Snowbirds

by Crissa Chappell

  “Yeah?” he says. “Because I don’t think you know how it feels.”

  “I’ve got it easy in Florida. That’s what you said. Well, it’s not easy being different from everybody else.”

  Faron sits next to me. He puts his arm around my shoulder, but I pull away.

  “Just leave me alone, okay?”

  He reaches down and picks up a bracelet that somebody lost in the gravel. “Here’s a present for you,” he says. “Real pearls from the ocean.” He grabs my wrist and slides it over my hand.

  “It’s plastic.”

  “Nah, these are magic pearls. I swam in the Gulf this morning and caught them myself.”

  “You caught them?”

  “Yeah, with my bare hands.” He grins.

  One minute, he’s making me so angry, I want to strangle him. Now we’re laughing again.

  I toss the bracelet into the weeds. “The Gulf’s messed up. I wouldn’t go swimming in it. Not even for a magic pearl.”

  “Where do pearls come from anyway?” he asks.

  “They come from pain.”

  He’s watching me, his face hidden inside his hood. “You think I’m stupid, right?”

  I thought he was joking around. Now I feel bad. Does he really want to know?

  “Oysters make pearls,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I get that,” he says. “But how?”

  “When you put sand inside an oyster, it makes a pearl. That’s why I said they come from pain.”

  “Glad I ain’t no oyster,” he says.

  All of a sudden, the warning lights blink and flash. I watch the guardrail lower over the tracks.

  “Are you friends with those boys?” I finally ask.

  “I wouldn’t call them friends.”

  If you’re on Rumspringa, you get to know everybody. But Faron doesn’t belong to that world. At least, not anymore.

  “What about Alice’s boyfriend?”

  “Who?”

  “Tobias. I thought you knew him.”

  Faron shrugs. “Ain’t no friend of mine.”

  “You never saw him before?”

  “He showed up in Pinecraft last weekend, looking for a ride to the party. Figured he was on Rumspringa.”

  “So you didn’t know Tobias. But you helped him out.”

  “Lucy, this is Florida. We help each other.”

  “The ex-Amish, you mean.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What if Tobias isn’t Amish?”

  “Never thought about that,” he says. “Tobias told me to take him and Alice to the bus station. We were supposed to go after the party. But they never showed up on the beach.”

  “Alice wanted to go to California. She was going to be in the movies.” I feel so embarrassed, saying it out loud.

  “Well, she’s headed in the wrong direction,” says Faron. “Her boyfriend said he was going back to Maine.”

  Now I’m confused. “But that’s where Alice is from.”

  “A lot of us are from up north,” he says.

  It’s true. The buses come to Pinecraft every winter, so many, you couldn’t count them all. If Tobias wanted to disappear, he chose the right place.

  “Alice wouldn’t go back north.” I remember what she told me. Sometimes it’s so cold, her eyelashes froze as she walked to the craft fair, selling the beautiful quilts that Mrs. Yoder wouldn’t let her keep.

  “Did you see all that money she was carrying around that night?”

  “Yeah, I saw it.”

  “Tobias saw it too.”

  Faron tosses his cigarette in the gravel. “You think he stole Alice’s money?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Lucy. Anything’s possible. Sounds like your friend got herself in a lot of trouble.”

  I look down at the gravel, where the dull glow of his cigarette flares and disappears. I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat won’t go away. “My next-door neighbor found Alice’s cell phone on the beach, all smashed up.”

  He looks at me. “When was this?”

  “The morning after the party,” I say, blinking back tears.

  Faron tightens his arms around me. I sob against his chest. He’s wearing the same sweatshirt from that night, the one with the flames spiraling down the sleeves, but my tears can’t put them out.

  The train whistle blares, then leaks away. At that moment, I can’t think of a lonelier song.

  “There’s a freight coming,” says Faron, pulling me away from the tracks.

  The whistle cuts through the trees, louder this time. Now the freight’s gaining speed, lighting up the branches in the pines. I cover my ears, blinking in the haze of dust and grit as dozens of cars thud past.

  “Where’s it going?” I ask.

  “Somewhere that ain’t here.”

  Finally the last boxcar rattles into the distance as if pulled on a string. I think about Faron racing across those tracks, looking for escape. He’s never going to outrun his past, no matter how fast he goes. Or how far.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Lucy,” he says. “Ever since that night. You and me on the beach.”

  I’ve been thinking about him, too.

  “Don’t lose hope, okay?” he tells me. “I’ll help you find Alice. I promise.”

  Can I trust him?

  Faron’s opened up his heart to me. He didn’t lie about his family shunning him. He’s not afraid to ask questions, the kind that get you in trouble. He told me about his faith, how it was shaken. When I said the ocean is my dream, he listened. And he’s listening now, stroking my hand, never taking his eyes off mine.

  We start walking back. My head is busy, adding things up. Did Tobias steal Alice’s money? Faron talks about the Old Order as if they’re one big family. But I know that’s not right. Just because you’re Old Order, doesn’t make you a good person.

  As we cross Bahia Vista, I notice somebody watching us. It’s Jacob. He catches my stare and turns in the other direction. Great. Now he’s going to tell everybody in Pinecraft. If word gets out I’m with an Old Order boy who’s been shunned, Dad will never let me leave the house. That’s for sure.

  “When can I see you again?” Faron asks.

  “I don’t know.” I let go of his hand.

  “Are you just saying that? Because if you don’t want to—”

  “I want to,” I say. And it’s true. I want to see Faron again. But Dad’s not going to like us being together. Faron’s not from Pinecraft. He’s not even Amish anymore. If my dad found out about tonight, I’d be in so much trouble. But at this moment, there’s no place I’d rather be.

  “Tomorrow’s Friday. Is there going to be another party in Water Tower Park?” I ask.

  He looks away. “I wouldn’t go back there.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighs. “I can’t talk about it, okay?”

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you understand? I’m on your side.”

  “I know you are,” he says.

  “Then why can’t you tell me?”

  “I just . . . can’t.”

  “But why?”

  The Rumspringa boys near the canal are watching us. Markus and his friend. They’re leaning against the fence near the basketball court. I can tell they’re angry at Faron. There’s something going on that he’s not talking about.

  “Tell your girlfriend to mind her own business. You hear?” says Markus, glaring at us.

  “I’m sorry,” Faron whispers.

  He turns and starts walking over to the boys. Away from me. For a minute, I watch him drift behind the oak trees. Then I turn into stone.

  chapter twelve

  deep water

  The next day, I’m helping Dad in the backyard, lifting the roof onto the gazebo. The cedar planks remind me of spokes on a wheel. Next come the panels, dropping into place like a puzzle.

  “If you’re missing one, it won’t hold,” Dad says.

  It’s the same at an Old Order barn raising. At lea
st, that’s what Alice told me. “Many hands, easy work,” they say, reminding us that we’re all together.

  Then why do I feel so alone?

  I need to get away from Dad. Take the bus to Lido Key and find the game-players I saw online. The way things are going, I’ll be stuck working in the backyard all afternoon.

  “Can I take a break for a little while?” I ask.

  I already know what he’s going to say.

  “There’s no time,” he says, frowning. “I’ve got people counting on me, Smidge. You want to leave me stranded?”

  A flicker of guilt shoots through my chest. “No, it’s just . . .” I try to think of something that sounds right. “I promised some friends we’d meet up.”

  “Oh, really?” he says, like this is hard to believe.

  I don’t usually go anywhere on Friday. I’m always working for Dad. If I finish early, he’ll find more chores to do.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “They’re waiting for me.”

  “Where exactly?” he wants to know.

  “The park.”

  Only half a lie.

  Not the whole truth.

  “What’s going on there?” He thinks I mean Pinecraft Park, where the old men play shuffleboard behind the chainlink fence. When he smiles, my chest sinks. Because now I’m going to lie.

  “Just hanging out. No big deal.”

  Dad mops the shine off his forehead. It’s not even lunchtime and he’s already tired. “Anybody I know?”

  I don’t have many friends. When I finished school last year, they all drifted away. I used to see a couple of girls from my class working at Der Dutchman, the Amish restaurant on Bahia Vista. After a while, I didn’t see them anymore.

  “They’re friends from school.” I can’t look him in the eyes. That’s the thing about hiding the truth. You tell one small lie. Then you tell another.

  “Well, I need you here today,” he says.

  “Please? Just for a little while.” I’m almost begging.

  Dad shakes his head. “You’ve got responsibilities at home. I know it’s hard to understand, but that’s more important than hanging out with friends.”

  I knew he’d say this. Still, I can’t help wishing I could fly away. Lift out of my skin above the streetlights, beyond the patchwork of houses, even higher than the cars speeding down Bahia Vista.

  “Fine,” I say, throwing down the cedar plank, letting it topple into the grass. I start walking toward the house.

  “Lucy,” he says.

  I don’t look back. It’s always about Dad. His rules. Does it even matter what I think? I’m sick of hearing about it all the time. My dad acts like everything he does is perfect. He says the rules are supposed to keep us together, but I can’t pretend to care anymore.

  I’m not what he wants me to be.

  As I head toward the porch, I know something’s off. There’s a strange kind of quiet. A stillness in the breeze. Then I see the police car parked on the front lawn. Sarasota County Sheriff. A cold jolt rattles through me.

  I can’t fly away.

  Not now.

  A woman in dark sunglasses steps out of the police car. She’s clutching a 7-Eleven cup rimmed with lipstick stains. In her sneakers and shorts, she doesn’t look like a cop, but I can tell by the way she’s marching around like she owns the place.

  “Hot day, isn’t it?” she says, smiling. “Mosquitoes are biting fierce. Guess my blood tastes sweet.”

  The name on her badge says Ricketts. I stare at the gun strapped to her belt and wonder if she’s ever shot anybody.

  Dad comes marching up the lawn. When he sees the cop, he gets this hard look on his face. He glances at me, then back at Ricketts.

  “Can I help you?” he asks.

  “Maybe you can,” the cop says, steering her gaze in my direction. “This must be your daughter.”

  “That’s right,” Dad says, putting his arm around me. “This is my girl, Lucy.”

  Ricketts stretches out her hand. When I don’t take it, she lets it droop to her side. “Nice meeting you, Lucy. Can we talk for a sec? Got a couple questions for you. Won’t take long.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Are you?”

  Dad takes a step forward. “Hold on,” he says, tightening his grip on my shoulder. “You can’t just show up, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. This is my property and I’ve got a business to run. You hear?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand,” she says, lifting her sunglasses. Her eyes are pale gray, like the Gulf at dawn. “I’m just taking a drive through Pinecraft, talking to your neighbors. That’s all.”

  Taking a drive? The Sarasota police never come around here. Not unless they’ve got a good reason.

  I glance across the street where Mrs. Keller is hanging the wash. She keeps looking over at me and Dad. No doubt, she’s wondering why there’s a cop car parked on our front lawn. Or maybe she already knows.

  “This is about Alice, isn’t it?” I say quietly.

  Dad frowns. “That’s enough.”

  “Go on, Lucy. We’re just having a little chat,” says Ricketts, turning to me. “Alice Yoder was your friend?”

  Was.

  Not is.

  I’m starting to put it together. Mr. Showalter brought Alice’s phone to the police. Now they’re here in Pinecraft looking for answers.

  “Is she okay?” I ask Ricketts. “Did something bad happen to her?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “That was quite some party on the beach last weekend.”

  In my mind, I see the Sarasota police marching up and down the sand, waving their flashlights. The Old Order girls in their long dresses, caught in the tide.

  “Do you know if Alice was with anyone that night?” Ricketts asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A boyfriend,” she says.

  I promised not to tell anybody about Tobias. Did I make the wrong choice? Is it a sin if I keep a secret to protect Alice? The truth weighs heavy in my bones, deeper than all the water in the ocean.

  “Alice was with me.”

  Ricketts nods. “Yes, that’s what I understand.”

  What exactly did the Showalters tell the police? It’s one thing if I’m in trouble, but if gossip spreads all over Pinecraft, it could hurt my dad’s business. He depends on word of mouth to sell what he builds.

  “What about Alice’s other friends?” Ricketts asks.

  “Friends?” I can barely hear what she’s saying, I’m so nervous. “There were lots of people hanging out on the beach.”

  “Amish teenagers, you mean?”

  Dad’s had enough of Ricketts. “I don’t need you trespassing on my property, spouting off nonsense and bullying my daughter. This is Pinecraft. Go back to Sarasota if you’re looking for trouble.”

  “Maybe you’d like to come by the station,” she says, taking a sip from her Styrofoam cup. “Answer a couple questions.”

  This is so wrong. I can’t let Dad sink into this mess.

  “If I talk to you for a minute, will you leave my dad alone?” I ask her.

  Ricketts lets her gaze drift into the backyard, where the gazebo rises behind the mossy oak trees.

  “Sure thing, hon,” she says, suddenly sweet again.

  “Not out here.”

  “Okay. Where?”

  “Inside the house.”

  Dad holds me closer. “No, Lucy. I won’t allow this.”

  Across the street, Mrs. Keller is watching us. Dad notices, too. And she’s not the only one. Mr. Showalter’s on his porch, smoking a pipe. Who else is watching behind their windows? It feels like everybody in Pinecraft is watching.

  I march up to the front porch.

  “Won’t be too long,” says Ricketts, following behind me.

  In the kitchen we settle at the table, like the day Mrs. Yoder showed up, looking for Alice. I sit across from Ricketts in the wobbly chair. Dad never got arou
nd to fixing it. Instead, he shoved a piece of wood under the leg—a wedge shaped like a church steeple.

  “You’re good to your dad, aren’t you?” says Ricketts, leaning across the table.

  “I try.”

  On the table, Dad left this week’s Budget. It’s how the Old Order get their news. The pages are spread open to the ads. Handmade Amish Craftsmanship it says below a picture of Dad’s gazebos.

  “Bet it’s not easy working for your family,” says Ricketts, glancing at the newspaper. “Especially for someone your age,” she says, glancing at Mama’s sewing basket. It’s been on the kitchen shelf so long, I almost forgot about it. “Wouldn’t you rather be with your friends?”

  I’d rather be in school, learning about the ocean. But that’s not something I expect her to understand.

  “Your friend, Alice, is a different kind of Amish than you,” says Ricketts, surprising me. Most people can’t tell the difference between Beachy and Old Order. “She’s not allowed to do a lot of things.”

  “Alice is on Rumspringa.”

  “That makes it okay, right? She was just having fun at that party. Maybe you were a little bit jealous?”

  It stings, hearing it out loud. But I won’t fall into her trap.

  “Let’s try this again,” she says. “Where did Alice get that cell phone? Did her boyfriend give it to her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if he did?”

  “No, I meant—”

  Too late. I’ve already messed up. I slump a little lower in that wobbly chair. At that moment, I wish the floor would split open and swallow me whole.

  “It must be hard, growing up Amish.”

  What does she know about being Amish?

  “And if her boyfriend gave her a present,” Ricketts goes on. “Might be hard to resist something like a cell phone.”

  I stare at the knots swirling across the pinewood table. A long time ago, it was a living thing, a tree rooted in the earth.

  “And the blood?” says Ricketts.

  What is she talking about?

  “There was blood on Alice’s phone?”

  Please don’t let it be true.

  “So this boy your friend met.” Ricketts lowers her voice. “Maybe you can tell me about him?”

  “Tobias?”

  “Is that his name?” She shifts forward in her chair.