by Leslie Gould
Pete’s eyes lit up even more. “Wonderful! I’ll tell Martin to arrange for a van.”
I opened the door and gave Nan a little wave as I slipped through. “See you,” I sputtered, sure I could come up with a good excuse not to go on the hike by Saturday morning. If Dat and Nan were going, Betsy would be well chaperoned. The thought of not going disappointed me, sure—that part of me that longed for Pete’s invitation to be genuine and sincere. But I knew the whole thing had to be a setup.
Friday evening I plopped down on my bed beside Betsy as she brushed her hair. It was time for me to put myself first for once.
“He really does want to court you,” she said, as if she could read my mind. “Honest to Pete.” Her face went blank and then she began to laugh, once she realized her accidental pun.
“But why?”
Betsy shrugged. If she knew, she obviously wasn’t going to tell me.
I swallowed hard. “It feels like I’m coming down with a sore throat.”
“Don’t,” she said.
“What?” I feigned ignorance.
“Fake being sick.”
It was true that I’d used that technique in the past to get out of events in which I didn’t want to participate. I swallowed again. “I’m not. It’s been sore all evening.” Alone in the buggy that afternoon I’d shouted into the wind as loudly as I could, hoping to make myself hoarse.
Betsy moved away from me and bounced onto her knees, facing me. “Cate Miller, don’t you dare do this to me.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Dat and Nan are going. You won’t have to stay home.”
“I’m not talking about the hike. I’m talking about Pete. He’s the best chance we’re going to get, that you’re ever going to get.”
“Ouch.” I leaned away from her. “I can’t help it if his motives are suspicious.”
A puzzled expression settled on her face. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to hide something or if she was confused. “How can you say that?”
I shrugged. “He’s poor, right? He’s been all buddy-buddy with Dat. At first he was interested in you, like everyone else. And I thought you were interested in him.”
She shook her head. “Half the time I don’t have any idea what Pete’s talking about—like that night he and I sat on the porch. That’s why I kept laughing. I always get what Levi’s saying.”
I slumped against the wall, relieved she wasn’t interested in Pete but still not sure why he wasn’t interested in her. Perhaps my original suspicion that he planned to win her through me was correct. “Well,” I said, “he clearly wasn’t interested in me at the beginning, but now it seems, after spending time with Martin and Mervin, he is. What do you think his intentions are?”
She stopped smiling. “Who cares what his intentions are! Do you have to overthink everything! Can’t you just enjoy life for once!” Her legs flew out from under her and she scampered off my bed, flinging herself across the room and onto her own. “You are going to ruin my life. Absolutely destroy it.” She pulled her pillow over her head.
I waited a long moment, wondering at how badly I was being manipulated. Finally I ventured across the room and sat on the edge of her bed and began to rub her back. “Want me to braid your hair?”
The pillow shook.
I rubbed her back some more.
“I want you to go on the hike. Can’t you just do that?” came her muffled response.
I didn’t answer. Betsy had always been poised and confident, even as a toddler. From the beginning it was obvious that she was much different than I. She was mostly all sweetness and light, like the early summer sun, while I was moody and dark, like the winter twilight.
She would marry and have a houseful of kids. I would be their Aenti Cate. I had Dat and Betsy—and her future family. That was it. No matter how much she irritated me, I loved her. It wasn’t that I loved her more than I loved Dat, but I did love her differently. I was used to putting her needs first.
I swallowed hard. “My throat’s feeling better,” I said.
The pillow moved again. “You’ll go?”
“Jah. But only for you.” With Dat and Nan along, I assumed Martin and Mervin—and Pete—would be on their best behavior.
The pillow fell away, and Betsy’s head appeared. She turned toward me, her brown eyes rimmed with red. “You won’t change your mind in the morning?”
“I promise not to.”
Her arms flew around my neck, the way she used to hold on to me as a child.
I patted her back, willing her to let go of me. I loved her, yes, but not to the point of being strangled. Finally she released me, dabbing at her eyes after she did.
I turned off the lamp and climbed straight into bed, retrieving my flashlight from my bedside table. I was dying to get started on my new stack of books, including a biography of Mary Todd Lincoln. I desperately wanted to distract myself from thinking about the next day. I desperately wanted to keep from hoping that Pete Treger might want to—genuinely—court me.
CHAPTER
6
I focused on appearing as calm and collected as I could, drawing as little attention to myself as possible as we rode in the van to the trailhead. After a few tense minutes of trying to act normal, I decided to pretend I was dozing instead.
Betsy and Levi sat on the first bench seat, Mervin, Martin, and Pete on the second, and then Nan and I. Dat sat up front with the driver, who turned out to be a Mennonite man from Nan’s district.
The colloquial term for what he was doing was “hauling Amish.” Some people made a career out of it in Lancaster County, and the saying got a chuckle out of tourists. For us, it was just part of how we got around when we needed to travel farther or faster than our buggies could take us. In this case we were headed west, nearly two hours away.
I could make out bits and pieces of the others’ conversations, my interest piqued the most by Pete’s voice, but it was all small talk, mostly comments about the lush vegetation, the light traffic, and the long hike ahead of us—ten miles round trip—and what the guys had packed for lunch.
I didn’t open my eyes until the van slowed when we pulled off the main highway. A minute later the driver parked in a lot half filled with cars.
The men, including Dat, all had small packs they positioned on their backs. After I stepped out of the van, I pulled my dress tight around my legs, kneeled down, and retied my walking shoes. Betsy and Levi were already at the trailhead, ready to go. I caught a glimpse of the driver, reclining his seat, a book in his hand.
Dat asked him again if he was sure he didn’t want to come with us. He just smiled and waved.
I wished I could curl up with a book too.
We planned to hike to the Chimney Rock vista, eat our lunch, and then hike back. The morning had started out bright and sunny, although cool, but now clouds were forming to the south, so I slipped my arms into my sweatshirt.
An Englisch couple, dressed in pants and fancy jackets made out of synthetic material and carrying sleek packs, stood beside their car and gawked at us. I squinted to read their license plate. New Mexico. There weren’t Plain people out that way, I was sure. I smiled at them, and they turned their heads abruptly. The woman wore a baseball cap that looked rather masculine. I couldn’t help but speculate that my feminine prayer Kapp looked like something from two centuries ago to her.
“Come on,” Nan said to me.
I gave the Englisch couple one more glance and then fell in step with Nan. I knew we were quite a sight to strangers. Most Englisch women hardly wore dresses and stockings at all, let alone to go hiking.
Levi and Betsy took off quickly, with Martin and Mervin close behind. The twins had been quiet all morning—most likely because their boss was along, which was exactly what I’d hoped for.
Dat and Pete motioned for Nan and me to go ahead, and then they took up the rear. The scent of new-growth pine and damp soil, saturated from the spring runoff, filled the air. The trail wound its way through a glistening f
ield of ferns. We climbed over several downed trees, likely from the winter storms. Soon we were completely in the forest.
Nan asked if I’d hiked the trail before.
I answered no but that I had hiked a nearby one several years ago, on a youth outing.
“I used to hike quite a bit back in New York,” she said. “When I was your age.”
I hadn’t heard much of her story and asked when she’d come to Lancaster County. “I was twenty-eight,” she said. “I’d just left the Amish.”
“Why?” I’d assumed she’d always been Mennonite.
“Long story,” she said. “Sure you want to hear it?”
I nodded.
“I joined the Amish church when I was seventeen. I never questioned it. Then I taught school for several years. I didn’t court anyone special, and by the time I was twenty-seven I’d resigned myself to being single.”
The one thing I’d known about Nan was that she’d never married. I really liked that about her.
“But then a Mennonite man from Lancaster County showed up in our district. Mark was a carpenter and drove an old Chevy truck. He’d come to rebuild the school I taught in. The old one was literally falling off its foundation. I kept my distance at first, but he was personable and easy to talk to.”
She explained she gradually fell in love with him and he with her. They were in a quandary about what to do. He said he’d join the Amish, but she was afraid he wouldn’t make much of a living as a carpenter where she lived. Finally, she decided she would leave the Amish.
“And be shunned?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Yes,” she said.
We’d come to a boulder field now and slowed as we picked our way across it. The wind had picked up and was twisting our dresses around our legs.
Nan continued with her story as we watched our footing. “As soon as he finished the school, we went to my parents and told them our plan. It was wrenching, but when we left, I knew it was the right thing. I felt at peace with God. I was ready to start a new life with the man I loved. We planned to be married as soon as we reached Lancaster.”
“What happened?” I imagined him changing his mind. Or his family not accepting her.
“Outside of Harrisburg, a semi turned into the pickup, on Mark’s side.”
I gasped and slipped on a rock, catching myself before I fell.
“For two weeks, he was in a coma, with his family and me at his side.”
“Oh, Nan,” I said, heavy with sadness. I knew what was coming.
“He squeezed my hand once, but never regained consciousness. He died in the middle of the night, with me beside him.”
“How long ago?”
“Thirteen years now.”
We reached the end of the boulder field, and I stepped gratefully back onto the soft trail. “And you didn’t think about going back to New York?”
“Oh, I thought about it. I even intended to. I just never did.”
We strolled along in silence for a moment, taking a turn in the path onto a straight stretch. Up the hill, Betsy and M&M were laughing, while Levi stood a pace away with an awkward expression on his face. Because he wasn’t from our district and didn’t go to our school, he probably hadn’t realized how close Betsy was to the twins.
“Mark’s family has been so good to me,” Nan continued. “Before his Dat passed away he taught me how to drive. And I joined their church. There’s a little cottage on their property that I rent, and I watch out after Mark’s Mamm. Take her to doctor’s appointments, do her grocery shopping. That sort of thing.”
“So you ended up an old maid after all.” As soon as I said it I realized how rude it sounded and wished I could cross my words out with a big red pen.
Nan didn’t seem to be offended, although her voice was firm. “I don’t think of it that way. I just think of it as being in the place in life God has for me. It’s as simple as that.”
I nodded, my face warm. “That’s how I try to think about my life too.”
“Ach, Cate. Don’t be thinking that way yet.” She sighed. “You’re still so young.”
When we reached the Chimney Rock overlook, we all stood on the slanting shale and took in the view of the endless forest and faraway hills. Mervin and Martin scampered down to the tree line, while the rest of us stayed above. Cumulus clouds scudded across the darkening sky as a springtime storm sailed toward us.
A few minutes later, we found a spot off the trail to eat lunch. The wind blew through the tops of the pines, showering needles and twigs. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my Kapp to keep it clean. The entire sky had turned gray, but the day was still warm. We ate two large sticks of salami Dat had brought, bread torn straight from the loaves Levi had packed, M&M’s family’s homemade cheese, and nuts and dried fruit contributed by Pete. I got the feeling he ate a lot of that sort of thing while on the road. I imagined him huddled too close to a fire, a handful of trail mix in one hand and a book in the other, feeding the fire each page as he finished it. I shuddered at the thought.
Dat pulled a plastic container of Betsy’s oatmeal cookies, a large thermos of coffee, and a stack of paper cups from his backpack after we finished eating.
After dessert, Dat climbed on top of a boulder. “It would be fun to camp somewhere up here.” He stood with one foot forward and his arms crossed, as if he were king of the hill. “We’d have to backpack in. And stay for a few days.”
I wondered how many books I could carry.
“The girls would have to take over the cooking, though,” Mervin said. “I couldn’t live off salami and cheese for that long.”
“Then you’d have to pack in the meat and vegetables,” I said. “And the pots and pans.”
Mervin flexed his biceps. “No problem.”
“You jest,” I retorted.
“And you don’t cook,” Martin said, peering over his sunglasses.
I pretended not to have heard him. “I’ve read that cooking on a stove and cooking over a fire are two entirely different things.”
“And you think if you can’t do one you could do the other?” Martin asked.
I crossed my arms. Who told him I couldn’t cook? I glared at Betsy.
She shrugged. Levi grimaced.
I turned my attention to Pete. He held up his hands, as if he were innocent.
Nan stood to the side of him, and I couldn’t help but notice a hint of concern in her eyes.
Nevertheless, I lunged forward, face-to-face with Martin, yanked his silly sunglasses from his face, and glared into his beady eyes. “Believe me, if I wanted to cook I could.” But even as I said the words, I wasn’t entirely convinced they were true.
He snatched the glasses from my hand and positioned them back atop the bridge of his nose.
In a near whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear me but determined to change the subject, I hissed, “Is there something you’re trying to hide? Or something you don’t want to see?”
Even with his eyes covered, I could tell my words had wounded him. For a moment I considered apologizing but spun away instead. He’d never apologized to me for far, far worse. If I said I was sorry for asking an honest question, he’d never think any of the hurtful things he’d said to me were wrong.
I caught sight of Pete as I retreated. An expression of disapproval lingered on his face.
I turned from him abruptly as Dat said, in his diplomatic voice, “Well, well, obviously if we go on a backpacking trip, it will take a lot of thought and planning. I think that’s something to leave to the future.”
Betsy’s recent anger with me returned as she said, an edge of sarcasm to her voice, “Maybe Cate can read up on it for all of us.”
“That’s enough,” Dat said firmly. “Let’s get back on the trail.” With that the others began scrambling around to clean up the site.
A few minutes later, Levi, Betsy, and M&M led the way again. Pete started off next, but Dat stepped to the side, allowing me to go ahead of him. I tra
iled Pete, still smarting from my encounter with M&M, and listened to Dat and Nan talk. It turned out he knew the woman who was her almost-mother-in-law and was inquiring about her health and then about the state of her house.
Nan said some repairs needed to be done, including replacing a leaky pipe and a kitchen cabinet.
“I’ll send a crew over,” Dat said. “Maybe Pete could head it up.”
I doubted if Pete was good with tools. He didn’t seem the type.
We hiked the next stretch of downhill at a pretty quick pace, and as I rounded a bend, Pete was waiting. I started to breeze on by, but he fell into step with me. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Actually,” I answered, “I was enjoying the silence.”
He feigned surprise and then said, “I was told you were aloof.”
I shrugged.
“And rude.”
I winced. “And you didn’t believe them?”
“Not from our encounters so far.”
Dumbfounded, I ventured, “What about what just happened?”
“They were teasing you,” he said. “That was all. And you took it to heart.”
His words jabbed at me like a hot poker in a woodstove. I retorted, “Aren’t you the opinionated one.”
A sarcastic, “Look who’s talking,” tumbled from his mouth.
“What? You think I’m opinionated?”
“Actually, jah.”
I quickened my pace.
“It’s no wonder.” He was speaking rapidly. “And you’re right, I’m opinionated too, which isn’t surprising, considering how much we both read.”
Nan’s and Dat’s voices were not far behind us.
Pete caught up to me and grasped my elbow, matching my stride. It hurt that he agreed with Betsy, claiming I was opinionated. I’d been doing my best not to be a know-it-all.
He released his grip on my elbow and forced a smile. “I was told you were rude, jah, and sullen, but I think they’re wrong.”
I crossed my arms as I marched along. “Go on . . .”
Pete took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “I’ve found you adventurous.” He paused. “And nearly as pleasant as”—he swept his arm wide, toward the meadow to his right, scattered with purple phlox—“the springtime flowers.”