by Linda Byler
Darwin showed her where to stack the boxes of jumbo eggs, the extra-large, large, medium, and pullet-sized. That’s a lot of eggs, Lizzie thought. Oh, I hope I can do it without breaking them. She chewed her lower lip nervously and took a deep breath to steady herself.
Darwin flipped a switch on the wall and the long lights attached to the ceiling flickered on, filling the room with bright, white light so that the area was no longer haunted and shadowy.
Pulling a cart of eggs over to the machine, Darwin flipped switches, opened boxes, and adjusted dials. The whole machine purred, rattled, and hummed into action. He stepped to the right of the machine, motioning to Lizzie to come and watch.
“Come closer so you can see,” he said.
Using both hands, he lifted six eggs and quickly laid them on the moving belt. He did it so rapidly and with so much ease, Lizzie almost forgot that he was holding fragile eggs. The eggs rolled across a light so bright that the eggshells appeared transparent. A dark round object appeared inside each one.
“That’s the yolk,” Darwin said.
“Now watch,” he said. “The reason for this bright light is to find any blood inside the egg. If there is any, you’ll be able to see it quite easily, and you put that egg on this flat.”
Lizzie nodded. So that was what the cardboard containers were called—flats.
Darwin led her down to the left side of the machine where the eggs were already rolling out, washed and dried to a glistening finish. Stepping up to the machine, Darwin showed her how to pack the eggs.
“Now, if you can’t keep up, just holler and I’ll stop the machine. You probably won’t be able to go very quickly at first,” he said.
So the egg-grading began in earnest. Lizzie felt as if someone had pushed her off a cliff and she was hanging in midair. It was absolutely terrifying, all those eggs coming down the moving belt and rolling across the shining stainless steel trays. What if she couldn’t keep up and all the eggs got stuck in the moving belt, breaking apart with yellow egg yolks dripping all over the floor?
Darwin was calmly dropping eggs on the light, whistling under his breath. Just like Emma, Lizzie thought. At that moment she resented Mam, Emma, the hope chest, Joshua, growing up, and everything else in her life. This was awful. Mam may as well give up, because she would not spend one more day in this stinking, creepy place.
But Lizzie set her jaw and lifted eggs off the belt, trying to put them into the flat with the pointed side down. It was impossible. There was no way she could lift six eggs at a time and then get them into the right position. Her hands moved quickly, but she needed to stop and turn eggs over so often that the trays were soon overflowing. Meanwhile, the flats were filling up. She was supposed to reach over and lift another one on top of the already filled ones. Once there was a stack of six flats, she had to place them into the big brown cardboard box marked “EGGS.”
Lizzie struggled to keep her tears from showing when she finally asked Darwin to stop the machine. He smiled as he came over to help her, but the lump in Lizzie’s throat was so big she couldn’t respond. What a dreadful job, she thought, pushing a strand of hair away from her face with trembling hands.
After Darwin helped her catch up, he returned to his station, and Lizzie started picking up eggs again. She wondered how she could ever run back to the cooler room, get the cart, push it under a stack of eggs and take them back, all while the eggs kept steadily rolling into the trays. But as the forenoon wore on, she calmed down enough to holler to Darwin whenever the trays got full. He took care of moving the stacks back to the cooler room since it was her first day.
By lunchtime, she was becoming much more accurate at directing six eggs into each cardboard flat, but her back felt as if there was a knife between her shoulder blades. She swung her shoulders, trying to ease the pain. But there was no time to stop and really do anything about it, so she kept going.
At noon, Darwin turned off the egg-grading machine.
“I’m going to the house for lunch,” he said. “I’ll be back at one.”
Oh good, Lizzie thought, I get a whole hour for lunch. Her mouth watered, thinking of the good food she had packed in her insulated lunchbox that morning.
Lizzie washed her hands in the bathroom and went outside to eat her lunch. She found a freshly-mowed strip of grass that stretched beneath a towering oak tree. If only the smell wasn’t so bad, my lunch would taste a lot better, she thought as she sat down on the grass.
She opened the lid of her lunchbox and pulled out her plastic container of juice. She took long gulps of the ice-cold drink. She felt so much better as she unwrapped her sandwich made with Mam’s homemade bread, sliced turkey, white American cheese, and lettuce. It was so good, she thought, as she munched it down with a handful of crunchy potato chips. She was so hungry that she didn’t worry about counting calories at all. After all, you couldn’t work if you didn’t eat.
Her spirits lifting, Lizzie watched the leaves swaying in the breeze. Trucks and cars sped past on the road below her. She wondered where they were all going. She sat up straight when a truck pulled into the drive leading to the chicken house. She was all alone and quite a distance away from the house and hatchery, she realized.
The truck ground to a stop, and a middle-aged man leaned out the window, looking at her. Lizzie drew her knees up, pulling her skirt and apron down over her shoes, wrapping her hands around her legs. She gazed up at the driver, hoping he was only asking for directions and would soon be on his way.
“Hello,” he said, looking down at her while a slow smile spread across his face. His hairline had receded to such a point that his forehead looked huge. When he took off his dark sunglasses, his brown eyes twinkled at her.
Lizzie smiled up at him. He looked quite harmless, she decided, so she took another bite of her chocolate chip cookie.
“Hello,” she said.
“So, why is a young thing like you eating her lunch in a place like this?” he asked, all his white teeth showing as his smile widened.
For some reason, Lizzie thought of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.
“This is my first day grading eggs for Mr. Martin,” Lizzie said.
He opened his door and climbed down from the truck. Lizzie blinked, holding her breath as he adjusted his belt and walked over to her. He was very tall, his shoulders bulging beneath his flannel shirt. He put his hands on his hips and stood quietly in front of her. Lizzie took a deep breath.
“You don’t suppose he’d give me a job, do you?” he asked, laughing now.
Lizzie didn’t know what to say or think about this man. He was not unattractive. Actually, he was rather good-looking in a masculine way, and he certainly was friendly enough. She felt guilty smiling too much, remembering all Mam’s warnings about strange men and that you could never tell what their intentions really were.
Lizzie lowered her eyes and said, “I don’t know.”
Suddenly he sat down on the grass beside her.
“Do you mind if I wait until Darwin is finished with his lunch?” he asked. “I’m here for an order of eggs to take to Harrisburg.”
Lizzie snapped the lid on her lunchbox.
“N … no, that’s all right,” she said, edging away from him.
He turned to look directly at her.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m quite harmless. I have no bad intentions. Darwin knows me really well. I’ve been buying eggs from him for years.”
“Oh,” was all Lizzie could think of to say.
“What’s your name?” he asked, still watching her.
“L … Lizzie. Or Elizabeth,” she added.
“Elizabeth. That’s a beautiful name.”
Lizzie turned to thank him, but his brown eyes were too disconcerting so she looked down at the grass, a slow blush creeping across her cheeks. Now she was absolutely at a loss. She didn’t understand her rapidly beating heart. Was it fear, or just the unusual way he spoke to her? She couldn’t remain sitting here
beside this man. What would Mam say?
So she tucked back her hair and got to her feet, bending to pick up her lunch.
“I … I have a bit of cleaning to do,” she stammered, without meeting his eyes.
“Really? I bet your lunch hour isn’t up yet. Why don’t you stay here and talk awhile?”
“I really should … shouldn’t.”
“Are you Mennonite?” he asked suddenly.
“No. I’m … I’m Amish.”
“Really?”
There was nothing to say to that, so she stayed quiet, holding her lunch with both hands, her eyes downcast.
“Let me guess how old you are. Seventeen? Eighteen?”
Lizzie shook her head, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
“I’m 15.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Yes, I am. I’ll be 16 in a few months.”
He said nothing, and Lizzie was puzzled, so she looked at him again. His brown eyes were still as unsettling as ever, and she knew that she needed to get away, anywhere, do anything, because something, she didn’t know what, made her think of Mam’s warnings. A whisper of guilt was beginning to shadow her.
That afternoon, Lizzie’s thoughts were completely jumbled as she continued to grade eggs. She couldn’t understand them. Her lunch hour had turned into a jigsaw puzzle of questions, but without a design and without many of the pieces.
Lizzie had not really been afraid of the man. Yet, why had she walked away from him? He was very friendly, actually. She felt like she should go home and tell Mam and Emma all about her lunch hour, but she knew she couldn’t. How often did he pick up eggs?
She let go of the eggs and raised her cold hands to cool her face. It was just the way he said “Elizabeth.” That was all. She needed to go home and tell Mam. She also knew she wouldn’t.
Chapter 23
OVER THE NEXT WEEK, Lizzie learned to love her job at the egg-grading machine. A week after she started working, a young woman named Dora joined her. They split the work, with Lizzie putting all the eggs on cardboard flats, while Dora placed the eggs on the belt.
Dora was older and had never married, perhaps because of her health problems. She was an epileptic and her seizures could occur at any moment. She was soft-spoken and shy when she first met Lizzie, but as the weeks passed and the two of them worked side-by-side at the grading machine, she became friendlier.
Every day at lunch, they sat beneath the oak tree in the soft fragrant grass and shared the food they had packed. Dora’s mother made soft, light-as-a-feather dinner rolls, which melted in Lizzie’s mouth. Sometimes she also sent chicken salad made with great succulent chunks of white chicken and crispy pieces of celery and onion, mixed with creamy white mayonnaise. Lizzie shared Mam’s homemade cupcakes filled with lovely white frosting or her big, round molasses cookies sprinkled with sugar.
They covered many subjects as they ate. Dora even talked about getting married, although shyly and a bit wistfully. Lizzie felt so sorry for her, it actually hurt. Lizzie admitted that she couldn’t wait to turn 16 and start dating. But who would ask her?
One afternoon, when the leaves were turning colors and the breeze was a bit chilly, Lizzie and Dora sat by the oak tree with their sweaters wrapped around them as they finished their lunches. Lizzie leaned back against the rough bark of the oak tree and closed her eyes, sighing. Dora turned toward her.
“Lizzie, you better be careful with that Don Albert,” she said.
Lizzie’s eyes flew open and she sat straight up, staring at Dora, her cheeks flaming. “Dora! I’m not … I’m not …,” she stammered.
The eggman’s name was Don Albert, and he wasn’t married, he had told her. He always stopped to talk to her when he came to pick up the eggs. His attention made her heart flutter each time and the color rise in her cheeks. Lizzie wondered if that was how it felt to have a real boyfriend. Dora always watched him when he talked to Lizzie, her eyebrows drawn down and her mouth unsmiling.
There was no doubt about it, Lizzie was flattered by this handsome stranger’s attention. It brought a thread of excitement to her otherwise mundane job. But she kept her feelings to herself, never telling Mam or Emma. She almost confided in Mandy one evening when she was feeling especially guilty. But she convinced herself that there was no harm done as long as she only talked to him and stayed polite and respectful.
“I know. I know exactly what you mean, but I can also tell how glad you are to see him come for eggs on Tuesdays. He’s a nice-looking man, and no matter what you think, you are an innocent young girl. If I were you, I would be extremely careful.”
“I wasn’t even thinking about him. I would never go out with him or try and … flirt with him,” Lizzie said.
Dora looked at her steadily, as if she knew more than Lizzie was willing to admit. Finding it hard to meet her gaze, Lizzie lowered her eyes and felt a little cheap and guilty.
“Lizzie, I know you want to be a good Christian, and you haven’t met many temptations in the world, as young as you are. But be careful, because you could be playing with fire. Does your mother know about this man who talks to you every week?”
“Of course not!”
“Why not?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Lizzie twisted her gray apron around and around on her finger. There was no harm in talking to Don. It was only natural to be attracted to a good-looking man who called you Elizabeth and made you feel like a princess. Besides, there was no chance of them getting to know each other better. He was English and she was Amish. Talking with him was just a harmless thrill to lighten up an otherwise ordinary week. She was sure.
The following Friday, Dora felt weak and ill with a headache, and she left work early. Lizzie finished cleaning up the egg-grader by herself. When she was finished, she threw out her bucket of soapy water just as a cool wind blew, tugging at her skirt. She glanced up and saw that the sky was thick with clouds.
She stood for a moment, her blue dress billowing around her legs, searching the rolling gray clouds for the first raindrops. Most of the leaves from the oak tree were already lying in brown heaps at its base, reminding Lizzie that winter was fast approaching. The fresh, autumn breeze felt wonderful after grading eggs all afternoon. She lifted her arms and stretched, glad her work week was over.
Suddenly two large, heavy hands encircled her waist. She yelped with surprise. She tore loose of the hands, whirling around to face her assailant as she stifled a scream. Her eyes were large with fear and apprehension, and she clenched her hands at her throat.
“You!” she burst out.
“Me!” Don Albert said, laughing. “Scared you, didn’t I?”
“W … what are you doing here? It’s Friday.”
“Where’s Dora?” he asked, not bothering to answer her question.
“She went home early with a headache.”
“Good.”
He took a step toward her, and Lizzie backed away. His eyes held hers, but with a strange new light, terrifying her so that she pressed both hands to her mouth. Her breath came in rapid gasps.
“Now, don’t act all scared of me. I just came down here to ask you to go to the movies with me. It’s Friday night, and I want to be alone with you. Let’s go into town and have a good time.”
Lizzie shook her head, her hands still pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide, watching him.
“Come on. I will be the perfect gentleman. I just want to get to know you better. Please?”
He spread his hands, and for one moment Lizzie thought how exciting it would be to throw all her fear to the wind and go to town with him. But the next moment, Mam’s face and all her admonitions brought her back to her senses.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I … I can’t. I’m Amish. My parents would never allow it.”
“They wouldn’t need to know.”
Lizzie shook her head, refusing to look at him.
Suddenly, he grip
ped her shoulders, shaking her gently. “You shouldn’t have talked to me for so long and been so happy to see me. I know you were glad. I could tell.”
“I’m sorry,” Lizzie whispered.
Rain started falling in large splattering drops and he relaxed his grip diverting his attention. Lizzie wanted to run back into the hatchery, but she was afraid he would follow her. She wouldn’t feel safe once they were in the building and out of sight. She had to leave, and she had to leave now.
“It’s raining. I have to go get my paycheck down at the house. I … I have to leave now.”
She backed away as she spoke, her skirts blowing in the wind and her hair coming loose beneath her navy blue kerchief.
“Wait!” he called, as she turned and started running down the drive. “Come back!”
But Lizzie ran blindly down the lane, rain pelting her face. She never looked back, knowing she couldn’t risk that. A sob tore at her throat and the raindrops on her face mixed with her tears, cooling her warm cheeks.
She heard his truck bumping down the lane before he pulled up beside her.
“Elizabeth!” he called, leaning out of the truck window.
Lizzie’s pace slowed, and she lifted her face to him.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“Get in. It’s raining.”
“I can walk.”
“No. Get in.”
Lizzie stood in the rain.
“Elizabeth, trust me. I’ll take you to the house. I promise.”
Slowly, Mam’s face burning her conscience, Lizzie walked around the truck, opened the door, and slid onto the passenger’s seat. He didn’t look at her. He sat gripping the steering wheel with both hands, the knuckles of his hands showing white. Finally, he put the truck in gear and drove slowly down the lane and out onto the road. He turned left and then pulled to a stop in front of the Martins’ house.
The wipers whispered across the windshield as the rain increased. It pelted the top of the truck and coursed down the windows.