Fraying at the Edge

by Cindy Woodsmall

  The sharp pain behind her eyes signaled her desperate need for nicotine. She glanced at the other two beds, where Susie and Martha were when Skylar finally fell asleep. The beds were empty. Good. At least one thing was going her way. She got up, went over to her suitcase, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  Someone tapped on the door. “Skylar, honey?”

  She recognized the voice of a nearly unknown person, the woman who’d given birth to her. “Uh, just a sec.” Skylar shoved the cigarettes into a compartment of her suitcase and zipped it shut. Thankfully, when the woman had gone through her suitcase, feeling for pill bottles, she hadn’t noticed the squishy pack of cigarettes. “Come in.”

  She didn’t even know what to call her birth parents. They said to use their first names—Lovina and Isaac—but she’d yet to do it, not because using a first name was disrespectful, but because it was too intimate. She felt nothing for these people. Unless they counted disdain.

  The door eased open, and her birth mom smiled. “You’re already up.”

  Did she have a choice? Maybe if the Brennemans didn’t start banging around in the kitchen so ridiculously early. “Yeah. What did you need?”

  The smell of coffee floated into the room. Amish coffee was perked, made by boiling water bubbling up and spilling over the grounds. The process made for a nice aroma, but apparently they used hardly any coffee grounds in the brew. It’d been distastefully weak her first two mornings here.

  Lovina’s eyes moved to the zippered section inside the suitcase, and Skylar realized one corner of the cigarette pack was peeping through. Could the woman tell what it was?

  Sunday evening a bunch of teenagers had come to the barn and sung. Supposedly it was a fun tradition for single people, but Skylar had stayed in her room—a room she regretfully had to share with two younger sisters. At least they’d been out of her hair that evening. After the singing was over, she’d watched the young people through the window, and a few of them stood in the driveway smoking cigarettes. Still, she was unsure whether the Brennemans would approve of her doing so. Not that she cared what they thought or felt. It was just in her own best interest to keep her smokes a secret for now.

  “I need for us to talk. Remember, I mentioned needing that on Sunday and again yesterday?”

  She remembered. “Can it wait? My head is pounding again.” Besides that, whatever Lovina needed, Skylar didn’t have it to give.

  Lovina studied her, looking a little anxious. “Ya, okay. We’re making pancakes for breakfast.” She gestured toward the stairs, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Skylar felt. “But then…do you even like them?”

  Probably not. Skylar liked the way her mom fixed them—with a specific mix, hot cakes slathered in store-bought butter, fresh fruit, and whipped cream. But this home probably didn’t have any of those things. She’d been here for days and hadn’t yet seen a stick of store-bought butter or a carton of milk. Forget something like pancake mix. They produced their own food or did without. Every towel was threadbare, and the sheets had been patched. If her dad, the one she’d grown up knowing, wanted to teach her a lesson about using drugs, this was the way to do it. Amish living at its best was absolutely miserable.

  “Pancakes will be fine. Thanks. Is there water this morning?”

  Skylar had a lot to adjust to—new family, Amish rules by the silo-full, no modern conveniences, and the frustration of living in a poor home. Every time she turned around, another water pipe had broken, which meant someone had to haul water into the house so she could brush her teeth. And if she wanted to bathe, the water had to be heated on the stove. Forget having a shower. Who lived like this—no electric lights, washing clothes by hand even when the water worked, and having a rule for every little thing? But they hadn’t put any of the gazillion Amish rules on her, not yet anyway.

  Lovina looked sympathetic. “Your Daed…”

  “Dat? What’s a dat?”

  “It’s Amish for dad.”

  “Oh.” She’d heard the term numerous times, mostly from her stranger siblings.

  “Anyway,”—Lovina closed her eyes and swallowed hard—“Isaac is milking right now, but he will fix the issue after breakfast. I was hoping you would get dressed and join us at the table this morning.”

  Skylar wasn’t a morning person, especially not crack-of-dawn morning, but today was her third morning here, and apparently her family thought it was time she joined them. “I’ll be down shortly.”

  “Denki.” Lovina smiled and closed the door.

  Skylar didn’t understand much Pennsylvania Dutch, but she knew the word for “thank you.” And Bobbeli, because there was no shortage of babies around here. In her other life Skylar was an only child. Now she had nine siblings and fourteen nieces and nephews—too many of whom shared this home. Mind boggling, really.

  She put on a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Thankfully no one had asked her to dress the way they did. What would she do if her birth parents wanted that? She removed the cigarettes and her lighter from the suitcase, slid them into her jeans pocket, and pulled the hem of her shirt over the bulge.

  The hardest part of this ordeal thus far was the lack of drugs. The first two nights were the worst. Her feet started burning, and her legs wouldn’t stop moving, and all she could think about was a couple of tablets of Xanax, Ativan, or Valium. Anything to stop the incessant restless legs.

  She had to get something somehow. But sneaking out of a shared room was problematic. There was never any white noise to cover the sounds of her movements—no music, no iPhone app of ocean waves, no television left on by accident. Nothing.

  Everyone—all umpteen hundred of them—watched her as if trying to wrap their heads around the fact that someone so different was related to them, or they watched her as if they feared she’d run off. And she would if she had any money, any prospects of getting money, or anywhere to go.

  She was stuck. Maybe people who were smarter and braver would just leave and figure it out as they went along, but being homeless and penniless sounded to her like an easy way to wind up dead.

  She had to get to a phone today. She left her room and walked down a large wooden staircase that groaned with every ounce of weight she put on the steps. It would be impossible to move around in this old house without the floors creaking. When she had a set plan with Cody, how was she supposed to sneak out?

  Anxious tones between some of the women caused Skylar to pause on the stairway.

  “Then I guess we need to make a trip to the bank.” Martha sounded very upbeat and singsongy. Martha was the youngest daughter and the same age as Skylar’s stepsister, Cameron, but the two were nothing alike. Cameron was tough, like sandpaper glued to old leather, and Martha was springy sweet, like wedding cake.

  “Banks aren’t open this early, Martha.” Lovina got a pancake off the griddle, opened the oven door, and set it on top of a stack of pancakes.

  “Then customers won’t get any change back. They’ll love that, right?” Susie had a whisk in hand, beating some white fluffy stuff in a bowl.

  Salome poured coffee from the percolator into a thermal carafe. “The days of living as if Ariana can step in and rescue you are gone. Grow up and think for yourself. Getting change and other errands have to be done in the afternoon as soon as the café closes.”

  “Now those are helpful tips,” Susie quipped. “Not.”

  “Things like correct change and opening on time aren’t going to matter at all if—” Salome saw Skylar and motioned. “Kumm. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

  “No rush. I’m not hungry.” She wasn’t lying. She’d felt ill ever since her arrival in Amish country on Saturday. “Coffee would be nice though.” Maybe it would be better this morning.

  Salome got out a mug and poured her a cup. Skylar walked to a chair at the kitchen island. Looking at Salome was like looking into a mirror, except Salome’s eyes drooped, probably from years of weariness or unrest. And despite the pleated dress she always wor
e, Skylar could see that her belly sagged, probably from bearing five children. Why did she, her husband, and their children have to live here? Wasn’t this house already brimming?

  “Here you go.” Salome set the cup in front of her.

  Skylar could easily see through the light brown liquid to the bottom of her mug. “Great,” Skylar mumbled. “Canoe coffee.”

  Salome’s eyes narrowed. “What’s canoe coffee?”

  “Like floating in a canoe, this coffee is as close as one can possibly get to water.”

  Martha angled her head, looking from Skylar to the mug. “That’s how we make it at the café.”

  “Any return customers?” Skylar asked, sarcasm oozing.

  Susie tapped Martha on the shoulder and whispered to her before Martha turned to do something.

  “Sleep well?” Salome asked.

  “Sure.” That wasn’t true, but what difference did it make? Salome returned to helping the others get breakfast on the table. Skylar added cream to her coffee, hoping to give it some flavor.

  Lovina passed her a bottle of Advil, and Skylar got out two gelcaps. Watching the others move about, she tried to recall their names. She had most of the siblings straight now—at least those who lived under this roof: Abram, who was her twin, Salome, Mark, Susie, Martha, and John. It didn’t feel as if they were related to her, and they seemed as frustrated by the situation as she was. They obviously missed Ariana.

  Skylar took several deep sips of her coffee, hoping the caffeine would provide some respite.

  Isaac walked in, immediately spotting her. His eyes probed hers, as if seeking confirmation that she hadn’t yet lost her mind. In his own quiet way, he looked far sadder than Skylar.

  What could she say? Sorry, bio dad, my dad’s gain is your loss? She knew that Nicholas had been more than happy to learn that Skylar wasn’t his, and he hadn’t wasted any time threatening this Amish community in order to convince Ariana to leave with him and Mom. What were the odds that Skylar was switched at birth and that she had three sets of parents—Mom and Stepdad Gabe, Dad and Stepmom Lynn, and now her very Amish birth mom and dad—and none of them liked her? Her mom loved her, and no mom had worked harder to support her child’s dreams, but Skylar wasn’t at all sure her mom liked her, not really.

  Mark and John, two of her brothers, came into the room chuckling about something. She couldn’t imagine anything being amusing when they got up around four to start the milking. Besides that, the milking barn stank, and from her few days here, it seemed that cows were particularly stupid animals.

  Abram eased into the room behind the other men, but unlike their birth dad, he seemed determined not to look her way. Some twin he was. He wanted less to do with her than anyone else in this home.

  The next few minutes were chaotic as the men washed up and the women set plates of steaming food on the table. After everyone was seated, they bowed their heads, and there was a long pause as they prayed silently. Just as she’d done during every mealtime prayer, she watched each face. Did they really believe that God existed and, if so, that He actually heard their prayers? That was just crazy.

  When her birth dad shifted, making some of the flatware jingle even before he removed his napkin, everyone opened their eyes and lifted their heads. Synchronized swimmers had nothing on these people. Isaac glanced at her birth mom. “So, Skylar, have you made your decision yet?”

  “Decision?” Skylar asked.

  Lovina pursed her lips, looking uncomfortable. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet, Isaac.”

  “Why?” Isaac took three pancakes off the stack and flopped them onto his plate.

  “There hasn’t been a good time.” Lovina flicked a thumbnail against her index finger, looking a bit nervous.

  “Did you sleep in again, Skylar?” Isaac reached for the wooden bowl that had a weird, whitish butter in it.

  “A little.” Skylar hated mealtime conversations. The siblings were usually noisy and boisterous, except when their parents pinpointed one of them for interrogation. Where was the privacy for adults?

  Disbelief showed in Isaac’s eyes before he nodded. “How many hours of sleep are typical for you?”

  “Seven or eight, but I’m not sleeping well at night yet.” And by yet she meant she wouldn’t sleep well until she was no longer living like a pioneer.

  “Sure, I get it. Sometimes our bodies need us to take it easy. You’ve had a lot to adjust to, and that’s fine for another day, but it’s also important to work. Staying busy is good for the mind and body. It’s also good for us when we pull our weight.”

  “Pull my weight?”

  “Every single thing you eat, wear, or need, someone had to work to pay for it. In this home we work together to make ends meet.”

  “I’m supposed to work for food and the roof over my head?”

  “Honey.” Lovina put her hand over Isaac’s and patted it. “Are we supposed to get rain today or tomorrow?”

  Skylar knew a distraction move when she saw it. Her birth mom didn’t like the path of this conversation.

  Isaac paused and smiled at his wife. “I don’t think so. It’ll be cloudy, and some wind may kick up.” He returned his focus to Skylar. “Doing your fair share may sound unusual to you. Maybe your Englisch parents assumed all responsibility for paying for your needs. I think that’s a mistake.”

  “Wow.” Skylar rubbed her aching forehead. “So you believe the saying that idle hands are the devil’s workshop?”

  “What I believe is you should be bored by now, and I can’t fix most of what goes wrong in life, but that I can fix.”

  “I’m mostly exhausted from not sleeping.”

  “Sometimes that sort of thing is circular. We can’t sleep at night, so we sleep late and rest a lot the next day, and then we can’t sleep the following night because we rested too much. That’s not always the case, but we won’t know until we break the routine, right?”

  Did this man think he was a doctor? The desire to get up and walk out was so strong, but Skylar wrapped her fingers around the edge of the table and held on. They’d been kind to her up to this point—Saturday evening, Sunday, and Monday—but starting this morning she was expected to pitch in like a hired hand on a farm? She had to get away from here.

  “Is there a problem?” Isaac asked.

  “No. Maybe. I mean, I don’t mind work, but it should be toward a worthy goal—like getting a break in the entertainment industry or finishing a semester of college.”

  “That’s on hold for a while. And would have been whether you came here or not, right?”

  He knew the answer to that. She’d been found with a concoction of illegal substances in her system, and her parents were going to pull her out of school and send her to rehab…or she could come here.

  She nodded.

  “So”—Isaac dipped his head to look her in the eyes and smiled—“let’s focus on what can be done. Like pitching in with the work. Okay?”

  He ended his sentence as if he’d made a request. He hadn’t. It was an absolute. Man, she didn’t want to be here for one more day. She had no money, and for the first time in her life, neither Brandi nor Nicholas would bail her out. Stupid drug testing. If her blood work hadn’t revealed her secrets, she wouldn’t be stuck here.

  But Cody said he’d help her escape after he got a few things squared away. She just had to wait until he could get to her.

  Salome put a serving bowl in front of her. Was that whipped cream? “We were wondering if you would like to help Susie and Martha at the café today.”

  Oh yeah. That’s exactly what Skylar wanted to do—have her stage dreams taken from her and miss the rest of this semester while she helped keep Ariana’s dream alive. “I wouldn’t be much help.”

  “It probably sounds scary, but what’s needed isn’t hard.” Abram lifted a coffee carafe from the table and refilled her mug. “See, that’s pretty much all the girls need from you. Well, that and a few other simple tasks that would be a life
saver for us right now.”

  She stared at the ripples he’d caused in her mug. Did he think she was so stupid that he had to show her how to pour coffee? Even if she was, she didn’t need the lesson in front of the whole family. “Sorry, I’m just not feeling too well today.”

  Lovina passed one of the platters of pancakes to Martha. “Anything wrong besides not sleeping?”

  “Headache.” Skylar pushed the coffee mug toward Abram, giving him a silent thanks but no thanks. “I think resting will help.” If she was going to cope with life until Cody could get her out of here, he had to bring her something stronger than Advil.

  “Sure, you rest.” Isaac smiled, nodding. “You can use today to decide whether you’re going to help in the café or on the farm.”

  “That’s the choice—help fulfill Ariana’s dream or stay here and muck out the stalls? No. But thanks.”

  Everyone stopped eating, and the room fell silent, all eyes on her. What? Had no one ever told this man no?

  Isaac pushed his plate away. “You don’t have to help with either.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s plenty of other work—laundry, housecleaning, meals, gardening.”

  “There’s gardening in October?” Skylar’s surprise made her sound interested. She wasn’t. But the garden produced stuff in mid-to-late October?

  “It’s been a good year,” Isaac said. “Much to be grateful for. The kale is still standing. There’s more red cabbage to make into coleslaw. Some beets and Brussels sprouts are continuing to produce. Some years we’re still gardening during the first snow flurries.”

  “No way.” Why did she continue to sound like someone who cared? She glanced at Martha, imagining the sweet wedding-cake girl in a tattered winter coat and no gloves while gathering food for supper. Why did that image bother Skylar?

  “Maybe you should choose gardening,” Isaac said. “It’s coupled with the chores of canning and meal preparation, but a lot of people find working with the dirt to be healing. I do. No matter what difficult thing is going on, when I’m planting or harvesting crops, I feel better and think and sleep better.”