Well, he hadn’t seen it before, except when as a young man, gazing across the room to see Hannah smiling at him at a Sunday night singing.
His voice wavered, and he coughed. His fellow singers gave him quizzical looks, and washboard-man clapped him on the back.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” he said. “I know this is a faster tempo than you’re used to.”
Ach, breathing wasn’t the problem. The guitar and banjo players ended with a flourish, punctuated by the applause of those in the pavilion.
“Thank you, thank you, sir,” said washboard-man.
“You’re welcome.” He sat down quickly, before his eyes played traitors again and sought out Natalie.
Of course, he’d seen Betsy while she helped serve the food plates. Bouncing from one to the other was getting a bit short of ridiculous to him. Natalie, while kind and helpful, had never shown him any inclination she would be anything more than a friend of the family.
Although he still remembered their encounter in the backyard, the night that Daadi had passed on. It was as if she offered her strength, comfort, and support to him. Like a friend.
But friends didn’t clasp hands, not like they had in the backyard. He didn’t have female “friends,” either, like some Englisch men were wont to have. Even his own sister-in-law was not a friend; she was his brother’s wife and part of the family, but not a “friend.”
The thoughts chased themselves around his mind while he ate what was left of his fish supper and listened to the music.
Yet another highlight of the contrast between groups in Pinecraft. It was entirely permissible to listen to such music, but all those instruments would never show up at a singing back in Ohio.
He rolled along aboard a boat on a sea called Compromise, and it was all he could do right now to prevent slipping into the waves and getting pulled under. Musical instruments, Mennonites and Amish blending together, and now an Englisch female “friend.” His daadi would know what to say, how to advise. His grandparents had lived here year-round for many years, yet unwavering in their Plain ways.
He settled back onto his lawn chair beside Mammi, who was tapping her foot to the sound of the accordion. Evil? No, he couldn’t think such a thing.
“Enjoy the night, Jacob.” The touch of Mammi’s hand patting his own was feathery soft. “Stop thinking so much, and just enjoy the evening. Follow the children’s example.”
Zeke clapped, Rebecca hummed, out of tune, but she hummed anyway. Sure, stop thinking so much.
It was Natalie’s fault, of course. If he hadn’t seen her, he wouldn’t have been yanked from his reverie of thankfulness. But instead, a lovely smile had tripped him up and reminded him of why he was here.
But he should be thankful, he reminded himself. Tonight was for his family, for Rebecca, whom some of the older ladies fussed over during an intermission. Someone said something about dessert. Dessert?
“I made some pies,” a voice said above his shoulder. “I thought I’d let you know.”
Betsy.
“Th—thank you. Thank you very much for telling me.” He nodded.
“I made apple and cherry and lemon meringue—with lemons from the village.” She beamed. “What kind would you like?”
“Apple, please.” He moved to rise from his chair, but she tapped his shoulder.
“No, I’ll bring it to you. I don’t mind.”
Of course, she didn’t mind. He didn’t object as she turned away with a swish of long skirt, then padded away on the concrete in the direction of the nearest picnic table.
17
Rebecca wished she could skip, but she was stuck with the cast on her leg. She was good with the crutches and could almost beat Zeke in a race to the corner.
She liked school at Sunnyside Mennonite Church well enough; the other girls and boys were nice. She had never attended school with Mennonites before, but she didn’t see much of a difference besides some of the clothes they wore. Some spoke her language; some spoke English only.
She squinted at Mammi’s cuckoo clock. Natalie would be here soon. One day, she would know how to juggle like Natalie and do backflips. Maybe one day, she might wear those shortened pants, like Natalie wore. Capris, she called them.
Today was Saturday, a fishing day, and they were going out on a boat with Mennonite Henry’s nephew, Steven. He liked to take people on fishing trips, especially Plain people like them who’d never seen the ocean before.
She wasn’t sure if she should be scared or not. Everything was so different here from Ohio, she didn’t know if being excited would be better.
“Whatever are you bouncing on your crutches for?” Mammi asked.
“We’re going fishing. Me, Miss Natalie, Zeke, and Daed.”
“I believe Chelle and her niece are going, too.”
“Betsy.” Rebecca tried not to frown. She liked Betsy, but Betsy made her feel like her collar was too tight, studying her as if she were a flower whose stem could break. Natalie never made her feel like that. Natalie made her feel like she could fly, even with a cast on her leg.
Her daed entered the living room. “Rebecca, sit down, please.”
She obeyed immediately. “Did we get sunscreen? I don’t want to get sunburned.”
“We have sunscreen. But you’re not going fishing.”
The words hit her, almost as hard as the car had in December. She still remembered the bang and then the pain when she closed her eyes.
“Not going?” Her heart hurt. If Betsy was going, she’d be hovering between her and Daed.
“You’re staying with Mammi. We can’t risk you having a seizure if we’re out on the boat.”
“But I haven’t had a headache in a long time. I feel good, Daed.”
“That may be, but I’d feel safer with you at home today. Maybe, if the doctor gives permission before we leave Florida, we can go for a boat ride.”
Tears stuck little knives into her eyes. It wasn’t fair. She hung her head low. “Yes, Daed.” Of course, he was trying to think of her, but still. Dumb old headaches. She should have never told anyone about them.
But her Dad, and Natalie, and Betsy all on one boat? How she wished she could be there, to help him stay away from Betsy.
Natalie found an ancient floppy hat with a wide brim, with ribbon ties that made a gigantic bow under her chin. It was Mom’s, and she’d worn it during her chemotherapy after she lost her hair. They’d joked about the enormity of the hat after Mom bought it at an upscale boutique, and took turns pretending to be Scarlett O’Hara at a picnic.
She drove to the marina, where she met Henry and his van full of Amish, including Jacob and Zeke. No Rebecca, she discovered as they all hopped from the van. And Betsy was along, plus her Aunt Chelle, the friendly Mennonite woman she’d met at the park last weekend.
“Howdy, how-do,” said Henry, clicking the lock on the van. A wheeled cooler was at his feet. “Steven should be around here somewhere.”
“He worked so hard for his boat,” said Chelle. “I can’t believe he’s only twenty-two years old and already has his own business.”
A young man, tanned and wearing a white T-shirt and cotton plaid shorts, waved at them from a floating pier. “Over here, you guys!”
What a sight they made, with two women in cape dresses, Natalie in her long denim shorts and sneakers, along with an Amish man with his little boy, in trousers and suspenders. Henry rounded out the group, toting the cooler behind him. Today his tropical print shirt was a peppy lemon yellow, covered with blue hibiscus blooms.
“All right,” said young Steven as they reached the boat and began clambering onto the deck. “I have life vests, which I insist on if you can’t swim, and especially if you haven’t been out on the water. The water should be good today, low waves, but you never know.”
He grinned at Zeke and tousled the little boy’s hair. It almost resembled his own sandy blond flyaway locks.
“Doesn’t your mother tell you to get a haircut?” Chelle a
sked.
“Every time I see her.” He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“That you have,” Henry said. “I could take care of it for you, ten minutes tops with my set of clippers.”
“No thanks, Uncle Henry.” The young man grinned, a dimple appearing in one cheek.
He made sure they all took their seats before starting the engine. Natalie soaked in the sunshine. Dad had taken her fishing a few times as a child. She’d loved it then. She loved it now. There was something relaxing about casting a line, then waiting, followed by the adrenaline rush of a fish on the end of the line.
She found herself leaning back on one of the seats facing the center of the boat, with Zeke on one side of her and Chelle on the other. Henry and Jacob faced them, with Betsy taking up the end. The younger woman had strapped on a life vest and clutched the edge of the seat.
Away they surged, away from the floating pier and into the tiny harbor area. The breeze tugged at Natalie’s hat, but the tie held fast.
“This is my second time going fishing,” Zeke said above the whir of the motor.
“Right, you did a good job catching fish the last time.”
“Well, my friend’s dad caught most of them. Mine were too small.” He ducked his head low.
“Sometimes they are too small, and you have to throw them back, so they can grow bigger.”
“I don’t want to catch little fish, anyway.” Zeke squinted at the cloudless sky. “I want to catch a shark.”
This made Natalie burst out laughing. “Well, maybe you’ll get one on the hook.” Although she was sure a rod and reel battle wasn’t what any of them really wanted. They bumped along gently on the waves, with an occasional splash over the sides of the boat.
“So how long have you lived in Sarasota?” Chelle asked her over the roar of the engine and rushing of water.
“About five years total, three years full-time.” She held memories of wintering in Florida until the injury. “I love the climate, the beach, and I love my work at the circus school.”
“I understand you’re looking for your mother’s family, that she was once Amish.”
“Yes, that’s true.” She told Chelle of her and Imogene’s plan to advertise in The Budget, but so far not hearing anything.
“So, have you ever considered becoming Amish yourself?”
“Not really. I did try on my mother’s cape dress and kapp she left for me.” She recalled the sensation of wearing the dress and seeing herself in the mirror. “It felt . . . different. I don’t know.”
“Becoming Amish, or even Mennonite, is more than changing your wardrobe.” Chelle paused as they bounced over a harsh wave. “Have you studied about the Anabaptist faith at all?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve learned that the majority of my beliefs are quite similar.” She glanced at Chelle’s cape dress, a shade of lavender. It was pretty, but it wasn’t something she could imagine herself wearing on a regular basis. Plus, the long-held belief among some of the Amish that one could never be entirely sure if they were truly “saved” or not. To assume so would be presumption, to some.
“Good to hear. I think, sometimes, it’s easier to focus on how we are different from each other, than on how we’re alike.”
“I agree.”
The boat’s motor grew quieter and then the boat decelerated.
“We’re about to the fishing spot,” Steven’s voice rang out. “I’ve caught all kinds of good ones here, often mullet.”
“Mullet, that’s funny.” Zeke giggled. “I know a Mr. Mullet.”
Chelle clutched the cushion they sat on. “I’ve not been fishing in so long. I kept promising Steven I would go on his boat, so finally, here I am.”
“I’ll be happy if we catch enough for a good meal,” Natalie said.
“Me too.” Zeke hopped to his feet. “Do you have any fishing poles for boys?”
Steven left the front of the boat. “I think I have one just right for you.” He moved to the rear of the boat and cast the anchor over the side. “There. Now we can bob here and fish without drifting.”
Natalie managed to bait her own hook and remembered how to cast the line. It all came back to her. The boat gently swayed underneath her feet.
“You know how to do this.” Jacob’s voice at her shoulder almost made her jump.
She nodded. “It’s been a while, but I remember.”
“This is my first time fishing.”
“It requires patience and plenty of bait.” She felt a tug on the line; it was only the wave, teasing the weight holding the line under water. The boat jerked and she would have lost her balance, if not for Jacob taking hold of her elbow.
“Thanks.” She turned and looked up at him. Too close. Way too close. While the Amish didn’t seem to be an overly affectionate people, parents were loving toward their children. Yet she hadn’t seen any public displays of affection. Did they know about personal space? Of course, there were eight of them stuffed onto a fifteen-foot boat. Plenty of room to sit, but in certain circumstances this could mean tight quarters. Like now.
“Well, we don’t want you ending up in the water.”
“No.” She swallowed hard and yanked her focus back to her line.
She heard Chelle and Betsy talking about how to cast a line, with Chelle casting and Betsy watching.
“I think I’ll do like Betsy and just watch for now.” Jacob took the seat nearest to where Natalie stood.
She clutched the fishing rod, and Imogene’s words came back to her. He likes you. She liked him, too.
Silly woman. Just enjoy the day, because days like this don’t come around often. She was part of the group, this hodgepodge posse of would-be fishermen. Steven was the professional among them, and she imagined Henry did his fair share of angling, judging by the way he cast his line where he stood, a few feet away.
Zeke said something about having prize ribbons for whoever caught the first fish, the biggest fish, and the most fish. Of course, he kept insisting he’d reel in a shark.
“What would we do with a shark, my son?” Jacob asked.
“Eat it.” Natalie felt a tug on her line. “Shark steaks are quite tasty. You could have grilled shark, fried shark, shark tacos . . .” Her line whined. Yep. Something had snagged the bait.
Her pole arched toward the water and she pulled back, cranking the reel. Steven was at her side in a flash.
“You’ve got it, come on, hang onto it.”
Natalie gritted her teeth, pulled. A dark shape darted back and forth under the water. Steven grabbed a wide net.
She could do this. The reel threatened to snap back and unravel with the force of the fish pulling against her. Another crank brought the fish closer to the surface. She took a step back.
“Grab her shoulders.” Steven stepped closer to the side of the boat. He’d spoken to Jacob.
Her shoulders immediately felt like she’d been clamped by two hands of iron. The support helped and she tried not to think about Jacob’s nearness as she pulled on the fish.
“A little more. This guy’s a fighter.” Steven leaned over with the net.
“Go, Miss Natalie!” Zeke cheered.
The line fell limp as Steven pulled the fish over the side. It flopped in protest onto the boat’s deck. It was a good-size red snapper, plenty for a meal for a family and then some.
“Well done.” Jacob patted her shoulders.
Steven grabbed a hook and pulled the fish up. “Here, let’s see what he weighs.” The fish pulled down on the weight. “He’s a good five pounds.”
She’d never hauled in a fish so large before. “Wow.” She reached for him.
“Let me take your picture.” Steven held up his phone and snapped a shot of Natalie, holding the fish by the gills.
She then realized the fish still had the hook caught in its mouth, so he helped her unhook the future supper and stick him into a cooler.
Then Chelle and Betsy began calling out. Chelle’s turn came next, with a similar h
aul.
Henry grunted as Steven tossed Chelle’s fish into the fish cooler. “The ladies are beating us.”
“Here. You might as well have a turn.” Natalie held out the fishing pole to Jacob. He accepted it from her.
“I’ll see if I can outdo you, then.”
Feisty, huh? She laughed at his challenge. “We’ll just have to see how that goes, won’t we?”
Henry, whose line lay dormant in the water, helped Jacob bait his hook. Natalie turned away for a moment, her throat parched. Henry had mentioned his cooler contained plenty of water and sandwiches for them all.
A whiz of line, then came a searing pain in Natalie’s hand. She screamed and grabbed at the source of the pain, as the line grew taut.
“Jacob, what have you done?” asked Henry.
Natalie sank to the deck, gasping. She couldn’t look at her palm.
His pride and haughtiness had caused Natalie’s injury. Jacob cast down the pole and moved to Natalie’s side. She gritted her teeth as she stumbled toward the nearest seat.
“I’m sorry.” He knelt down, the others in his periphery.
“What did you do, Daed?” Zeke’s voice sounded small, dismayed.
“The hook . . . it’s in my palm.” Natalie allowed him to take her hand.
Gently, so gently, he opened her palm. The hook had gone in just below her thumb, in the fatter part of her palm. No blood evident, but he imagined it would bleed once they got the hook out.
“I’ll get some tools.” Steven scampered toward the driver’s seat of the boat and soon returned with a metal box.
He’d hurt Natalie. He could see the tears in her eyes. Yes, hand injuries were painful with all the nerve endings.
“I’ll get this out. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I know you will,” she told him. Her hand, soft, delicate, but strong. He held it with his hands as he looked at the hook.
“Wire cutters.” Steven handed him the cutters.
“Okay, I’ll cut the main part of the hook first, then see about the rest of it. Although you’ll likely need to see a doctor after this.”
A Season of Change Page 16