by Daisy Fields
“I can’t believe you made all this yourself,” he kept saying even as he gobbled it down. “It’s so good! In fact, I think it’s better than some of the restaurants we go to.”
Miri smiled modestly. She thought the secret was that she only cooked with real ingredients and didn’t make any of the fussy things he’d introduced her to, like seaweed-and-gold-leaf-flecked foam on small plates—what was that even supposed to be? Certainly not food—but she kept that thought to herself. “Denki. I’m happy to cook for you any time.”
The greatest hit, as far as Mikey was concerned, was the apple fritters. He ate all but one before realizing Miri hadn’t had any. “I’m so sorry! God, I’m a pig.”
Miri couldn’t stop laughing. So it was true, what they said about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach. She reached across the table and patted his hand. He really looked dashing in the light of the candles, his dark eyes sparkling. She could live like this, cooking for him every night and then going out on the town for adventures.
They finished their meal, and Mikey insisted on loading the dishwasher, saying his nanny had taught him how to do it when he was younger. Then Miri ducked into the bathroom to touch up her makeup and hair, and off they went.
A quick cab ride later, and they stood outside Mikey’s friend’s apartment building. Miri gazed up at the canopy. She couldn’t help but think yet again how different this was from her life, but how, if allowed, she would make a hybrid of the two lives, a patchwork quilt that fit her perfectly.
She didn’t even feel intimidated when the doorman swept his gaze over her. How could she? She waved her sparkly purse and smiled her equally sparkly smile, and he tipped his hat and wished them a good evening.
Miri bounced after Mikey into the elevator. When they got off the fourteenth floor, she started down the hall, but he called her back. “Wait.”
“What is it?” she asked, feeling like someone had turned on a light inside her. Her skin tingled as he took her hand, and her heart began pounding. His face, his handsome face, was so close, his eyes so earnest, his lips so lush . . .
“I need to tell you something,” he said in a low voice.
She leaned closer. “Yes?”
“There might be . . .” Mikey cleared his throat and started again. “There might be some things going on in there that might make you uncomfortable. I just want you to know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”
“I understand,” said Miri, strangely disappointed. Here he was looking out for her, but she just felt cheated, like he should have known to say something else. Do something else.
She could not stop staring at his mouth.
He squeezed her hand, then let go and stepped back. “Well, let’s go, then.”
The apartment they entered was packed with people, some in jeans and T-shirts, some in button-down shirts and dress slacks, some in glittery or shiny little dresses like hers. Miri was shocked to realize just how quickly she’d grown used to showing so much skin. The thought of putting on her Amish clothing now seemed confining, and that made her feel guilty.
Mikey introduced her to his circle of friends, so many people that she quickly lost track of the names. Most were friendly, but one boy said, “So this is the Amish chick? Huh. I heard they’re total prudes.” He looked down his nose at her. “How come she’s not wearing Amish clothes?”
“‘She’ can speak for herself, thank you,” Miri snapped before Mikey could come to her rescue. “And I fail to see how it’s your business what I wear.” She was shocked to hear herself being so bold, but she doubted this spoiled brat before her had ever done anything for himself. If he had been present for the mugging, he probably would run away in fright. It was easy to be arrogant when you lived in a bubble.
“Get lost, Grayson,” Mikey said, glaring. The boy smirked but left. “I’m really sorry about that,” Mikey said. “He’s such a loser, but his parents own, like, half of Wall Street, so everyone keeps him around.”
Just what Miri had thought. Someone who had had everything handed to him on a silver platter. He didn’t know anything about the real world, which made his insults even weaker.
They moved on to friendlier people, and Miri answered questions about being Plain and rumspringa and what she thought of New York City. She stumbled a little at first, overcome with shyness, but before long, she chatted as easily as though she’d known these people all her days. They seemed genuinely interested in her life, even if someone would occasionally say something stupid like, “How do you live without electricity? I could never do that!” or “Do Amish people really hate all of us? That’s what I heard.”
After about half an hour, Mikey excused himself for a second to go say hello to someone. He’d gotten that closed-off look again, the one that told Miri not to pry. So she wandered around until she ended up in the kitchen, where boys and girls were drinking from red plastic cups. “Want a beer?” someone asked. She shook her head, but someone else pressed a cup of red wine into her hand.
Miri took it and kept walking. Holding it gave her something to do. The people she had been talking to had wandered off, and now she didn’t know what to do with herself in a room full of strangers.
She sipped at the wine and screwed up her mouth. It was something she didn’t a name for. But she sipped again, and again, and like nearly all the other things she had tried since she’d arrived in the city, it stopped being terrible. In fact, by the time she reached the bottom of the cup, she thought she might actually like wine.
That, like so many other things one did not do while following the Ordnung.
She sighed. How was she supposed to choose? There were elements from both lives that fit her and elements from both lives that did not. But no one seemed to think there could be a third option.
She missed Mikey. Where he had he gone?
The room had gotten even hotter as more people came in, driving Miri to the balcony. She stood along the railing, enjoying the crisp air and the sound of the city below her. New York City was so alive, in a completely different way from the way Lancaster County was alive. Gray and concrete on one side, green and fertile on the other, but both so vibrant, she couldn’t stand it.
Finally she went back inside. One of Mikey’s friends spotted her and pointed to one of the bedrooms. “He’s in there.”
Miri frowned. Why was the door closed?
She knocked, but no one answered. Impatient, she knocked again. After a minute, she turned the knob.
Mikey sat on the bed next to another boy and a girl. “Donnie, enough. What are you going to do next, meth? Come on.” The room was full of a sweet smoke that made Miri cough, and Mikey glanced up at the sound. His mouth tightened. “Miri . . .”
But Miri was too busy staring at the mirror with the white powder on it. The boy Miri didn’t recognize held it up to her face and sniffed deeply.
The girl looked bored and took a drag on her fat cigarette. Was that the source of the oddly sweet smoke? Miri didn’t know, but whatever was going on here, she didn’t like it. It made her feel odd.
Dear God, she prayed, I don’t know what these people are up to, but I do know it’s not for me. I can feel it. But what do I do if Mikey’s involved with something I cannot accept?
As if he’d read her mind, Mikey crossed the room and was by her side before she finished the prayer. “This isn’t what it looks like, Miri.”
Miri crossed her arms over her chest. “And what, exactly, is it?” She didn’t want to come off like a simmi, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe it was better just to know.
Mikey looked embarrassed. “Some of us—some of us like to do things at parties.” He glared at the other boy. “And not at parties, too. Miri, meet my cousin Donnie. He doesn’t know when to stop.”
“Things?” repeated Miri, refusing to let herself be distracted. “What things?”
Mikey glanced from the mirror with its white residue to the fat cigarettes both the girl and he hel
d, then back at Miri. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “Drugs, Miri. Drugs. This is a joint of marijuana, and that”—he pointed to the white-dusted mirror—“is coke. Cocaine. It fries your brain pretty fast.” This last seemed directed at the boy with the mirror. “Like an egg.”
Drugs. Miri felt like a fool. What was she doing here? She’d heard about drugs from people who had gone on rumspringa, how dangerous they were, how they impaired one’s judgment, how they directly countered the principles of the Ordnung. Her eyes darted from Mikey’s anxious expression to the—what had he called it, a ‘joint’?—in his hand and the mirror in his cousin’s. The girl on the bed continued to ignore her and took another pull at her own joint.
This was wrong, completely wrong. Miri had been willing to try new things, and she wasn’t sorry, but this was too much. Her mamm would have a heart attack on the spot if she knew Miri was in a room with—with drugs. Her daed would confine her to her room forever. And Bishop Fisher—she could only imagine the sheer disappointment in his expression.
What hurt the most, though, was knowing she had believed in Mikey. She had thought he was better than this. She’d let him guard her door while she slept! That was what she got, stupid simmi that she was, trusting a flashy rich boy from New York City. Why wouldn’t he indulge in drugs for fun? He didn’t have anything else to keep him occupied.
“Miri?” he asked. “Are you okay?” He reached for her hand, which she yanked away.
Tears stung her eyes. “I have to go,” she blurted, and she turned and ran out of the room, forced her way through the crowded party, not caring when people stared, and rushed into the elevator.
She didn’t even say goodbye to the doorman when he wished her a good night. Too upset to be nervous, she managed to flag down a taxi and hop into it. Somehow, despite the lump in her throat, she told the driver Pamela’s address.
The new cell phone she had gotten when shopping with Mikey in an electronics store just days before rang with the landline ringtone he’d installed, since he had thought she should get to experience a telephone. She pulled the phone from her purse, and his name appeared on the screen. When she didn’t answer, a handful text messages flashed, one after another. She refused to read those, either, instead dropping the phone back into her sparkly bag.
Dear God, she prayed, no one ever told me going on rumspringa could hurt so much. Make it stop, please. Please, oh, please, make it stop!
Her heart ached in her chest. She had really, truly begun to like Mikey. More than she wanted to admit. It had only been a week, but she’d come to rely on his presence like a light. Without him, nighttime New York seemed like a dark, enormous, hungry maw, eager to swallow up naïve people like her. She didn’t belong here. Tears rolled down her face. She didn’t belong anywhere.
Miri choked down a sob and huddled deeper into the taxi seat. The air conditioning sent goose bumps over her bare arms and legs. What would she do now?
* * *
Under the cover of deepest night, Jacob stood panting before Stephen Beiler’s house, a can of gasoline and a set of matches clutched in his sweaty fingers. He couldn’t take it anymore. If Annie was unwilling to choose, he would have to do it for her.
After checking to make certain no one was close enough to see, he uncapped the tank of gasoline and began to pour it over the porch railing and floor. Once the wood had been thoroughly saturated, he took out the book of matches and struck one.
All he had to do now was drop the lit match, and Stephen’s house would go up in a sheet of fire. If that didn’t show Annie how serious he was, nothing would.
Jacob stared in fascination at the tiny flame. It glowed an incandescent orange with a bottom border of electric blue. So beautiful, the way it danced. Fire was such a powerful thing.
It burned closer and closer to the end of the match, and the smell of gasoline threatened to make him sick. He had to let go soon if he didn’t want to burn his hand.
He had to do this, he reminded himself. Annie needed to learn a lesson.
The flame was almost at the end of the matchstick. Let go, he ordered himself. Let go!
But could he really make himself?
No, he realized. He couldn’t do it. There were better ways to impart wisdom than by destroying entire properties. He didn’t hate Stephen. He just wanted Annie to—
The flame singed his fingers, and Jacob yelped before reflexively dropping what was left of the match.
Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed “Faith and Trust in Lancaster,” Daisy is pleased to offer two more installments in the Amish of Lancaster County series:
Faith and Hope in Lancaster (The Amish of Lancaster County #1)
Faith and Love in Lancaster (The Amish of Lancaster County #3)
Meet Daisy Fields
Daisy Fields is a former accountant whose life changed after she took a trip through Amish country in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. The simple pace of life and the Amish devotion to God made her question her own then-current breakneck lifestyle, and Daisy decided she wanted something more. She quit her job, threw away her cell phone, and began to pray.
Now she pens stories about the people she admires so deeply and hopes you’ll enjoy reading them as much as she did writing them. Please check her Amazon author page for new releases.