“Some did, although here, my membership in the Beachy Amish Mennonite church has prevented my shunning, and my parents, as this church is very conservative. My bishop at the time said I wasn’t leaving our Plain life, although I left the Order.” Her aunt studied her face. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
“Oh no. Not at all. I’ve been baptized and I’m not running anywhere. I didn’t even want to go on Rumspringa.” Betsy sighed. “Although my daed was afraid, at first, the world was pulling me away because I want to stay here. It’s not the world pulling me here.”
“I see. Is there a particular young man involved?”
Heat blazed a trail from Betsy’s neck to her cheeks. “Um . . .”
“Never mind. It’s not my place to pry.”
“Thank you.” Her friends dogged her like hounds, wanting to know who claimed her attention. Miriam had guessed it was Jacob, but promised to never tell.
They sat in silence, sipping lemonade. The hardest part was over, speaking to her parents about remaining in Florida. Church attendance would be simple. The Old Order church in Pinecraft had its own building, and attendance brimmed in the wintertime with an overflow church that met in a neighborhood home several blocks away. She believed she’d convinced them not to worry about her being so far from their Ohio home.
Aenti Chelle’s stomach gurgled, upon which they both laughed.
Her aenti patted her belly. “I guess it’s suppertime, and here I didn’t plan a meal. Are your feet so sore they aren’t up to making a trip to Emma’s Pizza?”
“Maybe if we take the bicycles?”
Within five minutes, Betsy had found her change purse and her slip-on shoes, and redid her hair. She’d been all set to relax for the evening, but a restlessness inside made her want to do something. But she didn’t want to be rude to Aenti Chelle.
Aenti might as well have been twenty and not almost forty as they rode side by side, taking a little footbridge across the tiny trickle from Phillippi Creek and into the heart of the neighborhood. The aroma of someone’s supper drifted into the street as they passed rows of homes.
“The last planning meeting for the Haiti auction is tomorrow night,” Aenti Chelle said as she pedaled along. “We’re making fried pies to sell this year and it’s only a week away.”
“Oh, I’d love to help, if I may,” said Betsy. “I’m a fairly good baker.”
“I hear you’re more than a fairly good baker. I’ve heard your pies are as good as the ones served at Yoder’s Restaurant, if not better.” Aunt Chelle gestured with her head. “Turn here, on Kaufman.”
A glow lay ahead of them at the end of the street along with the traffic of Bahia Vista.
Betsy had already frequented Village Pizza by Emma with her friends. Her mouth watered at the prospect of a fresh hot slice of pizza, oozing with cheese. Englisch food or not, the small shop behind Big Olaf’s kept up a brisk business.
“What flavors of fried pies will you sell?” Betsy asked.
“Apple, cherry, lemon, chocolate.” Aunt Chelle crossed over to the opposite side of the street, and Betsy followed. Her feet didn’t hurt as badly, and the bicycle ride had done her good.
They rolled to a stop by the pizza shop and found a nook to park the bicycles. A pair of grandmotherly-looking women, gray hair and dark dresses with black aprons, exited the pizza shop. Deep in conversation, and one of them hugged a two-liter bottle of a drink called Mountain Dew. Betsy tried not to stare. Old Order elderly women, older than her own mammi, drinking Mountain Dew?
“I would love a soda pop.” Betsy tried not to lick her lips. She need not tell anyone of all the little indulgences adding up, and this during her first day of semi-independence.
“I’m not a fan. But get yourself one.” Aunt Chelle nudged her as they walked toward the shop. Voices echoed off the building wall and parked vehicles as a family approached.
“See, Miss Bennett, Amish can have pizza too,” a little girl’s voice rang out.
Betsy froze. The Millers, complete with Jacob and his children, his grandparents, and the Englisch woman from the hospital.
The Englisch woman smiled as she pushed little Rebecca’s wheelchair, negotiating the pavement. Betsy touched the back of her neck. Was it her imagination, or did she have hackles rising up? No, maybe it was only the winter breeze.
Their gazes met, and the Englisch woman nodded at her and kept her smile on her face, before turning her focus back to the children. “Maybe we can have pizza sometime.”
So the woman’s visit at the hospital wasn’t a one-time occurrence. Charity believeth the best, or so the Scriptures said. Scriptures didn’t say charity would be easy, especially where her feelings for Jacob Miller and his family were concerned.
Here, away from prying watchful eyes, it was easier to think of Jacob. The trouble was, did he think of her at all?
“Are you coming in, or do you want me to order for you while you visit with the Millers?” Aenti Chelle was saying.
“I’m coming in,” Betsy replied as she cast a look over her shoulder. The family was heading for the open-air deck behind the pizza shop. They all had servings of ice cream in some form, bowl, cup, or cone.
She breathed in the aroma of melted cheese and willed her racing pulse to slow down. The tiny shop held a pizza oven behind the counter and a stack of boxes waited on a table in the back corner. Customers could wait on chairs in the front area across from a refrigerator that held all varieties and sizes of bottled soda pop and water.
The girl behind the counter looked very Englisch in her T-shirt and blue jeans. “Hi there. What would you like? Our special tonight is pepperoni, a dollar a slice. Our 20-ounce drinks are a dollar-fifty.”
“The special sounds good to me,” said Betsy, fishing coins and a bill from her purse. “One slice.”
“For me as well,” said Aunt Chelle.
The young lady took their money. “Help yourselves to the drinks from the fridge.”
“You’re Marian Fry’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” Aunt Chelle asked the young woman, who now was dishing up their pizza onto paper plates.
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Tara Fry.”
“You’ve grown up so fast. What are you doing now?”
“I’m here in Sarasota, winter break before I head back to Virginia for college.” Tara’s nimble fingers snatched some napkins from a dispenser. “Here you are. Enjoy.”
“Thank you. Tell your grandmother hello for me—I’m Rochelle Keim. She used to be my teacher a long time ago in Ohio.”
A college girl. Betsy picked up her plate of pizza, then pulled a bottle of soda pop from the glass-front refrigerator. Coca-Cola, something she’d never had until coming here to Florida.
Tara, the girl working in the pizza shop, was about her age, and she was going to college. She must belong to one of the more liberal Mennonite congregations because she didn’t wear a head covering. Of course, she kept her hair pulled back and covered with netting while working with pizza.
Betsy mulled over the whole concept of liberal Mennonites, education, and pizza in an Amish village as they exited the pizza shop.
The Millers still congregated on the deck, but Jacob’s grandparents had left. Zeke sat between Jacob and the Englisch woman on the deck’s bench, with the woman’s attention turned to Rebecca sitting in a wheelchair.
Of course, Aenti Chelle had to say hello, which she did, and Jacob was quick to introduce the Englisch woman, along with an explanation.
“Natalie Bennett. She volunteers at the hospital where Rebecca stayed,” he said, as Natalie stood. She had the grace of a cat, her movements smooth as she shook hands with Aenti Chelle.
“Does your volunteer work bring you to Pinecraft as well?” Betsy stood as tall as she could, and Natalie merely blinked at the question.
“No, actually. I found Rebecca’s doll in her hospital room after she’d been discharged, and then I tracked down the Millers to here.” She folded her arms across her waist
.
Betsy had the same hackles rising feeling she’d had moments before. Her aunt’s expression bored into her. “That’s good. I’m glad, for Rebecca’s sake then, you found her doll.”
“Me, too,” said Natalie Bennett.
Betsy mentally chided herself. Natalie Bennett was no threat to whatever might happen between her and Jacob Miller. She needed only to bide her time. An Englisch woman, even with Amish roots, would not fit in their Plain world. She could visit, yes, but it would always be a foreign world to her.
8
Jacob’s shirt collar couldn’t feel any tighter than it did just then, with Natalie and Betsy facing each other, with him in the middle.
“My grandmother invited Miss Bennett to stay for supper in thanks, and she in turn, bought us dessert.” He gestured to his bowl of mint chocolate chip.
Betsy nodded, then sat down beside her aunt and set her bottle of pop on the bench beside her. “Big Olaf’s has the best ice cream. I try to eat as much of it as I can while I’m here in Pinecraft.”
“That is the children’s aim as well, I’m afraid.” Jacob tousled Zeke’s hair, his collar loosening fractions of an inch.
“Will . . . will your family be at the Haiti auction?” Betsy asked. “I’m going to be helping Aenti Chelle sell fried pies.”
“We’re going to try. It depends on how Rebecca does with her physical therapy.” He didn’t want to ask Henry for time off from work for her appointments, but Henry had offered him the option. There were plenty of volunteers, plenty of helpers, plenty of food being dropped off for the Miller family. The weight of it all made him want to retreat to a quiet place with just him and the children.
He listened to the children banter together and laugh, the first normal sounds in a while. Now that was an answer to prayer. Natalie ate another spoonful of her ice cream as she gazed across the side street at Yoder’s market, closed for the night.
Betsy was interested in him, for certain. Something about her felt very safe. She’d be good to the children. If he asked to walk her to church, he knew she’d grant permission. She was a bit younger than him, not that it was a problem. A number of her friends had started to leave the circle of unattached women and join the ranks of the married.
On the other hand, literally on his other side, the unexpected and unimaginable idea of Natalie Bennett. He couldn’t ignore the facts she was beautiful, she intrigued him. Over supper tonight he’d learned of Natalie’s own Christian beliefs, not so different from his own. She had come to her faith as a young adult, not quite three years before.
No, it was unimaginable and foolhardy to even entertain thoughts of Natalie Bennett. Despite some of what they held in common, Natalie Bennett was definitely not Plain. He would pray she found the answers she sought and would be on her way to know her own family. He didn’t need to deal with the obvious worldly pull of the woman, even though she professed Christian beliefs.
“So then, I made quick work of that delicious maple walnut ice cream so we could head back to his grandparents’ house,” Natalie said as she bent at the waist, feeling the pull in her hamstrings as she reached for her toes, her legs spread-eagle on the exercise room floor. “The word awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Grace chuckled from her place on the cushioned mat not far from Natalie. “You should have invited me on this little adventure of yours. That must have been a sight to see. The Amish woman jealous of you spending time with the Millers. The Amish strike me as so—so pious, and not given to typical human vices like jealousy.”
“Ha.” Natalie rose to a sitting position, her arms stretched over her head. “Amish are human, just like us. I admire their dedication, though.”
“You mean, by wearing Plain dresses and head coverings?” Grace glanced at Natalie, who’d chosen her most comfortable leggings and tank top for practice today. “That, I can’t imagine you wearing.”
“No, I mean I admire their dedication to living Godly lives. It’s a hard thing to do in this world we live in.” Natalie leaned over her other leg, feeling the stretch. “It’s hard to know how much compromise is too much, and what’s not a big issue at all. Most of us who aren’t Amish could argue all day about what’s a compromise to our faith, and how ‘separate’ from the world we should be. For them, being separate comes from the inside as well as out.”
“I’m still shaking my head over the pizza parlor and the ice cream shop.”
“I know, the Amish like all kinds of good food, even not traditionally Amish food.” Natalie stopped and inhaled deeply.
“You sound like an expert after just one afternoon and evening with the family.”
“Nah, I’m happily surprised. I’ve heard about the no modern conveniences like electricity, living off the land, their generations-old farming traditions. It’s just, I’m trying to wrap my mind around the whole thing. Jacob and his family aren’t what I expected, at all.” She ignored the recollection of the spark she’d seen in his blue eyes as he studied her face and hair. He probably didn’t think she noticed. But she had. Her own stirring wasn’t an unpleasant one.
“What are you going to do about Miss Jealous?” Grace asked.
“Nothing. Not that I could or would do anything, anyway. If Jacob’s interested in her, I’m sure he’ll pursue her. Doesn’t a man do that? Obviously, he has once before, since he was married before.” Ah, she was babbling now, all because some blue eyes rattled her insides. “Anyway, I’m taking Mom’s quilt top and the Bible pages on Monday, when Rachel is going to help me begin to put the quilt together.”
“So, they’re going to help you search for your mother’s family.”
Natalie nodded. “In fact, Jacob already asked Betsy Yoder’s parents if they knew of my mother, but the name is fairly common. They didn’t.”
“That would be funny if you and Miss Jealous were distant cousins, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know. And her name’s Betsy.”
Grace laughed. “So, what are your thoughts on Mr. Jacob?”
“I, um, I don’t really have any.”
“Uh-huh. So you say. What do you think Miss Betsy has to be jealous over?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“He must be something else.”
“He’s handsome. Think of Josh Lucas, with an Amish haircut and the beard.” From the time she’d first seen Jacob, he’d reminded her of someone. While changing TV channels the other night, she’d seen the actor Josh Lucas and his image on screen made her pause.
“My, my, my. Those baby blues, be still my heart.” Grace chuckled.
Oh, yes, those baby blues. Natalie swallowed hard. “I have no romantic notions about him. He might be handsome, but that’s nothing to base a relationship on, especially someone who’s probably my polar opposite. Our worlds are completely different.”
“Handsome’s a good place to start. At least the scenery’s good while you’re getting to know each other.” Grace stood to her full height, arms over her head, and leaned to one side.
“Grace!” Natalie flopped on her back. She’d hoped to leave the something that she’d felt the other night way behind her. Step back and let Betsy Yoder have dibs on Jacob. They would be perfect together, of course. Surely, she could get a quilt sewn and search for her family without getting tangled. So far, she’d avoided getting tangled, with good reason.
Children’s voices echoed in the hallway. Thank you, Lord, for delivering me from Grace’s interrogation. I don’t need anyone. After Mom and Dad’s fiasco of a marriage, and my own track record—
She sat up, trying to focus her mind on the class to come. They needed her attention, not her being distracted.
“We’ll chat more about this, I’m sure.” Grace grinned as she headed toward the open door and the children.
First class of the new year, the advanced beginner aerial silks class. Eight girls and one boy, age ranging from nine to fourteen, entered the room. They all spoke at once, talking about the Christmas
break and return to school and now classes, and they missed practicing, and did Ms. Bennett get anything cool for Christmas?
They were the reason she’d hauled herself up out of the blues, after the ankle and wrist surgeries, and she thanked God for the open door at the circus school every day.
“Okay, gang, let’s warm up and stretch. Sami, set the timer for ten minutes, please.” Natalie nodded at the girl on the edge of the line, who trotted off to the digital timer.
Their chatter went on for a few more minutes, in sharp contrast to the lilting accents of the Miller children. But the smiles were the same, the same hunger to learn.
She clapped, the noise echoing off the walls. “Okay, we’ll never get warmed up at this rate. Let’s work on our French climbs as much as we talk.”
The chattering sound lowered, then gradually disappeared as the kids practiced their aerial moves several few feet above the crash mats below them, from one end of the practice room to the other.
If she couldn’t continue her own aerial silks career, at least she could watch the sheer joy—and determination—on her students’ faces as they learned the moves she once loved so much. An old pang of if-onlys swept through her. If only she hadn’t fallen and blown her ankles, if only her body could take the stress of performing multiple shows per day, the constant training and striving to learn yet one more gravity-defying move with the aid of long strips of silk. But here she was, and God had taken care of her, even if that dream had died.
She bit her lip as the children continued to warm up. Funny, she thought she’d quit asking God “why” more than a year ago. I won’t ask why today, but be thankful for where I am right now.
Natalie shoved her wistful thoughts to the side. Today wasn’t about her. It was about these young ones, full of promise, most of them not knowing the depths of disappointment life could bring. Not just yet.
Maybe on Monday, she’d start a path to something new. A path to a family eluded her still. She’d never known traditional family before and while her parents were together, it all seemed to make sense. Now, adrift on some foreign sea she never imagined she’d travel, she longed for someone to share the journey with.
A Season of Change Page 8