Before long the three girls exit the bedroom, but even with the door shut, I can still hear people moving around and about in the hallway. I’m well aware that this house has only one rather old-fashioned indoor bathroom, although I did notice an outhouse back by the barn. I can only imagine what it must be like sharing these meager facilities with a family of eight every morning—and there used to be nine of them! I feel slightly guilty to think how Dad and I both have our own bathrooms, though I wouldn’t want it any other way. Of course, I do get that there’s no hair styling, makeup applying, or any other form of primping going on in this house. These are no-frills people. But still!
The thought of all those Amish people lining up to use the bathroom, combined with the muffled voices in the hallway, lulls me back to sleep. When I wake up again, the sun is pouring through the window and the house is silent. Alarmed that I’ve slept in embarrassingly late, I check my phone and am surprised to see that it’s not quite 9:00 yet.
As I pull on jeans and a T-shirt, I wonder about the quietness of the house. Is everyone outside, or are they gathered around the breakfast table doing their silent prayer routine? I tiptoe down the stairs without seeing anyone, and when I peek into the kitchen, it looks clean and neat and there’s not a soul in sight. On the big table is a single bowl of oatmeal with a piece of folded paper tucked beneath it. Seeing my name printed neatly on the front of the paper, I eagerly grab it up, hoping it might be from Zach. But it’s from his sister.
Dear Micah,
We have gone to church. Here is your breakfast.
Katy
I sit by myself at the table, eating my cold oatmeal and wondering what I should do. Obviously, Zach’s parents would be greatly relieved to find me gone by the time they return from church. I know this is what I should do—leave as soon as possible—but first I want to write a brief letter to Zach. I want to apologize. Feeling slightly intrusive but desperate, I look through kitchen drawers until I find a pad of paper and some envelopes, then sit down to write. First I write a note to Katy and Sarah, thanking them for their kind hospitality and explaining that I have gone to town to catch the bus and go home. I even write a brief note to Zach’s parents, thanking them for letting me visit their farm and for sharing a meal with me. It seems the least I can do. Then I write to Zach.
Dear Zach,
I’m very, very sorry to have hurt you so deeply. You’ll probably never forgive me for what I did to you. And you probably think it was a mean trick to deceive you, but before I leave your house, I want you to understand how it all happened and why I did it.
I guess I should go back to the beginning. Back in fifth grade, when we wrote our first pen pal letters, I included a photograph of myself, which would have clearly shown you I was a girl. But your teacher removed our pictures from the letters, and because my name is Micah, you assumed I was a boy. When I got your first letter, I thought you sounded very nice. I didn’t think it mattered that I was a girl and you were a boy, especially since I enjoyed doing boyish sorts of things anyway. As you know, I’ve always liked sports and airplanes and bikes and cars and all that kind of stuff. I could tell by the questions you asked in your letters that you wanted to learn more about those things too. That’s one reason it was so much fun to write to you.
I can’t remember when I realized it was wrong to let you keep believing I was a boy, but by then it was too hard to undo what was already done. Then my mom died, and it felt like you were the only one I could talk to for a while. You really helped me through a hard time. And I will always be really, really grateful for you. There were times when it seemed like we were best friends, like you understood me better than anyone else. I really didn’t want to let that go. I still don’t. But I know I don’t have a choice.
You’ve been an incredibly important part of my life, Zach. I’m sorry that you feel like I’ve betrayed you—by being a girl. I only came here so that I could meet you face-to-face, and so I could tell you the truth. I didn’t mean to do it the way I did last night at the dinner table. I’m extremely sorry for that. I hope you can forgive me. Someday. I know you will never want to write letters to me again, and that’s okay. I understand. I only hope that you can forgive me. I’m sorry.
Your ex pen pal,
Micah
As I seal the envelope, I feel a huge lump in my throat, but I’m determined not to cry again. This is a mess I created myself, and it’s silly to blubber like a baby over it. I place the note to Zach’s parents on the kitchen table and consider leaving the other letters there as well, but I’m worried Zach’s parents might insist on reading them. The girls probably wouldn’t care, but my letter to Zach would probably just humiliate him even more.
I slip upstairs and search out the bedroom that I can tell is shared by Zach and his brothers. I set the letter on a small wooden dresser, then look around the rather barren room, taking in the three twin-sized beds with their homemade and rather plain quilts neatly topping them. Like in the girls’ room, there are clothing pegs on the wall with a few pieces of clothing hanging on them. But there are no rugs, no curtains, no photos or pictures on the walls. Nothing to show any glimpses of the personalities that inhabit this space. I mentally compare this stark room to my cluttered and colorful one at home and realize that Zach and I really do live in completely different worlds.
As I leave his room, I wonder how it was possible that it seemed we had so much in common. How did I convince myself he was such a close friend for so many years? Was I completely delusional? I feel more desperate than ever to escape this strange place. This place where I could never belong . . . where I am clearly unwelcome.
I have no idea what time the family usually comes home from church, but I know I want to be completely cleared out by then. I hurry to the girls’ room and place my note on their dresser, then shove my belongings into my backpack. By 11:00, I am walking down the road toward town.
Once I’m out of sight of the farmhouse, I pull out my phone and call my dad, but when it goes directly to voice mail, I leave a message saying that I’m on my way home. I try not to sound as discouraged as I feel. “I’ve done what I came to do,” I tell him, “but it will be good to get home. I’ll text you the info on the bus I’m taking.” Feeling a bit like a ship that’s been set adrift, I hang up. It’s Sunday, so it’s possible that Dad’s at church, but ever since we got a new head pastor and a new youth pastor, both Dad and I have been a little less than enthusiastic about going. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out playing golf instead. Hopefully the weather is better in Cleveland. It’s all cloudy and gray here. The countryside that looked so beautiful yesterday seems a little dark and drab today. Or maybe it’s just me.
Feeling lonely and cut off from the world, I text Lizzie, explaining that I’m on my way home. I know that even if she’s at church, she’ll text me right back. Within minutes, she does, explaining that she and her sister are with their grandparents and on their way to the lake cabin where they’ll stay until Wednesday night. I conceal my disappointment as I tell her to have fun, promising to fill her in on the rest of the Zach story later. I see that my battery is getting low, so I turn off my phone and continue walking. I can feel a blister burning on my left heel, one that got started yesterday. I pause to adjust my shoe and sock, and by the time I start walking again, the clouds open up and it starts to rain. Before long I’m drenched to the skin and still not even halfway to town. What a way to spend spring break!
By the time town comes into sight, I’m not only soggy and cold but ravenous as well. The first thing I do is go to the small grocery store by the bus stop. I know it’s where they sell bus tickets, and I’m eager to get mine. To my dismay, the store is closed on Sundays, and when I read the bus schedule that’s taped to the window, I discover the bus makes only one stop in this town on Sundays—at noon. And it’s already past 1:00.
Wondering how I got myself into this mess and how I’ll get out of it, I go into the diner across the street. After using the bathr
oom to change into slightly dryer clothes, I go out and sit in a booth by the window and order a cheeseburger basket and chocolate shake. While I’m waiting for my order, I try calling my dad again. This time he actually answers, but it’s a bad connection. All I can make out is that he’s flying my uncle to Chicago. I assure him that I’m just fine and promise to text him my plans, then hang up. So much for my hopes of getting him down here to pick me up.
When my order comes, I start to devour the food, but seeing that it’s still raining outside, I decide to pace myself. As I eat, I try to put together a plan. Although I hate the idea of wasting money on a cheap hotel, I know that’s my only option. Then I’ll catch a bus out of here on Monday morning. By the time I’m paying my bill, I’ve convinced myself that this is an adventure and I should just make the best of it.
When I go outside again, the rain has finally let up, and the sun is just starting to peek through the clouds. I take in a deep breath of the freshly washed air and look in the direction of the hotel that the waitress recommended. I’m about to cross the street when I notice one of those somber black buggies approaching. Pulled by one dark horse, it seems to be slowing down right in front of me.
“Micah!” A girl wearing a white kapp pops her head out. I see that it’s Zach’s sister Katy, waving and grinning at me.
I smile and wave back, waiting for them to pass by.
“Come here,” Katy calls to me.
I walk over to where the buggy is now holding up traffic. “What is it?” I ask Katy. I can feel my cheeks warming in embarrassment now. Especially since I had really hoped to make a clean break from this family. But for some reason, though maybe I’m just being paranoid, it feels like they’ve tracked me down. “What do you want?” I glance past Katy to see that a man is sitting next to her, but he’s turned away so I can’t see his face. Is it her dad? Or is it Zach? Or someone else?
“We came to check on you,” she tells me. “To see if you got here in time for the bus.” She nudges the guy next to her. “See, I told you she’d get here too late.”
He turns and looks at me, and I’m relieved to see that it’s not Zach and it’s not his father. The clean-shaven guy has sandy hair and blue eyes and appears to be about my age or thereabouts. “I need to move the buggy off the street,” he tells Katy.
“Ja.” She points to a space. “You can park it there.”
I wait as he maneuvers the horse and buggy off the street. Then Katy hops out and comes over to me. “You are too late for the bus to take you home,” she says, as if I didn’t know this. “Ja?”
I nod. “It came by at noon.”
“I know. What will you do now?”
I shrug, jerking my thumb toward the hotel. “I’ll spend the night there and—”
“No,” she declares. “You must come home with us.”
“What?” I want to ask her if she’s crazy.
“Ja. It is not good for you to stay by yourself in town. A girl in a hotel all alone. It’s not good. Mamm says so. You must come back with us.” She points to the guy still sitting in the buggy. “That’s Matthew. He is Zach’s good friend. And my friend too.” She gives him a shy sideways smile. “He wanted to come here to help you.”
I don’t know what to do now. “It’s really nice of you to come here, but—”
“Then come,” she urges.
“I can’t go back,” I tell her. “Not to your house.”
“Ja, you can!” She takes me firmly by the arm, pulling me toward the buggy. “Come on, Micah. Matthew must get the buggy back by 5:00.”
“But I can’t go—”
“You don’t want to be in a hotel by yourself,” she insists. “That is not good for a girl alone. Not even an English one.”
“But I—”
“Come on, Micah.” She gives me a serious look. “Besides . . . I think that Zach wants to speak to you.”
“Zach?”
“Ja. He got your letter. I saw him reading it out by the barn. He has something to say to you, Micah. Now, please, come!”
I can’t resist the lure she’s just thrown at me. Is it possible that Zach really does want to talk to me? It would be so nice to smooth things over with him before going home. “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll go with you. But I’ll come back tomorrow and catch the next bus home.”
“Ja, ja.” She grabs my still soggy backpack from me, tossing it into the back of the buggy. “Let’s go home, Micah!”
Katy chatters happily at me as Matthew silently drives the buggy down Main Street, then turns back toward the farm. Katy tells me how they went to their church service in the morning, how they stayed after to have a light lunch, and how they discovered my letters when they got home. “Matthew gave me and Sarah a ride home,” she explains. “When I told him about you leaving like that, he offered to drive me to town to find you.” She glances at Matthew, then turns to beam at me. “Matthew turns eighteen next month, and he is a very good carpenter.”
“How old are you?” I ask Katy, trying to determine the level of her interest in this young man.
“I’ll be sixteen in November,” she says proudly.
“Oh.” I nod.
“I’ll be done with school this year.” She makes a happy sigh. “The end of May.”
I remember that Amish kids end their schooling at eighth grade. That’s it. Over and done with. No more education. At least no more formal education, though some of the young men will take on apprenticeships after they leave school. I can’t even wrap my head around how it would feel to be finished with school when you’re only fourteen. Zach’s been out of school for several years now. I remember when he wrote to me saying he was unhappy that his schooling came to an end. He confessed that he secretly longs for more.
He also told me about how he “sneaks” books from town. Every time he gets the chance, he goes to the public library and picks up some books. He says they’re on unrelated topics—whatever happens to catch his eye at the moment. Everything from auto repair, which is ironic, to world history, which I suppose is equally ironic since chances are he’ll never travel more than thirty miles from here. He has to read the books by lantern light after his little brothers fall asleep at night. Naturally, his family is unaware of this habit. And I’m sure he wants them to remain oblivious.
As we get closer to the farm, I start getting nervous. Why did I let Katy talk me into this? What if her family—particularly her mother, who seems to truly dislike me—is unhappy to see that I’ve returned? What if Zach is angry? I don’t think I can bear to do a rerun of the scene from last night.
“Daed took the little boys fishing,” Katy is telling me as Matthew turns the wagon into their driveway. “Sarah and Ruth went home with Mammi and Daedi after service.”
“Oh.” I try to act interested in these accounts, but mostly I am thinking of Zach. Where is he? What is he doing?
“Molly still hasn’t foaled,” Katy says lightly as the buggy comes to a stop between the barn and the house. “At least she hadn’t before I left.”
I feel paralyzed, like I’m glued to the buggy seat, but Katy just climbs over me and jumps down, dragging my backpack out with her.
“Come on,” she calls out. “We’re here.”
I turn to look at Matthew, wondering if I should plead with him to drive me back to town right this instant, but his gaze is straight forward and I can see impatience in his tightly pursed lips. “Thank you,” I mutter to him as I climb down from the buggy.
He barely tips his head as he gives the reins a firm shake, and just like that the buggy begins to rumble away.
“Come on, Micah. Let’s go inside.” Katy dangles my backpack in front of me like it’s bait.
Just as I’m reaching for my pack, I observe a male figure emerging from the barn with a dog at his heels. I suspect by the height and the long stride that it’s Zach. When he sees me standing in the driveway, gaping at him like the village idiot, he does a quick about-face and disappears back into the shadows of the b
arn. Well, of course. Why did I imagine he would be glad to see me?
I turn to Katy, ready to demand the truth from her—why on earth did she entice me back here when she knows her brother is still ticked at me? But before I can say a word, I notice her mother coming out the back door. She’s walking fast, swinging her arms, and judging by the grim expression on her face, she is just about as happy to see me as her son is. Oh, why did I trust Katy? Why did I agree to come back here?
6
Katy Miller.” Zach’s mother shakes her finger at Katy and proceeds to question her in a different language. I vaguely remember that this is called Pennsylvania Dutch, although we are not in Pennsylvania and the language sounds a bit like German. I actually recognize a few words from my one year of German class.
Katy wraps a protective arm around my shoulders. “I went to help Micah.”
“Why should you help her?” With her hands on her hips, Mrs. Miller reverts back to English, but she skillfully avoids my eyes.
“Because I heard you talking to Daed. You told him that it’s not good for a lone girl to go to town, to stay in a hotel, and to—”
“Do not press your ear to closed doors, Katy.” She scowls darkly. “You should not listen to talk that isn’t for you.”
“And should I not listen to the teaching at church?” Katy says in a challenging tone.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Were you listening, Mamm? Today Brother Ben spoke about the Good Samaritan who helped a stranger.” Katy grins triumphantly at me. “Micah is a stranger in our midst, Mamm. I am helping her.”
Trading Secrets Page 5