Mary shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t happy about the idea of you leaving.”
“But I’m not leaving.”
“I know,” said Mary. “And maybe she wishes that you weren’t so disappointed about it.”
I shook my head, a nameless anger trickling through me. Kate was my best friend. Surely I could be truthful around her. “But I am disappointed,” I said. “Does she want me to lie about it?”
“No,” said Mary. “But maybe you can at least pretend that you would miss us.”
I looked at Mary, her hands folded in her lap as though she were at her school desk. Mary was keeping company with Nicholas, a boy who would be happy to stay close to home. They were perfect for each other. “I would have missed you very much,” I said. And I meant it.
Annie was staring at the door, waiting for Marc. I smiled watching her. She wore her feelings for everyone to see. Suddenly her expression changed, and I followed her gaze to the door in time to see Daniel walking in. At first I was surprised to see him, since he hadn’t offered me a ride to the party. Then I saw why. Beside him was Hannah, tall and slim, her pale hair in one long braid that fell over her shoulder. Her lips were thick, like two puffy hearts, and they turned up in a smirk when she saw us.
Hannah was on the edge of our group of friends. She and I were forever arguing and then making up. I found her exhausting. And here she was on Daniel’s arm. The room suddenly grew too hot and too noisy. Hannah detached herself from Daniel and waved, walking toward me with her arms swinging casually. “Hi,” she said to all of us. Mary and Annie moved slightly to let her sit down. “Have I missed anything?”
“No,” said Annie, with a grim smile. “I think the party is just starting now.”
“Good,” Hannah said, flinging her braid back and stretching out her long legs. “I was running late, and poor Daniel had to wait for me.”
I mumbled something about wanting another drink, and stood up on shaky legs before making my way to the refreshment table.
Kate was there, talking to our friend Robert. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
I nodded toward the pallet where we’d been sitting. Annie and Mary were there, looking uncomfortable as Hannah chattered to them, a beaming smile on her face. “She came with Daniel.”
“You’re kidding,” said Kate. “Where is he?”
I looked around the room and saw him standing with a group of boys. He had a can of soda pop in each hand, and was probably about to bring one to Hannah. Kate turned to me, her eyes sympathetic.
“When Daniel and I took a walk at the barn raising, he was planning to say something. Then he changed his mind,” I said. “Do you think he was going to tell me that he’s courting Hannah?”
“This is news to me,” said Kate. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I guess so,” I said, trying to hide the quaver in my voice. I took a breath. “But I really want to be sure that everything is all right with you and me. You were pretty angry before.”
Kate looked down. “Not angry. Jealous.”
I waited for more.
“I know that I can never leave my mother. She hasn’t been the same since my brother left home.”
“Oh, Katie,” I said, putting an arm across her shoulders. She slipped her arm around my waist, and we stood together quietly, feeling the nearness of each other. I breathed in Kate’s smell, like warm milk, and thought of how we used to hold hands at recess, and how in our plans for growing up, we always lived next door to each other.
Kate’s older brother, William, had refused baptism and left the district a year ago, when he was nineteen. At first his family received occasional mail from him, but after a few months the letters stopped coming. I wondered if my mother had been thinking of William when she fought against James leaving, and when she made her decision to keep me at home.
“I wasn’t thinking about William,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s all right,” said Kate. “He’s been gone so long, I understand that people don’t think about him all the time, like I do.”
“I’m sorry I was one of those people.”
“And I guess I was upset that it was going to be so easy for you to leave me,” Kate said. “I know that’s selfish, but it’s how I felt.”
“Leaving you would have been the hardest part.” We turned to face each other. I looked into her blue-gray eyes and I knew she believed me.
We let go of each other, but still stood close. I turned to the table, scanning the baskets of chips and popcorn and trays of cheese and crackers. I didn’t want any of it. My stomach was tight, the air thin. Then I felt a warmth beside me, and I looked up into Daniel’s green eyes. “Hi, Eliza,” he said, his voice smooth and easy. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kate slip away and join another group of girls. I took a breath. “You mean when you and Hannah came in.”
Daniel’s eyebrows rose. “Is something wrong with that?”
“I just didn’t expect to see you with another girl,” I said, swallowing back my nervousness. “At Margaret’s barn raising, you didn’t seem like you were interested in any other girl.”
“Hannah’s not my girl,” he said. “She asked me for a ride and I gave her one.” I nodded, feeling a little better. “And last weekend you told me you were planning to leave home.”
“Well, I’m not,” I said. “My parents won’t let me go.”
“I’m sorry, Eliza,” he said. I had to admit that he did sound sorry. “You must be disappointed.”
“Jah, disappointed,” I said. “That’s one of the things I’m feeling.” I looked into Daniel’s face and saw concern there. But I couldn’t be comforted by his kindness right now, because he was here with another girl.
“There you are, Daniel,” came Hannah’s voice. It sounded high-pitched and pouty, like she was imitating a stubborn child. She stood beside him, facing me. Her hand slipped through his arm. “I thought we were going to take a walk.”
I looked at Daniel, who seemed just a little bit uncomfortable. “Go ahead,” I said, making my voice sound bright. “I was just going to join Kate.” I turned away and walked toward the group of girls sitting at a round table. Daniel and Hannah left together, and I sat down next to Kate, feeling a rush of emotions clattering inside of me. I didn’t want to be here right now. I wanted to be away from these teenagers trying to act like their little rebellions meant something. We’d all end up like our parents one day, working hard, going to services, teaching our children how to be plain.
As I tried to force a smile on my lips, I wondered if anyone else felt as trapped in this place as I did.
It was the Yoder family’s turn to host services that Sunday morning, and I was glad we had arrived early, so I could see Kate. I jumped down from the buggy and went off in search of my friend, finding her in the front yard, getting the table ready for the lunch that would follow services. I helped her spread out the tablecloth and stack the plates and napkins. We worked together in silence until Kate’s eyes met mine. “How have you been since the party?”
“Not great. I don’t know if I’m more disappointed about not being able to leave home or about seeing Daniel with Hannah.”
Kate nodded solemnly. The bell on the porch rang, summoning everyone inside. “You know, we all would have missed you—me, Annie, all of your friends. Daniel, too.”
I shook my head, setting my kapp wobbling. “It’s not worth talking about something that isn’t going to happen,” I said. Then I followed Kate’s gaze to the front porch. Daniel was leaning against the railing. He nodded to us and tipped his hat.
I watched him step down from the porch and walk toward me.
“Good luck,” whispered Kate. After a brief nod to Daniel, she hurried past us and up the steps.
Daniel stood before me now, and I looked up into his face. The edgy anger I’d had since the party was sifting through me. But Daniel looked as calm as ever. Only a few people still lingered on
the porch. Most had gone inside to find a seat. I started walking toward the house, and Daniel fell into step beside me. He looked like he wanted to say something, so I turned to him.
“Is everything all right? You didn’t even say good-bye when you left the party Friday.”
The bell rang again. “We should go inside,” I said. “We can talk later.” I paused for a moment, seeing again the bulk of his shoulders under his suit jacket. Then I ran up the porch steps and slipped through the open door, hurrying over to the women’s section. I saw Daniel glance at me before finding a seat among the men.
The German prayers I knew by heart swirled around me. A warm energy usually pumped through me when the service began, and then drifted into boredom by the time it ended, three hours later. But today I felt restless right from the start, my fingers and toes twitching.
I looked around the room. My mother was sitting beside her sister. Aunt Miriam was plump and dour, her eyebrows always lowered in judgment. My sister Margaret was on my mother’s other side, prim and dutiful and content. Ruthie was next to Margaret, holding the hymnal tightly, trying to look grown-up. I would have sat with them, but I had gotten in late, so I took the nearest open seat, next to my cousin Clara. Around us were the other women of the district, my friends and their mothers and sisters, all in white kapps and aprons, dresses covering their knees. On the other side of the room, my father sat with the men, between James and my uncle Ike. Daniel was there, and Robert and Marc, each wearing a black hat and a formal black suit coat over their white shirts and black trousers.
I clutched the Ausbund that someone had handed me when I came in. The well-worn book held all the hymns that had been used in Amish services since the 1500s. The first preacher was standing in the middle of the room, and he called out a hymn, which everyone around me chanted back. The voices followed the familiar cadence, with the preacher leading. We all knew to pace ourselves along with the preacher, holding our notes as long as he did, pausing when he paused. I wondered if it was always this slow. I concentrated on holding the note with everyone around me, but I didn’t have enough breath, and I cut it off too soon. I gulped in another breath and tried again. Clara turned her page, so I turned mine. I had a feeling like motion sickness, when I had to get off the buggy because the rocking sensation filled me with nausea.
I rose from the hard bench and quietly edged toward the door. My heart clattering, I stepped onto the porch, breathing in the fresh air of early summer. I would just stand out here for a few minutes, and then slip back in later in the service. If anyone asked, I would say that I had a headache.
I looked out at the road leading away from this place, and in that moment, I knew I had to leave. I stepped cautiously down the stairs and walked toward the street. Then I was running. The wind caught at my hair, and I clasped a hand over my kapp to keep it from flying off. When I got to the path along the highway, I slowed to a walk. Breathing in the calming June air, I felt relieved to be out of that stifling room, and away from the people who all looked the same. Cars whizzed past me, and I wished I could feel what it was like to be in one, to speed away from everything I knew.
Home was two miles away. I walked with resolve, trying not to think about the consequences of this action. Attending services on alternate Sundays was expected of all Amish. It wasn’t something that was discussed or debated. It was the strictest of our rules, and I was breaking it.
I kept walking, past the farms and small enclaves of Amish shops that the tourists frequented to buy quilts and handicrafts. Dampness spread down my back. My breath came out in quick pants as I doggedly marched toward home and the eventual recriminations of my parents.
A carriage was coming behind me, with the distinctive clip-clop of horse’s hooves, and I wondered who else had skipped services. I stepped farther to the side to be sure it had ample room. When the buggy passed in front of me, it pulled off the highway onto the side of the road. I started to go around it when I heard a familiar voice. “Eliza, get in,” called Daniel. I walked to the side of the buggy and turned to face him. He held the horse’s reins in one hand, and reached the other toward me to help me up into the carriage.
I shook my head. “I don’t need a ride,” I said. “I can walk home.”
“I’d like to drive you home,” he said. “Please let me.”
I waited a moment before reaching up and allowing him to guide me onto the seat beside him. He nodded to me in a cordial way, then looked out at the road and pulled on the reins. The horse started trotting, and the clopping sounds of his hooves filled the space around us.
“Are you going to be in trouble for leaving?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Your father looked relieved when he saw that I was going after you.”
I sighed. “I guess I’ll hear it from them when they get home.”
“What was wrong?” he asked, his voice kind. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I just couldn’t sit there anymore. I felt like I was climbing out of my skin.”
“I know that feeling,” he said. “When the service gets to the two-hour mark, I’m never sure I can make it through that last hour.”
I grunted a laugh. “I didn’t even make it to the one-hour mark.”
“Actually, I’m glad this happened,” he said, his voice more serious. “I wanted to talk to you about Friday night.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “You have the right to take another girl to a party. It’s not like we’re courting.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “At Margaret’s barn raising, after you told me you wanted to leave home, I decided not to tell you what I had planned to say.” I turned to him, waiting. “I was going to ask you to be my girl.”
“But you changed your mind?”
“You had just told me you wanted to live with the English,” he said. “If I’d asked you then, you might have thought I was trying to get you to stay here. And that didn’t seem right.”
My chest warmed, and I looked up at Daniel, seeing him in a different way. He glanced at me before returning his gaze to the road ahead. His eyes looked hopeful.
“Thank you,” I said, “for wanting to be my beau. And for knowing that it wouldn’t have been a good time to ask me then.”
“Is it a good time now?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “You really threw me off when you came to the party with Hannah.” Daniel shook his head. “It was a mistake to give her a ride.” We pulled in front of my house and he stopped the horse, holding the reins lightly across his lap. He turned to me. “Do you want to think about it?”
“Yes,” I said. Then I added, “First I have to deal with what my parents are going to say when they get home. I may not be allowed out of the house for a while.” I stepped down from the buggy and waved. Daniel nodded and tipped his hat before pulling away.
At home, I tried to fill the time with useful activities to keep my mind off of what was ahead. I pumped white gasoline into the lanterns and put fresh sheets on the beds and set the table for Sunday dinner. I wanted to show my parents that I was still helpful, though not always obedient. Finally I settled down with a square for a quilt that my mother was behind on. I hoped that even in her anger she would appreciate the smooth stitches in the zigzag pattern.
When I heard the buggy pull up, I put aside the quilt square and mentally rehearsed the excuses I’d prepared. Ruthie and James came in first, and James gave me what I thought was a sympathetic look. I realized that they had probably heard the discussion of my punishment on the ride home. My gaze went from James to Ruthie, and I saw that she was crying. Hot dread filled me as I watched James lead her upstairs. What could they be planning for me that would make Ruthie cry?
When my parents came in, my father took off his hat and jacket, and my mother hung up her shawl. They walked quietly into the living room and sat on the couch, facing me.
My mother was the first to speak. “First tell us that you’re all right, that you d
idn’t leave services because you’re ill.”
“I’m not sick,” I said in a small voice. “I just didn’t want to be there. I felt like a prisoner.”
They looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to me. “Eliza,” my father said quietly, “I think you know that your behavior today was not acceptable.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“I don’t have to tell you that it doesn’t look good in front of the elders for one of our children to be running away from services,” said my mother.
“I know,” I said again. It seemed to be taking them a long time to let me know my punishment. I expected that I wouldn’t be able to attend the next month of parties. Maybe worse. I wished they would just tell me.
My father cleared his throat, and I prepared to receive my penance. “As you know, we Amish hope our young people will take up our ways after they have their bit of wildness.” I sighed, realizing this was going to take longer than I thought. My father’s voice was formal, as though he were delivering a speech. “But sometimes, when we don’t allow our children some freedom, they choose to leave our ways behind to see what they’re missing. I believe that’s what happened with Kate’s brother William.” I nodded, unsure of where my father was going with this.
“Do you understand what we’re telling you?” asked my mother.
“No,” I said. “And why was Ruthie crying?”
My mother glanced at my father before turning back to me. “Ruthie was crying because she’s going to miss you.”
I straightened, my heart hammering. “Miss me?” I asked. The words came out in a hoarse whisper.
“Last Monday, after Mrs. Aster’s visit, your father went to the inn to meet her and to talk to Mr. Allen. Apparently she is a good friend of Mr. Allen’s, and he gave her an excellent reference as an employer for you.” My hand covered my mouth. I wasn’t sure this was really happening.
My father continued. “Your mother and I have been talking a lot, and we don’t always agree.” He turned to her with a smile. She nodded and looked down. “But we both want to do what will be best for you. I am comfortable that Mrs. Aster will provide you with a safe home while you’re away from us. We discussed your wages and agreed that you will work for her through the summer. Mr. Allen will send word for her to come for you once we’ve finalized our plans.”
A World Away Page 5
