“Exciting?” Zach laughs. “You get to fly around in airplanes with your daed and you think a foaling is exciting?”
“Well, it’s different, anyway.” The barn is getting closer and I know I need to just do this. “Hey, Zach,” I begin slowly.
“Zach and Micah,” a girl’s voice calls out from the shadows near the barn. “Mamm told us to help with the horses so you boys can go wash up for supper.”
“Thanks, Sarah.” Zach hands over the reins.
“We just checked on Molly. No sign of the foal yet.” The taller girl gazes shyly at me. “We haven’t met your friend.”
Zach introduces me to Katy and Sarah, and they both treat me like I’m a boy, getting all nervous and tongue-tied, which makes this whole thing all the more humiliating. Why on earth did I do this? As I notice the darkening sky, I realize I have an even bigger problem. What will I do if Zach’s parents get angry about my deception and throw me out? It’s a long walk back to town—and in the dark?
“Zach,” I begin again as we’re walking toward the house. “I need to—”
“Zach attack!” Two young boys burst out the back door and hurl themselves toward Zach, acting like he’s their personal playground. The smaller one grabs onto Zach’s leg, riding his foot like it’s part of a carousel. The other boy latches on to Zach’s arm, waiting for Zach to lift him up into the air. Zach doesn’t seem to mind a bit.
“These are my brothers. The little guy is Samuel.” He lifts his arm so that the older brother is nearly eye level with me. “And this is Jeremiah.” Zach turns to grin at me. “And this is my pen pal Micah,” he tells the boys. “He’s come to help with planting.”
I give the boys a forced smile as we reach the back porch. The boys continue to clamor around us, delighted to see their big brother and enjoying their horseplay. They’re obviously not going away. So much for talking to Zach in private.
“Here’s where we wash up.” Zach rolls up his sleeves and begins running water into a laundry sink. Following his lead, I push up my sleeves and watch as he scrubs his muscular arms clear up to the elbows. Then he steps back and hands me a gray bar of soap. I rub it into my hands without managing to create any lather, but since my hands weren’t nearly as dirty as his, it probably doesn’t matter. The soap smells faintly of animals, and I suspect it’s homemade. As I’m drying my hands on a rough towel, Zach hangs his straw hat on a peg near the back door. “Mamm’s killed the fatted calf for you,” he tells me as he reaches for the door.
“What?” I’m sure I must look horrified. Not so much about the fatted calf joke as the idea that they will probably expect me to remove my hat.
Zach laughs. “Not for real. But she did bake a nice big ham. Do you like ham?”
I say a gruff “Yeah,” but I see his eyes fixed on my ball cap—he’s probably wondering why I don’t remove it, but I pretend to be oblivious. Maybe he’ll assume that all English boys have bad manners. I just hope that no hair is sticking out. Hoping to conceal any curves, I decide to leave on my jean jacket as well. They’ll probably think I’m dressed to make a run for it. Maybe I am.
“Hurry up, Zach.” Samuel tugs his hands, pulling him into the kitchen. “We’re hungry.”
“The girls aren’t even back from the barn yet,” Zach tells him.
“Ja, we are,” Sarah announces as she and Katy enter the back porch.
“Come on,” Mrs. Miller calls out. “Time to eat, everyone.”
Going into the bright light of the kitchen, I wonder if my hat is still fully concealing my long hair. Feeling slightly sick to my stomach and worried that everyone can see right through my thin disguise, I tug the brim down lower on my brow. I wish I could pull off a vanishing act, but everyone seems to be taking their places at the long wooden table in the center of the large kitchen.
“Boys on this side.” Jeremiah gives my sleeve a tug toward him. “Girls over there.”
Soon I’m sitting on the boys’ bench with Jeremiah and Samuel on one side of me and Zach on the other. Across from us sit the three girls. My hands are shaking slightly, and I feel beads of sweat on my forehead. Even though I felt hungry earlier, the idea of sharing a meal with these people—who I am deceiving—makes me feel sick to my stomach. Why did I do this? Why didn’t I just make a run for it after I saw Zach? Why am I still here?
“We’ll pray,” Mr. Miller says quietly, and everyone bows their heads.
I do likewise, waiting for someone to ask a blessing, but when no one says a word, I wonder if I misunderstood. I peek up with one eye to see that their heads are still bowed. Even young Samuel’s. So I close my eyes and continue to wait. Hopefully they don’t have some tradition where they expect a guest to pray, although it’s not a bad idea, really. I silently pray, desperately begging God to get me out of this mess as quickly and smoothly as possible. But while my head is still bowed, it’s almost as if I can hear God chuckling. Kind of like my dad would be doing. Then I sense God asking me, “Who got you into this mess?”
“Amen,” Mr. Miller proclaims with quiet authority. The table comes to life as everyone starts passing bowls and dishing out food and eating. Although it’s busy, it’s not noisy or out of control. Impressive considering the ages of the dinner guests. Conversation seems intentionally limited. Perhaps there’s a rule against talking too much at the table. I wish I’d taken more time to research the Amish—beyond watching reality shows with Lizzie. I feel like a visitor to a foreign country, but at least we can speak the same language. Or nearly. Occasionally they use words I don’t understand.
The meal is simple but hearty. Despite my frazzled nerves, I manage to clean my plate, conveying my compliments to the cook.
“Do all English wear hats at the table?” Mrs. Miller asks me with a puzzled expression.
My hand goes up to my head as my cheeks begin to flush. “No—no,” I stammer. “Please excuse my bad manners. I, uh, I forgot.”
“It’s not too late.” With a twinkle in his eye, Jeremiah reaches for my head.
“No!” I declare loudly, making him jerk his hand back with a stunned expression. “Sorry,” I tell him. “But I need to keep it on.”
He gives me a curious look and the table gets even more quiet. I want to excuse myself—and find a hole to crawl into—but everyone remains at the table. Perhaps they’re waiting to be dismissed, or for dessert.
“I will read from God’s Word now.” Mr. Miller reaches to a nearby shelf, taking down a big black Bible, and after opening it up in the middle, he begins to read. I suspect that he’s reading from Proverbs. Ironically, it’s about the importance of honesty, and I can’t help but feel the words of warning are aimed directly at me. Does Zach’s dad know that I’m an imposter? That I’m deceiving them and I’m really a girl? Is this his way of exposing me? Finally, he closes the book, and everyone continues sitting there in silence as if they are absorbing the message.
I feel as if there’s a spotlight shining on me—as if they can all see that I’m a fraud. Finally, I can endure it no longer. I feel like a liar and a hypocrite and a despicable excuse for a guest. Struggling to get myself off the bench without knocking Zach and his little brothers over, I noisily stumble to my feet. Everyone stares at me with startled curiosity.
“I’m sorry!” I blurt out. “I hope you don’t all hate me for this. But I have to confess something to you.” I reach up and jerk off the ball cap, making my hair, which is still loosely pinned, fall free. “I am not a boy. I am a girl.”
Zach’s sisters all gasp, and Mrs. Miller’s hand flies over her mouth.
“What is going on here?” demands Mr. Miller. Suddenly Zach’s agitated parents are conversing with each other in a different language that sounds a little like German. It seems like they’re arguing.
“You’re not Micah!” Zach glares at me with shocked eyes.
“I am Micah,” I declare.
“You’re not Micah Knight,” he insists. “You’re not the boy I’ve been writing letters to for all
these years—you’re not my pen pal.”
“I am Micah Knight,” I tell him. “I really am. My dad is really a pilot and I live in Cleveland and my mom died when I was—”
“You are a liar!” He jumps to his feet and stands in front of me, glaring into my face with hatred in his dark eyes.
“I know,” I confess. “And I’m sorry. I wanted to—”
“Get out of my house!” Zach points to the back door with flushed cheeks.
“Zach!” Mr. Miller shakes a finger at his son. “This is our house, son.”
“Ja,” he spits back. “It is our house and this—this girl—is not welcome here!” Turning his back on me, Zach storms out of the room, and I’m left standing there with his family still staring at me as if I’m a monster. Maybe I am.
Despite my resolve not to cry, I can feel the tears welling up. I hate that I can’t control it, but it’s too late. Tears of shame and disappointment run freely down my cheeks. “I—I’ll go,” I sob. “But first I want you all to know that I really am sorry. I never meant for it to be like this. I never set out to trick Zach. My name really is Micah, and I know it’s a boy’s name, but it’s what my mother wanted to name me. When I got that first letter from Zach in fifth grade, I didn’t think it mattered that I was a girl. Over all these years I’ve thought of Zach as my friend. I just wanted to meet him, that’s all.” I choke back another sob. “I’m really, really sorry.”
No one says a word as I clumsily dash for the back door. I want to escape this hot, stuffy kitchen and all those curious eyes. As I run outside, I don’t even care that I’ll be walking in the dark countryside or that town is two hours away. I walk quickly down the driveway, welcoming the cool night air onto my flushed face. Hopefully when I get to town, I’ll find a place to spend the night. I’m so tired, I don’t even care if it’s a fleabag hotel. Or maybe I’ll just curl up under a tree somewhere along the way.
“Wait, Micah!” It’s a female voice calling. When I turn to look, I can see by the light coming from the house that it’s the older sister, Katy. “Mamm says you left your bag,” she tells me when she reaches me. “Please, come back and get it.”
“Oh yeah . . . I forgot.” I let out a sigh, turning around. So much for a smooth, fast getaway.
“Where will you go tonight?” she asks as we walk back to the house.
“To town.”
“On foot? That takes a couple of hours. And it’s so dark out.” She points to the black sky. “No moon tonight.”
“I know. It’s okay. I don’t mind walking in the dark.”
“It’s not good for a—a girl—to be alone out in the night.”
“Unless that particular girl can pass for a boy,” I say with irritation. Really, what made me decide to try to pull off this stupid stunt?
“Why don’t you just spend the night with us?” she suggests.
“I’m sure your parents don’t want me in their home,” I say sadly. “They must think I’m awful. They looked so shocked.”
“Ja, they were shocked, all right. But they know you are an English girl.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Oh, they think that English girls probably do things like this all the time.”
I consider how I’ve already given English girls a bad name. “Most English girls don’t go around impersonating boys. It was just so I could meet Zach.”
“Ja . . . and now you have met him.” Pausing by the back porch, she slowly shakes her head as if she thinks I’m hopeless.
“Yeah.” I just stand there looking at the light coming through the kitchen window. I don’t think I can force myself to go back inside.
“Come inside,” she urges. “You can stay the night. In the morning things will look better.”
“They won’t look better as far as Zach is concerned,” I say stubbornly. “He’s so furious at me, I’m sure he’ll never speak to me again.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, Zach. He will get over it. He’s not one to hold a grudge. Come on, Micah, it’s getting late. We should get to bed.”
I shake my head no. “I can’t stay in your home—not after what Zach said.”
“He just talked like that because he was embarrassed.” She starts to giggle now. “It is funny if you think about it. All these years Zach thought he had an English boy friend and it was really an English girlfriend.” She laughs harder now. “Mamm was against it from the start. She always said no good would come of writing letters to an English boy.”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I say glumly. “I should’ve told Zach the truth a long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” She peers curiously at me in the dim light.
“Because I valued his friendship. Even more as we got older. By the time my conscience started to bother me, I knew enough about the Amish to understand that boys and girls don’t mix. I knew my confession would’ve ended our friendship.”
“You were right about that. It looks as if that’s what happened tonight.”
“Did you get her?” Sarah calls out as she comes out into the yard.
“Ja,” Katy calls back. “I told her she should stay overnight.”
“Ja,” Sarah agrees as she joins us. “You can have Hannah’s bed.”
“Hannah?” I try to remember.
“Our older sister,” Katy explains. “She got married last winter.”
“What will your parents say about me staying here?” I ask them.
“It is all right,” Katy assures me. “They would not want to have a girl out there alone, wandering the dark roads at night. Even if she is an English girl.” Katy giggles.
“And our parents must forgive you,” Sarah points out. “When you confess your sin, they have to forgive you.”
Katy nods eagerly. “Ja, if they do not forgive you, they will be setting a bad example for their children.”
With my feet rooted to the grass, I remain outside of the house, uncertain of what I should do. On one hand, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired. The thought of walking down dark country roads late at night is more than a little intimidating. On the other hand, I can’t bear to see Zach again. All I can remember is how he looked at me with such hatred.
“Come on.” Katy pulls on my arm. “We will have such fun telling our friends that Zach’s pen pal Micah slept in our room.”
Sarah laughs loudly. “Ja, that is a good one, Katy.”
“I can only accept your offer if you ask your parents first,” I tell them.
“Mamm said to bring you back here,” Sarah confides. “She’s worried that if something bad happens to you, it will be our fault. She said it’s all right for you to sleep in Hannah’s bed.”
“It’s really okay?”
“Ja.” Katy puts her arm around my shoulder, guiding me toward the house. “Come on, we will show you our room, Micah.”
“What about Zach?” I say quietly. “He will hate knowing that I’m sleeping under his roof.”
“He doesn’t have to know you’re here,” Katy whispers. “We can sneak you into the house.”
“And if he sees you and gets upset, he can just go sleep in the barn!” Sarah giggles.
“Ja. That’s a good idea, Sarah. Zach can stay with Molly. That way he’ll be there to help her if she has her foal.”
It seems these girls have it under control, like it’s all settled and I don’t really have a choice in the matter. So I let Zach’s sisters quietly lead me through the vacated house, waiting as they put out the few lanterns that are still lit. They remind me of characters in an old movie as they quietly prepare the house for the night. Other than their nearly identical outfits, the two sisters look very little alike. Katy is tall and dark-haired like Zach. Meanwhile Sarah is petite and fair-haired with twinkling blue eyes.
“Where is everyone?” I whisper as Katy carries a battery-powered lamp to light our way.
“Gone to bed,” Sarah says.
“This early?”
<
br /> “This is not early,” Katy tells me as she shines the light up the darkened stairs. “Not for us, anyway. But I know that the English stay up late into the night. And that they get up late in the morning too.”
“We always get up before the sun,” Sarah says quietly as we tread up the stairs behind Katy. “And we follow the sun to bed too.”
They lead me down a darkened hallway to a door at the end. “This is our room,” Katy whispers. “Welcome.”
“Here is your bed,” Sarah points to a single bed against a wall. “It was Hannah’s.”
“I really am tired,” I admit as I sit down on the bed. “I doubt I would’ve made it all the way back to town tonight.”
“It is good you stayed.” Sarah smiles as she sets my backpack at the foot of the bed. “Tomorrow is a new day. Things will be better.”
As I’m getting ready for bed, I remember that I never called Lizzie or my dad like I’d promised to do. Worried that making phone calls after everyone has seemingly gone to bed might rock this already precarious boat, I decide to send them both a text instead. I assure Dad and Lizzie that I am just fine. I tell them that the Miller family has welcomed me into their home and I’m sharing a room with Zach’s sisters. Okay, maybe the “welcoming” part is a bit of a stretch, but I don’t want them to worry. I can explain the rest of the details tomorrow. I should have plenty of time to talk to both of them during my long walk back to town. I let out a weary sigh as I get into the creaky bed. The mattress is stiff and the sheets are scratchy, but I’m so tired, I don’t even care.
Hopefully the worst of this visit is over with now. It wasn’t easy, but at least I told the truth. I have no right to whine about the consequences. Why should I be surprised that Zach would hate me? Our friendship is finished. But my conscience is cleared. Maybe that’s all that matters. I just wish that Zach hadn’t turned out to be so darned cute.
5
I wake to the sound of rustling and shuffling, but it’s too dark to see a thing. Alarmed that someone has broken into our house, I’m about to cry out for my dad to come help, but before I scream, it hits me—I’m not at home. Remaining completely still, I lie there and gather my wits, remembering where I am as I listen to Zach’s sisters whispering to each other as they fumble to dress in the darkness. For some reason they seem determined to get out of here without disturbing me, and I have no intention of spoiling their little game. I sleepily wonder what time it is and whether I’ll appear lazy if I don’t get up, but finally I decide to just continue playing possum. I suspect they always get up this early. According to Zach’s letters, everyone does chores before breakfast. It’s just their routine.
Trading Secrets Page 4