by Naomi Niles
Sean seemed at last satisfied with his work, or perhaps it was the impending release he could no longer hold back. He let go of the brush and I heard it tap the floor. He placed his hands on either side of my head for leverage, catching my wrists within his grasp. His mouth came down on mine as his body began to move faster within me. I fed off his kisses, sucking hard upon his tongue. His mouth ranged over my face, my ears, and down my throat. He was lunging hard and deep into me now and he took a nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue as his intensity increased. My head rolled from side to side as I could feel my climax beginning. He knew it and impaled me beneath himself.
My spasms hit, as did his, and the result was an elevation of the stars that shot across the ceiling. I found another world, another reality that consisted only of sensation. I heard him in the distance, a raw cry of release and conquest, whether of me, or of himself. The intensity of feeling held me in its grip—over and over my spasms subsided and then plunged me deeply into that starlit oblivion. I shuddered and tears began to pour down my cheeks: not of sadness or defeat, but of submission. It was a submission to all that I held untouchable within myself. Sean lay over me, holding me against his chest until my body quieted. I heard a whisper in my ear but was too overcome to comprehend what he’d said. He rolled off of me and after studying his handiwork, he bent and kissed the fluids off my pubic area, using a cloth from a nearby stack to sponge off the rest. I was touched by his tenderness. He dried the tears from my cheeks and held out his hand so I could sit up. I was shaking and weak from the intensity of the experience we’d shared.
Sean turned me so that I was sitting naked on the edge of the table. He wrapped himself around me for warmth and then slowly retrieved my clothing and dressed me.
He put away the light, cleaned up his littered brushes, and locked the door behind us as he left. It was the same bay, the same locks, the same ceiling… but I was forever changed. I hadn’t told him about the baby. I took away his future… and perhaps my own.
Chapter 29
South Bend was a college town, home to Notre Dame University. Like most college towns, the streets were named for the mascot and it was filled with fast food restaurants and motels for parents who drove hundreds of miles to watch a football game. Although this was late spring, there was still traffic clogging the streets. The students would be leaving soon and then the town could rest.
I had called Dad and told him about what I’d found in the envelope. There had been a plane ticket, an expense voucher, and a list of instructions from the board.
They were an odd bunch, it seemed. Made up of old money, they took interest in a variety of odd projects and used their position of media power to expand awareness, or perhaps garner support, for their private causes.
I was being sent this time to study the Amish people of northern Indiana. I was to stay a minimum of six months, from planting through harvest, and live among them as much as possible. The board, it seemed, had gotten it into their heads that they wished to build a colony in upstate New York, modeled after the Amish morals and knowledge. I knew that the people for whom I worked were an eccentric bunch—certainly this assignment was proof of that. I also had no idea why they felt they could disrupt my entire life for a long period of time, but they were writing the check. Perhaps they would choose to live in their version of Amish-land themselves in retirement; perhaps they wished others to live there and they would watch them as one would study an ant farm.
Either way, I had been charged with the assignment and I had to admit, it certainly sounded interesting. As a reporter, I knew to get outside New York City would be a must. Print was dying and the on-the-scene reports were critical to advancing in my industry. I just never thought that northern Indiana would be a hotspot.
There was one thing, however, that I could not deny. This could not have come at a better time for me personally. By having a valid excuse to be away from home for a prolonged length of time, I was giving myself the freedom to have my baby without interference from Dad or Sean. I wasn’t sure I could mentally handle all that telling them now would entail. It would force so many hands. This way, if I was lucky, I would have a smooth birth in a place that was disconnected from the world and when the baby was here, we could go back to New York City and deal with the fallout. So, in that sense, my assignment of what felt like banishment was absolutely perfect.
Dad, on the other hand, was not as thrilled. “You what? You’re going to be gone half a year?”
“That’s right, Dad. It’s my job. I have to go where they send me, you know.
“Give me his name, your boss,” Dad ordered me.
“Dad, no. It’s okay. Look at it this way: I’ve been in the city my whole life, so it’s time I saw some of the rest of the world, and what better place than in the arms of the gentlest people in the country? I’ll be fine and when you see me this winter, I’ll be tanned, in great shape, and a whole lot more respectful.” Did I know my dad or not?
He was silent a moment and then answered. “Well… I’m going to miss you. That’s a long time.”
“Maybe it’s a time you can take to be young again, Dad. Don’t be my dad and don’t be the fire chief… not yet. Spend a little time with Carla. She’s in love with you, Dad. Give her some attention. You might just find that you heal faster!” I teased him and could picture him blushing.
“Enough of that now,” he blustered. “When are you leaving?”
“I’ve already gone, Dad. I knew you’d be ticked off and I couldn’t let you interfere. This is my life now; I need to live it.”
“You keep in touch, you hear?”
“I’ll do my best, Dad. I’ll write you letters. They don’t have electricity so I can’t keep my phone charged and they probably don’t even have cell coverage. If there’s an emergency, call the paper. They know exactly where I am.”
“How are you going to write if you can’t use your computer?”
“On paper, Dad. Remember? That white stuff with the lines?”
“Gwyne?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
“I will, Dad. I love you. Give Carla a kiss for me.”
I heard a different tone from Dad. He had changed since his surgery—becoming a bit more vulnerable and thoughtful. He had lost a touch of his bluster. Perhaps he had stared death in the face, or then again perhaps it was Carla’s loving, gentle presence that had softened him. One thing I knew—I was no longer the focus of all his hovering and that felt good. Overall, given the suddeness of my announcement, he had dealt with it better than I’d expected.
Sean was a different matter, entirely. I called him on his cell and he called me right back when he got to a private place.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”
“You were unbelievable.”
“You were pretty amazing yourself, my girl. I’ve got some time this weekend. Want to catch a movie?”
“It would be a long drive, Sean. I’m not home. I’m not even in New York City. I’m on assignment in Indiana.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
There was a long pause. “Tell me you’re pulling my leg, Gwyne.”
“I’m not.” I went on to explain my assignment and the news that I wouldn’t be back until winter. What he didn’t know was that I wouldn’t be coming back empty-handed. I needed him to not know… I needed him to take this time and consider his career. I wanted him to be without me for an extended length of time. When I went back to New York, he would have had some time to think about it. He would be able to weigh our relationship and me against his dream of being a firefighter. He had to make the decisions for himself; I couldn’t do that for him. It wouldn’t be fair.
I told him I would write, just as I had promised Dad. “This isn’t anything other than what the job dictated, Sean. Be who you need to be during this time that I’m away, and I’ll be an Amish. This winter, we’ll compare notes.”
“What the hell, Gwyne? You? Living as an Amish?”
“Don’t make me dread it any more than I already do, huh? This is what a reporter’s life is all about. You get sent out on long-term assignments. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but maybe you and I were at a place that we needed to step back and evaluate our options. I just didn’t expect something like this to come up. Talk about culture shock; I get why you feel out of place in the city.”
“It’s a lot like Iowa there, Gwyne. We have Amish communities there, too. It’s the ideal farming land.” My God, was he actually being supportive? Was this was having someone’s interest at heart all about?
“I know… I’ve been reading about it. Just stay put and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Want me to come out when I get a break?” His voice was filled with emotion and hurt. I knew I would feel the same way if the situation was reversed. We both knew this felt like a good-bye, and I had to let him think that for a painful interlude so that he would stay away.
“No. I’d rather not. It would be too hard to say goodbye a second time. Just keep busy and this time will pass quickly.” As much as I hated to say this, if he saw my condition, he’d step in and I’d lose my options.
He sounded hesitant, but he knew me well enough to know that I’d made up my mind.
“I’ll miss you,” he said simply and disconnected the line. I knew he was on the verge of very un-masculine tears and didn’t want me to hear it.
Chapter 30
The paper had placed me in the home of the Troyers, an Amish man and his granddaughter who paralleled my own life to a certain extent. Katie was his granddaughter and unmarried, having lost her own mother in childbirth. Nevertheless, it was a fairly peaceful community of moderate Amish views. Jacob Troyer was in advanced years and I knew when I met him that he was wise and well-respected in the community. There was a deference paid him and it put me in mind of the way the firefighters treated my own dad.
They welcomed me with gentle smiles and nods, Jacob saying he was honored that we would look to his values and faith as a role model for a community in upstate New York. While I sensed that an outsider was unusual to take in, I hoped I could be as unobtrusive as possible so as not to offend them.
I should have left my own clothes at home as Katie immediately escorted me to what would be my bedroom and there was a dress, apron, bonnet, and underthings of a true Amish woman. I felt at peace putting them on; it felt like a relief from so much that I’d left behind.
I’d read about the Amish while in school and thought they were a curious culture. Now, here I was, living in their midst and with a baby complicating the matter. I instantly picked up on the reverence and respect of their ways; it was obvious in their body language and actions. It was an unexpectedly pleasant change from the big city pace. Once again, I considered the higher power that gave me this timely opportunity.
Settling in took little time because the Troyers lived sparsely and their days seemed to be filled with little more than a succession of physical work designed to keep them isolated from the world at large. Their farm was fully operational and it was not only their work, but the source of income and food. I was struck by the vulnerability of it; there were no layers of people milling about—no fire trucks or police directing traffic jams. They simply didn’t have traffic. I felt innocent—more than they were, because I’d never considered what life was like outside the big city. It seemed I was about to learn far more about life.
It was spring and that meant storms in the Midwest. I noted through the window as I dressed that one was, indeed, approaching. I hurried to finish with the large buttons and joined Katie outside the kitchen door in the main yard.
As it turned out, it was a day that would change many lives and perhaps that was why the storm looked so fierce. Katie’s sweet, blue eyes were worriedly focused on the western sky as the boiling, charcoal clouds quickly obscured the afternoon sun. I could see her fearful stance as I approached her.
The Troyers evidently grew a great deal of corn as the young plants could be seen extending over the gentle rise of their fields. The corn had sprouted heartily, its stalks furiously waving away the storm in the rising wind. It threatened the order and bountiful peace of this bucolic community spread upon the sun-bathed and fertile fields of northern Indiana. It struck me that corn was not something that came in a can, but a support of daily lives here. Should something happen that their crop didn’t mature, they stood to lose painfully. I knew the Amish tended to help one another, but shuddered to think that something like that approaching storm could take out an entire community in one swipe.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Katie called for Jacob who, it appeared, must have gone to the dairy barn to carry out some chores.
He emerged at her summons, wiping his brow with a handkerchief as the humidity of the afternoon had turned the air, which was already unbearably hot for that time of year, into a steamy, bovine-fragrant damp cloud. He followed Katie’s pointing finger and frowned as he saw what would be soon descending upon them. A growl of thunder warned that the Troyers should see to their livestock, and quickly. I felt their alarm and as the daughter of a firefighter, I was called upon to act and help them.
Jacob motioned to his granddaughter and I to tend to the opened windows of the house and the freshly washed laundry hanging upon its lines while he hurried to finish milking and bring the horses under cover.
The wind was wrapping Katie’s skirt about her ankles, making it difficult to walk. It was necessary for her to lean forward into the wind to reach the clothes. Two of her caps had already escaped their pins and were tumbling across the grass into the flowerbed next to the kitchen garden. Katie frowned, knowing she would have to let them go in the rapidly-approaching maelstrom. I motioned to her to continue and went after them myself. I could feel the excitement rising in the coming storm and this was unlike anything I’d experienced in the city.
She quickly snapped the remaining articles from the clothesline, not bothering to fold or even set them into the basket. Arms loaded, she headed for the house with its recently painted exterior. It stood starkly white against the darkening sky, as if to proclaim its right to remain standing.
Just as we were about to enter the side door, a black buggy appeared. Passing in front of the house, the reigns smartly snapping in the wind as an Amish man was furiously trying to beat the storm. He tipped his hand from the brim of his hat. Katie nodded, her arms full and besides, apparently it would be unseemly to wave.
Indoors, Katie dropped the garments onto the beautiful, oak dining table and ran up the stairs to close the windows in the small, but cozy bedrooms I’d peeked into before coming downstairs earlier. Coming back down, she looked out and saw Daddy, as I’d also come to think of him, pulling one of the horses by the reins into the barn. The horse, who Katie told me was named Maizie, was upset and balking. She told me this was a bad sign because Maizie was one of their calmest animals and that she was Daddy’s favorite to use with the buggy on Sunday afternoons. I could tell she was self-conscious when she explained that when the English were in the area, out for Sunday drives, they often slowed to stare. Their cars sometimes startled the other horses, but Maizie was cool-tempered. From her hurried explanations, I had gathered that English was how the Amish community referred to as anyone not born and raised in their community.
Katie quickly saw to the other opened windows before we stepped out onto the porch and she began pushing the rockers tightly up against the house exterior. I helped her as she hurriedly moved the flower planters beneath the chairs, I supposed to help their blossoms survive the wind. “God is serious,” she told me. This much was becoming exceedingly clear.
Back inside, an horrific howl had begun and the glass in the windows protested as hail began to beat upon their panes. Katie and I peered out of the kitchen window and saw the barn doors standing open. Daddy was nowhere in sight and Katie shivered as she worried aloud that something was very wrong
. Suddenly, and with no thought for her own safety, Katie grabbed the laundry basket and, holding it over her head to protect herself from the onslaught of hail, ran for the barn. I grabbed a thick towel and followed her. We could hear Maizie’s frantic cries over the noise of the wind—something that scared us even more.
A bucket tumbled across the yard and struck Katie in the ankle, causing her to fall. The laundry basket was also blown from her grasp, and now she seemed stunned and unable to move her right ankle. I ran to her side but Katie had closed her eyes, apparently believing that God’s will had come to them. She began to softly sing one of their hymns, as if she might please God if she were about to go home. I couldn’t get her to budge, no matter how loudly I screamed. I finally tried to drag her but was worried for my baby. I hunkered down beside her and waited for the worst.
Her eyes tightly closed, as I listened, Katie began to sing a little louder, as if ensuring that God might hear her prayer. The wind grated our soft cheeks with a sheet of sand and tiny pebbles and Katie threw her arm upward over her face to protect herself. Her ankle had to be sending throbbing pain but she appeared in her religious fervor to no longer feel it. Even as I felt the fury of the storm overcoming us both, I could only marvel at the obvious reverence and comfort her religion gave her.
It came as some surprise when I suddenly felt the wind shift direction and lessen slightly. Katie lifted her arm away and ventured a peek, first at me, and then at the figure who stood next to us. A man’s face was looking concernedly down into hers and he was barely inches away. He was the Amish man I recognized driving by and whose name I later came to know as Mark Miller. He bent and lifted her, carrying her to set her inside, on the barn’s wooden, plank floor as I followed. As we watched, he turned and ran for the doors, pulling them shut and sliding the locking board into place.