by Sarah Price
Amanda covered her face with her hands, embarrassed. What would people think? She replayed his words in her head and realized that, with a great degree of cleverness, he had said nothing but insinuated everything. Was he expecting their relationship to become something more? Was she?
She watched the rest of the interview, but the interviewer focused more on his recent album and tour dates, his inspirations for his songs, and his plans for a next album. After his ten-minute interview, the show switched to commercials and that was the end of Viper’s part in the afternoon talk show.
Stunned by what she had just watched, she hurried to turn off the television. She was replaying the interview in her head, scared and excited at the same time. She had never watched a television show before, outside of the few times she had been to stores run by Englischers and caught a glimpse of a television on behind the counter or hanging from the wall or above an aisle. Frankly, she had never given them much thought.
It was amazing to her that, right now, Alejandro was somewhere else but had also just been in the room with her. Truly magical in nature, she decided. Yet, she also knew the danger of such worldliness. It separated families and exposed them to more of the world than they needed to be privy to. Right now, as far as she knew, hundreds of thousands of people had watched that interview and heard him basically tell them that he was no longer “single,” insinuating that she was his girl and was traveling by his side.
But I am, she thought, the realization strange and surreal.
Unlike the Amish way, Alejandro didn’t want to hide their relationship. Yet, Amanda didn’t really understand what their relationship was. True, he had basically come out and admitted the fact that she was going to be traveling with him. The insinuation that he was no longer single . . . well, she couldn’t quite figure that one out. Of course, he had kissed her that day and he had flown halfway around the world to rescue her. In a way, how else could she look at it? She knew that the Englische world had a different way of courting. Perhaps, she thought, this is courting among the Englische after all!
When she had turned sixteen, she had gone to her first singing. It was held at a neighbor’s farm after Sunday worship. Sister Anna accompanied her and for that Amanda was grateful. She hadn’t really wanted to go, but her mother had insisted. It was expected, her mother had explained. With that, there was no further argument from Amanda.
It wasn’t the singing that Amanda dreaded. It was the post-singing ritual of young men asking if a particular girl would ride home in their buggy. She knew that it was one of those situations when nothing good would come from it. If a boy asked her, she’d have to say yes or risk offending him. That might set off a firestorm of gossip and make other boys fearful of asking her. However, if she said yes, she risked the boy thinking that she was interested in him. She could quickly find herself having just turned sixteen and courting someone she didn’t particularly care for!
Of course, there was another potential situation. No one would ask her to ride home. She’d have to walk . . . alone and by herself. If other buggies passed her on the road, they’d know for sure and certain that she hadn’t been asked by any of the boys. Other boys might wonder why and, once again, gossip would spread.
So Amanda had a plan. She had no intentions of courting an Amish boy. Not yet, anyway. They were all so plain and boring, she thought. They never seemed to talk or have much to say. They certainly didn’t make her heart flutter or her pulse quicken as she imagined from the few romance books she had read.
The plan was to leave early, sneak out, and walk home before the buggies left. No one would see her and no one would know. Yet, when it came time to do so, she felt a hand on her arm and, with a heavy heart, knew that her plan had been thwarted.
It was Benjamin Yoder, and he had been waiting at the door, looking for the opportunity to ask her for a ride home in his new courting buggy. Amanda hesitated, probably long enough for him to realize that she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of being seen in a courting buggy.
Unlike other Amish girls, Amanda was not one to bow her head and go along with the order of things. She tended to question the reasons behind decisions and study the world around her.
“That’s fine, Benjamin,” she said reluctantly. “For the company and all, I reckon.”
He didn’t reply to her reluctant acceptance but led her through the summer night toward his awaiting buggy. He put out his hand to help her up. She barely touched it. When he sat next to her, he slapped the reins on the horse’s back and the buggy jerked forward. For the next fifteen minutes, neither spoke, merely listening to the sound of the wheels humming along the road and the horse’s shod hooves clapping against the macadam.
By the time the phone rang again, she realized that she had been pacing the room and it was close to five o’clock.
“Hello?”
“Princesa!”
It was Alejandro. His enthusiasm was contagious, and immediately she smiled as she turned away from the desk, the cord wrapped around her waist as she stared out the window. “Alejandro!”
“Did you see the interview?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I did, ja!”
“And you are blushing right now thinking about it, sí?”
She didn’t respond.
“I thought so,” he said, chuckling. “Don’t read too much into it, Princesa. It is . . .” He hesitated, searching for the right words to explain it to her. “It’s what they want. It is our plan, sí? To get you back home . . . wherever we decide that is.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her reaction to his words. No one had ever spoken to her like that. He cared about what she wanted and had determined that it was a joint decision. She could tell that he, too, was as perplexed as she was. Yet, he cared enough to decide the future with her, not for her.
“Now, Princesa,” he said, his voice low. She could tell that other people were surrounding him by the way he sounded, muffled and soft. He didn’t want others to overhear their conversation. That much was obvious. “I will be at the hotel for you in . . .” He hesitated, and she knew that he was checking his watch for a time. “Two hours from now. You relax, take a nice warm bath, and get dressed in whatever Lucinda told you to wear. Tonight we will go for dinner and an evening of dancing, sí?”
“Dancing?” She was horrified at the thought.
But he laughed at her. “Sí, dancing. Nice dancing.” Again, he lowered his voice. “Like that day at the farm. Slow and beautiful.” He paused. “Like you are today and will be this evening.”
“Alejandro,” she breathed, wishing she could tell him to slow down and stop, but the way that her heart raced told her otherwise. If she had questioned whether she had fallen for him before, his gentle words pulled her further down that abyss of emotion that she had never felt until this day. “I’m . . .”
“You what?” he asked breathlessly from the other end of the phone.
“I’m not like those women!”
Silence.
And then he chuckled. The sound of his laughter teased her on the edge of the phone, but there was no hint of malice. “Ay, mi madre, Princesa,” he murmured. “If you were, you would not be where you are tonight.”
“Alejandro?” She didn’t understand what he meant, but he didn’t have time to explain it to her.
“I shall see you in two hours. You be yourself and let me handle the rest, sí? That is all that I ask.” And with that, the conversation was over and the phone went dead in her hand.
Chapter Four
She was waiting for him in the lobby when seven o’clock chimed on the imposing grandfather clock near the reception desk. She wasn’t certain where, exactly, she was supposed to meet him, but she couldn’t spend another minute in the room alone. She was nervous, standing there near the main entrance, looking around as she fidgeted in her new shoes. Lucinda had merely shaken her head at her final cho
ice of black shoes, telling her that higher heels were more in style. But Amanda had insisted, telling Lucinda that she needed to be able to walk after all.
She had followed his directions and taken a long bath in the big Jacuzzi in her room. She had put bubble-bath salts into the water and had laughed when the bubbles overflowed over the edges. She had washed her hair, using the fancy products that Lucinda had left for her, and when it came time to dry it, she had tried to figure out how to use the hair dryer on the wall. She had never used one before but had heard about them from her friends. It was something unusual, different, and, in her opinion, unnecessary. But she was determined to give it a try.
To her surprise, her waist-length hair looked silkier and fuller than ever before. She stared at herself in the mirror, letting her hair sway back and forth until humility got the best of her. Quickly, she pinned it back into a bun, shocked at the fullness and size that it had become . . . just from using the Englischer products.
Now, as she stood in the lobby, her feet hurting in the shoes that pinched her toes and her legs stinging from having used that terrible razor that Lucinda had left her, she felt like a duck out of water. What am I doing here? she asked herself for the hundredth time.
And then she heard him.
Rather, she heard the murmur of the people in the lobby as he approached her, a group of men surrounding him. He was in the lead, but he was not alone. He wore a black suit and a black shirt, all of a shiny satin-type material. In his coat pocket was a handkerchief of red, the only color on his person. He wore his dark sunglasses, despite the fact that it was not bright inside the hotel and the sun was setting outside the tinted windows.
When she turned to greet him, she had no words.
Nor did he. For a moment, he hesitated, stopped in his tracks. Quickly, he composed himself and continued toward her, acting as if he had not noticed the transformation. With the form-fitting black dress and the relatively high heels, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, with the hint of blush upon her cheeks, she was just . . . beautiful.
“Amanda,” he murmured as he embraced her in a light yet not intimate hug. “You are magnificent.”
She didn’t respond.
He held her at arm’s length, admiring the transition. “Dios mío,” he murmured, his eyes glistening with approval as they traveled down her body, taking in her new dress and shoes. “Had I only known . . .”
She tilted her head and stared at him. “Had you only known what?”
He lifted his chin and smiled at her, just a hint, expressing his pleasure. “If I had only known that you were so lovely, I would have kept you on the farm so that I would not have to share you with the world.” He paused and, after just a few seconds, leaned forward to brush his lips against her cheeks, first the left, then the right. “I would share you with no one, Princesa.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her voice light as a breath of air.
“But tonight,” he said, glancing over his shoulders at his companions, “I share you with everyone.” He held her hand and lifted her arm in the air. “I introduce you to Amanda, the most famous Amish woman in the world,” he pronounced. The men nodded in approval, and Amanda shut her eyes, feeling a mixture of pride and humiliation at the announcement.
“Never you mind, Princesa,” he whispered in her ear. “These men are here to protect both of us. They are on our team, sí?”
“If you say so,” she responded slowly.
It was a dream. From the ride in the caravan of black SUVs to the restaurant to the way that they were greeted, everything felt distant and fuzzy, as if she were asleep back at the farm and imagining the entire evening. Alejandro was nothing short of extremely attentive to her, ignoring the gawking fans and stolen photos from the people in the restaurant. When people asked for his autograph, he obliged. When they asked for hers, he gestured them away but always with a smile.
The dinner took place in a dark restaurant with candles burning on the table and crystal candelabras hanging overhead. He ordered for her, teasing her with an appetizer of oysters and a lobster dinner. When it arrived, she had laughed, remembering that night in the hospital when he had surprised her with a seafood feast, alarmed that she had never seen a cooked lobster before that night.
As he had done that evening, he split the lobster and fed her forkful after forkful. She had delighted in the attention and his pleasure in seeing her blush.
“You color the most beautiful red when you are embarrassed,” he had whispered.
“I’m not embarrassed,” she replied but didn’t even sound convincing to herself.
“And now you lie,” he replied, enjoying the easy banter back and forth. “But it is a pleasant lie, one that shows me your heart.”
She couldn’t stop herself from changing the subject. “What did that interview mean today, Alejandro? Why did you want me to watch it?”
“Um,” he said, wiping at his mouth with his napkin. “You saw, sí? It was a good interview, don’t you think?”
This time, she laughed. “I have never seen television before or an interview. Both were amazing, ja. But I don’t understand.”
He switched from one mode to another, transitioning as if nothing had transpired. “That is what you will need to get used to, Princesa. More of that type of attention. We will face the media in such a way, headfirst. Eventually, by giving them everything . . . which is nothing . . . they will move on.”
Nothing. The word stabbed at her heart, and she felt a wave a disappointment. Was that what this was? A complete act? Nothing?
“What is wrong?”
He had noticed her reaction. She couldn’t hide it. It was never her way to avoid such confrontation. That simply wasn’t her way.
“I am nothing?”
He looked alarmed and reached for her hand. “That’s not what I meant, Amanda.”
“What did you mean, then?” She licked her lower lip, feeling emboldened by his stare. “I am not used to this, Alejandro, and you know that I . . .”
“You what?”
“Well,” she stammered. If confrontation wasn’t her way, discussing emotions was not an Amish way either. But she knew that she had to move forward and take the plunge to tell him what she was thinking. “You know what I felt that day in the buggy. I am conflicted right now. Torn between being petrified and excited about what you are doing for me.”
Releasing her hand, he leaned his elbow on the table and rubbed at his upper lip with his finger, studying her and her reaction. She wished that she knew what he was thinking and prayed that she hadn’t been too forward. His eyes darted around the room, as if trying to see who was nearby and might overhear. When he determined that it was safe, he took a deep breath and moved closer to her. “You are not nothing to me, Amanda. If you were nothing, I would not have returned for you. Surely you know that.”
She chewed her lower lip and averted her eyes.
“But I am making you no promises. I will not dishonor you, not in the way that would make you unacceptable should you choose to go home,” he continued. He waited until she looked at him. “I respect you too much for that.”
She inhaled sharply. She remembered far too well that particular conversation from the day on her parents’ porch. On the one hand, it clarified his expectations. There were none in regard to dishonoring her virtue. Of that, she could feel confident and safe. Yet, on the other hand, she once again found herself feeling a tinge of disappointment. What made her so different from the other women that he had been with? What made him so willing to spend the evening with them but not with her?
He hesitated and frowned, contemplating how to tell her the rest. “But I must tell you that the world will not believe that our relationship is . . . innocent, and I will not try to convince them otherwise. It is, indeed, what will be necessary to satisfy their need for gossip so that they can move on. I thought I had mad
e that clear.”
Understanding better, she nodded.
“Now,” he said, his jovial nature back and the solemn Alejandro disappearing. “Let’s enjoy tonight, sí? After all, we don’t know what tomorrow brings.” He clapped his hands and, to her surprise, a woman appeared. “Wine, I think. A nice cabernet. Whatever is the best in the house.”
She leaned forward and whispered, “I can’t drink wine!”
He frowned, but there was no malice in his expression. “A taste of wine will not hurt, Amanda. Even Jesus drank wine. Remember,” he said, leaning forward, “I will let nothing happen to you. I am here to protect you.”
When the glass of red velvet liquid was set before her, Amanda stared at it, horrified. Wine? Alcohol? She had never even contemplated such a thing. But when Alejandro raised his glass toward hers, lingering expectantly, she followed suit and, with a trembling hand, raised her own.
“Cheers, Princesa,” he announced, knowing full well that people were watching them. “Cheers to an amazing new adventure for both of us.” He sipped at the wine and set his glass down on the table.
Following his lead, she sipped at the liquid, feeling it burn down her throat. At first, she didn’t like the taste. There was a fruity taste to it, but if she didn’t like it initially, she found that a second sip helped change her mind. It was different, and she would be careful. But it was lovely, nonetheless. And Alejandro was correct, after all. Hadn’t Jesus’s first miracle been turning water into wine at the wedding feast he attended with his mother at the little village of Cana, in Galilee?
“That’s my girl,” he purred, smiling at her from behind the dark glasses that shielded his eyes.
She began to feel more brazen, more comfortable with the dark ambience and isolation. She took another sip of wine and tried to enjoy how it slid down her throat. Within seconds, her body felt lighter. “Why, Alejandro?”