Plain Jayne

by Hillary Manton Lodge

I tried a line of stitches. To my surprise, they didn’t veer off and begin a trip to Jersey. “That’s not bad.”

  Ida nodded. “You have good quilting hands.”

  I studied my hands. I hadn’t thought of them that way before.

  Sara began to rattle about the finer points of basting, reversing, and tension, and I just barely kept up. When she was talking about sewing and fabric, she came alive. I got the feeling she could talk for a week about hems.

  If she stayed, those skills would translate into sewing for her family, likely with a quilting business on the side. Would that be enough for her?

  I thought about Levi. Keeping his family’s accounts wouldn’t have been enough for him, and running the woodshop clearly wasn’t either. Was I kidding myself to believe he would be happy there forever?

  Sara, Martha, and Ida continued to quilt long after I begged off with sore calves. The sky was clear outside, and I resolved to take a walk around the farm to stretch the rest of my muscles. I stopped still when a familiar green pickup pulled into the drive. I saw the truck slow suddenly, as if the driver braked hard in surprise.

  I couldn’t move as Levi climbed from the cab. He looked to Ida’s car, parked next to mine in the driveway. “You’re back.”

  I nodded.

  “My grandma’s here?”

  I nodded again.

  “I’m looking for my dad.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t ask why I was there.

  Not that it mattered much to him.

  I watched as he walked toward the barn. When he was sufficiently away, I took an alternate route to the same location. Every one of my reporter’s instincts urged me to move faster, to think harder, to remember all of the details.

  When it began to rain, I didn’t care. There was a back entrance to the barn that would allow me to listen to any words spoken. Granted, the gas-powered generators were loud, but people had to shout over them anyway. The shouting I could hear. And knowing Levi and Gideon, the likelihood of shouting was present.

  I don’t know what farm equipment was in use, but some of it quieted.

  “Do you have a minute, Dad?”

  I didn’t need to be in the room to see Gideon’s scowl. I positioned myself just outside the back door.

  “Don’t call me ‘Dad.’ You are not my son.”

  “Did you know I left my job in the city to work in town, to be near my family?”

  “You don’t have a family.”

  “I’m sorry I had to leave. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the son you wanted me to be.” I could hear the rising tension in Levi’s voice.

  “Don’t upset him, please,” said Amos’ voice. “His health—”

  “My health is gut,” Gideon snapped.

  “I was never baptized, Dad. You don’t have to shun me.”

  “I had a son. I had a son and he turned his back on his family and his God.”

  “God is still with me.”

  “Are you baptized?”

  “Yes.”

  “Into an Anabaptist church?”

  “No.”

  “Then I fear for your soul.”

  There was a pause. “You won’t change your mind, will you.”

  “No.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  Gideon grunted. There was quiet, and then I heard Gideon’s voice telling Amos and Elam to get back to work.

  I moved from my hiding place to see Levi walk back to his truck, his gaze steady ahead. I knew in an instant that he’d expected for the conversation to go the way it had, and yet he’d done it anyway.

  The truck engine started up. I could see the women watching from inside the house.

  I fought the urge to run up to Levi to comfort him, to talk to him. He didn’t want to talk to me.

  He didn’t look at me as he got back into his truck and started the ignition. I watched as the tires moved against the gravel drive and he drove away. Out of my life, and as far as I could tell, out of his family’s lives.

  I turned to go back to the house. My eyes caught Ida’s as I neared the door. Her old eyes regarded me with an expression I hadn’t seen before.

  She met me at the door. “I need my sewing box. Would you mind helping me carry it from my car? My back ain’t what it used to be.”

  I agreed, following her back out.

  “He’s in love with you, isn’t he.” She made the statement mere moments after the front door closed.

  “We were together for a little while. He broke it off.” I knew any attempt to hedge on the truth with Ida would be pointless.

  “Do you still love him?”

  “He left.”

  “He still loves you.”

  I shook my head. Ida opened her car door and pointed at the box. I leaned in and pulled it out, noticing that only a person with significant movement loss would have difficulty carrying it.

  “He looks at you with love in his eyes. There is hurt, too, but Levi has never been good at hiding his thoughts from his face. Even as a boy. I knew he would leave. If only he could have been Mennonite, his family might have forgiven him. But once he grew his wings, he couldn’t help flying far.” She patted my cheek. “I don’t know what happened between you. He loves you, though, Jayne. Don’t worry.”

  She turned and walked back to the house with impressive speed. I followed her with the sewing box. All I could think of was the raw memory of Levi leaving my apartment and not coming back.

  Chapter 32

  Samuel, Leah, and Elizabeth returned home from school that afternoon, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. Ida, Martha, and Sara were all still in the throes of a large mending session, so Martha asked me if I’d mind helping the children.

  “Your mom told me I’m helping you with your homework,” I announced, trying to sound energized and pro-education.

  They nodded.

  “Where do you normally study?”

  “The kitchen table,” Leah answered.

  “Okay.” I clapped my hands together. “Do you eat a snack while you do homework?”

  Three shaking heads.

  “Okay. What kind of homework do you have?”

  They each pulled their books out of their knapsacks. I picked one up.

  The textbook would have looked at home in Punky Brewster’s book bag. I flipped to the copyright page and checked the publication date—1979.

  The map in the social studies book showed the USSR covering half the world in bright red. Germany remained divided.

  I forced a smile. “Let’s get started.”

  I made a point of flipping through whatever books weren’t in use as the children studied. “Do you ever study science?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Samuel shook his head. “We learn reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic.”

  Which would explain my having to introduce Sara to the world of spores and molds several weeks before.

  I wanted to talk to Levi. I wanted him to explain to me why the eight years of education these children were afforded were so poor.

  He must have worked hard to get to where he was if his schooling was the same. I rubbed my forehead. I knew from some of my reading that it wasn’t always like this, that some Amish children attended public school or studied under trained teachers.

  I answered their questions about math figures as best I could. When they came to a point when they understood the material, such as it was, and the questions ceased for the foreseeable future, I wandered back to the sewing group and my own quilt strips.

  “Did Sara tell you she’s getting baptized next week?” Martha asked.

  I nearly impaled my finger on one of the straight pins. “Really?” My head whipped around to where Sara sat. “That’s…exciting.”

  Ida’s eyes watched my every move. I could feel her gaze.

  “Sara, tell Jayne about the baptism service,” Martha said, encouraging Sara with a nod.

  Sara cleared her throat. “It’s part of the church service. Before the baptism, the bishop
will ask applicants to leave the service, and then he asks if we’re sure we want to be baptized. It’s kind of silly, since we’ve all taken a class about it.”

  “We’ll be asked a few questions before we return to the hymns and the sermon. Afterward, the bishop will have us go to the front. He’ll remind us we’re making a promise to God. Then he and the deacon—Mary Lapp’s John—will take the bucket and cup. John pours water over the bishop’s hands and then onto our heads three times in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” She shrugged. “And then we’re told to rise and such, and Mary, being the deacon’s wife and all, will give me and the other girls the Holy Kiss.”

  “Of brotherhood,” Martha added.

  “Of brotherhood,” Sara finished. “But shouldn’t it be sisterhood?”

  “It’s family,” Ida said, “whichever way you look at it.”

  I tried not to look confused. When we’d spoken over the breakfast dishes, Sara hadn’t said a word.

  “Don’t baptisms usually precede weddings?” I asked, fishing.

  “Often,” Martha said, not looking up from her sewing. “But not always.”

  I smiled at Sara. “I’m glad for you.” If that was the path she had truly chosen for herself, I really did wish her all the best.

  The rest of the day was a blur. After helping the children with their homework, I finished sewing the front of my quilt together.

  I should have felt better about it than I did. As a first quilt, it wasn’t the shoddiest specimen.

  But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t Amish enough.

  My thoughts traveled back to Levi. I thought briefly of giving Shane a call, but I thought better of it. Shane and I were over, and I was okay with that. Levi and I on the other hand—we were over, but I wasn’t okay with that.

  Not that it mattered anymore. I tried to think of something else. I couldn’t think of anything else. I tried harder.

  At some point while trying harder, I fell asleep.

  And dreamed about Levi.

  I woke when the rooster crowed, horrified to hear several sets of feet moving throughout the house. I threw on my clothes and hurried out to join the others.

  Leah met me in the hallway. “Today is Sara’s birthday!” “Really?” I gave her a hug as we walked toward the kitchen. “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen!” Sara announced from behind us.

  “I remember being eighteen,” I said, smiling ruefully.

  Of course, my eighteen and her eighteen were two different things entirely. If I remembered right, I celebrated by registering to vote, showing up at the elections office with my purple-streaked hair and Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt.

  Sara, on the other hand, wouldn’t be voting anytime soon, and her lovely brown hair was twisted up under her kapp.

  “Will you celebrate today?” I asked.

  Leah nodded and swung my hand from side to side. “We’ll celebrate at dinner. Mutter will make a cake and roast a ham.”

  “Sounds delicious! Do you get presents?”

  “Yes,” Sara straightened her apron. “Probably some new shoes.”

  I stopped my sarcastic “Oh goody” comment from leaving my lips just in time.

  “My sister Rebecca and her family might take a taxi from Washington and stay with Grandma,” Sara added. “You haven’t met Rebecca.”

  “Not yet, but it sounds like I will.”

  We ate a breakfast of dried apple muffins, eggs scrambled with peppers and bacon, fried potatoes, and sausage patties. After helping with the dishes, I made my excuses and drove into town, determined to find an appropriate birthday gift for Sara.

  I may have driven past the shop. I wasn’t stalking Levi, just checking to see if there was a sale or lease sign in front of the building. Just in case.

  There wasn’t. I proceeded to Fred Meyer’s. What do you buy for an Amish teenager that you can give her in front of her family? If it were only between the two of us, and if she weren’t being baptized, then I would go a little crazier, maybe find her a pair of sequined flip-flops for the summer. Or a bright scarf with fringe.

  Probably should have checked with Martha first.

  I wandered out of Fred Meyer’s, got back into my car, and drove around until the red glowing sign of inspiration appeared: JoAnn Fabrics.

  Inside, I chose several bolts of fabric I thought Sara might like and bought a yard each. I drove back to Freddie’s for a gift bag, tissue paper, and a card.

  I didn’t know if the Amish did birthday cards, but I bought one anyway.

  After wrapping the fabric in paper and stuffing it elegantly into the sack, I signed the card and drove back to the Burkholders’.

  “Something’s baking,” I called as I stepped inside. I found Martha in the kitchen. “It smells wonderful, whatever it is.”

  “Sara doesn’t have a single favorite cake, so I make a five-layer cake with every layer a different flavor.”

  “Oh!” That could either be very good or very bad. “What flavors?

  “Pumpkin, coconut, chocolate, raspberry, and lemon poppy seed.”

  “Oh.” The jury might remain out for a while on that one. “Need a hand?”

  “I’d appreciate it. Sara’s birthday is the second most difficult of all my children’s.”

  “Who’s the first?”

  “Elam. He doesn’t like cake, so I make varieties of ice cream for him.”

  “From scratch?”

  “Yes,” Martha answered, but at that moment her gaze became shifty. “Well,” she said with a lowered voice, “last year I was very busy with Rebecca’s baby’s quilt, so I…” her voice dropped still lower, “I bought ice cream.”

  “Martha!”

  “And I made sure I got three flavors I hadn’t made before so they wouldn’t be able to compare.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Very sneaky. I would have done the exact same thing.”

  Actually, that wasn’t true. I wouldn’t have gotten conned into making three batches of ice cream in the first place. My mom used to make ice cream, and even with an electric ice-cream maker, it was labor-intensive. She would stand at the stove for ages, stirring the custard. Make three batches of heat-sensitive custard and then churn it? No, thank you.

  “Do you make the same cake combination every year?”

  “No. Last year it was carrot, yellow, ginger-pecan, chocolate chip, and Jell-O orange.”

  I couldn’t even imagine, but a part of me wished I could. I wondered what it would be like to spend my days in a kitchen, cooking and baking for my family. To know what my children liked best for their birthdays.

  The birthday party unfolded through dinner. Sara arrived at the table in her favorite dress—her favorite, I knew, because it was the brightest-colored one she owned. The rich brick red of her dress, covered by her black apron, accentuated the color in her cheeks and the green of her eyes.

  Rebecca and her family arrived via taxi moments later. Out of all the siblings, she bore the strongest resemblance to Levi with her dark eyes and fair skin. She carried Baby Verna on her hip, while her husband, Karl, held young Henry.

  Karl’s genial smile faded the moment he saw me, dressed as I was in blue jeans and clearly not Amish. But Gideon jumped in and explained how I had called the ambulance for him when he’d had his heart attack and sang my praises about the way I’d cared for Martha and Sara while he was in the hospital, or, as he referred to it, “the clink.”

  He clearly didn’t know that Levi had also been with us, but that was information for another day.

  Ida appeared at the door, bearing a giant smile, and the gathering was complete. Complete except for Levi.

  We crowded around the table and gazed at the beauty of the dinner provided. Martha had prepared—on top of the five-layer cake o’ wonder—a ham crusted with brown sugar, creamy mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, buttery rolls, and homemade peach butter.

  Everyone ate and laughed and told stories about Sara. When we’d all
had our fill of dinner, we retired to the living room for a round of Parcheesi while we digested. Sara won, although I suspected everyone let her.

  I came in second.

  After the game, Martha called Rebecca and me to the dining room. Ida joined us. Within moments we had the dinner dishes cleared and cake plates out. Everyone else filed into the room, and Martha brought in the lit cake, all five layers of it.

  I half expected the weight of it to send her toppling over, but after a lifetime of manual labor, Martha had untold brawn beneath her sleeves.

  Applause broke out as she approached the table. Elam and Rebecca teased Sara about the flavors, throwing out potential candidates, such as licorice, pork roast, twigs, and bark.

  The latter two were suggested by Elizabeth.

  As we sang Sara “Happy Birthday,” my eye caught something through the kitchen window. I dismissed it as one of the animals on the farm. Sara opened her gifts one by one—fancy molded soaps from Rebecca, a new pair of shoes from Gideon and Martha, a set of thimbles from Elam, a new dress from Ida. Sara’s face lit up when she lifted the fabrics from the gift bag I’d chosen.

  “Do you like them?” I asked, although there wasn’t much I could do if she didn’t.

  “Very much,” she answered, hugging them to her slim body. Something moving outside the window caught my attention again. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw Levi in the darkness.

  I went to bed that night, warm from the time of family happiness and yet aching in my heart. I didn’t want to leave the farm. Not ever.

  With the weather just beginning to warm up, Martha spent the majority of her day in the vegetable garden.

  I watched from the window and spent a moment envying her ability to provide for her family through the work of her hands. I felt the familiar wrench in my chest at the calm in her life, the lack of distractions, how much purer things were in the shelter of the farmhouse.

  Why couldn’t I be like that? Why couldn’t I keep my apartment clean? I didn’t even have children, and clutter still accumulated. My quilt looked like a child’s attempt, and I wasn’t about to garden anytime soon.