Trading Secrets

by Melody Carlson

  Mrs. Miller is temporarily stunned into silence.

  “I’m sorry to intrude on you,” I say quickly. “Katy was very kind to offer me a place to stay for the night. But if it’s a problem, I’m happy to return to town. I can stay in a hotel. I don’t mind. I didn’t realize there was no afternoon bus today. My father is unable to come and get me and—”

  “No, no—it is all right. You can stay.” Mrs. Miller gives Katy one last grim look, then turns away, hurrying off toward the garden.

  “It’s making trouble having me here,” I say quietly to Katy.

  She giggles. “That’s all right. It’s a good kind of trouble.” Before I can make an excuse to leave again, she snatches my backpack and hurries toward the house, and I follow. But on the back porch she notices that my backpack is dripping. “This is wet,” she informs me.

  “I know.” I tell her about getting caught in the rain.

  “We will hang it to dry.”

  I follow her out to where a clothesline is strung, and together we hang my soggy clothes on the line. But when we get to my underwear, I shake my head. “No way,” I tell her.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “My undies,” I tell her.

  “So small.” She frowns at the several pairs of colorful underwear in my hand. “How can they fit you?”

  I chuckle. “They stretch. Anyway, I’m not hanging them out here for God and the world to see.”

  She laughs. “But God sees everything.”

  “That may be so.” I shove the brightly colored pieces into my bag. “But that doesn’t mean everyone else needs to see them too.” As I zip the backpack closed, a striped gray cat comes up and rubs against my legs. “Hello,” I say as I bend down to pet the friendly animal. “What’s your name?”

  “That’s Rosie,” Katy tells me. “She’s got three kittens in the woodshed.” She points to a small outbuilding near the house.

  “Kittens?” I say eagerly. “Can I see them?”

  “Sure. You can have them if you want.”

  I chuckle as I follow her to the woodshed. “I can just imagine what my dad would say if I brought home three kittens.”

  “They’re old enough to leave their mamm now,” Katy says as she opens the door. “But no one around here needs more cats.”

  I kneel down to where the little furry critters scurry up to greet us. I examine and pet each of them, finally gathering a friendly gray-and-white fluffball into my lap. “You’re so sweet,” I coo as the animal cuddles up to my chin. The other kitties, with stripes like their mother, are preoccupied with climbing on the knees of my jeans. “I wish I could keep this one,” I tell Katy.

  “Go ahead,” she urges. “Take it home with you if you want. That would mean one less home to find.” She scoops up the two lively kittens, holding them in her skirt like it’s a hammock. “Or maybe I can talk Mamm into letting these guys stay in the barn. We already have a few barn cats. A few more shouldn’t really matter. Although Daed complains sometimes.”

  As I continue to pet the affectionate kitten, I consider this possibility. What if I did adopt this kitty? It’s not like we can’t have pets in our condo, although every time I’ve asked Dad about a dog, he’s said no. He claims that we’re gone too much and a dog would be lonely. But I’ve never asked him about a cat. Aren’t they kind of independent?

  “That one’s a girl,” Katy tells me.

  “She’s so pretty.” I peer down into the big, pale green eyes, knowing this feline is getting me hooked.

  “What would you name her?”

  I study the cat closely, then look back up at Katy. “How about Katy?”

  Katy laughs. “You’d name a cat after me?”

  “Why not?” I smile. “I like you.”

  She shrugs. “Ja. Why not name her Katy?”

  “Little Katy,” I murmur as I cuddle the furry kitten close to my face. “Maybe I will take you home with me.”

  “That would be very good,” Katy declares. “Mamm will be happy.”

  “It would be nice to see your mother happy about something.” I gently set the kitten back down, watching as she scrambles after her mother, who’s just climbing into a cardboard box.

  “Mamm is happy sometimes,” Katy says a bit defensively.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly as I get to my feet. “I shouldn’t have said that, Katy. I’m not saying your mother isn’t a happy person. I just know she’s not happy that I came back.”

  Katy shrugs as she leads us back out into the bright sunlight, closing and latching the door to the shed. “Ja. That’s true. But I still believe it was right to go get you in town. It is not good for you to be there by yourself and overnight.”

  “What about what you said about your brother?” I question. “Does Zach really want to talk to me? About the letter I left for him this morning?”

  She gives me that impish smile again. “I cannot say for certain, but I think he wants to talk to you, Micah.”

  “Think?” I narrow my eyes as she leads me into the garden. What is she saying?

  “Ja. That is what I think,” she declares as she bends down to pull a weed. “My stubborn brother just does not know it yet.”

  For a while I don’t say anything. I try not to show my irritation as I follow her lead in extracting dandelions from the path that goes between the garden beds. I toss my handful of weeds into the bucket where she’s been throwing hers, then, tired of this game, I pull out my phone to check the time. Did Katy trick me into coming back here with her? If so, why? I question my own gullibility and wonder what time it will be if I walk back to town again. Except that the blister on my heel still hurts.

  Why did Dad have to choose today to fly to Chicago? I decide to send him a text asking him his whereabouts, just in case there’s some off chance he could swing down this way and pick me up at some nearby municipal airport. Surely there’s one somewhere around here. As my phone connects to service, I’m not surprised to see I have twenty-six texts from Lizzie. I quickly text her back to say I’m conserving my charge but I’m still at Zach’s farm and promising to be in touch later. She is such a phone addict. I sometimes pride myself on the fact that I can go for hours without checking my phone. She can barely let her phone out of her hand to use the toilet. But to be honest, I’m sure I’d get uncomfortable real fast if my phone went dead. The idea of being completely cut off is unsettling. Especially out here in the middle of nowhere.

  “Want to come see Molly with me?” Katy asks hopefully.

  “Molly?” I turn off my phone and focus on Katy.

  “Our mare,” she reminds me. “She’s going to foal soon.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I drop my phone into my bag. “She hasn’t had her baby yet?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  As I walk with Katy to the barn, I glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Zach, but no such luck. “Where is everyone?” I ask. “Planting corn?”

  “Oh, no. We don’t work on the Sabbath. Nothing more than tending to animals and fixing food. It’s a day of rest.” Her brow creases with concern. “Do the English not respect the Sabbath?”

  “Well . . . yes and no.” I frown. “I’m not sure, really. I mean, yeah, we go to church like you do. But some people work on Sunday.”

  She gives me a knowing look, glancing down at my jeans. “Ja, the English are not like us in many ways. I know this is true.”

  “Are you offended by how I dress?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “No, no. You are English. You think it is all right to dress like a man.” She giggles. “But I would not be comfortable like that.” She reaches over and tweaks one of my messy curls. “I’m surprised you do not wear your hair like a boy too.”

  “I don’t always dress like a boy,” I insist, although according to Amish ways, this isn’t exactly true since I rarely wear dresses or skirts. Just the same, no one has ever mistaken me for a boy before.

  The barn is cool and shadowy inside. It smells of hay and dust an
d manure. “Here is our precious Molly,” Katy announces as we stand next to a stall where a dark brown horse is standing motionless with her head hanging down. “Poor Molly.” Katy goes inside the stall, running her hand along a swollen side. “It won’t be long now.”

  The mare lets out a throaty sound, moving her head from side to side as if she is uncomfortable.

  “Is she in pain?” I ask quietly.

  “I don’t think so. Not yet anyway. That will come later.”

  I go inside the stall too, reaching out to pet the horse’s sleek coat. “Poor old girl,” I tell her. “I hope your baby comes soon.”

  As we’re trying to comfort Molly, I notice the light from an opening door slicing through the barn, and I glance over to see what appears to be Zach coming inside. Suddenly I feel uneasy and nervous. I exchange a look with Katy, and she calls out, “We’re over here with Molly, Zach. Have you come to check on her?”

  “How is she doing?” Zach walks toward the stall, then, seeing me, turns abruptly around and heads back to the door. It’s obvious he does not want to see me.

  “Zach,” Katy calls out in a demanding tone. “Don’t you want to check on Molly?”

  “Not right now,” he snaps at her as he opens the door. Just like that, he’s gone.

  “I am sorry,” she tells me. “My brother is not usually this ill-mannered.”

  “I think that Zach, like your mom, is not very pleased to see that I’m back,” I mutter as I let myself out of the stall. “Is there someplace I can just hang until tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Hang?” She looks confused.

  “Sorry. I mean, is there someplace where I can just sort of hide? To stay out of Zach and your mother’s way? You know . . . until it’s time to go to town and catch the bus tomorrow.”

  She shrugs, then points to a ladder that leads up to what appears to be a loft. “Sometimes I go up there when I want to be alone.” She glances around, almost like she thinks someone else might be watching us, although I’m sure we’re the only ones in here. “There’s an old swing,” she says eagerly. “Want to try it?”

  “Sure,” I tell her. “Why not?”

  The next thing I know I’m following her up the ladder, and she uses a rake to pull down a rope swing that’s been looped over a big beam. “Zach and I put this up a few years ago. But when Jeremiah fell and hit his head, Daed told us to get rid of it. So we keep it where Sammy and Jeri can’t reach it, but we sometimes still swing on it when no one’s around.” She offers the knotted rope to me.

  “What do you do?” I ask with uncertainty as I look down below.

  She giggles. “You swing.” She walks over to a corner of the loft and, holding the rope tautly, pulls up her skirt to expose her long black stockings. Then she wraps her legs around the rope and takes a flying leap, swinging back and forth across the barn like some kind of awkward-looking bluebird. Eventually the swing slows to a stop, and she jumps off and carries the end of the rope up the ladder. She hands it to me. “Your turn.”

  I follow her example, and soon I’m soaring back and forth through the barn just like she did. We both take several more turns, and I’m about to leap off the loft again, but Katy hears a noise and stops me.

  “We better not,” she says with a worried look. “Daed will be coming in to check on Molly soon. He won’t be happy to see us playing.” She tosses the swing up over the beam and out of reach.

  We’re about to go down the ladder when I hear a thump in the loft and a big black cat saunters toward us. “And who are you?” I reach down to pet his thick, furry coat.

  “That’s Lucky,” Katy says. “Our best barn cat.”

  He purrs as I pet him, but I notice that most of his tail seems to be missing. “What happened to his tail?”

  “Got caught in the thresher,” she says.

  “Oh, yeah. I remember,” I tell her. “Zach wrote about that. Didn’t he rescue Lucky as a kitten?”

  “Ja. He saved his life. The reason he named him Lucky was because no one expected him to survive. He was cut up bad.”

  “Zach really likes helping animals, doesn’t he?”

  “Ja. Did he write to you about the lamb with the broken leg?” she asks as she goes down the ladder.

  “Not that I remember,” I say as I follow her.

  “It got hurt during the birthing. Daed wanted to put it down, but Zach insisted on wrapping the little leg with a splint, and now the lamb can run around just fine.”

  Back down on the barn floor, Katy pauses to brush loose straw from her dress, smoothing her hair away from her face and making sure that her little white kapp is secure. Then she grins at me with a twinkle in her eyes. “That was fun. I haven’t been on that swing for a long time.”

  “Yeah, it really was fun,” I say eagerly. “Thanks for showing it to me!”

  She looks uneasy now, as if she’s not sure what to do with me. “I should go help Mamm with supper now.” She opens the barn door to reveal that it’s started to rain again. Even harder this time. Instead of going, she looks at me. “You coming?”

  Suddenly I feel at loose ends and slightly lost. I honestly do not know what to do. That’s when it hits me—what am I doing here? Why did I let Katy talk me into returning when I could’ve just stayed in town? I so do not want to go back into the Miller house and come face-to-face with Zach’s mother again. For that matter, I don’t even care to see Zach. Yet I don’t really care to walk back to town either. Not in this deluge, anyway.

  “Do you mind if I hang in the barn awhile?” I ask. “I’ll stay up in the loft and be quiet. No one will see me.”

  She seems relieved. “Ja, sure. Do what you like.”

  “Thanks.” I get my backpack, which is very light since most of my clothes are hanging outside to dry—in the pouring rain! I consider mentioning this to Katy, but she’s already closing the door, and I know she’s needed in the kitchen. I guess my clothes will just get a thorough rinsing. I scale the ladder, then poke around until I find a cozy corner where I make myself a comfortable bed in the straw. I roll my backpack into a pillow and lie down, trying not to think about the silly situation I’ve gotten myself into. Life would’ve been so much easier if I’d been honest with Zach right from the start.

  I decide to check my phone, which is still half charged, and discover that Dad has texted me back saying that due to bad weather, he and Uncle Brad are still in Chicago and won’t fly back to Cleveland until the storm clears up. Maybe not until tomorrow morning. So much for my hopes of being airlifted out of Amishville today. I sigh and turn off my phone, slipping it into my pocket. At least I have a place to lie low. Or high, depending on how you view it.

  I wake to darkness and the sounds of footsteps followed by the glow of a light down below, but it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings and remember I’m in the hay loft.

  “Micah?” Katy calls out.

  “I’m still up here,” I tell her as I scramble off my makeshift bed, fumbling to the edge of the loft floor, where I lean down to see Katy halfway up the ladder with a paper bag in one hand and a camping lantern in the other.

  “I brought supper to you,” she says quietly. “Hurry and get it!”

  “Thank you!” I say as I reach for the bag.

  “And you can keep this.” She hands me the battery-powered lantern.

  “Thanks, Katy.”

  “Just turn it off if you hear someone coming into the barn.”

  “Oh. Sure.” I feel like Katy is sending me a message, like perhaps she’s the only one who knows my whereabouts. Maybe they all assume I’ve gone home. Probably a good thing.

  “I suppose you can sleep in our room again,” she says with some hesitance as she goes down the ladder. “Or you can stay up here if you like.”

  “Okay . . .” I’m not so sure I really want to spend the night in the barn. Didn’t Katy say there were mice? I haven’t seen any sign of Lucky since our first meeting. But perhaps this is Katy’s way of warning me that I’m not entir
ely welcome in her house. Maybe her mother has banned me completely. Big surprise there.

  “If you decide to sleep in the house, just wait until all the downstairs lights are out before you come inside.” She opens the door, revealing that it’s dark outside, but at least it sounds like the rain has stopped. Before I can respond to her halfhearted invitation, Katy is gone. I suspect she’d prefer if I stayed out here.

  Feeling like an unwanted exile, I open the paper sack to see what’s for dinner. One thing I have to say about the Amish—they do know how to eat. There’s a generous slice of ham, a hearty serving of potato salad, a hunk of homemade bread, and a slice of applesauce cake, which I eat first. I’m guessing the apples grew right here on this farm, and it tastes like something your grandmother might make. If you have a grandmother who does that sort of thing. But I don’t.

  I continue working my way through the foods on the plate. Normally I wouldn’t be inclined to eat this much, but I think my recent walking has increased my appetite. I’ve managed to polish most of it off when I hear a squeaky sound which I recognize as the latch to the door. So I click off the light and hold my breath, listening as the sound of heavy footsteps enters the barn. It sounds like two people.

  “I checked on her about an hour ago,” Zach says. “Still the same.”

  I cringe at the sound of his voice. Is he talking about me? Did he come up here and find me sleeping?

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” his dad says glumly. I can tell by the shadows on the wall that they’re nearing Molly’s stall. Of course, they are talking about the horse. “The foal is overdue. Molly is a good brood mare. She has foaled six times for us. Never a problem before.”

  “Ja, but that does not mean she won’t have a problem this time.” Zach’s voice is laced with worry. “Maybe we should send for Dr. Schneider.”

  “No, no. I do not want to do that. Not yet. I have asked God to help with this problem. I will trust him for it.”

  Now the barn is silent except for the scuffling sounds of feet and a few muffled comments that I can’t quite make out, but I can tell they’re examining poor Molly. I wonder if it’s a serious problem. I assume Dr. Schneider is a veterinarian, which means he’s not Amish. And from what I know of the Amish, they don’t like outside help. I’m surprised Zach even mentioned it to his dad.