Trading Secrets

by Melody Carlson

  “That all sounds great,” he says eagerly.

  “Do you really think he has time to see all of that?” Lizzie demands. “I mean, this is Wednesday, Micah. We only have four more days of spring break.” She peers curiously at me. “How long is Zach going to be here, anyway?”

  “I, uh, I don’t really know,” I stammer.

  “I’m not sure either,” he admits. “I guess it depends.”

  Lizzie cocks her head to one side. “On what?”

  He makes an uncomfortable smile. “I honestly don’t know. I guess I’ll just have to see how it goes. Like Jesus tells us in the Bible, we can only live one day at a time.”

  For some reason I feel surprised at his reference to the Bible. Of course, I realize he was raised with it, but so far he hasn’t really mentioned anything related to his own personal faith. I almost assumed that he had none. Now I realize that’s rather silly. Why wouldn’t he? The kittens are mewing now, and I realize that they probably are hungry. “It looks like their food is soft enough to eat.” I set the bowl in the center of the kitchen, and the two furry critters scamper straight to the food and begin to devour it.

  “Isn’t that cute,” Lizzie gushes. “Wow, they must’ve been really ravenous. Look how fast they’re cleaning that food up.”

  “Speaking of food, I promised Dad I’d order takeout, and he should be getting home in the next hour.” I look at Zach. “Any preference?”

  “Preference? You mean for a certain kind of food?”

  “Yeah. I know you’re used to good hearty farm fare.”

  He grins. “Farm fare? Is that what you call our food?”

  I turn to Lizzie. “The Amish really know how to eat.”

  “I’ve heard that.” She pokes my midsection. “But it doesn’t look like you’ve put on any weight.”

  I laugh. “That’s because you work it all off. The Amish eat well and work hard.” I go to the basket where Dad and I keep all our takeout menus and lay them out on the breakfast bar for Zach to see. “Here you go. There’s Chinese, Italian, sushi, Thai . . . you name it, I’m sure it’s there.”

  His eyes get wide as he peruses the various menus. “Takeout is expensive,” he says quietly.

  “Well, yeah, I guess so. I mean, you have to pay for someone else to do all the work.”

  “You never cook your own food?” He looks quizzically at me.

  Lizzie lets out a big laugh. “If you want really good homemade food, you’ll have to come to my house, Zach.”

  I make a face at my best friend. “Unfortunately, that’s pretty true,” I confess. “Lizzie’s mom is a great cook.”

  “How about me?” She jerks her thumb toward her chest.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “You’re a good cook too.”

  “But Micah and Will aren’t really into cooking,” she confides to Zach.

  “Oh.” He makes a knowing smile, probably remembering something his mom or sisters told him.

  “Speaking of cooking, I promised to help Mom with dinner tonight.” She bends down to pick up her kitten. “It looks like your tummy is nice and full.”

  “Better get her to a kitty litter box,” Zach warns. “Most young animals have to go right after they eat.”

  She laughs. “Thanks for the warning.”

  I walk them to the door and even go outside to have a private word with Lizzie. “Zach left kind of unexpectedly,” I confess. “I don’t think he really knows what he wants to do yet.”

  “You mean he might’ve left home for good?” Her eyes grow wide.

  “It’s possible.” I tell her about Rachel and how she’s helping Zach’s mom. “I’m certain she’s in love with him. In fact, she’ll probably be brokenhearted when he doesn’t come home tonight.”

  “Seriously? Rachel and Zach?”

  “She’s very pretty,” I say as we stand outside of my house. “She can really cook and sew, and, well, it sounds like she can do everything in the way of housekeeping.”

  “Yeah, of course.” Lizzie giggles. “She’s been doing all that since she was a kid.”

  “Anyway, go easy on Zach,” I tell her. “He might look strong, but he—”

  “He looks great. Man, Micah, you didn’t tell me he was such a hottie.”

  I just shrug. “As I was trying to say, I can tell Zach is stressed. He might try to act like he’s not, but can you imagine how you’d feel to be leaving your family and your home and everything you know like that? Knowing you might never be welcome under their roof again?”

  “Yeah. That’s hard.” She sadly shakes her head.

  “Just try to keep that in mind, okay? I mean, if you get to spend any more time with him?”

  “Will I?” she asks eagerly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t forget I have to watch Erika the rest of the week. But she and I would love to go with you to some of those places. We could chip in for gas and stuff.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” To be honest, there’s a part of me that would like to have Zach all to myself. At the same time, it might make it more comfortable for him to have Lizzie and Erika with us. “I’ll let you know,” I promise, hugging her good-bye. “It’s so good to see you—and to be home again,” I call out as she hurries away with her kitty.

  As I return to the house, I feel worried for Zach’s sake. His concern about the cost of something as minor as takeout is a reminder of his situation. He has nothing. No clothes to speak of. No money. No education. How in the world can he possibly make it in the English world? Really, he would be much better off to return home and marry Rachel. Even though he’d be farming her parents’ land, at least he’d never be in need. Not like he’ll be if he stays here. Of course, the idea of making it in the English world must’ve been a fun dream for him. But in the light of day, it seems more like the impossible dream. Poor Zach.

  18

  After Dad gets home, the three of us share a combo pizza, which Zach loves, and we all watch a ball game on one of Dad’s favorite sports channels, which Zach pretends to love. Dad goes to his room and eventually returns with a small pile of clothing that he claims he was planning on getting rid of anyway. Fortunately for Zach, he and Dad are about the same size. Well, Zach’s an inch or so taller and Dad’s a bit wider, but it looks close enough.

  “These are all in good shape,” Zach tells my dad as he examines a pair of faded Levis. “No holes or rips or anything. Why would you throw them away?”

  “I wouldn’t throw them away,” Dad clarifies. “We donate our old clothes to places like Goodwill and the Salvation Army. That helps other people.”

  “Oh, ja,” Zach says. “My mom and sisters like to shop at the Goodwill store in Hamrick’s Bridge sometimes.”

  Dad gets back into his recliner, but instead of putting his feet up, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, as if he’s studying Zach. “Tell me, Zach, what exactly are your plans? Do you intend to remain in Cleveland? If so, do you honestly think you can go into the city and find your Amish friends? Or that they’ll be able give you a place to live? Have you really thought this whole thing completely through?”

  I can’t believe Dad’s interrogating Zach like this, and I almost want to interrupt him in Zach’s defense. I decide to back down and keep my mouth shut. Pretending to be focused on my little Katy kitty who is contentedly purring in my lap, I listen intently to their conversation.

  “Not completely.” Zach’s voice turns serious. “I’m not sure how to go about finding my friends, but if I ask around town, I hope I can figure it out.”

  Dad clears his throat in a skeptical way. “And if you do find them . . . and if they do let you stay with them . . . what then?”

  “Then I will find work,” Zach declares with confidence.

  “Doing what?”

  Zach shrugs. “Whatever work I can find.”

  “But your job experience is mostly related to agriculture, right?”

  “Ja. But I’m strong and I can work har
d. From what I hear, not all English fellows like to work hard.”

  Dad makes an amused smile. “That’s true enough. But is that all you want? A job that requires maximum muscle but only pays minimum wage?”

  “Minimum wage?”

  Dad explains what the term means, but Zach still doesn’t seem concerned.

  “I can live on minimum wage,” he says. “At least to start. Maybe I’ll find something better later on.”

  “But without more education, at the very least a GED, I doubt you can ever plan to earn much more than that,” Dad informs him. “Plus, Cleveland’s employment rate has improved in recent years, but we’re still not exactly leading the nation in job availability.”

  Zach lets out a weary sigh, and I’m sure that he’s not only overwhelmed but just plain tired. Why not, since it’s after 10:00?

  “You know, Dad, if Zach were home, he’d be in bed by now,” I quietly say. “Everyone would. They go to bed extra early in the country.”

  My dad, who’s a night owl, looks mildly surprised but simply nods. “Feel free to turn in whenever you like, Zach. I know Micah showed you your room already. Just make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa.”

  Zach looks puzzled.

  “That means dad’s house is your house,” I translate.

  Now Zach looks even more confused.

  “Well, not literally.” I laugh. “It’s just a saying.”

  “Oh, ja. I get it. Thank you for your hospitality,” he tells Dad. “It’s a very nice room. Much more than I need.” Zach was shocked to discover our well-appointed guest room, which Dad outfitted for when my grandparents come to visit, complete with a king-sized bed, generous closet, and even a flat-screen TV. Zach was so blown away, he just walked around as if he was afraid to touch anything. He was also surprised to see that my bathroom has two sinks as well as a separate shower and tub. I’m well aware that the bathroom shared by his whole family isn’t nearly as big or as nice.

  “I put some things in the bathroom for you,” I inform him. To be honest, I’m not terribly keen on sharing my “private” bath with a guy. Even if it is Zach. But my dad’s bathroom is part of the master suite, and I can’t see having Zach go through there to use it. To accommodate Zach, I cleared the space around the second sink and laid out one of Dad’s disposable razors, a new toothbrush, and a bar of Irish Spring on a big thick bath towel for him. Just like a luxury hotel. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you,” Zach says as he stands. “You’ve both been very generous.”

  After Zach has gone to bed, despite my own tiredness, I stay up to talk to Dad. I can tell he’s genuinely concerned for Zach’s welfare, and to be honest, I am too. We quietly discuss the situation, but I can’t see that we’re getting anywhere. After all, it’s up to Zach to decide what’s best for him.

  “I’ve heard horror stories about Amish kids who get into serious trouble,” Dad tells me. “They fall in with the wrong crowd and get into drinking and all kinds of crud. I’d hate to see that happen to Zach. He really seems like a nice kid.”

  “He is a nice kid,” I assure him. “And he’s very sensible. For all I know, he may decide that the city life isn’t for him after all. The truth is, I really can’t see him fitting in. He’s such a farm kid. You should see how much he loves the animals, Dad.” I tell him more about how he helped Molly, using his own money to pay the vet. “Unfortunately, that’s why he’s broke now.”

  “You think he’ll go home after a couple of days then?” Dad asks hopefully. “We could probably drive him home on the weekend. Or get him a bus ticket.”

  “It might be for the best.” I sadly shake my head. “I honestly can’t tell what he’s thinking. Although I’m sure of this—he is way out of his comfort zone. I can see it in his eyes from time to time. There have been moments—like on the expressway—when I’m certain he wished he’d stayed home. Even seeing the guest room overwhelmed him.”

  “Well, if he’s such a fish out of water here, can you imagine what he’ll feel like wandering around downtown Cleveland, trying to find his Amish friends, which sounds impossible? Or trying to get a job without a high school diploma or a driver’s license or anything? Does he even have any ID, or how about a Social Security number?” Dad grimly shakes his head. “I can’t even imagine what an uphill battle this is going to be for him.”

  “I know.” I let out an exhausted sigh, snuggling Katy kitty up to my chin.

  “Maybe you should hit the hay too, sweetie. You seem awfully tired to me.”

  “Well, I was up before the crack of dawn, working in the fields, leading the horse around—or maybe he was leading me.” I push myself to my feet.

  Dad chuckles. “I would’ve loved to have seen that, Micah.”

  “Yeah, right.” I go over and kiss his stubbly cheek. “It’s good to be home, Dad.”

  “Good for me too. Any plans for tomorrow? Going to show Zach some sights?”

  I quickly replay some of the ideas I suggested earlier, and Dad agrees that Zach would probably enjoy them. “Particularly the aviation museum, although that’s a bit of a drive. I was impressed with how much he already knows about aviation—especially for an Amish boy.”

  “Yeah. Zach does a lot of reading.”

  “Gotta admire a self-taught man.” Dad picks up the Louis L’Amour paperback he’s been reading. “Just like my favorite author here. Can’t find fault with that.”

  As I get ready for bed, still relishing every little luxury of the English life, I decide that Dad’s right. It’s difficult to find fault with much of anything about Zach. Except, perhaps, his general naïvety—combined with his inability to see it. It’s like they say, “You don’t know what you don’t know,” and I’m afraid Zach doesn’t. But what can I do about that? I get Katy tucked into her new kitty bed, which I’ve put into the cat carrier. I snuggle my old stuffed cat in next to her in the hope it will be of some comfort.

  I climb into my cushy, comfy, totally fabulous full-sized bed with its fine smooth sheets, and I can’t help but feel as if I’ve died and gone to heaven. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But it is good. Very good. I’m so sleepy I can barely string two coherent thoughts together, but I attempt to say a quick albeit loopy prayer for Zach’s welfare. I ask God to direct my friend’s path. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do right now. I’ve barely said amen before I feel myself sinking into a thick, dreamy sleep.

  By the time I get up in the morning—having been awakened by Katy kitty several times, which finally led to her sharing my bed with me—Dad’s already gone to work. I discover he’s left me a sweet note in an envelope with some cash to use for sightseeing with Zach today. Apparently Dad took the transit, because he also left me the keys to the car. What a guy!

  Still feeling groggy from interrupted sleep and thinking it might take me a few days to catch up from my stint as an Amish farmhand, I put Katy and her bed and litter box in my bathroom, thinking it will be a safe way to contain her during the day. “I’ll go get your food ready,” I promise her.

  For some reason I’m caught off guard to discover Zach already in the kitchen. Maybe it’s how he looks. Standing there in his bare feet, he’s wearing my dad’s old jeans and a pale gray T-shirt, and he’s cracking eggs into a bowl. I stare for probably a full minute, just trying to absorb this bizarre scene. Is this really the same Amish guy I planted corn with just yesterday? What happened to the straw hat and suspenders? Okay, I know he doesn’t need them here, but it’s a bit unsettling just the same.

  I finally clear my throat to announce my presence, and he turns around to say, “Good morning.” His dark hair is damply curled around his tanned face, I’m guessing from a shower, and his smile is big and bright.

  As I say, “Good morning,” I feel a strange jolt of reality surging through me. Zach was good-looking in his Amish clothes, but he is totally hot dressed like a normal English guy. I suddenly realize that maybe my dad should be warned. Maybe it’
s not such a great idea to have this handsome dude living under our roof! But, hey, I’m not going to be the one to tell him. No way!

  “Are you, uh, cooking?” I say lamely. Duh. I force myself to look away as I fill the kitty dish with kibble.

  “Your father showed me how to use the toaster before he left.” He points to a couple pieces of toast on a plate, then returns to his task. “Since your stove is gas like ours, I don’t expect it to be too difficult to use. Your father said to fix whatever I like, and I saw the eggs.”

  “I thought Amish guys didn’t know how to cook.” I pour milk over the kitty food and set the bowl aside.

  “That’s generally true, but I learned a thing or two from my sisters. Want some breakfast?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I go over to the coffeemaker to discover that Dad must’ve made a full pot. I pour myself a cup, add some milk, then sit down to watch as Zach stirs the eggs, adds salt and pepper, then drops a dollop of butter into the hot pan. After it melts, he carefully pours the eggs in. They splatter and pop, but he seems in control as he stirs them around.

  Eventually, he dishes them out onto a plate, adds a piece of toast, and sets it in front of me. “There,” he says proudly. “Is that just like an English guy would do?”

  “Do you think all English guys can cook?”

  “Obviously not. But I saw your dad doing it, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.” He sits across from me with his own plate, and as I pick up my fork, he bows his head. I lay down my fork and follow his example, silently saying a prayer of thanksgiving—both for my food and for my friend.

  “Amen,” he says much sooner than his dad would’ve done.

  I smile as I fork into my scrambled eggs and take a tentative bite. “Not bad,” I tell him. Of course, I don’t mention that the toast is cold. Who am I to complain since I didn’t lift a finger to help? “What do you want to do today?” I ask. “Dad said you shouldn’t miss the aviation museum since you’re so interested in flying. But that’s quite a drive. Maybe we should start with the sights closer to Cleveland. How about the Cleveland Museum of Natural History, since you like animals and science?”