banthe, I’m sure. Not many tourists.”
“Uh huh.” Ida Mae didn’t sound impressed. “But surely you must do something for fun!”
“Well, I help my maem at home and we do have quilting parties in the winter.” Catherine felt as if she were disappointing Ida Mae with descriptions of her simple life in Fullerton. “Of course, there are singings and I do like to read.”
At this, Ida Mae perked up. “Read? What types of books do you read?”
“Romances.” She said the word in a whisper, which clearly delighted Ida Mae.
“Oooh. Romances.” Ida Mae tucked her hand into Catherine’s arm and leaned closer. “I’ve read a few. I love a good Englische romance.”
Horrified, Catherine withdrew her arm. “Nee!” She would never read an Englische romance. That was far too worldly and her parents—not to mention the bishop!—would surely object. “I read Amish romances. I am partial to this one author who retells classic literature.”
Ida Mae’s excitement died and her eyes glazed over. “Classics? I see.”
From the lack of enthusiasm in Ida Mae’s voice, Catherine suspected that she didn’t see and, even more telling, probably didn’t even really care. “She’s written an entire series. Lizzie, Emma, Maryann and Eleanor, Fanny. They’re based on Jane Austen’s books, but all of them take place in Amish communities.”
“Never heard of her,” Ida Mae said, clearly uninterested, as she glanced around the room. “So, tell me. Have you met anyone since you’ve been here?”
Catherine hesitated. For some reason she didn’t understand, she didn’t feel like telling Ida Mae about having met Henry Tilman. While she knew practically nothing about him, she almost preferred it that way. In her mind, she could imagine all sorts of things pertaining to him. It was like having her own private friend. But she wasn’t one to lie so she finally responded with a simple, “Not really. Just one fellow, Henry Tilman. When I was in town with Wilma,” she quickly added.
Ida raised an eyebrow. “Henry Tilman, you say?”
“We only spoke for a minute or two.”
Ida shrugged in a bored sort of manner. “When his family vacations here, he usually attends this service, but maybe he’s visiting another church today.”
A deep sense of disappointment washed over Catherine, and immediately she scolded herself. She barely knew the young man, and certainly not well enough to miss him already.
With a wave of her hand, Ida quickly changed the subject. “Well, anyway, you’ll have lots more fun here at Banthe and you’ll meet tons of new people. There’s always something to do and new people to meet!” She started to laugh and talk about some of the frolics and youth gatherings from earlier in the summer. It seemed several of the young men liked to race their buggies along the backroads, something that Catherine thought sounded dangerous but seemed to delight Ida Mae.
“Oh, Catherine!” Ida Mae cooed, tucking her hand once again into the crook of Catherine’s arm. “Here comes someone I’d like you to meet!”
A young man, no more than three or four years older than Ida Mae, approached them, a broad smile on his face. While he wasn’t entirely unattractive, there was something off putting about his appearance. Catherine couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Perhaps it was his too broad of a nose or his wide, thick-lipped mouth. But his eyes, so similar in color to Ida Mae’s, danced in a mischievous way.
“This is my bruder, John,” Ida Mae offered.
He sauntered up to them and gave Catherine an unruly grin. “And you are …?”
“Catherine. Catherine Miller.” She noticed the way he looked at her, his grin changing to a playful smirk, which she found odd since she had no previous acquaintance with him.
“I had the pleasure of seeing you in town the other day,” he said.
Catherine suddenly remembered having seen him as well, the leering man by the carriage. Surely, he had seen her talking with Henry, although Catherine could not recollect having paid any attention to how long John had stood by his carriage watching them converse.
As if reading her mind, he chuckled. “I look forward to having the pleasure of getting to know you better myself.”
The heat rose to her cheeks and she gazed toward the floor.
Sensing the awkward silence that was to ensue, Ida Mae cleared her throat before speaking. “We were just going to take a short walk, weren’t we, Catherine? The air is so fresh and there isn’t much more to do here.”
“Were you now? Well, I’d be happy to walk along with you then!” he exclaimed, inviting himself to join them.
Catherine glanced over her shoulder at Wilma. “I … I really should return to the Andersons,” she said. “I am, after all, their guest.”
John made a dismissive noise. “Ach, Cathy! They will surely not mind one bit. Guest or not, Sunday afternoons are meant for young people to socialize!” Lightly, he touched her elbow and began guiding her toward the open doors, his sister quickly falling into step beside him. “Now tell me, Cathy …”
She quickly interrupted him. “It’s Catherine.”
He laughed. “Catherine, Cathy. T
hey’re both beautiful names to my ears.”
Uncertain how to take that, Catherine remained silent. She didn’t want to be rude to Ida Mae’s brother, but she simply detested the abbreviated version of her God-given name. She had never been called Cathy.
“Now tell me, Catherine,” he said, enunciating her name in a teasing way, “have you explored the countryside yet? In particular, the area on the far side of the lake?”
“I have not. We’ve only just arrived.”
“Is that so?” He looked surprised. “Well, I would be remiss if I did not invite you to accompany my sister and me on a ride one day. No one should ever leave Banthe without seeing Moreland Lake from all angles! The view on the far side is much more superior than from this side.”
Catherine caught her breath. “You’re most kind!” she exclaimed.
Again, he laughed. “You sound surprised.”
Once more she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t meant it that way. However, she was a little taken aback by his offer. After all, he had only just met her and he must certainly have his own obligations, since the Troyer family were not vacationers in Banthe. Taking her with Ida Mae on a carriage ride around the lake was a generous offer indeed.
“I suggest we go for a ride this evening. What do you say, Catherine?”
She looked around for Wilma. Having just arrived, she wasn’t certain it would be proper to accept such an invitation. “I … I must decline. My plans were to stay in and read this evening.”
“Read?” John tossed his head back and laughed even harder. “Read what?”