“That’s right. You’d be bored with nothing much to do, and then what, eh? You’d get yourself into trouble.” Mr. Hershberger’s voice was kind and gentle—the type of man you couldn’t imagine yelling, but what he’d said made me want to punch him just the same.
“I doubt that. I would just spend more time in the garden or cleaning...or cooking up some of your favorite recipes, I would.” Ruth snorted.
Mr. Hershberger chuckled, patting Ruth’s hand. “Whatever you say, Ma.”
As we slowed to a walk and turned onto the winding driveway that led down from the road, I leaned forward between James and Ruth to get a better look. I caught Ruth’s amused expression for a second before I focused my eyesight on the place that came into view.
Church was being held at none other than the creepy Levi Zook’s farm. I had passionately told Ruth about what I thought of him when I’d learned where we were going. She’d laughed at me and agreed wholeheartedly that Levi was a rebel of sorts, getting into mischief time and again, but hardly the crooked boy I saw him as. She was entitled to her opinion—and so was I. I knew Levi was in a whole different league of rebel, especially after the way he’d galloped off to tattle on Noah to Mr. Miller when he’d seen us kissing in the field.
Anger still bubbled within me when I pictured Levi’s smirking, pale face on that stormy afternoon, and his slippery voice making the suggestion to Noah that if he shared me, Levi would forget what he saw that day. He hadn’t been kidding, either. I sighed deeply, saying a silent thank-you to the universe that Levi hadn’t gotten his way.
We bounced along on the gravel between a stand of tall, neatly placed trees before the scenery opened up again to expose grassy hills surrounding a small homestead. I had to admit I was surprised by the sight that greeted me. The farm’s home was smaller than the other Amish houses I’d seen, but what it lacked in size it made up for in cuteness. The house was gingerbread-like, with intricate woodwork designs along the top of the porch. Above the porch was a triangle roofline pointing to sky that was decorated in hunter green, matching the rest of the trim. There were a few flower beds here and there in front of the home, but nowhere near the blooming display that many of the Amish seemed to go for. Then again, the place really didn’t need any help being pretty. The natural lay of the land and adorable old house was enough to do the trick.
I wasn’t expecting the demon boy to live in such a place—just proving that Ruth was right when she’d warned me that looks could be deceiving.
“Pretty place, don’t you agree, Rose?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled out.
We continued on past the house heading to the large gambrel barn at the base of one of the hills. The barn wasn’t painted, but not a board was popped out or rotten.
I really wanted to go with Mr. Hershberger to help take the harness off Dolly and put her in the barn with the other horses, but as usual, I was ushered away by Ruth to spend time with the women. Even though it was still early in the morning, sweat was rising to the surface of my skin under the dark maroon dress that I wore. It was a present from Ruth, a more formal outfit befitting church service. To me it looked about the same as my blue one, only this dress had an extra covering of cloth over my upper body. No chance of anyone checking out my boobs.
I followed Ruth past the parked buggies that filled the yard as if it were an old-fashioned parking lot. The day was warm, and already the sun was burning off the morning cloud cover, peeking out softly from its dewy cloak. Still, even with the perfect weather conditions, the rain from the night before was causing the buggy highway to turn to a yucky mixture of sticky brown mush and pebbles. I took light steps close behind Ruth while I held my dress up out of the mud.
I watched where my feet went, trying not to get my black Nikes too caked up and at the same time attempting to keep as low a profile as I could—another first for me. I usually enjoyed making an entrance, but not today. I figured that the less anyone noticed me, the better—especially Mr. Bishop. I definitely didn’t want to be attracting his attention.
I still felt the eyes on me, though. Like—all the eyes. And it wasn’t just my imagination, either. When I’d glance up, I’d catch old women, young guys, middle-aged men and their wives staring.
Even the toddlers sensed that there was an intruder in their midst, stopping to gawk at me as I sloshed past them. How anyone could tell that I wasn’t Amish when I was dressed identically to the rest of the girls milling about was anyone’s guess. Was it that I was with Ruth, and they knew that she’d taken me in? Or maybe they were all so tight genetically that they could automatically pick out an imposter in their midst.
Whatever the reason, I was noticed by everyone—and they were incredibly solemn. No boisterous greetings flying around the yard, and no kids acting like kids. I was inwardly relieved that everyone was wearing shoes. When I first squished down in the muck I envisioned being surrounded by nasty feet. I didn’t know if shoes were required for church or if the icky conditions restrained the kids and girls.
Ruth nodded and said a few unknown words as we converged into a larger stream of women making their way toward a glorified garage-looking building near Hansel and Gretel’s house. I let go of the smirk that must have appeared on my mouth as the thought slipped through my mind. That cute cottage must have a witch inside that birthed Levi.
An irrational chill swept through me when I thought his name. I picked my head up and scanned the crowd, ignoring the eyes that were locked on me. Pretty much when I’d return the stare with any of the Amish people, they’d immediately look away.
I guessed I could win all the staring contests with everyone in attendance—except him. When my eyes met the evil carrot-top himself, I was the one to glance away quickly, nearly stumbling into Ruth who’d stopped in front of me for a second before continuing onward again.
I took a long steady breath and didn’t look back in the direction of where I’d spotted him staring at me. He’d been surrounded by what appeared to be all the men and teenage boys of the community hanging around the front of the makeshift church. Unfortunately, in the seconds that my eyes had scanned the crowd of beards, I hadn’t seen any of the Miller men.
Apprehension spread through me as we approached the men. At that moment, they seemed more closely related to aliens than human beings. Some of the men were talking quietly to each other, but the majority of them were just standing there, saying nothing, doing nothing.
The women, on the other hand, moved with single-minded determination toward and into the white building. I should have just kept my head down, but, no; I couldn’t do that, because I needed to see Noah, needed to feel his reassuring gaze on me. Ignoring the guys, I searched for Noah in the crowd.
I wasn’t surprised to receive a hard look from Mervin Weaver when my eyes passed over him, but I didn’t pause to give him fuel for his witch pyre. Instead, I quickly broke contact and dropped my gaze right before entering the dim light of the building.
I took a few seconds to quickly size up the dynamics before me. There were two sections of benches set up facing a dark, wooden wall that lacked any windows. Besides the benches, a line of tables on one side of the room and the throng of women, the space was empty.
Of course, all the girls and women, young and old alike, were seating themselves together on what I assumed was the girls’ side. I dutifully followed my guardian to the middle of the benches where she seated herself close beside a gray-haired lady I didn’t know. Still there were no introductions. I basically felt as if I were Ruth’s unwanted shadow, but I wouldn’t have complained about her behavior. I was glad to quietly observe the weirdness around me.
While I was mouthing O’s to the wide-eyed baby a few feet away who was resting on her mama’s shoulder, I got a big bump on my open side, causing me to swivel quickly. My irritation disappeared instantly when I saw Suzanna’s bright smile. The blond Amish girl had struck me as being feistier than the other girls the first time I’d met her at the singing that
seemed so long ago now. She’d definitely left an impression on me, and as she squeezed onto the bench, pushing me closer into Ruth’s soft plumpness, I sighed out happily that she was there.
“Hey, Rose—fancy meeting you here.” She winked at me, and much of the strangeness of the day disappeared.
“Hey, it’s good to see you again,” I said.
Suzanna whispered back, but I worried that her enthusiasm was bringing her voice up to an unacceptable level, “Do you know what you’re in for, girl?”
“What do you mean?”
“Our church services are like, almost three hours long,” Suzanna informed me gravely.
“Yeah, I’m kind of prepared.” I brought my lips to Suzanna’s ear. “Ruth warned me that Bishop Lambright tends to ramble.”
“Oh, that’s putting it mildly.” She giggled. “But it’ll be even worse for you, ’cause you don’t even understand our language.”
I was pretty good at daydreaming, especially these days with Noah on my mind, but I didn’t tell Suzanna that. Instead, I whispered back, “Hopefully, I’ll pick some words up in time.”
“Hey, maybe I could teach you,” Suzanna exclaimed, again her excitement getting away from her.
But I was so happy for the offer that I thanked her and said, “I already asked Ruth about a language book I could study.”
Suzanna grinned, “What did she say to that?”
“She laughed at me and said that there weren’t any such books. She told me that you all learn the language from your families when you’re babes, and you start speaking English when you go to school in first grade.”
“Yeah, I’ve never heard of any Pennsylvania German language books.” Again she laughed softly, totally amused by the conversation. A wisp of blondish-white hair escaped from her cap, and she blew it out of her eye.
The mousy china doll face peeking around Suzanna’s shoulder caught my attention. I hadn’t even noticed the girl before. Her skin was pale, as if she’d just arrived from a faraway northern place that hadn’t seen the sun in a while. I immediately noticed her teeth were darkish and shrunken.
She had rotten teeth. I quickly moved my eyes away from her teeth, not wanting to stare rudely, only to be trapped by the darkest set of sad brown eyes I’d ever seen. I was immediately overcome with emotion toward the girl. Was it pity? Maybe a little, but also an instant fondness and protectiveness swelled within me for her, too.
“This is my best friend, Miranda Zook.” Suzanna pointed cheerfully at the little sparrow sitting beside her. Miranda at first glance appeared to be twelve or thirteen, but now, really looking at her again, she probably was the same age as me and Suzanna. I could barely make out the bumps beneath her sky-blue dress indicating a full-fledged teen girl. And those haunting eyes again—they looked old and tired.
“This is the crazy English girl I’ve been telling you all about, Mira.” Suzanna grabbed my shoulder, squeezing and pushing me slightly at the same time.
I ignored the crazy comment and said, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, Miranda.”
“Oh, that’s ’cause she’s been...ah, living away for a time,” Suzanna said in a subdued way, actually trying to think about her words before she released them, causing my curiosity to spike.
I had to know where away was, but before I got a chance to interrogate the poor girl, a bustle at the door tore my attention away.
While I was in the conversation with Suzanna, I hadn’t realized that all the women and girls were now quietly seated around me. The side of the building was packed full, with most of the women’s shoulders rubbing. There was almost no sound except the thump, thumps of the men’s feet on the floor as they came through the doorway.
The sight of all the darkly dressed men with their black hats entering in an orderly fashion and taking their seats on the side opposite from the women was impressive—and downright bizarre.
Most of the women looked straight ahead, ignoring the men, but Suzanna, along with myself and a few of the other young women, were watching the guys make their grand entrance. Miranda wasn’t, though. She was staring straight ahead, like a frozen statue. My glance skipped over the men, up and down, back and forth. It was difficult to recognize one plain-clothed man from another, especially with all the bushy beards in the mix. Finally, I spotted Jacob, right behind Amos. My heart thudded hard until Noah came into sight and then almost stopped when his eyes met mine.
He had been searching for me, too.
* * *
The sixty or so men took no time at all situating themselves on their benches, and just as the last butt was getting as comfortable as it possibly could on the hard wooden bench, Bishop Lambright appeared in front of the congregation.
I had to give him credit—he had a natural sense for the dramatic. He stood still, yet appeared relaxed. He surveyed his tribe carefully with his focused eyes. I was sure he was imprinting to memory who was in attendance...and who wasn’t. His face didn’t alter its expression as he gazed briefly at every face in the crowd, even when his eyes slid over me. I didn’t look away, but deep down I really wanted to slip under the bench.
When the bishop did speak, it was loud and steady. And in a language I couldn’t understand. He wandered around the building while he talked, making sure that he paid attention to everyone, keeping them alert and awake. He was definitely not the type of preacher to tolerate snoozers while he had the podium.
I couldn’t help it, maybe if I knew what the man was saying I’d have been able to stay in the room mentally, but my mind began to wander within minutes, lulled to another place by the drone of the bishop’s voice.
I wondered what Sam and Justin were doing. Was Dad at the hospital that morning or sipping his coffee over the newspaper in the kitchen? It had only been a few days since I left them, but it felt like much longer. I’d called Dad the first night to tell him I was settled in and getting along with the Hershbergers. I didn’t mention anything about the whole meeting thing to him. I knew his game plan and he’d have liked nothing better than to hear I was being given a hard time straight out of the gate.
Talking to him, even for a few moments, had made me feel better, but it did bug me a little that he hadn’t called me again. Wasn’t he going insane with curiosity over what I was doing? Maybe not—perhaps Tina was keeping him so busy that he really didn’t even think about me.
I liked Dad’s girlfriend now, really I did. Tina had been my savior: the only reason that I had this opportunity to be with Noah was because of her advice to Dad. Even now, I could hardly believe that he’d listened to her at all.
But my doubts remained. What was Dad thinking? Oh, yeah, he thought that I’d be running home in a week or two, begging for my old life back.
I did miss that life: my brothers, even dopey Sam; my computer; and especially my phone. I didn’t watch TV that much, but it was comforting to know that the thing was there in the family room, waiting to be turned on and stared at on a boring evening. I’d never get my license, either, which was the worst part. And music...the sweet sounds floating to my ears were gone, too.
But all of that wasn’t really important to me. After almost losing Noah, I knew that the one thing I couldn’t live without was him. I glanced over to the men’s side, letting my eyes linger over the back of his luscious head. In the quiet dreariness of the building I couldn’t see his bronze highlights, but the thick dark brown hair was in its usual untidy state. I wanted to run my fingers through the strands, and I daydreamed for a quite a while about doing other things to Noah while the bishop made his laps around the church.
The rustling of movement and the shoving of something into my hand brought me back to the boring reality. Suzanna had handed me a book that said Ausbund on the front cover. Quickly, I flipped through the pages and my instant suspicions were correct: it was in a foreign language, of course. Ruth pointed to the number on the bottom of the page of her own, and I did the best I could to fake it through the sad, lonely sounding song.
There was no beat or tempo, just the unexciting harmonizing of the men and women. There were some interesting variations when just the men would sing a part, then the women, followed by everyone. How they knew what to do and when with their voices, I had no clue.
After the tune ended, there was a procession of ministers talking, more songs and even a couple of times where we got down on the floor, kneeling to the benches. I didn’t understand the rhyme or reason to it all, but they all knew the drill.
I had to admit that none of the other ministers were nearly as commanding as Bishop Lambright was. Mervin Weaver stayed rooted in one place, speaking almost too softly to be heard at all. Regardless of the language barrier, he would have been a hard one to stay glued on.
I saw that several of the old men on the other side and even a few of the women in my sight had heads that were dropped, chins resting on their collar bones. They were asleep. The bishop never would have tolerated that, I was sure.
Amos did all right, shifting around the room a bit and speaking in a firmer voice, but poor Mr. Bontrager was a nervous wreck. I felt sorry for the poor guy; he wasn’t a born speaker, that’s for sure.
This all went on for an excruciatingly long period of time. My butt was sore, my back was aching and no matter which way I turned or leaned or shifted, I was assaulted with little pains.
Surely, it must be almost over, my mind screamed. If Ruth had allowed me to wear my little black watch I’d have had a clue to how much more torture I’d have to endure. But watches weren’t allowed.
I always used my phone for the time, and already knowing that cell phones weren’t permitted, I’d packed the most inconspicuous watch I could find in my drawer. Ruth had caught me just before I went out the door that morning, informing me that I couldn’t wear watches or jewelry of any kind.
“But how am I supposed to know what time it is?” I had complained.
Her answer was simply that, “You don’t need to know—things happen in their own good time, and since you can’t control the flow, anyway, you shouldn’t care about it.”
Belonging Page 4