I let my hand drop from my mouth. “Even after the way I behaved today, you’re still going to let me go?”
“Maybe because of it,” my father said. “I think you need some time away to learn the value of what we’ve been trying to teach you. To answer some of the questions you have about the life outside of here. We’re afraid that if we don’t let you leave, you might go away on your own. And that would be worse, for all of us.”
On wobbly legs, I made my way over to the couch, beside my father. I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling the comforting roughness of his beard against my cheek, his hand cupping the back of my head. I shook with sobs. When we let go of each other I dried my eyes with the edge of my apron.
I looked past my father to my mother, who suddenly seemed small, her hands upturned in her lap, her expression sad. My father got up and left us together. My mother placed her hand over mine. “Thank you,” I said. She reached her arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a stiff hug. I was bursting with feelings I couldn’t name, and I wanted to hold on to the excitement of this moment. Then my mother’s voice murmured in my ear, “We’re sending you to keep you.”
I didn’t want to think about those words. Even in my excitement I couldn’t forget how she had said she’d rather I be unhappy at home than happy far away. When I pulled away to look at her, her silver-gray eyes were fixed somewhere else.
The rest of the day had an unnatural feeling, like I was running through water. James came and lifted me into a big hug. “It’s your turn now,” he whispered. He sounded just a little bit wistful.
Ruthie fell into my arms, her face sticky with tears. “It’s just for the summer,” I said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
While I helped my mother prepare the stew for Sunday dinner, I felt her looking over at me. I turned to her. “This week I’ll take you to Walmart,” she said. “To buy you some new clothes to take with you.” A smile stretched across my face. Then her voice returned to its usual sternness. “You’ll pay us back from your wages.” I nodded happily.
After dinner, my father went out to meet with Mr. Allen at the inn, and returned home with a cautious smile on his face. “Things happen quickly in that world,” he said. “Mr. Allen picked up the telephone, and the next thing I knew, Mrs. Aster’s voice was in my ear telling me she’ll pick you up on Sunday at ten in the morning.” He winked at me before adding, “You won’t be required to go to Fellowship that day.”
I caught my breath. In just one week I would be getting into Mrs. Aster’s car and riding away from here. In one week I would be a world away.
As she promised, my mother took me shopping, and I ran to my room afterward and emptied the clothes into a colorful mound on the bed. I reached for the blue jeans first, thinking of the way my friends and I used to point when we saw English girls in town wearing what we had thought of as boys’ clothes. In the fitting room I had found that the jeans didn’t slip on easily; I had to maneuver my way into them. I enjoyed the way the jeans hugged my legs, but I was surprised at the stiffness of the material. When my mother noticed me tugging at the waistband, she smiled. “Blue jeans feel more comfortable after they’ve been washed a few times,” she said. Looking in the mirror, I saw myself in trousers for the first time.
Now in my room, I felt the richness of this new wardrobe. In addition to the jeans, there were cottony soft shirts, each in a different color or pattern, blouses that buttoned from the collar to the hem, a pair of khaki pants, and two pairs of shorts. There were also new shoes—a pair of sandals and a pair of blue sneakers. Seeing all of the new clothes laid out on the bed, I thought of the day in town when Kate and I had secretly bought a copy of Seventeen magazine and paged through the pictures of long, thin girls painted delicately so that their eyelashes glittered and their cheeks glowed. I remembered trying, with Kate, to pose like the girls in the pictures, with a hand on a hip, a haughty head-toss, a pouty expression.
I spent some time arranging the clothes into different outfits—the lacy pink shirt with the khaki pants, the blue striped T-shirt with the jeans. The clothes on my bed didn’t quite look like what we had seen in the magazine, but they were my clothes. And when I wore them I would look like a new version of me, not like every other girl in the district.
It was a busy week. On Thursday I helped my mother prepare for Stranger Night, realizing it would be a long while before I would be doing this work again. As I served the visitors I was almost giddy with the thought that in just three days I would be living in their world. I worked at the inn each day, saying good-bye to Jenny and Mr. Allen after my Saturday shift.
That night, our family and friends gathered at the house to say good-bye and to wish me luck on my journey. My mother and Margaret were in the kitchen slicing cake and pouring coffee, but I didn’t have to help. I was the guest of honor.
When Mary and Sally arrived, I brought them up to my room, where I had displayed all of my new English clothes on the bed. They squealed and giggled, fingering the fabrics and holding the shorts in front of them to see how much bare leg they would reveal.
We all marveled at the buttons that fastened the pants and that marched down the front of the blouses in neat rows. We had always spoken of buttons in hushed whispers, as we did telephones and dancing and other mysteries of the English world. Now I would be wearing them every day.
Back downstairs with the rest of the guests, I received hugs and stories and words of advice about living among the English. Uncle Ike warned me to keep my money in a safe place, and Aunt Miriam, her face bitter, said, “Remember that even in the fancy world, you’re still plain.”
I nodded politely. It was just like Uncle Ike to be thinking about money and Aunt Miriam to give me a stern send-off. Thankfully, a hand slipped into mine, and I looked up to see Kate. “So, I guess I’ll be missing you after all,” she said. I squeezed her hand. Annie appeared at Kate’s side, and the three of us threaded our way through the crowd to the back porch and settled ourselves on the porch swing, with me in the middle. I pushed my foot against the floorboards, and the swing swayed gently in response.
“I’ll write to you both and tell you all about it.”
“Be sure and write about all those Yankee boys,” Annie said, her brown eyes widening.
I breathed in the sweetness of the summer night and the warmth of my friends on either side of me. “I don’t think I’ll be meeting any boys,” I said. “There are only small children at the house where I’ll be staying.”
“You never know,” said Annie. “I have a cousin who met a
Yankee boy and fell in love with him. She came back home and asked for permission to marry him.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Did she get permission?”
“No,” said Annie, her voice hushed. “She was shunned.”
The swing stopped its quiet movement, and I sucked in my breath. The air was always colder when shunning was mentioned. I didn’t personally know anyone who had been shunned, but we’d all heard the stories of names blotted out of family bibles and letters thrown away unopened. Kate looked down, probably thinking about William. He hadn’t been shunned because he had never been baptized. Shunning was reserved for adult members of the order who had broken the baptism promise. Instead, William had left freely, of his own accord. But I’m sure that to Kate it felt the same.
“I still can’t believe that your parents are letting you go,” she said, changing the subject. “Mine won’t even let me wear blue jeans.”
At that moment, heavy footsteps rumbled up the back stairs. I squinted up in the glare of the setting sun as Daniel approached the porch swing. “Hello girls,” he said, taking off his hat. “From the number of buggies parked out front, I’d say that Eliza is having quite a send-off party.”
I didn’t look at my friends, but I sensed that they were exchanging grinning glances. Kate was the first to get up. “Come on, Annie. Let’s go see all those English clothes that everyone’s talking about.” The porch
swing swayed as Kate and Annie slipped back into the house.
“May I sit down?” asked Daniel. Silently, I moved to one side of the swing and felt it rock as Daniel lowered himself to sit beside me. His long legs stretched out in front of him, and his sturdy hands played with the brim of his hat.
A deep silence wrapped around us before he spoke. “Weren’t you going to say good-bye to me?”
James had gotten word to Daniel that I was leaving, but I hadn’t seen him myself. I knew we should discuss what it meant for us, but it was a conversation I wasn’t looking forward to. “I was planning to write to you after I got settled.” I forced myself to look directly into his eyes. Daniel’s eyes always made me think of summer leaves.
“You should have come to see me,” he said, his voice stern.
I tensed. “For permission?”
The swing jolted as Daniel sat forward, his hat tumbling to the floor. I looked away, feeling his irritation. The flowerpots on the windowsill needed watering. I would have to remind Ruthie to take care of them. Turning back to Daniel, I could see ridges in his coppery hair from where his hat had been.
“Not for permission,” he said. “To say good-bye properly. After our last conversation I thought I deserved that. On Sunday we were talking about courting. And now you’re leaving without even a word to me.”
A warm sensation crawled up my neck. I stared down at my lap. “You’re right,” I said. “I owed you that. I should have come to see you.”
“There’s something else,” he added, his voice gentler. I looked up. “I was worried that you might be running away.”
“Running away from what?”
Daniel stooped forward and picked up his hat. He stood, setting the swing to a slow movement, and turned to face me.
“From me.”
Just then, the back door opened, spilling a surge of guests onto the porch, and I was swept into a new series of hugs and farewells. I could see Daniel leaning against the porch railing, his arms folded across his chest. But then I lost sight of him as I was carried from one set of arms to another.
The crowd thinned out until Kate and Annie were the last ones to go. We were a tight ring of bonnets and aprons and damp cheeks as we clung together, our arms tangled around each other so that, for a moment, it was hard to tell whose arms were whose.
When we released each other, I wiped at my eyes. Annie ran toward her father’s buggy, calling a last good-bye over her shoulder. Kate stayed at my side for another moment, whispering, “Hurry, Eliza. Daniel’s leaving.”
Following Kate’s gaze, I saw that Daniel was walking to his buggy, taking long slow strides. “Wait, Daniel,” I called, following him across the grass to where his buggy was parked. He turned, a smile on his face that was tired and hopeful at the same time. “Now you’re the one who’s leaving without saying good-bye,” I said.
He reached quietly into his pocket and handed me a white handkerchief. I turned my back to him and pressed it to my eyes.
It had a lemony smell. “I was going to write to you when you got settled,” he said, his voice teasing. I turned to him, grinning shyly, and handed him the handkerchief. He returned it to his pocket.
“Actually, I wasn’t going to leave. I was just going to my buggy to get you something.”
He reached inside his carriage and pressed a small package into my hands. Gently tearing away the newspaper wrapping, I smiled at the wood carving nestled in my curved fingers.
“I made it,” Daniel said, but I already knew that. I recognized the gleaming finish, the soft curves. It was a small nest with a bird rising from it, wings spread and head turned to the side. The bird’s feathers were etched in tender lines, and the nest was a complex tangle of woven twigs. I cradled the carving, letting my fingertips roam across the different textures.
“I started to work on it the night of the barn raising, when you told me you wanted to go away.”
“I love it.” My words were a whispered gasp and Daniel leaned forward to hear them. Those days since the barn raising, when I had been angry with him for bringing Hannah to the party, he was making me this gift. I looked up into his face. “I’m going to take it with me.”
Daniel smiled. “Well, I should be going. I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
“So am I.”
I waited for him to step away from me, toward his carriage, but instead he stepped closer to me. Before I could speak, he pressed his lips to mine. They felt cool and moist, their touch light and gentle, like the first drop of summer rain. Then just as quickly he stepped back. I touched my lips with the tips of my fingers.
“You’ll write to me?” he asked. I nodded, and Daniel climbed into his buggy. As he picked up the reins, he looked down at me. “Enjoy your journey, Eliza,” he said. “Then come back to your nest.”
The next morning, I was the first one up. In the silver quiet of the dawn I looked through the duffel bag that I had packed after the guests left last night. All of my fine new clothes were folded neatly inside, along with a dress, apron, and kapp, which my mother insisted I bring. “So you’ll always remember who you are,” she had said. A canvas bag held some books, my toothbrush, comb, quilting supplies, and gifts for Rachel’s children. Before I closed the bad, I slipped Daniel’s wood carving into a side pocket.
I had spent a delicious amount of time deciding what to wear today, finally settling on the blue jeans and the lacy pink shirt. Inside of the new sneakers my feet felt cushioned and snug. I was aware of my bare arms and my uncovered head and the way the jeans clung to my legs.
On the far side of the bed, Ruthie sat up, rubbing her eyes, her hair scattered over her shoulders. She crawled across the bed and leaned her head on my arm, the golden strands tickling my skin.
“I’ll miss you so much.”
“We’ll write each other lots of letters,” I said. I stopped as a sudden thought occurred to me. I would be able to read the words of my family and friends, but as long as I was in the fancy world, I wouldn’t see their faces or hear any of their voices.
Downstairs in the kitchen, my mother was mixing batter for pancakes. I set my duffel and canvas bag by the front door, where she glanced at them and turned away. James looked me up and down. “You look English,” he said.
Ruthie ran her fingers along the fabric of the jeans. “It doesn’t feel soft,” she said. “I know. But I hear I’ll get used to them.” I looked at my mother with a smile.
We sat in our usual places around the kitchen table and joined hands to say grace. After everyone finished chanting the mealtime prayer, my father glanced around the table. One of my hands was nestled in James’s large, calloused palm, and the other felt the dampness of Ruthie’s small fingers. Finally my father spoke. “And may you watch over our Eliza, who will be far from our sight. Keep her safe and bring her back to us soon.”
I blinked away a tear. “Amen,” whispered my mother.
The talk over breakfast was about the Fellowship meeting that afternoon and a lumber shipment that was due on Monday. Except for the change in the mealtime prayer, everything was ordinary. I realized that this was how things would be after I was gone. My family would take up their lives without me. The thought was a tiny ache.
While Ruthie cleared the table, my mother and I stood in our positions at the sink. The only sounds were the clinking of dishes and the swish of soapy water. Our movements were smooth and rehearsed, like a dance. When the last dish was settled in the cupboard, my mother turned to me.
“It’ll be a long time before we stand this way again,” she said.
I couldn’t find an answer.
“I’ve been trying to think of some wise words to give you before you leave.”
I listened, trying to memorize the pitch and flow of her voice.
She dried her hands and walked over to the big desk in the corner, where quilting and woodworking orders filled the cubbyholes. I watched as she picked up a black three-ring notebook from the desktop. “Before I left for my rum
springa, my mother told me to keep a record of my life in the English world so I would always have the memory.” She ran her fingers over the glossy black cover and looked at me. “Last night I filled my old notebook with fresh paper so you can keep your own record.”
I took the worn notebook from her. It felt like a formal moment, so I responded in a formal way. “I’ll write in it every day,” I said, but I didn’t think I meant it.
Just then, the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway shivered through me. “I guess it’s time,” my mother said. While I tucked the notebook into the canvas bag, my mother called to my father and James.
I opened the front door as Mrs. Aster walked up the steps. My mother stepped quietly onto the porch.
“I can only guess how hard this must be for you,” Mrs. Aster said. When my mother didn’t answer, she continued. Her voice sounded careful, as though she were shopping for each word. “I don’t know Eliza very well yet, but I know she will add so much to our home.”
My mother’s words were crisp. “As she has to ours.”
“Yes, well,” said Mrs. Aster, “my husband and I will care for her like she is a member of our own family.”
“I know you will,” my mother said, as my father and James bounded up the porch steps. While my father shook hands with Mrs. Aster, James and I carried my bags to the car, and I watched as he settled them in the trunk.
Closing the trunk, James turned to me. His straw hat was tilted back a bit on his head. He had the smooth, clean-shaven face of unmarried Amish men. After marriage, he’d stop shaving and his beard would grow thick and wild, like our father’s. I knew that he was courting Helen, and I wondered if I’d learn news of his engagement while I was away.
A World Away Page 6