A Simple Singing

by Leslie Gould

  We headed to the park after that. The large oaks, with Spanish moss hanging from their branches, caught my attention, and I couldn’t help but think of our oak tree back home, currently covered in ice. A picnic shelter, a playground, and a shuffleboard court also caught my eye. We walked along Phillipi Creek, which bordered the park. It was big enough for canoes, and apparently alligators and sharks at high tide too, according to David. Although he added that he’d only heard that and had never witnessed it himself.

  I took a step away from the water, not sure if he was serious or not.

  From there, David pointed out Big Olaf’s Creamery, which had a huge cone at the entrance. “We’ll have to get an ice cream there later,” he said. “It’s made a couple of miles from here by an Amish man.”

  “Named Olaf?” I asked.

  David chuckled and answered no. Aenti Suz and I laughed. None of us had ever heard of anyone Amish named Olaf.

  Even though it was only nine in the morning, sweat was running down the back of my legs. But after the icy weather back home, I would rather be too hot than too cold.

  After we’d finished our tour of Pinecraft, David and Aenti Suz decided they’d take the bus to Siesta Key for the day and invited me to come along.

  “Denki,” I said, “but I told Elijah I’d stop by his work and hang out with him.”

  “Can you get there by yourself, by bus?” Aenti Suz asked.

  I nodded. “I paid close attention yesterday.”

  She turned toward David. “Is it safe?”

  “Oh, jah,” he said. “She’ll have no problems.” He turned toward me. “Ask anyone if you need help.”

  I thought of the homeless man near the beach. Helping people in a shelter in Lancaster was one thing, but encountering them on the streets here seemed unsettling. But I would trust David that I’d be safe.

  After Aenti Suz left, I sat at the table on the patio and wrote postcards to Mamm, Jessica, and Leisel. And one to my friend Gail in Ohio too. She and I both used to wonder why people wasted their money coming to Pinecraft, so I downplayed how wonderful it was, simply explaining that Mamm had sent me along with Aenti Suz, implying she needed a companion, which wasn’t quite accurate. Especially since she’d run into David.

  I introduced the idea of Elijah Jacobs, writing that he’d been home around Christmas, that I’d spent some time with him, and that I was enjoying getting to know him as an adult. He’s changed, I wrote. He’s not the clownish boy he was when we were in school. It seems everyone grows up sooner or later. I’d never even confessed my crush on Elijah to Gail when we’d been scholars. She would have been mortified. I added, Interestingly enough, he plans to move home in the spring and eventually take over his father’s farm just for good measure. I didn’t want her to be shocked when I wrote to her to say that Elijah and I were courting.

  After I finished writing the postcards, I walked down to the post office, bought stamps, and then sent them on their way. After I was done, I read the notices posted on the bulletin board. There was one for a Haiti fundraiser in a couple of weeks. One for a family reunion in the park. Several for properties available to rent in February. And then a notice for an upcoming potluck in the park and then a singing on Thursday of the week after next, also in the park. I’d look forward to that—especially the instruments that I knew would be included. I’d enjoyed singing to Gordon’s guitar music so much that I was eager to experience that again.

  Back at the cottage, I took out my embroidery, worked on a kitchen towel until lunchtime, and then fixed myself a sandwich. After I ate, I smeared on sunscreen, filled my water bottle, grabbed a blanket and beach bag, and headed to the bus stop. I’d sounded so sure when I told Aenti Suz I wouldn’t have a problem taking the bus, but now I felt anxious about it. What if the right bus didn’t come? What if it didn’t stop where I expected?

  Thankfully there were several other people at the stop.

  “Marie!”

  I squinted and saw Paula. I waved, relieved to see a familiar face. She wore black shorts, a pink T-shirt, a floppy hat, and sunglasses. She looked like one of those movie stars on the front of a magazine at the supermarket.

  In no time, she was by my side. “Are you going to the beach?”

  “After I meet Elijah. He gets off work soon.”

  “Fun! Billy will be there too. I’ll get off with you at the bakery and then walk with you and Elijah.”

  “Denki,” I answered. “I was a little nervous about taking the bus by myself.”

  She smiled and patted my shoulder. “I’m glad you came along. My younger sister was going to, but she got grounded for not helping me clean out a bungalow this morning.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, you know how little sisters can be.”

  I nodded in agreement, but I really didn’t. Leisel was the most responsible person I knew, next to Jessica.

  The bus arrived, and I followed Paula onto it. We chatted about our families as the bus made its way down the street. Mine was complicated compared to hers. She had two sisters and a brother. She was the oldest, and her parents were both in their early forties. They ran the property management company together—her mother booked the rentals and cleaned, along with her daughters, while her father did all of the repairs on the properties and accounting for the business. Paula’s two youngest siblings attended a high school in the area.

  “A public one?” I asked.

  She nodded. “My sister, who is just younger than me, and I went there too. It’s not too bad.”

  I doubted that. “Did you wear a cape dress and Kapp?”

  She glanced down at her shorts. “No, I wore skirts, mostly. And no Kapp.” She smiled at me. “That’s what I love about Pinecraft. Anything goes.”

  “What about your Mamm? What does she wear?”

  “A cape dress and Kapp.” She laughed. “Although not a heart-shaped one like yours.”

  “Of course,” I said, and then wondered if she was teasing me. My Kapp identified me as being an Amish woman from Lancaster County. Any Anabaptist person in the U.S., maybe even in the world, would be able to identify me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be proud—not about anything. So I wouldn’t be. But I was very pleased to wear my Kapp.

  I liked the idea of belonging, which made me wonder how Paula tolerated her teenage years. “Didn’t you feel like an outsider in public school?”

  “Not at all,” she answered. “I actually have quite a few friends from high school. People I still keep in touch with”—she held up her phone—“through social media. I hung out with a group of other Christians, some Mennonites. No one harassed us for our beliefs. In fact, there was a group of us in choir who got along really well. We took a trip to Nashville, Tennessee, my senior year. It was amazing.”

  Of course that piqued my interest.

  She held up her phone. “We have a couple of videos online.” She pressed a couple of different things and a group of Englisch young people all dressed in black, dresses for the girls and suits for the boys, appeared on the screen. She pressed an arrow and the video clip started.

  “Do you know ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’?” Paula asked.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s an old African-American spiritual,” she explained.

  Mesmerized, I watched the choir as they swayed and clapped and sang their hearts out. My heart swelled with emotion. “These are all teenagers?”

  She nodded. “It was the pinnacle of my high school experience. It was a festival with students from all over the United States.”

  I had no idea that sort of thing went on. Without realizing it, I started to hum along to the music. Even though we were on the bus, Paula began to sing. The words were so easy that I joined in. On the last “ . . . coming for to carry me home!” I realized that several people were staring at us. Embarrassed, I ducked my head.

  “Your voice is beautiful,” Paula said.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, I know you�
��re supposed to be modest and all of that, and you should be. But it’s all right to acknowledge that you can sing.”

  I didn’t answer her, and thankfully the bus slowed.

  Paula grabbed her bag and said, “Here’s our stop.”

  She stood and led the way to the door, with me following, thinking about her phone and wondering what other music was on it. I’d never been interested in cell phones before, but now I was. I thought of the songs Dat and I used to sing together, including the silly “Cat, Dog, Elephant” song. What if he hadn’t made it up? What if there was some video of someone singing it?

  As I stepped off the bus, Elijah greeted me with a grin. “I got off early,” he said, “so I decided to wait here.”

  The three of us started toward the beach. I didn’t see the homeless man I’d seen before, but I noticed two girls who looked like they were in their teens sitting on a curb, sharing a bag of chips.

  After we’d passed them, I asked if there were a lot of homeless people in Sarasota.

  Elijah shrugged. “You see them now and then, but I don’t think there are that many.”

  “Actually, there are,” Paula said. “We had a special speaker my senior year who said we have six times the national average.”

  “Wow.” That seemed like a lot.

  “Well, all they have to do is find a job.” Elijah shrugged. “And maybe three or four roommates.” He grinned.

  “And even after all of that, a place to live that they can afford.” Paula skipped ahead and then turned around to face us as she walked backward. “I had a classmate who was homeless. She had two younger brothers and a mom, who worked two jobs. They stayed with relatives, in cheap motels, and sometimes even camped out. Some days she had no idea where they’d be sleeping that night.”

  “Things are better now than they were a few years ago,” Elijah said, “as far as the economy.”

  Paula wrinkled her nose. “For some people, but not everyone.”

  Elijah grinned again. “Jah, especially for the druggies.”

  I imagined Paula rolling her eyes at Elijah under her sunglasses. “True, some are drug addicts, but not all, including my friend and her family.”

  “Well, what about the dad? Where was he?”

  Paula put her hands on her hips. “Dead.”

  “I don’t believe you. He probably took off for New York or something with some young thing and left his family behind.”

  I was a little alarmed with Elijah being so cavalier. Paula kept staring at him, her hands still on her hips.

  “I know you’re trying to trick me,” he said. “The guy’s probably in prison on drug charges or something.”

  Paula pulled off her glasses and gave Elijah a dark look.

  “I’m just kidding.” Elijah reached for my beach bag. “Let me carry that.” He took it from me and then started running toward Paula. “And how about if you let me wear that hat and save you from your fancy ways.”

  The tension of the moment passed as Paula put her sunglasses back on and then her hand on the top of her head and took off. I jogged after them, and in no time we’d reached the beach, sweaty and laughing. Paula seemed as serious as Gordon. Thankfully, Elijah knew how to lighten the mood.

  We spent an hour playing on the beach. First volleyball. Then tag. Eventually, Paula started toward the water and called after me to follow her. “I only have my dress,” I said.

  “No,” she answered. “You have shorts on underneath it.”

  I laughed. “But no shirt.”

  She started toward me. “I have one in my bag.”

  That sounded too immodest.

  “Come on.” She nodded toward our things on the blanket and then to the restrooms.

  I hesitated.

  “Amish girls wear shorts and a shirt down here all the time.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and raised her eyebrows. “Some even wear swimsuits.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help but be relaxed with Paula. She was so easy to be around. “All right,” I said. “I’ll wear the T-shirt.”

  I changed in the restroom as Paula confessed to me that she’d just lied to Elijah. “My friend’s father isn’t in prison, but he didn’t die. Elijah was right, he did leave the family—not for a girlfriend, at least I don’t think so anyway.”

  Confused, I asked, “Why would you lie about it?”

  “Because Elijah drives me nuts with his self-righteousness.”

  If Elijah was self-righteous, what was I? He was one of the most accepting people I knew. “Self-righteousness? Really?”

  “Jah.” We reached the restroom and Paula pushed the door open and held it for me as she continued to talk. “He’s always so critical of people who need help. Just because his family has a farm, and he doesn’t have anything to worry about, he thinks everyone has the resources he does. And if they don’t, it’s their fault.”

  I wasn’t so sure his thinking was always wrong. After all, the father in the family Paula talked about did leave. If he hadn’t, his family wouldn’t have been homeless. But I didn’t say that.

  Instead, I focused on changing. After I put on Paula’s T-shirt, I stared in the mirror. It was baggier than my dress and came down over my shorts. But my legs, past my midthighs, were completely bare.

  “You look great,” Paula said. “And no one will notice—I mean the Englischers will just think ‘why aren’t those girls wearing bikinis?’ and the Plain folk will just be thankful we’re not.”

  I doubted that would be true of all Plain people. It certainly wouldn’t have been true of me, even a week ago. But I wasn’t going to say that either.

  I followed Paula out the door, and as soon as we reached the sand someone hooted from the volleyball court. Elijah.

  “Ignore him.” Paula took off running.

  We dropped our bags back on the blanket, and then I followed her into the water. The warmth welcomed me, wrapping me up in a gentle wave. Dat had taught all of us girls to swim when we were children. I hadn’t wanted to learn at the time, but for the first time in my life I was grateful for his instruction. I took several strokes out into the water and then flipped to my back, soaking in the hot sun on my face while the rest of my body relaxed in the rolling waves.

  “Don’t go out too far,” Paula called out.

  I flipped over and treaded water. She stood in the waves up to her chest.

  “Come on!” I motioned for her to follow me.

  She shook her head, and I guessed that she didn’t swim. I took a few quick strokes back to where she was.

  “I need a flotation device,” she joked, and then in a serious voice she asked where I learned to swim.

  “My Dat taught me.” I stood next to her. “In our pond.” I didn’t tell her why—that it was because my oldest sister, Rebecca, had drowned the day Jessica had been born.

  We spent hours in the water, playing and floating on our backs. Out of the four of us, I was by far the best swimmer, and although I wasn’t in very good shape and hadn’t swam for a while, it all came back to me. As I floated on my back again, bobbing in the water, I couldn’t remember ever being so relaxed. Or so happy. A sense of peace swept over me that I usually only felt when I was singing. There was nothing I felt as if I needed to control. Not myself. Not my sisters. Not anyone in our district. I didn’t care about hat brims or dress lengths. Or cell phone use or rules around shunnings. And even though I feared being in Pinecraft was indulgent, I didn’t feel guilty about it. It was uncanny for me.

  I’d gone from measuring the hems of my sisters’ dresses to wearing shorts and a T-shirt and swimming with Elijah Jacobs and people I’d just met. I never wanted to leave the water. I felt a freedom I’d never experienced before.

  But eventually we all splashed out to the sand and toweled off, and then Paula and I headed to the restroom to change. After I had my dress back on, I wrung out my hair and then twisted it back into a bun and placed my Kapp on top. Paula changed into a skirt and a dry top. She secured her hair into a
bun too, but she didn’t place a covering over it. She hadn’t had a covering on at all since I’d met her, except her sun hat, which didn’t count. I wondered what kind of Mennonite she was, but then she told me she hadn’t joined the church yet.

  “I’m still trying to figure out what to do.” She sighed.

  As we left the restroom, I told her I was wondering about a song and if she knew it. I began to sing, “C, a cat, a curious cat . . .”

  She began to laugh. “I’ve never heard those words, but I know the tune.” She stopped under a tree. “Tell me about the song.”

  I explained that Dat had most likely made it up. “It’s just a silly song.”

  “Not really,” she said. “You father was teaching you the C major scale.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “C, D, E, F, G, A, B. Each of the letters—and the corresponding words—is a note. He most likely got the idea from the ‘Do, Re, Mi’ song.”

  “What’s that?”

  She went on to explain about a movie about a nun and a bunch of kids. She lost me right away. I must have given her a puzzled look because she shook her head. “I thought you’d know all of this. I mean, not the movie but the notes. How can anyone sing the way you do and not?” She exhaled. “Can you sing the words from your Dat’s song for me? For example, can you sing ‘dog’ separate from the song?”

  I sang the note.

  “Bird?”

  I sang that note too.

  Once I’d sung all of the words she requested, she asked me to sing a C. I sang “cat.” After I’d gone through all of the notes again, but by the letters instead of the words, she said, “You used to sing this with your Dat?”

  I nodded.

  “He really did teach you the notes without your ever realizing it. Plus, you have perfect pitch.”

  “Perfect what?”

  “Pitch. It’s your sound. Your tone. You can hit a note on key without a pitch pipe.”

  “Is that like a harmonica?”

  Paula shook her head. “No, it just has the notes. It provides the sound of a note so those singing can match it.”