Trading Secrets

by Melody Carlson

  He scowls down at his food, and I can tell this conversation is making him uncomfortable. It’s not like I brought this up, though. I hurry to eat the last of my potato salad, which tasted creamy and delicious before but now seems hard to swallow.

  Rachel seems to be the only one still enjoying our merry little picnic. She happily fills in the silence by chatting about some kind of sing-along that will be held for the young people on Sunday night. “I don’t have a way to get there,” she says sadly. “My cousin Jacob is busy that night. He plans to use his buggy to visit Lydia again. I think they are very close to marrying.” She giggles. “Can you imagine that, Zach? Jacob and Lydia married? She only turned sixteen last month . . . Six months younger than me.” She sighs as if sixteen is the borderline of spinsterhood. “It seems like we were all just in school together, doesn’t it?” She begins to bring up things that happened during their school days.

  As she reminisces over their childhood days spent in a one-room school, I hurry to eat our dessert. As much as I want to excuse myself from this picnic, I can’t resist a freshly made sugar cookie that’s nearly as big as a plate. As I’m munching, I try to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been nearly four years since Zach was in school. Even though I know it’s an Amish fact of life in this settlement, it’s still mind-boggling to think these kids are only fourteen when they finish their schooling. Although, to be fair, they seem fairly well educated. I read somewhere that an Amish education to grade eight is nearly equivalent to an English education to grade twelve, but I don’t know how they’d prove it since I doubt the Amish take equivalency tests.

  “Oh, Zach,” Rachel gushes. “I just thought of what you told me on your last day of school. Do you remember what you said? It was so sweet!”

  As I stand up, I shove the last chunk of cookie into my mouth. “Excuse me,” I say while still chewing. “I’m going to—uh—to pay a visit to the outhouse.” Without looking at either of them, I hurry toward the barn. I don’t really need a bathroom break right at the moment, but I just couldn’t take another minute of Rachel’s chatter. As the outhouse comes into sight, I really have no desire to go inside, yet I realize this might be my last chance for a bathroom break before it’s time to leave.

  I glance longingly toward the house with fond thoughts about indoor plumbing, but the idea of a run-in with Zach’s mom stops me cold. Holding my breath, I gingerly open the door to the outhouse that’s between the barn and the house. I know the boys use this facility a lot, and I must admit it’s been a relief not to have them lined up to use the one upstairs every morning. As I enter the semi-dark stall, I prepare myself for the worst, but to my relief, it’s not quite as disgusting as I’d imagined. Still, the air is less than fresh, and I try not to touch anything as I do what I must do quickly. Remembering how Jeremiah mentioned finding a snake in there just yesterday, I hurry to zip up and get out as fast as possible. I blast out of the small structure and plow right into Zach’s dad, knocking something out of his hands.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize as I stoop to pick up what looks like a broken piece of harness, sheepishly handing it back to him. “I was in a hurry.”

  At first he appears seriously aggravated, but then he looks at me, points at the outhouse behind me, says something in Pennsylvania Dutch, and breaks into a grin as if amused. Maybe he thinks it’s funny that I was using the “boys’ room.” He begins to laugh, removing his straw hat, and he slaps it against his thigh as he throws back his head to laugh even harder.

  I don’t know what to say, but his laughter is contagious, and although I know I’m the brunt of his joke, I find that I’m chuckling too.

  Sobering up, he slowly shakes his head as he fiddles with the leather strap in his weathered hands. “You are a good girl, Micah,” he says unexpectedly. “Thank you for your help with the planting. You’re a hard worker.”

  I blink in surprise. “Thank you,” I blurt. “I mean, you’re welcome.”

  It’s getting close to 3:00 by the time Zach and I finish planting the last row of corn. I hold up my phone, urgently pointing out the time as I remind Zach that we need to meet my dad on the road in just a few minutes.

  “You get your stuff,” he calls out to me. “I’ll take care of the horse.”

  I jog back to the house and gather my backpack, which I stashed on the back porch earlier. Thankful to avoid seeing either Rachel or Zach’s mom, I duck around to the woodshed to catch the two female kittens and load them into the cat carrier. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that there’s an old gray towel as well as a small baggie of dry cat food already in there. I’ll have to write Katy a thank-you letter when I get home. Maybe I can send her pictures of the kittens as they get older.

  “I’ll take good care of your children,” I promise Rosie, feeling a bit guilty for catnapping her babies. Still, I know Katy couldn’t keep them anyway. With my full load, I head over to the barn where Zach is just emerging.

  “Ready to go?” I hoist a strap from my pack over a shoulder and glance toward the road in case my dad’s already there.

  “Ja.” He looks all around, taking in the house, the barn, and the fields, and finally gives me a firm nod. “I’m ready.”

  “We better get moving.”

  “Let me carry that for you.” He reaches for the cat carrier, and as our hands brush, he flashes me a brilliant smile. “Can you believe we’re actually doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Going flying,” he says quietly, glancing over his shoulder as if he thinks someone might be listening to us.

  As we walk down the driveway, I feel certain that we’re being watched. I don’t look back, but I can envision Zach’s mom and Rachel frowning with disapproval from the kitchen window. I don’t want to imagine what they might be saying. Perhaps they’re speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch.

  “Does anyone know that you’re going in the car with Dad and me?” I ask a bit nervously.

  “I didn’t tell anyone exactly what I was doing,” he confesses. “Just that I wanted to be sure you got safely on your way today. Mamm thought I was taking you to town in the buggy, and I didn’t tell her differently.”

  “Will they think it’s odd that we left on foot?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Will it matter if they see you getting in a car?” I quicken my pace, hoping we can put some distance between us and the farm before my dad shows up.

  “I don’t know,” he admits.

  “Are you worried about that?”

  “No,” he answers in a firm tone.

  “Good.” I walk even faster. “Because my dad should be here any minute.”

  By the time we reach the road, I’m starting to feel like a refugee or a runaway or maybe even a kidnapper, but I can’t deny that it’s rather exciting. And I’m so thankful to think that I’m really going home. I think I was on the verge of getting seriously homesick.

  “I don’t know what kind of car my dad will be driving,” I tell Zach as we walk quickly down the road. “But I gave him directions, and he’ll be looking for us.”

  A horse-drawn buggy approaches, and from about twenty feet away the driver tips his head at Zach, calling out a greeting as he gives us both a long, curious stare. Zach just waves and smiles as our paths cross, acting as if it’s completely normal for him to be lugging a cat carrier down a country road, walking alongside an English girl who’s dressed like a man. I can’t help but admire his poise.

  “Are you worried at all?” I ask him after the buggy is past. “I mean, that your friends and family and neighbors will talk?”

  He chuckles. “They are already talking, Micah.”

  “Oh, yeah . . . gossiping probably.”

  “They don’t call it gossip,” he explains. “Not when they remind each other to pray for the people they’re talking about. Somehow that makes it okay to spread stories that sometimes grow with the telling—if you promise to uphold them in prayer.”

  I laugh. “I kno
w some English who do the same thing.”

  The next vehicle is a small white car that slows to a stop, and when I spot my dad waving from behind the wheel, I practically jump with joy, I’m so glad to see him. As I run around to greet him, I feel like I’m on the verge of tears. He looks equally happy as he steps out of the car and gathers me into his arms. “My little girl!”

  “Dad!” I exclaim. “It’s so good to see you!”

  After a long hug, he holds me at arm’s length to examine me, grinning as he uses a forefinger to wipe a smudge of something from the tip of my nose. “You look like a real farmer, Micah.”

  “Zach is the real farmer.” I laugh as I point at Zach, who suddenly looks shy. “He and his dad just let me pretend to be a farmhand for a few days.” I take a moment to do a real introduction.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Knight,” Zach says politely.

  “Just call me Will,” Dad tells him as he opens the front passenger door for me to get in. “‘Mr. Knight’ makes me think you’re talking to my father.”

  “Micah wasn’t pretending to help us,” Zach clarifies from the backseat. “She was a hard worker. Even my daed admitted it.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” Dad gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. “Let’s get this show on the road—the friendly skies are waiting.”

  I turn around to peer at Zach in the back. “Are you nervous about being in a car?” I ask.

  He grins. “Not at all.”

  “Have you been in a car before?” Dad manages to pull off a U-turn on the narrow road.

  “Ja. A while back when my friend Aaron came home to visit at Christmas. He took me for a ride late at night. It was fun.”

  As Dad drives us toward town, he makes small talk about the weather and whatnot, and it’s not long before Zach is asking my dad all kinds of questions about his plane and flying and how hard it is to get a pilot’s license. “I read that learning to use the instruments is the hardest part of becoming a pilot and that some pilots rely too much on the airplane’s computers when they use their autopilot.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done some research on this,” Dad tells Zach, giving me a curious glance, like this Amish boy isn’t exactly what he expected.

  “I have,” Zach admits as Dad turns in at the rural airstrip. “I like to read about things that interest me.”

  “Like flying.” I point out the obvious.

  “Ja. And science and geography too.”

  “Interesting.” Dad stops the car in front of a small building that appears to be the main office. “Here we are. Davis Field in all its glory.” He chuckles as he turns off the engine. “I’ll go make sure the freight’s loaded and that we’re clear for takeoff.”

  As Dad goes inside, Zach and I stroll around, checking out the small planes parked near the hangars. I start to tell him the names but am surprised to discover he knows as much as I do—maybe more.

  “This is the plane we’ll be flying in,” I announce when we come to the company plane.

  “But this isn’t your dad’s Cessna,” he points out.

  “That’s his private plane. This is what he flies for work—to make deliveries.”

  “This is a very nice plane,” he says with admiration. “Is it a Piper?”

  “A Turbo Lance,” I tell him.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  I can’t help but grin to hear Zach calling Dad’s plane beautiful, although I must admit I think it’s a pretty cool plane myself. “And it can really go,” I say. I tell Zach about the air freight service that Dad and his partner Rick established more than twenty years ago and how they started out with one plane but now have eight planes and as many pilots that fly special deliveries all over the Great Lakes area. “It was Dad and Rick’s way to ensure that they always had jobs—jobs they love.”

  “Ready to go?” Dad has a carton from a medical facility in hand as he joins us.

  “Ja,” Zach says eagerly.

  “Ever done a safety check?” Dad asks.

  Zach shakes his head no as Dad loads the box into the back of the plane. I watch on in amusement while Dad shows a very impressed Zach how a safety check is performed.

  “You do that before every flight?” Zach asks with interest after they’re done.

  “You bet.” Dad opens the passenger side door. “Why don’t you sit in the copilot’s seat,” he offers.

  “Do you mind?” Zach asks me.

  I laugh as I climb into the back. “Not at all. I’ve ridden up there plenty of times.”

  I get myself and the kitty carrier strapped in while Dad helps Zach with the seatbelt in front. I listen to their conversation, thankful that Dad is taking time to explain everything to Zach, almost like he’s giving him a flying lesson. It’s obvious by Zach’s responses that he has read up on aviation—and that he’s a quick study—because he seems to understand much of what Dad’s saying. Finally we’re taxiing toward the end of the only runway and Dad is talking on the radio, getting clearance from the control “tower.”

  “Ready for takeoff?” Dad asks us as he revs the engine. Zach nods, then turns around to give me a slightly nervous smile, but his eyes are shining so brightly, I can tell that he’s thrilled at the thought of going up into the air. I can’t help but wonder what Rachel would say if she could see us now. I almost wish she could!

  16

  Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I think I can feel Zach’s exhilaration as the plane leaves the runway and shoots up into the sky, defying gravity. It’s like his excitement is palpable within the cockpit. I suspect that Dad feels it too.

  “Amazing!” Zach says loud enough to be heard over the engine noise. He’s peering out the side window now, looking down with wide eyes as the building and cars and trees below get smaller. “Truly amazing!”

  “Want to see where you live?” Dad asks him.

  “Ja,” Zach answers with even more enthusiasm.

  Soon we are flying over Zach’s farm, and I point out the dark brown fields. “That’s where we planted corn,” I tell Dad with almost as much excitement as Zach has displayed over his first flight. “They don’t look that big from up here, but trust me, they are.”

  Dad laughs, circling the farm twice at the lowest legal altitude. Low enough that his engine can probably be heard by anyone down there. I don’t see anyone on the ground, but I wonder if they might glance up from their work. I wonder if they would have any idea that Zach and I are up here. Probably not. And it’s probably for the best. I hate to think of what his parents would say if they knew.

  “Anything else you’d like to see before we return to Davis?” Dad slowly turns the plane around, heading it back toward the airfield.

  “Do you have to go back to Davis?” Zach asks him. “Do you need to land there to pick up anything?”

  “No. My freight’s all loaded.” Dad frowns at Zach. “But I do need to take you back so we can get home. I arranged to borrow the car again so you don’t have to walk. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

  “What if I don’t want to go back?”

  Dad tosses me a worried glance.

  “Would it be all right if I flew to Cleveland with you?” Zach blurts out.

  Dad’s brow creases with fatherly concern. “What will you do in Cleveland?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I thought maybe I could get a job. I’m a hard worker.”

  Dad rubs his chin. “Is that really what you want? To go to Cleveland?”

  “Ja. I think so.”

  “You don’t want to go home? Back to the farm?”

  “No,” Zach declares with certainty. “I’m done being a farmer.”

  “Really?” I lean forward to peer at him. “Have you given this enough thought, Zach? I know you were considering different things, but you seemed undecided. Are you sure you really want to do this?”

  “Ja,” he declares. “I do.” He turns to Dad. “Do you mind?”

  Dad shrugs. “You’re eighteen, right?”
r />   “Ja.”

  “But you didn’t bring anything with you,” I point out. “You didn’t pack a bag.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He gives a black suspender a playful tug. “I wouldn’t want to dress like this in the English world anyway.”

  “Okay then.” Dad lets out a low whistle like he can’t believe he’s agreeing to this. “If you’re absolutely certain.”

  “I am!” Zach confirms.

  “Next stop Cleveland.” Dad veers the plane to the right, heading in a north-northeast direction. He takes a moment to radio his change in plans to the people at Davis Field, and just like that, we’re on our way.

  Mostly we fly over farmland, but Dad and I take turns showing Zach points of interest on the ground, and Zach asks lots of questions. Because the Piper is a pretty fast plane, it’s not long before we’re coming into the Cleveland area, and I can tell that Zach is astounded at how many houses there are so close together. Of course, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

  “How can so many people live in one place?” he asks as we continue on over the city limits. “Don’t they bump into each other a lot?”

  “Sometimes they do,” Dad admits.

  “They get used to it,” I tell him as I check on the kittens, who are peacefully curled up together and sleeping. “But it’s a lot different than what you’re used to.”

  “We keep most of our planes at Burke Lakefront Airport,” Dad tells Zach after he’s received clearance from down below.

  “We’re not landing at Cleveland Hopkins International?” Zach asks.

  “No.” Dad’s lining us up with the strip. “Not Hopkins.”

  “But this airport is really close to Cleveland,” I explain as we start to descend. I point out Lake Erie, and Zach is suitably impressed by its enormity. “Get ready to land,” I say as I lean back into my seat.

  I can tell by how rigidly Zach is sitting that he’s a little nervous about landing, but based on his general enthusiasm about flying, I suspect he’s enjoying it too. Soon our wheels touch the ground, and with just a little bump due to the wind, we are smoothly on the ground. I can see Zach’s shoulders relaxing. “That was great,” he tells Dad. “You’re an excellent pilot.”