Trading Secrets

by Melody Carlson

  I stroll down Main Street holding my head high and watching people milling about the town. I’m surprised to see a number of Amish people in the mix, and I wonder if Zach might possibly be one of them. What if he came to town to offer me a ride? But I don’t notice any Amish young men who resemble what I imagine my Zach looks like. Finally I approach a pair of older women who are looking at a bulletin board outside of a store.

  “Excuse me,” I say in a lowered voice that I hope sounds masculine. “Do you know where Brewster Road is?”

  “Sure do.” The shorter woman points down the street. “Turn left on Fifth Street right there and go a few blocks—about eight I think—and Brewster Road will intersect.” She peers curiously at me. “Are you new to Hamrick’s Bridge?”

  “Just visiting,” I say gruffly.

  “Brewster Road leads out to an Amish settlement,” the other woman tells me with a curious glance. “That where you’re headed?”

  “Yeah. Going to visit a friend.”

  “Are you Amish?” she asks with a doubtful expression.

  “Nah. But my friend is.” I tip my head in what I hope is a polite gesture. “Thanks.” Then before they have time to get suspicious, I continue on down the street. The temperature is in the low sixties and about perfect for a walk. I’m actually looking forward to the quietness of a country stroll. It will give me a chance to gather my thoughts and prepare myself for whatever lies ahead.

  As I walk down Brewster Road, I can hear the clip-clop sound of horse hooves on pavement, and I turn to see a black horse-drawn buggy slowly approaching. Because it’s moving slowly, it takes a while for it to reach me, but when it does, I glance inside to see an Amish couple sitting in the front. The woman has on the traditional white cap, which I know from Zach’s letters is called a kapp, as well as a black shoulder cape. But it’s her serious expression that catches my attention, and I wonder why she seems so glum. The man, wearing a dark jacket and straw hat, keeps his gaze straight ahead. It takes them a while to get ahead of me since I’m walking fast, but eventually they take the lead, and before long I can barely hear the horse’s hooves.

  According to Zach’s directions, I will reach Green Brush Lane when I’m about three miles out of town, and I’ll turn right on that road. After another couple of miles, I’ll see a black mailbox that says JD Miller on it—and that means I’m at Zach’s farm.

  The countryside around here is picturesque and beautiful. With white rail fences and tidy little farms, everything looks crisp and clean. Whether it’s a dark brown freshly plowed field or one that’s bright green with new growth, it all looks carefully tended. I take a number of photos on my phone and even do a selfie with several black-and-white cows behind me, which I send to Lizzie.

  Just as I come to Green Brush Lane, I hear more clip-clopping of hooves. This time it’s a buggy being pulled by a pair of handsome brown horses, and like me, they are turning onto this road. I’d love to take a picture, but I know that won’t be appreciated, so I control myself. Feeling a little nervous—could this be Zach and his family?—I glance inside the buggy and am relieved to see an elderly couple in front and several small kids in the back. The kids look as curiously at me as I look at them, and the youngest boy sticks out his tongue. Naturally I imitate the tot, and the other children break into peals of laughter.

  Green Brush Lane is a gravel road, but it seems well maintained. I pause to get a drink from my water bottle and realize that despite my earlier nerves, I’m starting to feel pretty hungry. I open my phone to discover that it’s already past 3:00, and I haven’t eaten since 8:00. Why didn’t I think to get something in town? I consider calling Lizzie but decide I might be wise to preserve my battery for as long as possible since I know I won’t be able to recharge it at Zach’s house. That is, if I’m even allowed in Zach’s house. I have no idea which way this is going to go.

  When I finally see a black mailbox that appears to be the Millers’, I decide to send up a quick prayer. “I know I might be doing this all wrong,” I confess, “but it’s only because I want to meet my friend Zach. Please help things to go well.” I mutter “Amen” as I look out over what looks like a freshly plowed field. Just like the other farms I passed on my way here, this one has a two-story white house with a red barn nearby.

  Feeling like an interloper, I turn down the gravel road that leads up to the Miller farm. Act like a guy, I keep telling myself. You can pull this off. My plan is to pass myself off to Zach’s family as Micah Knight, a seventeen-year-old guy from Cleveland. That way I won’t be such an embarrassment to Zach. Then, when I get a quiet moment with Zach, I will confess to him that I’m really a girl. Naturally, he’ll be shocked and dismayed, but I will at least have had a chance to meet him face-to-face.

  What I hadn’t counted on was how long it would take to get here. With the bus stopping at all the small towns along the way, the trip was longer than I expected. And walking these five or so miles has eaten up even more time. According to my phone, it’s well past 4:00 by the time I reach the front door. With a hand that’s slightly trembling, I reach up to pull my cap down lower on my brow and then knock, but before my knuckles touch the wood, the door flies open and a barefoot girl who looks to be about ten gapes up at me. “Are you Micah?” she says with wide-eyed interest.

  “Yes,” I say in my deep voice.

  “Come in,” she tells me. “Mamm,” she calls over her shoulder. “Zach’s English friend is here.”

  “Welcome,” a matronly woman tells me as she enters the room with a kitchen towel in hand. “You are Micah?”

  I nod nervously, reminding myself that this is true. I really am Micah.

  “Welcome to our home.” Although her words are hospitable, her expression seems cool and reserved. Almost as if she’s unsure of me. Hopefully she can’t see through my disguise already.

  “Thank you,” I mutter, looking down at my feet as if I’m shy.

  “I am Ada Miller,” she tells me. “And this here is Ruth.” She puts a hand on the girl’s bare head. That’s when I notice that neither of them is wearing the usual white bonnet. I want to ask why that is but know that would sound nosy.

  “Zach has told us about you,” Mrs. Miller says.

  “He said that I can help with the spring planting,” I say woodenly. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Ja, that will be good. If you like work.” She peers curiously at me. “Do you like work?”

  “Sure.” I make a nervous smile.

  “Zach and his daed are out in the south field,” she tells me. “They will work as long as the light allows.”

  “Want me to take Micah out there?” Ruth offers eagerly.

  “You want to go help them now?” Mrs. Miller looks uncertain.

  “Sure,” I say quickly. Right now I want to do anything to get out of here. I keep getting the feeling that she can see right through me.

  “Ruth,” Mrs. Miller says, “take Micah’s things to Zach’s room and get on your shoes.” I try not to gasp at the idea of my bag in Zach’s bedroom—or the possibility that she expects me to sleep there tonight if I stay. But before I can stop this madness, Ruth grabs my backpack and runs up the stairs. Now Mrs. Miller turns back to me. “Are you hungry after your long trip?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I confess. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” I feel like I’m sweating, and I’m not sure if it’s due to nerves or this warm house, but there’s no way I’m taking off my jacket.

  “Come,” Mrs. Miller commands. I follow her into a no-frills kitchen where she quickly rounds up some sugar cookies and a tall glass of what looks like whole milk. Even though I normally avoid sugary carbs and prefer almond milk to cow’s milk, I’m so hungry that I accept her offering. I’m just finishing up when Ruth returns with her black stockings, black shoes, and even her little white kapp in place.

  “Ready to go?” she asks hopefully.

  “Yes.” I set my empty glass in the big white sink, then turn to Mrs. Miller. “Thank you,
” I tell her. “That was delicious.”

  This almost seems to evoke a smile to her thin lips, but she says nothing. As I follow Ruth out the back door, I know that Zach’s mom is uneasy about my presence in their home. Perhaps it’s because I’m English. Or perhaps it’s because she’s worried I might be a bad influence on her son. Or perhaps it’s because she suspects I am not a boy—although I sure hope not!

  “How long have you been friends with Zach?” Ruth asks as we walk past the barn.

  “We were both eleven,” I tell her. “Probably about your age.”

  “I’m only ten,” she confesses. “Does your daed really fly in an airplane?” she asks quietly, almost as if this is a forbidden subject. “Up in the sky?” She points to the clear blue overhead.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “He does.”

  She looks both impressed and concerned. “Do you worry he will fall down out of the sky?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “Yeah. Sometimes I do.”

  She makes a shudder. “That must be scary.”

  “Yeah . . . but he’s a very good pilot,” I say. “He’s very careful and very safe.”

  “Oh . . . that’s good.”

  “There is our garden.” Ruth points to a fenced-off section of land. “Katy and Sarah are working in it now.” She calls out a greeting and two girls hurry over to the fence, staring curiously at me. They say something to each other and burst into giggles.

  “I know that Zach has four sisters,” I say to Ruth, still using my guy voice.

  “Ja. Hannah is the oldest,” Ruth holds up a finger. “She’s nineteen. She married Josiah last year. Then there is Katy. She’s the bigger girl in the garden. Katy is fourteen and she is almost done with school. Sarah, the other girl in the garden, is thirteen, and she is too bossy.” Ruth holds up a fourth finger. “And I’m the youngest of the girls.”

  “But you have two younger brothers, right?”

  “Ja. Jeremiah and Samuel—they are seven and four. Samuel was down for a nap, and Jeremiah is at Dawdi and Mammi’s house today.”

  “Dawdi and Mammi?” The words are familiar, from Zach’s letters, but it’s a little foggy. “Is that your grandparents?”

  “Ja.” Ruth points to what looks like another farm in the distance. “That’s their house over there.”

  “It must be nice having your grandparents so close by.”

  “Where are your dawdi and mammi?” she asks.

  “Far away,” I say slowly.

  “That’s too bad.” Ruth points in the other direction. “That is where Zach and Daed are working. See the horses pulling the plow? Daed’s planting corn in that field today.”

  “Yes,” I say nervously. “I do see them.” I stop walking and look at Ruth. “I can get there by myself just fine. Go ahead and go back to your house if you want. I’ll be okay on my own.”

  She looks uncertain, then nods a bit reluctantly. “Ja, you are right. Mamm needs my help fixing supper. I better go back.”

  “Thank you for helping me find them,” I say in my deep voice.

  She smiles up at me. “You are very welcome, Micah.” Then, giggling with her hands cupped over her mouth, she turns away and runs back toward her house.

  I take my time as I head toward the field where the horses and plow are slowly moving along. As badly as I want to see Zach, I’m not eager to get over there right now. Not with Zach’s father there to watch. I have to tell Zach the truth when no one else is around. It seems the kindest way to handle this. But right now my stomach is tied in knots.

  Feeling like a convicted man on his way to the gallows, I slowly plod toward them, hoping that Zach will spot me and come this way to meet me. As I get closer, I can see that although they are dressed similarly in dark pants with suspenders, blue shirts, and straw hats, it’s easy to tell them apart. Zach’s father has a brown beard—one of those funny beards that circle the chin like fringe. But it’s Zach who’s got my full attention. Taller than his father, I’m guessing he’s more than six foot. And the closer I get to them, the clearer it becomes that Zach is not a wimpy Amish boy. Not at all.

  Zach’s eyes light up when he sees me, and a handsome smile transforms his tanned face. “Micah?” he calls out, waving eagerly. “Is that you?”

  I wave back—smiling nervously and hoping that I don’t blow my cover too quickly. At least not while his father is looking on. And he definitely is.

  Zach races to me, and before I can say a word, he throws his arms around me, gathering me into a bear hug, and then, almost as if embarrassed, he releases me and steps back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “But it feels like my long-lost brother has arrived.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I say, and my voice cracks like an adolescent boy’s.

  He chuckles like this is funny and playfully punches me in the arm.

  “You do seem like my long-lost brother,” I say in a gruff voice. I’m trying to take everything in. Seeing his dark brown eyes and the way his dark brown hair curls around his ears, I think we really could be brothers. Well, not brothers, but related.

  His dad comes over and firmly shakes my hand, but as he releases it he looks at me with a skeptical expression. “You have come to work?”

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I want to help with the planting.”

  “Then come along.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and turns back toward the plow. “Watch and learn how it’s done.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Zach says happily as we follow his father. I imitate both of them, stepping carefully over the freshly plowed and planted rows. “I can hardly believe it.”

  I can hardly believe it either. I feel so nervous that I’m worried I’m going to say or do the wrong thing and expose myself. I know I can’t keep up this charade for long. Not around Zach anyway. Somehow I feel certain he’ll be the first one to figure me out. I just don’t want it to happen in front of his dad. Fortunately, his dad seems to be all work as he explains how to lead the team, how they’re harrowing the soil, and how the single horse seeder plants the corn. Most of this information is lost on me, partly because I’m so nervous and partly because I’m not a farmer.

  “Are you familiar with horses?” Zach asks with a creased brow.

  “I took riding lessons when I was twelve. Remember, I wrote to you about getting thrown from a horse?”

  He smiles. “Ja. I do remember that.”

  “And I’m sure I wrote to you about working at a veterinary clinic last summer.” Okay, I don’t think I ever told him that the vet was actually my uncle. Somehow it felt more impressive to act like it was a real job, not something my dad set up with his brother to give me some work experience. And then, considering how I had an aversion to things like blood and bodily fluids, there really wasn’t much to write about since I tried to avoid the actual veterinary work. The truth is, last summer wasn’t one of my proudest moments.

  After listening to some tips, I’m up in front and actually leading the team of horses. Because of the diminishing sunlight at this time of day, Zach’s father is concerned that the rows aren’t straight enough. It’s my job to keep the big animals headed in the right direction as he guides the machine behind them, and Zach follows with the contraption behind the third horse.

  What I’m doing doesn’t seem like terribly difficult work, although I suspect they’re going easy on me because it’s my first day. But I can imagine that work like this might get old day after day. I doubt that I’d be much good as a full-time farmer. But it’s quiet work. Steady work. The jangling sounds of the harnesses, the gentle huffing of the hardworking horses, and the birds chattering in the trees along the fence line are all strangely soothing. As the sun dips into the rose-colored horizon, turning the tops of the trees golden yellow, I inhale the sweet fragrance of all the lush growing things around me, and I suddenly feel as if I’ve been charmed by the countryside. Maybe I’d make a good farmer after all.

  “Quitting time,” Mr. Miller calls out as we reach the end of the row. �
��Zach, you and Micah see to the horses.” He hands me the reins. “I’m going to check on Molly, and then we better get in to supper.”

  “Ja, Daed. We’ll be right along.” Zach winks at me as he starts to do something to one of the horses’ harnesses. “We’ve got to release the horses from the equipment,” he explains as his dad walks away. “We leave the seeder and harrow out here to pick up again tomorrow. But we’ll take the horses back to the pasture by the barn to eat and rest.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I nod in appreciation for his instruction. Then I attempt to follow his lead by undoing the harness on the other horse, but when I botch it up, Zach comes over to help, but first he places the bulky harness pieces over my shoulder. “Hold on to this horse.” He hands me the reins to the horse that’s been released from its harness.

  “Takes time to learn these things,” Zach says as he works on the next horse. “But you’re a smart fellow, you’ll learn fast.”

  I bite into my lip as I watch his hands expertly manipulating the leather straps and buckles. Suddenly my throat feels like sandpaper and my stomach is tying itself into tight little knots. How on earth am I supposed to break my news to him? Do I just blurt it out and get it over with? Or do I wait for the perfect moment? And even if I do manage to tell Zach the truth—how is he going to take it?

  4

  Molly is our brood mare,” Zach tells me as we lead the horses toward the barn. “She’s due to drop a foal any day now.”

  “That sounds exciting,” I mutter in a low voice. Grateful for the dusky light in case Zach decides to take a closer look at me, I’m racking my brain for a graceful segue that will transition us from pregnant horses to the fact that I’m not a guy.