When she was almost there, a side door opened, and Lizzie emerged. As soon as she saw her mother approaching, she hurried over, still limping slightly on her bruised foot. “I thought I’d never get out of there!” she burst out in greeting. “Catherine said I should go with her, and I couldn’t find a way to say no.” She gave Meg a look. “Because now I’m such a perfect lady.”
“Ahh, yes,” Meg said.
“Yeah, well, they have some kind of insane assembly line going on in there.” She shuddered. “These people give me the willies.”
Meg sighed. She should have known it was too good to be true. “Okay, listen. If you’re going back, please clean up in the bathroom we’ve been using. I have a sponge and stuff in the cabinet beneath the sink. Straighten the towels, wipe down the sink and toilet, all that stuff.”
“Oh, ew—no.”
Meg regarded her with impatience. “I’m not asking you, Lizzie. I’m telling you.” She moved past her daughter.
“Wait,” Lizzie yelled after a moment. “What about the car?”
“It could be another week,” Meg replied over her shoulder. She was glad she was already a few yards away so she didn’t have to respond to her daughter’s wail.
“WHAT? A week? No WAY!”
Meg knocked on the door, glancing back to see Lizzie frozen to the same spot, staring at her. “Ice your foot, honey,” she called out, flashing her daughter a bright smile before a voice hastened her inside.
The first thing to strike Meg was the warmth of the kitchen and the incredible aroma of apples and cinnamon. The room was a scene of vivid color and motion, the women in their bonnets, dressed in deep-hued tones of teal, green, purple, and blue, all moving smoothly and efficiently from one task to another. They were quiet, immersed in their jobs, although they looked up to murmur a greeting to their visitor.
“Hello, Meg.” Catherine welcomed her with a smile. “You are doing well today so far?”
“Thank you, I’m fine.”
Meg watched in fascination, noting row upon row of uncooked pie crusts in aluminum pie plates set up along an enormous table. She saw that the kitchen had a huge kitchen island and two large double ovens, all four of which were already pressed into service baking batches of the fragrant pies. Catherine and her mother-in-law, Leah, were rolling out additional pie dough on large floured wooden boards. Sue, who was married to Joseph, the eldest Lutz son, and lived across the street, and Amanda held large ceramic bowls and used wooden spoons to pour the apple filling into the crusts. Catherine and Leah moved behind them quickly to put the covering layers of dough on the fruit filling. Annie, whose house it was, followed right behind them, expertly pinching the edges to form perfectly scalloped ridges. Amanda then made X-shaped slits in the centers.
Meg hesitated but decided to jump in. “Is there some way I could help?”
Leah gave her a quizzical look, but Catherine replied at once. “You need oven mitts. We will take the finished pies out in a minute.”
With that, Meg was drawn into the whirlwind of the group, removing the golden-crusted pies from the hot oven and carefully handing them off to be whisked into a nearby room to cool before being wrapped for sale. When the ovens were empty, they refilled every rack and began preparing a third batch.
Meg marveled at the efficiency of the operation but even more so at the pleasure the women seemed to take in what they were doing. They obviously enjoyed one another’s company, and rather than trudging through a task they must have done hundreds of times, they seemed to find it completely engaging. At one point Leah started to sing something that Meg guessed to be a hymn, and the others joined in. Meg found their voices soothing.
“Will you stop after the apple pies today?” she asked during a momentary lull in the activity.
“Barbara will come later, and we will make other pies,” Annie answered. She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and smoothed her apron front. “Each week is different. Later this week, shoofly pie and whoopee pies. Every morning there is bread and muffins. Tomorrow, I think, we will make carrot cake, peanut butter cookies, and some pastries.”
“Yum,” Meg said.
Annie laughed. “Yes, but maybe not if you see them every day for years.”
“Annie can resist them,” Catherine said, smiling. “But we always make enough to have here as well.”
“I’m sure.” Meg grinned.
“We also bake for some restaurants and bakeries. We don’t make so much now. In the warm months, there are many more tourists.” Catherine washed her hands at the sink. “Now Amanda and I must go to make lunch. Jonathan will take her to the store with these pies later today.”
“Would you mind if I went with them, just to see the store?” Meg asked.
“That would be fine.” Putting on her wrap, Catherine turned to Amanda. “You finish up here and then come.”
It was only a short distance back to the Lutz house, but Meg used the opportunity of being alone with Catherine to tell her about the delay with the car repairs. Catherine only nodded calmly. Somehow Meg felt she couldn’t leave it at that; she owed this woman more of an explanation.
Meg stopped walking and put a hand on the other woman’s arm to get her to stop as well. “Please understand. We don’t want to take advantage of your generosity.”
Catherine’s blue eyes held her usual direct gaze. “You do not.”
“We—my husband—he lost his job,” Meg managed to get out. “We’re going to my parents in upstate New York because we pretty much have nothing. We have to stay there until we get back on our feet.”
Catherine took this in, nodding, her expression unchanged.
“That’s why we can’t leave our car. If we weren’t in this financial situation, we never would have stayed in your house like this. I mean, we’re strangers. Five strangers, no less, and not even Amish. We know this is a huge imposition on your family.”
Catherine smiled gently and put a hand over Meg’s. “You are here, that’s all there is to know. If there is anything we can do to help you, we want to do that.”
Tears of relief stung Meg’s eyes. She hadn’t realized what a burden it had been, keeping the secret of why they were traveling and why they hadn’t made plans to leave the Lutz household. She also couldn’t remember the last time she had met such generous, good-hearted people. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Now,” Catherine said, starting to move forward again, “we will have lunch. Today is a good day to take a little rest after.”
Meg shook off her melancholy thoughts. “Ah, you do sometimes rest.”
“Of course I do. But I meant you should take a rest today. I will be doing the ironing.”
Meg hurried to keep up with the other woman’s brisk pace. She imagined her old pink leather appointment book in Catherine’s hands. Do everything in the whole world, it would say on each day’s page. The image brought a smile to Meg’s face.
It occurred to her that she had gone forty-eight hours without a scheduled appointment. I knew there was something really amiss, Meg thought wryly. The upheaval wasn’t in her marriage or their financial ruin or being in a place that was unfamiliar in the truest sense of the word. It was that she didn’t have her entire day scheduled down to the minute. No rushing around doing errands, no sense of juggling everyone’s schedule.
It was, she decided, pretty great.
When they got into the house, Sam came running to greet her, hugging her around the waist. The bump on his head was turning dark shades of blue and purple, but he didn’t seem to know it was even there.
“Mommy, where have you been?” He rushed on excitedly without waiting for an answer. “Aaron took me to collect eggs from the chickens before he left for school. It was so fun!” He took a step back, sharing his newfound expertise. “They don’t lay as much in the cold weather, you know, but they do lay some eggs. I got two all by myself. At first I was scared, but then I wasn’t!”
Meg grinned. “That is extremely cool, Sam.”
“Aaron was really nice. He let me put out their feed and everything. They kind of smelled, but that was okay. And you know what? He said if you and Dad and his parents said it was okay, I could go to school with him one day. He goes to a special Amish school. All the grades in one room, first grade up to eighth grade. I hafta see this.”
“It’s fine with me if it’s okay with everyone else.”
Sam gave her another squeeze. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” He turned to go. “I left Rufus in my bedroom, so I better get back.”
Well, Meg thought, Sam was looking more relaxed than he had in ages, and he was obviously having the most fun of anyone in their family. Who would have guessed?
She caught a glimpse of Will and Eli walking past the window and went over to watch them. Her thirteen-year-old had his fleece jacket zipped up under his chin, his hands deep in his pockets. Eli wore the customary black brimmed hat and simple black jacket. He was talking and gesturing. Will nodded, his face neutral. Meg knew that face; it indicated he was participating in the conversation but didn’t want anyone to think he actually cared about it. At least he was participating, she told herself. That was an improvement over yesterday.
Lunch was another huge meal, with fourteen people at the table. James had spent the morning out in the field with some of the men, and he sat on the men’s side of the table, away from where Meg sat with the women. He didn’t exactly blend in, she thought, with his expensive jeans and running shoes, now covered with mud, but he was enjoying himself.
The two of them had exchanged barely ten words since the day before. Apparently exhausted from whatever farmwork he had done, he had uncharacteristically gotten into bed at nine P.M. and fallen asleep almost instantly. The truth was, Meg had nothing to say to James at the moment, and he seemed to be taking advantage of the situation to stay away from her as well.
Several family members were taking a break after lunch, and Will, Eli, and Sam started a game of Monopoly. After helping clean up in the kitchen, Meg decided she would take Catherine’s suggestion and lie down for a half hour to rest her back. Upstairs, she saw Lizzie, who had ducked out of the lunch cleanup, stretched out on her bed, arms crossed behind her head. She was staring at the ceiling.
Meg leaned against the doorjamb. “What’s up?”
“Oh, if only there was something—anything—up,” Lizzie answered, not bothering to look at her. “I’m so bored I want to scream.”
“Where’s your iPod?”
“Needs to be charged.” Her voice grew more petulant. “But that would require an outlet, which would mean having electricity—which these freaks don’t believe in.”
Meg crossed her arms. “Hey, did you ever read Tom Sawyer? For school, maybe?”
Lizzie gave her mother a disdainful look. “Uh-uh.”
“I saw it downstairs on the bookshelf. Definitely worth reading. It’s a classic.”
“Oh, a classic,” Lizzie said with exaggerated awe. “Well, in that case …”
Meg ignored the crack. “That means it’s good. Pick it up. I think you might enjoy it.”
“This is what I’ve been reduced to: scrounging for old, boring books. Please just shoot me now. Really, I’m not kidding.”
Meg turned around so Lizzie wouldn’t see her smile. Her daughter was having to fend for herself without a cell phone, iPod, computer, or television. She might actually be driven to pick up a good book. Imagine. There were some unanticipated benefits to having a car accident, Meg thought as she shut her bedroom door behind her.
The day grew warm enough to melt whatever snow was left on the ground. By late afternoon, when the children had returned home from school, they congregated outside, where they were joined by a growing number of friends. Watching from the porch, Meg observed Amish children arriving on foot, roller skates, or scooters. One teenage girl came on a large scooter with a basket in front and oversize wheels; she brought along a little girl and boy in a small low cart with wheels attached to the back.
All the children seemed to be bursting with energy, delighted to have this unusually warm, sunny day in the middle of winter. Most threw off their jackets or capes. The younger ones ran about, playing games, shouting and laughing. Meg spotted Rachel, the youngest Lutz child, talking and giggling with three other girls.
The teenagers, both boys and girls, assembled at the side of the house to play volleyball. It was quite a sight, Meg thought, all the girls in their richly colored dresses, their hair so neatly coiled into pinned-up braids. The boys, too, with their black pants and suspenders and similar haircuts.
She reflected that her children’s friends also wore matching clothes, the same jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts. When she was a kid, she, too, had wanted to fit in by wearing the same clothes as the other kids. Not that her parents would pay for the stylish brands.
There had been rules then, even though unspoken, and there were rules now. It was different here, in that the clothing rules were dictated. They never changed. But at least everybody fit in, and no one had to struggle to do so. In that way, it was a lot easier for an Amish teenager, at least when it came to getting dressed in the morning.
Sam was out there with Aaron and another boy who appeared to be around their age. The boy was on in-line skates, making rapid circles around Sam and Aaron. Aaron held a long stick and kept tossing up small rocks, attempting to hit them as if they were baseballs. The boy spoke to Sam and pointed to a scooter leaning against the house. Sam raced over to grab it and was gone from sight.
“Mrs. Hobart?”
Meg turned around to see Amanda and Lizzie, zipping up her jacket, standing behind her.
“You said you want to go to the store. It is late, but we are going now. Do you want to go with us?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Meg grabbed her coat. “Lizzie, you’re coming?”
Her daughter shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
They followed Amanda to where Jonathan waited in what Meg now knew to be his buggy. He jumped out and extended a hand to help her up onto the front seat beside him. Amanda and Lizzie got in back.
They set out. Meg studied the young man next to her. Beneath his black hat, he had Catherine’s blue eyes and brown hair. No doubt, Meg thought, he’d had the same light-blond hair as his younger siblings when he was a boy. Initially, she had found the bangs and bowl haircuts on the men incongruous, like children’s hairstyles on grown-ups. She was getting used to them; they no longer seemed odd in the least.
“Do you do these deliveries every day?” Meg asked him.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, his eyes on the road. “Depends on the season, how much we need to bring. A lot of things.”
There was so much Meg wanted to ask him. She was dying to know how an eighteen-year-old Amish boy experienced the world.
“Please forgive me if I’m being rude, but I was wondering if you only work on your family farm or if you go to school, or anything like that.”
He flicked the reins, and the horse picked up the pace. “We go to the school until eighth grade. Then we have a class one time every week. Like Eli. When we turn fifteen, we are done.”
Meg realized her daughter was leaning forward in the back, trying to hear what Jonathan was saying.
“Sounds good to me,” Lizzie interjected.
He turned his face a little to the side so she could hear him better. “It’s necessary for us. We have to work. The American government gave permission so we can do it our way.”
“All anybody talks about here is work. Don’t you do anything for fun?”
“Lizzie,” Meg admonished her, “that’s so rude.”
He smiled. “It’s okay. Teenagers do a lot of things. After church, on Sunday nights, they have sings, and we have many ways to have a good time.”
“What are ‘sings’?” Lizzie asked.
“The girls and the boys go to someone’s house, and they sing songs. It’s a big social event. That’s where many people find someone they like. Then t
hey go out.”
“Go out?” Lizzie echoed. “Like on dates?”
He smiled slightly. “Not like you would think, I guess. They spend time together.”
“Do you mind if I ask whether you’re dating someone?” Meg inquired.
“Oh my God, Mom!” yelled Lizzie as Jonathan turned beet red. “You did not just ask that!”
“I’m so sorry,” Meg said. “That really was wrong of me. I’m very sorry.”
For the first time, Amanda spoke up from the back. “It is okay, Mrs. Hobart. We never like to tell about those things to the grown-ups. When people are ready to be married, then they tell.”
Lizzie faced Amanda. “So you never meet anybody besides the other kids who live here?”
Amanda hesitated. After a moment, Jonathan answered. “When we’re sixteen, we can spend some time seeing the world if we want. We’re allowed to visit new places and do different things. If we want to meet new people, we can. That way we know when we are ready to join the church.”
Meg was confused. “Wait—aren’t you members of the church already?”
He looked at her with the same gaze as that of the younger children of the house: direct, guileless, and open. “No. That’s one of the things about the Amish people. We believe you should be baptized when you decide to be a church member, as an adult. So you have time to go out and think it over. See what you’re missing in the outside world.”
“Did you do this, leave for a while?” Lizzie asked him. She turned to Amanda. “Wait—you’re sixteen. Are you doing this?”
Jonathan answered again. “I tried some things, yes. But I knew what I wanted, and I was baptized.”
Amanda’s answer was firm. “I don’t need to do anything different. I am happy as I am, and I will be baptized, too.”
Lizzie spoke slowly. “I think I’ve heard about this someplace. There’s a word for it, right?”
Amanda sighed. “The word you are thinking about is rumspringa. Many tourists ask about it. So, some kids maybe get their own apartment. They drive a car and wear the English clothes. We do things we are not allowed to do at home, and we see how we wish to live. Amish or not.”
An Amish Christmas: A Novel Page 11