Temptation (A Temptation Novel)

by Karen Ann Hopkins

  “Whoa—that’s crazy! Do they do that every Sunday?” I pushed for more information.

  “I think they may take a Sunday off each month. But that reminds me, Mr. Miller invited us over to join the evening youth supper and singing tonight.” The way he said it, all nonchalantly, I was sure he knew how excited I’d be about it.

  “For real, tonight?” I was nearly jumping out of my skin.

  “He said the food would be served at six o’clock and the singing would start at seven.”

  I started to think it was too good to be true and suspiciously grilled Dad. “Why would he want us to come over? From everything I’ve seen, they don’t seem to like outsiders around.”

  “That’s simple enough to figure out. I think Mr. Miller wants to introduce the new doctor in town to his community. It’s a reasonable assumption anyway,” he said humbly.

  Excitement rising again, I asked the big question. “Are we going?”

  “I think it would be rude not to, but I’m on call tonight, so I may have to leave early.”

  In a swift motion I jumped up, kissed him on the forehead and flung the screen door open.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, looking startled.

  “To wake up the barbarians and tell them about tonight.”

  * * *

  Here I was again, walking through the mowed green field under the buttery sunshine of late evening, contemplating if I’d worn the right thing. I had been extremely conflicted. Should I wear my comfortable khakis or do I go all out and wear a dress? I even stooped to the level of taking a vote from the three men in the house. Not that they cared that much about what I wore, but they played along anyway. In the end, it was two to one, with Dad and Sam in favor of the dress, and Justin going for the pants.

  Then I had to decide on the dress; obviously, not a short one. It came down to a long, flowing brown one or a sort of long black party dress. In the end, I put on the sleeveless brown one and judged that it had a beachy-tropical look, which I liked, and it was almost to my ankles, ultimately giving it the win.

  I left most of my hair down, with just a few strands from the sides pulled back lightly with a leather barrette. On my feet I wore simple mocha-colored sandals, trimmed with turquoise.

  The only jewelry I had on was a tiny golden cross that had belonged to Mom, and it rested in the center of my chest.

  Overall, I felt extremely girlish. I usually didn’t wear dresses unless forced to for some function or event that required it, but I was surprised that I felt pretty comfortable in this one at the moment.

  Glancing at my guys, I had to admit they looked pretty good, too. Dad was wearing his usual casual dress clothes, totally expected and not shocking at all. But Sam and Justin both had on tan Dockers and button-up dress shirts that made them look like youth models for the JCPenny catalog.

  Even before we crossed the bridge, I could see Amish people everywhere. Babies, toddlers, little kids, big kids, teenagers, adults, elderly—every age group was represented. As we approached, I noticed a group of little girls playing on the supersize swing set. Their pretty dresses were in varying subdued colors, flapping in the breeze, reminding me of Easter eggs. And their bright white caps fit their heads so snugly that they didn’t budge at all with the motion of the swinging, as if they were extensions of the girls’ bodies.

  Close to the swings was a larger group of preteen girls standing together quietly. They appeared to be watching the littler girls, and they were wearing mostly the same colors as them, although a few sported dark maroon and hunter-green dresses.

  Groups of little boys, pretty much identical in appearance from their haircuts to the perfect little-man clothes they all wore, were scattered about chasing each other. I thought I might have seen one of Noah’s brothers run by but certainly wouldn’t bet any money on it. With this group, I wouldn’t have been able to pick one out in a police lineup.

  My eyes finally wandered to the gang of about fourteen teenage boys who were hanging out near the barn, trying to look cool, idly leaning against the white boards. Some wore that bland blue that dress shirts usually sported, while others had on sand-colored ones. The shirts were all long sleeved and every one of the guys had on matching black vests. Studying them, I decided they all had a sort of self-important quality about them that vexed me—until I saw him.

  My pulse quickening, I spotted Noah easily. He was one of the tallest boys in the group and he was lounging like the rest of them, with one leg propped up on the barn. He hadn’t noticed me yet, so I had a few seconds of privacy to drool over him. He was one of the guys wearing a sand-colored shirt, and it complemented his dark ruffled hair in a very hot way.

  I fretted over whether he would be happy to see me here, as my sight strayed to where the teenage girls were gathered near the house. They were standing neatly in a long line, as if they were waiting for something to happen. The dresses and caps they wore mimicked the younger girls’, but that’s where the resemblance ended. The littlest girls were playing and having some fun. The preteen girls were standing in a group, talking a bit, but definitely starting to take on a more disciplined approach to life. In contrast, the girls my age exhibited no personalities whatsoever. They were standing silently and without expression, unnaturally so. It was difficult to tell them apart at a glance, but a few were taller or shorter, bringing my eyes to settle on them for an instant longer.

  Continuing to roam my eyes around the quaint setting intently, I tried to commit the unusual sight to memory. My initial assumption had been that the main differences between Amish culture and the rest of the world were the obvious ones, the way they dressed, not using electricity or driving cars, things like that. But the cultural divide was much deeper than that. As I absorbed and scrutinized what I was witnessing, it became apparent that the subtle differences were the ones that separated our worlds the most. There was a lack of sound you wouldn’t expect from a gathering this size; no yelling, calling out or loud laughing. The totally pent-up emotions of everyone over eight was creepy. But what bugged me the most was the division between the sexes. Don’t these women know that we fought for and won equality?

  While I was inwardly ranting, something else caught my attention, causing me to scan everyone in the crowd twice before I realized I must have entered another dimension or alternate reality. Most of the little boys and almost every girl, from toddler to teenager, were barefoot! The girls’ perfectly clean, pressed and tailored appearance ended at their feet. And they weren’t discriminating about where they walked either—barn dirt mixed with horse manure, gravel, hot pavement, none of it seemed to bother their rhino-hide feet at all. I could barely walk across a driveway without wincing the entire time.

  Seeing the enormous number of children, and the teenage girls lined up with their modest dresses and bare feet, invited a slight grimace to my mouth, thinking that these women took the whole barefoot-and-pregnant thing seriously. And then I did see a very pregnant woman, holding a toddler on her hip, and yep, she was very barefoot. I had to cover my mouth to hide the uncomfortable giggle.

  That was the exhilarating and terrifying moment when all the Amish seemed to notice us—including Noah, whose stunned eyes traveled over me from head to toe and back up again, with a swift examination. For an instant his mouth dropped open slightly and then, regaining his composure, he averted his eyes. But all the other boys certainly didn’t, and neither did the girls or even the adults scattered in among the young people. They were all staring at us wide-eyed as we walked past the barn and toward the house. If I thought it was quiet before, now you could have heard a pin drop.

  I suddenly felt completely and ridiculously out of place. But then I caught Sarah’s attention, and without hesitation, she came forward, took my hand and pulled me toward the waiting girls. I inclined my head to watch Sam sauntering toward Noah’s group. Justin met up with Peter and Daniel and they darted off together to join a bunch of boys in the shed. Dad had completely disappeared.

&nb
sp; I abruptly realized I was abandoned. If Noah had been with me, I would have been fine, but surrounded by all this strangeness, I felt alone and self-conscious as I forced a smile at the waiting girls.

  “This is Rose, our new neighbor,” Sarah told the group, and the orderly wall line folded in around me. Sarah was pretty perky now, and with enthusiasm she began telling me all the girls’ names. If I were tested on them, I would have failed miserably for sure.

  A few of the girls’ names and faces did register with me, though. Maretta was a short, pudgy brunette who beamed at me with a huge smile. Suzanna had the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen, with a few wisps of white-blond hair escaping from her cap. She had a devilish grin on her face, making me think that some of these girls might not always be as reserved as they first appeared to be.

  Then there was Ella. A feeling of instant dislike struck me when I was introduced to her. She was Katie’s younger sister, and while she wasn’t quite as pretty as Katie, with her doelike hazel eyes, she was close. Unlike her sister, she had a meanness about her that I immediately picked up on—almost as if she hated me, even though she didn’t know me. She put on a friendly show for the others, but something about the way her eyes narrowed and her brows knit together for a fraction of a second told me that she was undeniably no friend of mine.

  For the next few minutes, I answered a variety of questions from the curious girls. How old are you? Where did you used to live? How old is your brother (meaning Sam)? Do you drive a car? All of which I responded to simply, keeping my answers short and sweet.

  Saving me from the interrogation was a middle-aged woman, also barefoot, ordering the girls to come in and get the tables ready for supper. Sarah tugged on my arm and I joined the succession of girls into the house and down the steps to a vast, fully finished basement.

  I had to admit I was impressed, surveying the dozen extra-long tables set up in neat rows and bordered by long, simple wooden benches. The tables were covered with white plastic cloths and the smells floating around the space triggered me to lick my lips.

  The girls made their way to a fully appointed kitchen in the corner of the room. Like a very well-oiled assembly line, they began their task. It started with a couple of girls putting ice into the cups, several more pouring the water and then the remaining girls carrying the cups out to the tables, setting them at perfect two-foot intervals.

  The women were also working seamlessly together, carrying trays and large pots of food to the buffet-style table at the near side of the room. The sight of about fifteen pies on the end of the table dropped my jaw—chocolate, cherry, apple, cream, to name just a few, were waiting to be cut into.

  Yes…I had some issues with Amish society, but the food wasn’t one of them. These ladies knew how to cook and bake. I was anxious to sit down and begin, until I recalled the dining experience with Noah’s family. I breathed heavily, suddenly deflated. Sarah heard me as she walked by and, slowing, she questioned me with her eyes. I smiled slightly and shrugged, following her into the kitchen area where the other girls were lining up neatly, along with the women and little girls.

  Silently and working hard to stay motionless, I stood between Sarah and Suzanna, observing the procession of men and boys stroll into the food line. In front were the older ones and Dad was among them, conversing with a long-bearded gentleman I hadn’t seen before. The younger guys were crowded in at the back with some structure but not the organization that the girls exhibited.

  Again, I didn’t have to look hard to see Noah. He towered over the other boys. Well, ’cept for Sam, but he was a freak and didn’t count. When Noah walked into the basement, I saw him carefully scan the room, until his eyes met mine. After gracing me with a sly grin, he quickly glanced away. My body heated up at his look, and I willed the blush to stop spreading across my face. At the same time, the pleasurable feeling that Noah had started in me was tantalizing my senses, a trace of the hair on my neck went up, and I was compelled to search down the line of girls, finally meeting Ella’s face. She was staring at me with pure loathing.

  Bingo. Now I got it. Ella had a thing for Noah, and she’d seen the looks he’d been giving me. Unease settled into my bones while I dissected the information. The Amish got married relatively young, and Ella was probably two years older than me, making her all too ready to tie the knot with the best-looking Amish guy in the community, especially with Katie marrying Noah’s brother.

  The way she regarded me was bordering on sinister, finally giving me the first taste of what Noah and I were up against. His parents had already given Jacob the green light to marry into that particular family, so they must approve of them. That meant they’d support Katie’s younger sister hooking up with Noah, and probably even push for it if they knew Ella was interested.

  So how could Noah possibly pick me? How could a relationship of any kind work at all? Why was I even wasting my time with all these goofy romantic feelings for a guy I was doomed to never be with? But then, my eyes made their way back to him and he was closer now, having moved up in the line, while I’d been distracted. He was joking with Sam about something and they were both laughing. How unfair that was! Sam got to talk to him and stand next to him and look at him, while I was stuck here like a Grecian statue, starving and receiving nasty looks from one of Noah’s admirers.

  As if Sam could read my mind, he glanced over at me, and immediately an obnoxious twist appeared on his mouth. Then the jerk had the nerve to raise his hand and wave. I breathed deeply in fury and was close to marching over there and smacking him, when my peripheral sight caught Noah’s eyes, thick with warning. He actually tilted his head a tad and set his jaw—as if he was commanding me to behave.

  Before I could act on the violent rage developing in the pit of my being, Sarah took my hand, guiding me along with the other girls to the end of the line. As much as I detested not responding to Sam’s rude display, I did just that, reluctantly being pulled along by Sarah.

  After filling my plate, I drifted over to the teenage-girl table, noting that I had more food piled on my plate than any of the other girls. Oh, well, until I started gaining weight, I was going to enjoy all the good cooking I could eat. After all, it was about the only thing these girls were allowed to do.

  Funny, the young men’s table was right beside ours, and without even wasting a glance in that direction, I had walked by, feeling not only Noah’s eyes on me, but several other pairs of eyes also. Now sitting with my back to the guy table, I could still sense the penetrating look coming from Noah. To test my supernatural powers of observation, I eyed over my shoulder, subtly as I could manage, and then briskly straightened again after seeing that I was right. Noah was staring at me, sending a shiver through my limbs and a jolt to my heart.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Rose?” It was Suzanna with the same sparkle in her eyes I had seen earlier, bringing me back to my senses.

  “Nope—and I don’t want one either,” I said, hoping Noah had heard. I was still miffed that he could control me with a menacing look.

  “I’ve heard English girls have multiple boyfriends at once,” Ella commented sarcastically without tearing her attention away from her fried chicken.

  “Gee, I have a lot of English friends and none of them attempt to juggle more than one boyfriend at a time,” I shot back without thinking. I stared hard at her, hoping she’d raise her face. But she didn’t—lucky for her.

  Several of the girls giggled, letting their quiet and reserved demeanor drop for a second.

  “Is it true that you dance?” Maretta asked in a hushed voice, as if she feared she’d be overheard. I was happy for the change of subject, though.

  Before I answered, the girls all leaned in to me to hear better, paying close attention. I had a flashback to when I was fourteen, and Olivia Hemmer had gone into great detail about her first sexual encounter with her boyfriend to a group of us at a slumber party. This was so bizarre. I was only going to talk about dancing, but these girls were focused on wha
t I was about to say with the same intensity that my friends and I’d had listening to Olivia.

  Not wanting to disappoint the crowd, and fighting a grin, I said in a mysterious voice, “Yes, it is true, I’ve been dancing since I was nine.”

  “What kind of dancing?” a girl, one whose name I couldn’t remember, asked.

  “Oh, mostly ballet and jazz, and I used to be on a dance team. We would travel all around the country competing and winning,” I answered, finishing the last bite of the delicious, creamy peanut-butter pie, which I couldn’t resist eating before the main meal.

  This time it was Sarah’s question, again in a whisper. “Is it true that you wear a bikini for the performances?”

  Maybe it was the way she asked it or the question itself, but I burst out laughing, causing the loudest noise in the crowded room. Seeing several adult men and women whirl around to locate the source of the noise, I promptly pulled it back in, covering my mouth with my hand.

  Clearing my throat, I replied in the calmest voice I could muster, “No, I don’t wear a bikini when I dance. I wear costumes that allow me to move freely.”