The Amish Bride

by Mindy Starns Clark

  I pulled my stack of wedding magazines out from under my bed and leafed through one after the other, tearing out photos of cakes. I folded the pages and slipped them into my backpack. Next, I pulled my remaining two dresses and my cape off the pegs along the wall, rolled them to keep the wrinkles to a minimum, and then put them in my backpack too. My mother never came into my room anymore, but I definitely needed to keep her out today. If she noticed that all of my things were down, she might get suspicious.

  I’d wear my jeans, of course, and warm coat. I had a stocking cap to wear under my helmet and warm gloves.

  After a while I went downstairs and started vegetable-beef soup for dinner. Aunt Klara and Uncle Alexander had given us a quarter beef last summer, and I used one of the last pounds of hamburger. Zed came in the door as I was chopping carrots. It seemed he’d grown another couple of inches in the last month.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “In her office.” At least I assumed that’s where she was because she wasn’t in the cottage, and her car was still in the driveway. “What’s up?”

  “One of the teachers at school is offering a filmmaking seminar, and I want to take it.”

  “Good luck with that,” I muttered, scooping up the carrots and dropping them into the pot of broth.

  He sat down at the computer without taking his jacket off. “I need her signature to do it. We’re going to meet before school.”

  “Starting when?” I tried not to panic, imagining Zed up at five thirty tomorrow morning as I tried to slip out the door.

  “Next week.” His answer hardly alleviated my anxiety because I realized then that Mom could be just coming home from a birth or just leaving. She could hear Ezra’s motorcycle. She could be getting up to go to the bathroom. Or she could simply be up already.

  I began chopping the celery, but the knife slipped and I yanked my hand back just in time, annoyed with Mom’s cheap knives. That was the first thing I was going to buy when I had some extra money—a decent knife.

  By the time we sat down to eat, I was too anxious to get much down. After Zed and I finished the dishes, I told him goodnight. He grunted at me. I gave him a quick hug, fighting back the tears.

  “What’s with you?” He pushed me away.

  I wrinkled my nose. “It’s called a good night hug, okay? I won’t see you in the morning. I’m leaving early.” I knew both he and Mom would assume I had an early babysitting job, as I did now and then.

  He shrugged and folded his lanky frame into the desk chair.

  I headed up to my room, taking the stairs slowly. Mom was out in her office again. I was afraid if I went out there to tell her goodbye that she would become suspicious, so I didn’t.

  In less than twenty-four hours, once she knew I’d left, she was going to be furious with me anyway. It would only pour salt on that wound if I went out and told her goodbye now without giving her the full story.

  I contemplated leaving a note but decided against that too. What if, for some reason, she found it in the morning and came after us? I honestly didn’t think she would ever chase after anyone, especially me, but I didn’t want to risk it just in case. The more time we had before she even knew we were gone, the better.

  The thing was, I was sure she wasn’t going to be that upset about my leaving. It was my leaving with Ezra that she was going to be the angriest about, afraid I was going to ruin his perfect life. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel bad about deceiving her. I did. I just didn’t know what else to do.

  The next morning I was up by three forty-five. Truth was, I’d hardly slept at all, tossing and turning and checking the time on my cell phone half the night. At one point, I’d even talked myself out of going. But then I thought of Ezra going alone. All those hours on his bike by himself after I’d talked him into taking it. Then all alone in Indiana.

  By the time I crawled out of bed, I was determined—again—to make it work.

  I showered, dressed in my jeans and sweater, and grabbed my boots and backpack and the carved box with the book safely inside. I tiptoed downstairs, grabbed a banana and a muffin from the kitchen, and walked out the door into the darkness, sitting down on the edge of the porch to firmly pull my boots on before heading down the steps. I could hear Ezra’s motorcycle in the distance, and I began to run to the road, not wanting Mom to hear his bike. I glanced back at my childhood home one more time, blowing a kiss over my backpack that was bouncing on my shoulder.

  I made it to the road as Ezra crested the hill.

  “Hey,” he said. Then he looked past me to the cottage. “Your mom isn’t going to see you off?”

  I shook my head. “She said everything she was going to say yesterday.”

  His eyes clouded a little. “She’s not too happy, I take it.”

  I shrugged, wedging my box, still wrapped in the flannel pillowcase, into the saddlebag. “She’ll get over it.”

  I positioned my pack on the bike’s rack, arranging it so I’d be able to lean against it.

  “How about your family? Did they all tell you goodbye?”

  He shook his head. “I talked with my parents last night and told them I was taking my motorcycle, which annoyed them. I spent the night at Will’s. He did tell me goodbye this morning, but he’s upset with me too.”

  I climbed on behind Ezra. “Did you tell them I was going with you?”

  “No.” His voice was raw. “Which I don’t feel good about at all. They’ll probably find out about it from your mom, and then who knows what they’ll do?”

  Sick with guilt, I didn’t reply but instead just wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.

  “Let’s go,” I said into his ear, and we jolted forward. He turned around in the middle of the highway and then headed back toward the covered bridge.

  As we jumped over the wooden planks, I couldn’t help but smile, regardless of all the anxiety I felt. As we passed out from under the shadow of the bridge and started up the hill, I saw our Amish neighbor putting her wash on the line by the light of a lantern, taking advantage of the warmer weather. Daffodils bloomed alongside their house, and her husband, a dark figure in the field, was herding the cows into the barn to be milked.

  In a minute the idyllic scene was nothing but a blur, and we were turning onto the main road, bypassing the city of Lancaster as dawn broke. The emerald green pastures glistened from the morning dew. Cows raised their heads, chewing their cud as we zoomed by.

  Ten minutes later we were on Highway 283, headed toward Harrisburg. As we crossed the county line, leaving Lancaster County behind, I couldn’t help but grin.

  The biggest adventure of our lives had just begun.

  NINE

  After three hours on the road, we exited the turnpike outside of Bedford and turned into a truck stop for breakfast. Ezra was quiet as we studied the menu.

  “What’s wrong?” I hoped it was just that he was tired.

  He put down his menu and exhaled slowly. His chocolaty brown eyes were full of concern.

  “I don’t know about this, Ella.” He looked nothing like the romantic young man who had kissed me in the park just a short time ago.

  “About what?” I smiled, trying to be playful.

  “If what we’re doing is right. Upsetting my folks back home. You leaving like this without a job. Bringing my bike. All of it.” He raised the menu before I could answer. Ezra had always been the one ready to take risks.

  I cringed a little, fully aware I was in the wrong—being dishonest with both Mom and Ezra—but he was just being his usual sweet self, doing his best to accommodate me.

  Honestly, I didn’t feel good about deceiving everyone. Mom was one thing—though I would have told her if she hadn’t been so ruthless with me. But the Gundys were another matter. It didn’t help that I truly liked Ezra’s family. For the most part they were very reasonable people, but on this issue I knew they would never see it clearly.

  After the waitress took our order, Ezra settled back in his seat and asked ho
w far the dairy farm was from where I’d be staying.

  I grabbed a paper napkin and then a pen out of my backpack, telling him it might be easiest just to draw a map.

  “First, let me orient you to the area,” I said, drawing three dots that, had they’d been connected, would have formed an upside-down triangle. The upper left dot was South Bend, the upper right dot was Elkhart, and the bottom dot was Nappanee. “As the crow flies,” I explained, “these cities are only about fifteen to twenty miles apart, though driving it takes a little more than that because there aren’t any straight shots. You have to kind of zigzag to get from one to the other.”

  “Makes sense,” Ezra said, nodding.

  “Now,” I continued, adding another dot about halfway between Nappanee and Elkhart but just to the right of the imaginary triangle line. “This is Goshen, which is about twelve miles from Nappanee as the crow flies and maybe fifteen if you drive it.”

  “Okay.”

  Wishing I had more of Sarah’s drawing ability, I sketched a tiny cow a little less than halfway between Nappanee and Goshen. “Here’s the Kline’s dairy, where you’ll be living. It’s about a five- or six-mile drive from there into Nappanee.”

  “And that’s where you’ll be living? In the actual town of Nappanee?”

  I nodded. “Yep, just a couple of blocks from downtown, actually.” I drew a little house about where I thought it should go.

  “Five miles. That’s not so bad.”

  “Here’s the cool part,” I said, drawing a little daisy next to the cow. “The Home Place is right next door to the Kline’s farm. If I can get a job at the Plain Treats bakery, which is there on the property of the Home Place, I’ll be working close to you.”

  “Cool.” Ezra picked up the wrapper from his drinking straw, flattened it on the table with a finger, and began rolling it up from one end to the other.

  “From what I could see on Google Earth, the dairy and the Home Place are separated by woods, with a little creek in there somewhere, but according to Mammi there’s a shortcut from one house to the other. Driving, you have to go the long way.” I drew a line from the Home Place around to where I thought the road would be and then back to the dairy. “Either way, can you believe it? If I could get a job there, we’ll be next to each other every day. I could bring you over a cupcake if I wanted to, no big deal.”

  “You’re all the cupcake I need.”

  I laughed. “Oh, boy. Don’t try that line on just anyone.”

  We shared a smile.

  “Here, want to keep the map?” I extended it to him, relieved his anxiety seemed to have passed.

  “Thanks,” he said, brushing my fingers intentionally and making me shiver as he took it from me. Folding the napkin carefully, he asked when I thought I might get on at Plain Treats.

  “Rosalee said to call back in a couple of months…”

  “So where are you going to work in the meantime?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll find something.” I put my pen away, wishing I felt as confident as I sounded.

  Ezra tucked the napkin into the pocket of his jacket and leaned back against the booth, closing his eyes.

  I rested against my backpack and started going through old text messages on my phone, erasing them as I did. Most of them were from Ezra. I wondered how long Mom would keep me on her cell plan. Zed had been asking for a phone—I had been allowed to buy one when I was fifteen—and his birthday was coming up in just over a month. Maybe Mom would let him get a phone sooner, especially with me gone.

  Not that she had paid anything for my phone. I bought it and paid all the fees. And then paid to upgrade it and paid larger fees. Zed would be required to do the same, I was sure.

  Ezra stirred when the waitress brought our food, opening his eyes by the time she left. We didn’t talk as we ate. When we were finished, he paid the bill and then led the way to the bike, the saddlebags that contained all his worldly goods, probably just a couple of changes of clothes and his toiletries, in his hand.

  Back on the Turnpike, the day grew warmer but I kept my coat on as a shield against the wind. I’d never been on the motorcycle for a three-hour stretch, and I was pretty sure Ezra hadn’t either. My muscles were beginning to tighten. At the same time, the warm sun was making me sleepy, and I fought to keep from dozing. I was beginning to regret asking Ezra to bring his bike instead of hiring a car

  By the time we reached the outskirts of Pittsburgh, traffic had increased and I was more wide-awake. It was almost noon and the lanes were packed with both cars and trucks. The exhaust was thick, and I tried to take little breaths. Ezra zipped in and out of traffic, and after a half hour, we were on our way again, nearing Ohio, but the delay meant we would arrive in Nappanee later than I thought.

  When he turned into a rest stop an hour later, my body was so stiff and sore I was near tears. He pulled some dried apples, a bag of cashews, and a bottle of water from his saddlebag and handed all three to me. “Walk around for a few minutes,” he said. “I need to check the bike.” He pulled a little tool set out from the second bag. I marveled at all he’d managed to squeeze into them.

  I drank from the bottle as I walked to the end of the parking lot area, my backpack slung over one shoulder, taking long strides, trying to stretch out my legs. I was guessing that people who went on long trips by motorcycle usually worked up to it. I stretched my arms too and my neck and back. Stopping at a picnic table, I took off my coat, wadded it up like a pillow, and then sat down, placing my head on it on top of the table.

  I dozed but didn’t realize it until Ezra approached me. I offered him the water and food, which he took. After he finished eating, I offered him my coat. He declined, but rested his head on his arms. I watched as the rise and fall of his breathing slowed. The breeze picked up a little but still I felt warm in my sweater. I put my head back down, thinking I would rest until Ezra was ready to go. But we both slept for at least an hour and when he woke me, he seemed a little impatient.

  “We’d better get going,” he said.

  I gritted my teeth for the next four hours, except for when we stopped at a drive-in outside of Absolutely Nowhere, Ohio, for a hamburger. We cut down from the interstate to Bowling Green after that and then took the highway through Indiana for the longest two hours of my life. The terrain was flat, with an occasional small rise, unlike the hills I was used to back home. The fields were the same emerald green as in Lancaster, but there were more patches of woods interspersed across the landscape. I realized I wasn’t gritting my teeth anymore. They were absolutely clenched shut.

  It was after seven by the time we neared Nappanee. A freight train was chugging along the tracks that ran parallel to the highway. Several of the farms were obviously Amish. The clues included the usual things: no electrical wires running to the buildings, workhorses grazing in the field, laundry hanging on the lines, buggies parked here and there, and well-kept houses and barns. Although most of the buildings were painted white, as in Lancaster County, there was more of a natural look to the farms. Back home it sometimes seemed as if everything had to be perfect, with not a single weed or weathered board to be seen. Here, although everything was well cared for, it seemed as if there might be less of an emphasis on appearances. I wondered how much of that might have to do with the droves of tourists who visited Lancaster County every year. Although I was sure Elkhart County had its share, I knew it couldn’t rival the numbers back home.

  The sun was beginning to set directly in front of us. I was so stiff I could barely pull the directions to the house where I would be staying from my pocket as we passed an Amish buggy. I turned my head to get a glimpse of the driver—a young woman about my age, wearing glasses and a sweatshirt. Oddly, her head covering was round, like mine, rather than heart-shaped like the Amish wore back home. I knew that didn’t mean she was Old Order Mennonite—it probably just meant the Amish here wore rounded kapps.

  Ezra slowed for the city limits, passing an Amish youth on a bicycle. That surpris
ed me as the Amish back home weren’t allowed to have bikes. Fast-food restaurants and stores were on either side of the four-lane highway, but they soon gave way to houses, many of them brick and all of them looking at least a century old. When Ezra stopped at a red light on Main Street, I told him to turn right. Several blocks later I instructed him to turn right again and in a few more blocks I told him to pull over. The two-story house in front of us was painted ivory with cranberry trim, and it had a wide porch and an American flag. The lawn was as well cared for as the house. I climbed off the motorcycle and pulled my helmet from my head. Ezra kicked down the stand, positioned the bike, and turned off the motor. As he stood, I handed him my helmet and retrieved my box from the saddlebag. The front door opened and a woman stepped out.

  “Is that you, Ella?” She was short and a little plump, probably around fifty, and her shoulder-length dark hair looked as if it were dyed. She wore a long-sleeved light-blue blouse and a pair of jeans. It had to be Penny, the woman I’d been emailing with back and forth. I greeted her and then introduced Ezra, saying he needed to hurry out to the farm he was staying at before it grew completely dark. I turned back to him.

  “Do you want me to ask if you can leave the bike here? If she can give you a ride?” That had been the original plan.

  He shook his head. “I’ll just drive it out.” He seemed resigned to it, and I actually thought that was a good idea. That way he could come back into town to see me when he was off work.

  “Okay. I’ll send you a text tomorrow about my job search.”

  He climbed back on the bike and then shook his head.