by Dalia Wright
Chelsea was surprised; for someone who had grown up in a sheltered and secluded Amish life, Agnes was certainly very knowledgeable about many things.
“I’ve been paying attention to everyone else’s stories and reading a lot too,” Agnes explained, “And the first thing we’re going to do is go shopping for some decent clothes and get a makeover! There’s no way I’m spending our trip looking this dowdy.”
The idea of shopping for new clothes was daunting enough, but makeovers?! Chelsea’s face blanched at the idea, and she started to protest, but Agnes gripped her firmly by the arm and said, “You promised Chels; when you finally agreed to come on this trip, you promised I could have my way with everything and you wouldn’t complain. You have your entire life to wilt away back home. Rumspringa only happens once! And you gave me your word.”
Chelsea had promised, and had indeed given Agnes her word, something which she took seriously. Stifling a heavy sigh. she resigned herself to following Agnes’ dictates, hoping it wouldn’t be too torturous.
The help of a pretty young woman named Francesca at the reception desk was enlisted, and she quickly made them appointments at the hotel spa for a full body treatment.
“It will be the works,” she said with a wink. “You won’t recognize yourselves once you come out of there.”
She then gave them a list of the best stores to hit up within a ten-minute walk and made reservations for their supper at the hotel restaurant.
“It will be a good idea to stay near the hotel for today since we don’t know the city yet,” Agnes said authoritatively.
Chelsea nodded and stayed quiet: it was clear that nothing in their trip was going to be under her control, so there would be no sense in fighting Agnes on anything, unless she got really out of control!
Moments later they were accompanied to the spa where they were handed robes, towels and told to change. The spa was nothing like Chelsea had expected: everything was so calm and so serene she could almost imagine herself back home. Everyone talked in hushed tones, there was soft music in the background and a sense of peace pervaded the air. A short while later she found herself lying prone on a cushiony table while someone massaged her entire body. It felt odd to have strange hands touching her so intimately, but it felt so good that Chelsea soon discarded her feelings of embarrassment. While one person worked on her body, another worked on her face armed with a tray full of fragrant creams, liquids and lotions.
When they came out of the spa hours later, Chelsea looked and felt like a different person. A hairdresser had cut and styled her dark brown hair so it hung in shiny, glossy waves around her oval face, Her plucked eyebrows created an artistic arch and accentuated her deep blue eyes. Gazing at her glowing reflection in the mirror Chelsea had to admit she did look a lot nicer, more polished and elegant somehow. Agnes had opted for a more drastic look and had her haircut into a smooth, layered bob. Chelsea gasped when she saw her, but again had to admit the hard look suited her greatly. Their spa day left them with no time for shopping, so Agnes dragged her out of the bed at the crack of dawn the next day and the two girls spent the day going from store to store buying clothing and shoes.
Once Agnes proclaimed that they looked normal enough to blend in with all the other city girls, she put her real plans into motion. Within a week of following Agnes’ hectic jam-packed schedule, Chelsea was already exhausted and wanted nothing more than some quiet time to herself. But each time she protested, Agnes firmly reminded her that she had promised.
CHAPTER THREE:
But after spending almost three weeks obsessively shopping, partying, and tracking down celebrity homes, Chelsea was almost at her breaking point. She was shocked at Agnes’ transformation. The simple girl from their Amish life had morphed into a sophisticated, city-bred girl almost overnight. Chelsea had no idea when and how Agnes had managed to gather so much information about the city’s hot spots, Hollywood celebrities, or fashion, but there was very little she didn’t know, and she seemed hell bent on exploring it all.
Unfortunately for Chelsea, she was stuck tagging along on all these so-called adventures that weren’t overly interesting to her at all. In fact, some of her new experiences had her desperate to hop on the first flight back home, and the two friends came to severe blows after they attended a rave which served to confirm all of Chelsea’s preconceived notions about city life and deepened her distaste for a world where people behaved like wild savages shamelessly pursuing their carnal desires. She found the sight of sweaty, half-naked bodies rubbing against each other in the most shocking of manners distasteful and revolting. She couldn’t understand how men and women could have so little respect for themselves.
She begged Agnes to leave, but Agnes – dressed in a short sparkly dress with her face heavily made up, dancing in the arms of a complete stranger – was in heaven, and she paid no attention to Chelsea. Things came to a blow when one of the guy’s Agnes had danced with earlier grabbed Chelsea roughly around the hips and pulled her towards him, his hands eagerly reaching for her breasts.
“Get off me!” Chelsea’s angry words were drowned out by the loud music and the guy grinned at her instead.
Kicking him hard in the shins, Chelsea grabbed Agnes by the arm and dragged her away from her partner and out into the street. She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool night air before turning towards Agnes, who was shouting at her, clearly pissed off at her actions.
“How could you embarrass me like that? I was having a good time in there!”
“Embarrass you? Do you even know what that guy was trying to do in there to me?”
“Grow up Chelsea! You’re eighteen years old, for God’s sake; stop being such a prude. This is what people do in clubs.”
At once, Chelsea’s spine stiffened and she turned away her face to hide how hurt she was at Agnes’ words.
“I don’t enjoy being groped by men I don’t know, Agnes, and if that makes me a prude, then I guess I’m a prude,” she said softly.
“Yeah, well be a prude on your own, don’t spoil my fu., I was having a wonderful time in there,” Agnes retorted angrily.
“With who? These guys you don’t even know? Agnes, you need to be more careful, I think the guys here operate under a very different set of rules than the guys back home.”
“What would you know about guys anywhere Chelsea? You’re nothing but a prude.”
The sneering tone in Agnes’ voice cut deep, Chelsea couldn’t believe her best friend could be speaking to her like this and saying such things. One more thing to learn about city life, she thought to herself – it changes even the nicest person. With great effort she managed to keep her temper in check, realizing that anything she said now would only make things worse.
Trying to keep her voice even, Chelsea asked, “Can we go back to the hotel room now? I’m honestly very tired, it’s been a long day.”
“Fine, whatever, it’s not like I can go back in there now anyways; I’m too embarrassed to show my face.”
Smacking her lips with impatience, Agnes snapped her fingers and hailed down a passing cab and barked out the name of their hotel to the cabbie. Without so much as a look at Chelsea, she slid into the backseat of the cab. Chelsea wordlessly followed and spent the fifteen-minute ride staring out the window regretting her decision to ever come on this trip. A horrible feeling was starting to form in the pit of her stomach; some inner instinct was screaming at her that something horrible would happen before they made it back home.
CHAPTER FOUR:
They went to sleep that night without speaking another word. When Chelsea woke up the next morning, she looked over across the room towards Agnes’ bed, expecting to find her glowering with anger. To her surprise, the bed was empty and Agnes was just coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a bathrobe. She smiled at Chelsea sheepishly,
“I behaved horribly last night. I’m sorry.”
Chelsea’s mouth dropped open, she had been bracing herself for another round of abuse; an apolo
gy was the last thing she expected. Feeling enormously relieved, she quickly apologized too.
“Listen,” Agnes continued, “I know we’ve been doing things I’ve wanted to do so far, so how about we do something different for change? What would you like to do?”
What Chelsea really wanted to do was go back home and forget all about this trip. She wasn’t having any fun at all and the changes in Agnes were scaring her, but she couldn’t vocalize any of that.
“So,” Agnes asked again, towelling her hair dry. “What would you like to do?”
The next best thing to going home would be going to a park or something to do with nature. She had heard people talking about the Yosemite National Park but she knew Agnes would spend the whole time complaining, so she searched her brain for an activity they would both enjoy when her eyes landed on a packet of brochures the clerk at the front desk had given to them.
“Sonoma!” she said, hitting on the perfect idea.
“What?”
“Sonoma Wine Tasting Tour. Let’s do a wine tasting tour. You get your wine and I get my countryside,” Chelsea explained. Wine wasn’t her first preference, but anything to get away from the city.
The mention of wine brought a wide smile on Agnes’ face.
“What a fantastic idea! So we what…wear pretty summer dresses and walk around tasting all sorts of wines?”
Chelsea who didn’t have the vaguest of ideas what was involved in a wine tasting tour, nodded, “Ummm…I guess yes; something like that.”
“Fantastic! Well, I’ll speak to the clerk and figure out how to get tickets and stuff while you shower and get ready.”
Grateful that their fight seemed to have blown over, Chelsea smiled at Agnes and nodded her approval of the plan.
An hour later, they had made arrangements to leave for the tour early the next morning. The tour was an unexpected success, and to Chelsea’s surprise she found herself enjoying it enormously, even the wine tasting part. She took a few sips here and there and enjoyed the taste of lighter, fruiter wines. Agnes was in absolute heaven, dressed, as planned, in a pretty summer dress and flirting madly with one of the young men. Chelsea figured she couldn’t really do much damage out in the countryside in broad daylight so she let her be. After a while, she broke off from the tour group to explore the vineyard on her own.
CHAPTER FIVE:
Blake was picking grapes in one end of the vast Sonoma vineyard, gently pressing down on each grape he was picking. The healthy ones he put in his basket; the bad ones were discarded. Picking hundreds of grapes was often a tedious task, especially on a scorching hot day, but Blake liked taking part in every stage of the wine making process. And today Blake was enjoying himself enormously. After a very stressful few weeks, he found the repeated motions of grape picking soothing and almost therapeutic. For the most part, Blake loved his life and he knew he was extremely lucky and privileged to have the things he had, but there were times when he couldn’t help longing for an escape from the glitz and glamor of the upper classes and the confines of a boardroom. In those moments he came down to the country and let out steam by working on the fields alongside his employees. It helped him connect with them, appreciate their hard work, and have a deeper understanding of the business. Many of his most complex business problems were resolved while he picked grapes or trimmed the leaves. Everything always seemed more crystal clear in the vast open countryside, with nothing but nature surrounding you. His father hadn’t understood the importance of making that connection and the business under him had struggled. Blake had been determined from the start to not make those same mistakes. He was proud of the fact that, under his charge, the company had tripled their profits within a few years.
He was completely alone in his area and enjoying the solitude and peaceful atmosphere. He even found himself humming a soft tune under his breath, something he never did in the city while he struggled with a problem of expansion one of his Business Manager’s had brought to his attention earlier that week.
Engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the light footsteps walking down the path nearby until he out of the corner of his eye he saw the shadowy form of a figure coming to an abrupt halt a few feet away from him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was here.” The figure spoke in a soft hesitant voice.
Blake turned around to face the person who had spoken and the first thought that flitted through his head was that he had never seen anyone quite so beautiful in his life. Her features were quite ordinary, but what distinguished her from all the dozens of glamorous, attractive women he knew was the fresh, innocence in her wide, luminous eyes, the soft petal pink lips, and the rosy cheeks. All this went through his mind in the split second it took for him to recover from his surprise and throw her a friendly smile.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just picking the grapes.”
“I see that.” She said with a small smile on her lips. He was unaware of how handsome he looked with his dark hair matted against his forehead with sweat, in his thin sweat pants and the white wife beater, which showed off his golden tan and rippling muscles.
“Well I’ll just be off then,” Chelsea said after a few moments of silence, in which she felt oddly disturbed by this strange man’s presence.
“Are you here as part of a wine tour?” Blake asked his question hoping to delay her departure. He didn’t know why, but he wanted her to stick around for a little longer. She hadn’t done or said anything remotely extraordinary but she had him intrigued. From the look of her, he could tell she wasn’t from California.
“I am actually, yes.”
“Are you supposed to be on your own?” He meant to tease her, but she looked at him guiltily and admitted, “I sneaked away from the tour ,I’m afraid. I wanted to explore a little on my own, I miss the countryside. I should probably go back though before I get into any trouble.”
At once Blake felt bad about his joke and he shook his head.
“No no, you won’t get in trouble. I was just teasing you. I can understand the need to sneak away for some time to yourself. Did you come here with a friend? Or your boyfriend?”
“A friend.” She replied, adding after a brief pause, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Ah.” Blake felt cheered by the information.
“Why do you miss the countryside?” he asked.
“I grew up in the country and I’m finding city life isn’t quite to my liking.”
Ah, Blake thought to himself, she was a country girl. No wonder she didn’t have that hard, edgy feel to her that most city girls were notorious for.
“So you pick the grapes for the wines? Do you like the job?”
“Some days not so much, but on other days I really enjoy it. It’s an important task picking the right grapes. Sonoma wines prides itself on quality.”
She smiled at the passionate tone of his voice,
“It’s nice to see someone who loves their work and takes such pride in it. Have you worked here for long?”
Blake nodded, “Very long – sometimes it feels like I’ve worked here my whole life. My father and grandfather used to work here before me.”
“Oh how nice! Were they grape pickers too?”
Blake tried to picture his father, always dressed in a formal suit, a look of stern disapproval on etched permanently on his face labouring in the fields picking grapes. The image was an amusing one and Blake laughed.
“No, my father didn’t pick grapes. But my grandfather did. He liked working with his hands.”
I’m not lying, Blake justified to himself. Grandpa did like working with his hands, and he filled his first bottles of wine all on his own by picking his own grapes and doing everything by himself.
“What do you do?” he asked her in an attempt to move away from the topic of his family. He had a feeling this shy, pretty girl wouldn’t be quite so friendly and easy with her conversation if she discovered he was in fact the owner of the vineyard and Sonoma wines.
&nbs
p; “I don’t have a career really. I grew up in a farming family. My family has farmed for generations. I like to paint though,” she added shyly, surprising herself. Chelsea hardly ever volunteered that information about herself, especially not to someone she had never met before. But she was finding it very easy to speak candidly to this man.
“Wow, so you’re an artist.” Blake looked impressed, “That must be nice to be able to express yourself creatively. I don’t have an ounce of creativity in me.”
“I didn’t mean to imply I’m a professional artist or anything,” Chelsea added hastily not wanting to give him the wrong idea, “I just like sketching things I see.”
“Regardless, it still sounds impressive.” He extended his right hand towards her. “I’m Blake by the way.”
Chelsea grasped the proffered hand and shook it gently, “I’m Chelsea.”
“That’s a nice name,” he said while trying to find the right way of easing into asking her out. He didn’t want to scare her off by being too pushy.
“Are you here for long?”
“No, the tour leaves soon, I think,” she said, looking at her watch, “I should probably head back.”
“I meant in the city. Are you heading back home soon?”
“Oh. That really depends on my friend, I guess.” Chelsea knew her response was vague, but she didn’t want to explain to Blake about Rumpsringa and her Amish upbringing. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want him to think of her as a freak. In her experience whenever anyone heard the word Amish, they immediately assumed the worst.
“You’re staying in San Francisco I assume? I hope somewhere nice.”
“Yes, the Pier Hotel is lovely. Anyways, I really should get going now. It was nice to meet you Mr…ummm Blake.”
“If I’m in the city in the next few days maybe I could give you a call and show you some parts of the city you might enjoy?”
Even as Chelsea felt thrilled at the idea of seeing him again, her inner instinct cautioned her against it. After all, she didn’t know anything about him expect that he was handsome and picked grapes at a vineyard. And handsome men only wanted one thing from women; it certainly wasn’t platonic companionship. Her mother had warned her time and time again about the perils of a handsome face in the city, so there was no way she would agree to meet him again, no matter how much she had enjoyed their conversation. So she politely declined the invitation.