Plain Death

by Flower, Amanda

  “Oh yes, I have.” He thought for a minute. “Thirty-two back in Lancaster.”

  My mouth fell open. “Thirty-two!”

  His beard waved with a chuckle. “And eight, almost nine, great-grandchildren.”

  “Wow.”

  “Do you have any brothers and sisters, Chloe?” Ruth asked. She leaned forward and folded her thin arms over the front seat.

  “I have a younger brother and sister. They live in California.”

  “California!” Ruth cried. “I’d love to go there. I want to see the ocean.”

  “Don’t let your daed hear you say that,” Grandfather Zook teased. “He’d have a heart attack.”

  “Anna Lambright saw the ocean. Her whole family did. They took the bus to Florida two years ago. She said it was the best place in the world and what heaven must be like.”

  Becky barked a laugh. “Until she stepped on the jellyfish. She wasn’t too keen on the ocean after that.”

  Ruth fell back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “I still want to see it.”

  “If you want to see it someday, Ruthie, I’m sure you will.” Grandfather Zook spoke in a soothing voice.

  Sparky turned a corner, and the low limbs of a buckeye tree grazed the top of the buggy.

  “Sparky,” Grandfather Zook reprimanded. “Watch the paint job.”

  I laughed.

  “There’s Timothy’s house,” Thomas cried. He pointed at a large Victorian home three driveways down, its exterior walls lavender with dark purple shutters. It seemed like a strange place for guys to live, especially former Amish guys.

  A young man in a brown plaid short-sleeve shirt and cargo shorts dribbled a basketball on the asphalt driveway. When the buggy parked in front of the purple Victorian, he stopped playing and tucked the basketball under his arm. “Yo, Tim! Your family is here.”

  Ruth leaned forward in her seat again. “That’s Danny Lapp.”

  “Ruthie has a crush on Danny,” Becky said.

  “I do not,” Ruth hissed.

  Danny sauntered over to the buggy with the basketball still under his arm.

  “Want to come to the flea market with us today, Danny?” Grandfather Zook asked.

  “No, thanks, I have a job over in Fredericktown this afternoon.” He smiled at me. “You must be Chloe. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I felt myself blush. Did Timothy talk about me? “Nice to meet you.”

  Timothy stepped out the front door and jumped down the steps. “Gude mariye. Ready to go furniture shopping?” he asked me with twinkling eyes.

  “Yes.” My voice still squeaked.

  Danny and Grandfather Zook shared a grin.

  Timothy didn’t seem to notice. “If we buy anything, there won’t be any room in the buggy to bring it home. I’ll take my truck. Anyone want to ride with me?”

  “I do!” Ruth and Thomas both clamored at the same time to ride with Timothy.

  Grandfather Zook waited for Timothy to start his pickup before he flicked the reins on his buggy. “I think it’s only fair to give Timothy a head start.” He chuckled.

  Sparky wove through the narrow one-way brick streets surrounding the square as the Amish selling their wares were packing up for the day. Behind me, Becky put her head down. The two Amish women who refused to sell me the strawberries stared at us as we trotted past.

  Soon the houses and gas stations gave way to open farmland. In the distance, half a dozen Amish children ran around a yard as their mother sat on a stool shucking corn. If it had not been for the electric posts taking power back to the small town of Appleseed Creek, I would have thought I had wandered into the nineteenth century. Does it look like the nineteenth century to Becky and her family? Or is this normal?

  Sparky rocked his head back and forth.

  “Stop preening, Sparky.” Grandfather Zook glanced at me. “He’s such a showboat. Thinks he’s the most attractive horse in the county.”

  “He is the most handsome horse in the county,” Becky said, coming to Sparky’s defense.

  Sparky wiggled his ears, and Naomi, now curled up on Becky’s lap in the backseat, laughed.

  I moved my foot and knocked Grandfather Zook’s crutches that were tucked under the front bench seat. “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced down. “Don’t worry about those old things. They are built to last. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve dropped them off the buggy.”

  “Why do you need them?” As soon as it came out of my mouth, I regretted my question.

  Grandfather Zook smiled. “I had polio when I was a child.”

  “Oh. You weren’t vaccinated?” I squirmed. “I’m sorry. That’s a personal question.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you think I’m that young, but I had polio long before the vaccine was out. I made sure my daughter had all my grandkinner vaccinated. It took some convincing for my son-in-law to agree.”

  “The Amish usually don’t vaccinate their children?”

  “There are no rules against it, but many times they don’t because they don’t know any better. I do, so I insisted.”

  I thought about that as we fell into a peaceful silence. For the next thirty minutes, the only sounds were the clomp, clomp of Sparky’s hooves on the pavement and the rattle of the buggy.

  I shifted as my back began to ache from leaning against the hard wooden seat. No one else seemed to be uncomfortable, not even Grandfather Zook.

  “Almost there.” Becky pointed to a line of buggies and cars that appeared on the side of the road. “They are all here for the flea market. People, Englisch and Amish, come from all over.”

  “Best sales in the county,” Grandfather Zook declared. “Parking lot must be full. Not to worry, though, I always have a place to park.”

  “Ellie Young lets Grossdaddi park the buggy behind the restaurant. She won’t let anyone else park there.” Becky laughed. “Ellie Young’s a widow and has eyes for Grossdaddi.”

  Grandfather Zook snorted. “Your grossmammi and Ellie were freinden. Grossmammi asked Ellie to look after me after she was gone. That’s the end of that.”

  “Ellie takes her job seriously,” Becky said in a mock somber tone.

  Grandfather Zook’s grinning face reflected in the buggy’s glossy dash.

  We passed buggies of all shapes and sizes. Some had orange triangles on the back, others had headlights and taillights, and still others had simple white strips of reflective tape. I’d never noticed the variation before. “The buggies aren’t identical,” I said. “I thought they would be. Some have headlights.”

  “Mine has headlights too.” He pointed to the switch on the dash. “The bishop permitted battery-operated headlights in our district.”

  “That’s allowed?”

  “It’s for safety,” he said. “You can tell by the buggy what type of Amish it is. Most of the folks around here are Old Order, like us, but there are a few Swartentruber Amish. They are the strictest. Those are the buggies without the SMV, or slow moving vehicle, triangles. They are also the ones you see selling baskets on the side of the road. They rarely work outside of the farm. For instance, they wouldn’t run any of the shops in town,” Grandfather Zook explained.

  “Why not?”

  “It is the rules of their order.” He spoke as if that was answer enough.

  Becky peeked over the front seat. “The kids aren’t even allowed to ride bicycles.”

  “I never knew there were different types of Amish,” I said. “Most English people think all Amish are the same.”

  Grandfather Zook nodded. “One size doesn’t fit all.” He laughed.

  I frowned.

  “Don’t feel bad. Some Amish think all Englisch are the same.”

  Finally, Young’s Flea Mar
ket and Restaurant came into view. “Wow.” The parking lot could easily hold three hundred cars. It was packed with Amish buggies, cars, trucks, tractor trailers, and motorcycles.

  Grandfather Zook grinned.

  A huge sign welcomed us to the market. Beyond the enormous parking lot stood a large white building that resembled a farmhouse, the words YOUNG'S FAMILY KITCHEN emblazoned on the front. Oak rockers lined the restaurants wide front porch, and diners rocked back and forth while waiting for an early lunch table.

  As the buggy rounded the corner of the restaurant, the first pavilion came into view. Amish and English visitors moved in and out of the pavilion weighed down with fresh produce and wrapped packages.

  I had never seen so many happy customers. “This is amazing.”

  Becky nodded at me. “You should see it on auction day.” Some of the old cheerfulness was back in her voice.

  Grandfather Zook didn’t even have to tell Sparky what to do. The old racehorse trotted the perimeter of the parking lot and looped around the back of the restaurant. He stopped beside Timothy’s truck parked near the restaurant’s “Deliveries only” door. Apparently, Ellie extended parking rights to the entire family. The children waved, and as Grandfather Zook parked the buggy, Timothy grabbed the reins and tied Sparky to a hitching post.

  Becky and Naomi jumped from the buggy.

  “You guys are too slow.” Thomas balanced Naomi on his hip. She took up half his body length and her feet almost touched the gravel on the ground. “We’ve been here for ages.”

  I grinned at them. “You had a little more horsepower than we did.”

  Thomas laughed and set his sister on her feet.

  The back screen door to the restaurant opened and a plump Amish woman with steel gray hair and a white prayer cap stepped outside. Her plain dress was light blue and she wore a white apron with “Young’s Family Kitchen” stitched on the pocket. “I thought I heard you and Sparky coming. Glad to see you out and about, Joseph. You brought the whole brood with you. Coming in for a bite?” She picked up a large wooden crate that was leaning against the back wall of the restaurant. Timothy took it from her and placed it on the ground beside Grandfather Zook’s side of the buggy.

  “My daughter wouldn’t like it if we filled up on all your good food and weren’t able to eat her home cooking.” Grandfather Zook smiled.

  She snorted. “I’m certain you have a hollow leg, Joseph Zook. You can eat my meal and hers.”

  I climbed out of the buggy, my exit not as graceful as Becky’s.

  Grandfather Zook handed Timothy his titanium crutches and stepped out of the buggy. Timothy held the crutches in one hand and steadied his grandfather with the other. Safely on the ground, Grandfather Zook slipped his crutches onto his forearms.

  Ellie looked me over “Who’s this?”

  “This is Chloe,” Thomas announced. “She’s an Englischer.”

  Her chin bounced and she grinned at Thomas. “Her blue jeans were my first tip.”

  “You must be new to the county. I thought I knew everyone. This wouldn’t be another relative of yours from Lancaster now would it, Joseph?”

  I stepped forward. “I’m from Cleveland. I moved here to take a job at Harshberger College.”

  She nodded. “That’s probably why I haven’t seen you yet. Can’t say I have much use for the college. I’m Ellie Young. Don’t believe a word any of these children say about me.” She gave them a mock scowl, then directed her attention back to Grandfather Zook. “If you’re not here to eat my good cooking, what brings you out this way?”

  “Chloe does,” he replied. “She needs furniture for her new home, and your flea market is the best place in the county.”

  A smile spread across Ellie’s wide mouth. “That’s a fact. When they see a naïve Englisch girl like you coming, some of the old timers might try to pull one over you on their prices. Stay close to Joseph. He’ll keep them in check.” She wiped her hand on her apron. “I’d better get back into the kitchen. We have a new baker on hand. You’d think she’s never seen a pie before by her crust crimping.” She gave Grandfather Zook a beady look. “You’d better promise to stop in the restaurant for a piece of pie before you go.”

  “Since you badgered me into it, I guess I will.” He returned her look with a grin.

  She harrumphed and went back inside the kitchen.

  Ruth pulled on his arm. “Can I go find Anna now, please? She’s been waiting forever.”

  He tugged at his beard. “Ya, you can go. Take Thomas and Naomi with you.”

  Her expression fell.

  “They might as well have some fun too.” He tweaked the ear of his youngest grandson. “Do you want to go with Ruthie or help us shop?”

  “Ruthie,” he said immediately.

  “See?” Grandfather Zook said. “Now, go before I change my mind and make all of you shop with us.”

  Ruth grabbed Naomi and Thomas’s hands and ran off.

  Becky gave Sparky a parting pat, and then we followed Grandfather Zook toward the flea market. Despite his crutches, he moved confidently.

  Three long shelter houses, standing in three straight lines behind the restaurant, comprised the flea market. Crowded with English and Amish alike, they sold everything from fresh strawberries to sneakers. As we strolled down the first aisle, I took in the colors and smells. An Amish man stirred popcorn kernels with a long-handled spatula in a black cast iron pot that hung from a cooking tripod over a fire. The smell of fresh kettle corn and campfire hung heavy in air.

  Next to him, an English woman with three-inch-long red fingernails sold Beanie Babies. Had she collected them at the height of the fad? There were hundreds. An Amish girl about Becky’s age held a rainbow bear in her hand. Her father said something in their language; reluctantly, she dropped the bear back onto the table.

  Across from the kettle corn, crudely drawn cardboard signs advertised vegetables for sale, such as Ohio-grown heirloom tomatoes. Amish women sold eggplants, zucchinis, carrots, and every other vegetable imaginable.

  An Amish boy ran by me with a box of potatoes and bumped into a teenager texting on her cell phone. She glared at him.

  Beyond the vegetables, another group of Amish women sold fruit-filled fry pies and cobblers. The baked goods all sat in clear plastic boxes so shoppers could see the contents. Next to the baked goods, an English man in a black leather vest sold hunting knives and fishing poles from the back of his tractor-trailer.

  I threw my hands into the air. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Don’t worry.” Timothy watched me, his gaze assuring. “Grossdaddi knows where all the deals are.”

  Becky stepped closer to her brother, her voice a harsh whisper. “Grossdaddi,” she said. “Everyone is staring at us.”

  I followed her line of sight and realized—she was right.

  Chapter Twenty

  Let ’em stare.” Grandfather Zook adjusted the braces on his arms.

  Becky shook her head tightly. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  Timothy put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Let’s not stand around and give them something to gawk at. The furniture is in the next pavilion.”

  We wove through the crowd. I tried to ignore the whispers in both English and Pennsylvania Dutch as we passed booths selling sweet corn, fresh bread, purses, tennis shoes, and antique buttons.

  The second pavilion was identical to the first—a cement slap with thick white-washed posts holding up an asphalt roof. Where the first pavilion was a hodgepodge of wares, the second pavilion had a theme: furniture. It was easy to tell the Amish from the English furniture. Nearly everything in the Amish section was made of light-colored wood varnished to a high sheen. The scent of vinegar polish hung heavy in the pavilion. The English furniture was secondhand and contained everything from an
old beauty shop hair dryer chair to an Art Deco glass end table.

  Grandfather Zook stopped and looked around. “Where should we start?”

  Timothy and Becky watched me for direction.

  I rubbed my lips together, glancing about. “We could use a couch.”

  Within twenty minutes we had reclined on half a dozen different sofas. As I stood up from a particularly ugly orange leather couch, I noticed the color of Grandfather Zook’s face had paled to white-gray.

  “Maybe we should head home,” I said. “Now that I know the flea market is here, I can come back another time and shop for furniture.”

  Grandfather Zook shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.” He coughed. “I could use a cup of water.”

  “I’ll find you one,” Becky volunteered and ran back toward the restaurant.

  Grandfather Zook stood on his crutches. Timothy stood close by, ready to catch his grandfather if necessary. Grandfather Zook coughed again and cleared his throat. “I told you I’m fine.” He started down the line of furniture again and pulled up short, pointing to a blue plush sofa jammed between a television cabinet and a bookshelf. “What about that one?”

  I squeezed behind the television cabinet and sat on the couch. “I like it.” I flipped over the price tag pinned to the arm. “Eighty bucks! I like it even more now.”

  Grandfather Zook snorted. “That’s too much.”

  A large man with a gray beard and mustache approached us. “May I help you?” The mustache gave him away as English. Well, that and his Beatles T-shirt.

  “I’d like to buy this couch,” I said.

  Grandfather Zook tapped his right crutch on the cement. “Eighty dollars is high. What else will you throw in with it?”

  The man ran a finger along his mustache and sized up Grandfather Zook. Then he turned toward me. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  “I could use some tables for the living room.” I spied a dark wood set that included two end tables and a coffee table. “I like these.”

  “We’ll take all four pieces for eighty dollars.” Grandfather Zook’s eyes sparkled, his complexion no longer gray.