James glanced at the adults on the porch before turning back to me. He spoke in a fierce whisper. “Try everything, do everything,” he said. “This is the only chance you’ll get.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thanks for everything,” I said.
Mrs. Aster came around to the driver’s door and sat down behind the steering wheel. “Take all the time you need,” she called.
Ruthie was next. I squeezed her so tightly that our hearts pounded against each other. “Be a big help to Mama,” I said. She nodded through a silent stream of tears.
I looked up to see my parents standing side by side on the porch. I stepped over to my mother. “Try their ways,” she told me, “but remember ours.” I nodded and hugged her.
“Our Eliza, all grown up,” my father said. I felt the bristles of his beard against my cheek as we embraced. There was a tightness in my chest that made it hard to take a deep breath. I wanted to say something to him for all he had done to make this happen, but the words were clogged up inside of me. “I love you, Eliza,” he said. “Take that with you on your journey.”
“I love you, too,” I whispered.
My parents seemed to shrink as I headed to the car, taking quick backward glances at the porch. James and Ruthie were there now, too, and I was suddenly glad that I had said good-bye to Margaret at the party. The thought of looking at my entire family congregated together without me was too hard to bear.
At the car I fumbled with the metal handle until the heavy door swung toward me. Mrs. Aster leaned over and helped me fasten the seat belt across my shoulder. “How do I open the window?” I asked.
She pointed to a switch on the door and showed me how to hold it down. The window lowered as though by magic, and I leaned out, waving to my family, blinking the blurriness from my eyes. The porch was a tangle of raised arms, and everyone called to me at once, so I couldn’t make out the individual words.
“Are you ready to leave?” Mrs. Aster’s voice was gentle. I nodded.
As the car backed down the driveway, I felt the gravel grinding beneath the wheels, and I watched the figures on the porch grow smaller. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I liked the way the top of the seat cradled the back of my head. Taking slow breaths, I settled into the rhythm of the ride.
“I hate good-byes,” said Mrs. Aster.
My eyes were still closed. “So do I,” I said, thinking for a minute before adding, “But I love hellos.”
When I opened my eyes, the scenery was rolling past my window. The neighboring farms shot by with a smooth speed I had never experienced before. Fresh summer breezes burst through the open window, flinging my ponytail behind me. I took a breath and tried to put a name to the way I felt at that moment. Full, I thought. I felt positively full.
Just then, my window hummed its way back up, and I looked at it in surprise. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to turn on the air-conditioning,” Mrs. Aster said.
In a few minutes, I felt a chilling breeze blowing across my bare arms even though the windows remained closed. A quiet settled over the car and an artificial smell enveloped us. Then Mrs. Aster reached forward and pressed on raised circle that made music burst into the car. It was different from the music at the Friday night parties. What came out of those borrowed boxed only pulsed in the background of our gatherings. Nothing sounded distinctive. Now I was hearing a song with words. Confusing phrases flew past me—something about a dance in a jailhouse and some rocks. But they were cheerful sounds even though I didn’t understand them. Mrs. Aster’s fingers tapped the steering wheel, and occasionally her voice chimed in with the music. I watched, smiling. I hadn’t been gone for very long, but I was already far from home.
When the song ended, replaced by a man reading the news, she turned down the sound on the radio.
“Thank you again for offering me this job, Mrs. Aster,” I said.
“I’m so happy it worked out. And I’m going to insist that you call me Rachel.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure that would be possible.
Then a little laugh escaped her. “I feel a bit strange, though. Like I’ve gone on vacation and stolen something.”
“Well, you’re not stealing me,” I said. “It’s more like you’re borrowing me.”
“How do you feel about being borrowed?”
I let the question settle into my mind for a moment before I answered. “Ever since I was little I’ve had this funny feeling. Like I’m in a tiny world and there’s this big world all around me that I can’t see. Now I’m finally being allowed in.”
Rachel took her eyes off the road for a moment and smiled at me. “I hope it lives up to your expectations.”
I grinned. “It couldn’t possibly.”
Soon I stopped feeling amazed at the speed and comfort of the car. There was so much I wanted to know about the life I was about to step into, and Rachel was eager to fill me in. The music was now just a vibrating hum, almost lost by the blowing sound of the air conditioner.
At first I was cautious about asking questions, but Rachel encouraged them, and her world opened up to me as the white lines on the road glided beneath the car, putting home farther away.
I learned that Rachel’s husband was named Sam and that he was a kind of doctor who didn’t take care of sick people. Instead he talked to people about their problems and tried to make them feel happier. Over lunch at a diner off the highway, Rachel talked about the job she used to have before her children were born. She said she worked in “Human Resources.” And now she was back in college, finishing up what she called her master’s degree, in anthropology. When I asked what that meant, she just laughed and said, “Something I’ll never find a job working in.”
Back in the car after lunch, I automatically pulled the seat belt across my chest as though I’d done it my whole life. As the metal buckle clicked into place with a satisfying snap, I found myself smiling.
When we got nearer to Rachel’s town, I noticed a change in the scenery. Soon after we got out of Iowa, there was no more buggy traffic. Only cars and trucks were on the road, the absence of horses allowing them to go faster. Billboards lined the highway, each selling a product. Closer to Rachel’s house, our surroundings grew greener, but there was a starkness I couldn’t figure out. Then, as we turned off the highway into a neighborhood, I realized what was missing. There were no clotheslines. No dresses or pants or shirts fluttered in the breeze. Clothing here dried privately, in a machine, not outside for the world to see.
Rachel’s words interrupted my thoughts. “We’re almost there. Just another block.” The houses, all similar-looking, were placed in a neat row, one next to the other. Most were made of white material that looked too smooth and neat to be wood, with black pavements leading up to garages. Each house had an identical square of grass in front, some cluttered with bikes and children’s toys.
Rachel turned onto one of the black stretches of pavement and pressed a button that I hadn’t noticed before. With a rumbling noise, the garage door lifted from the ground and disappeared into the ceiling of the garage. Inside, I could see another car that looked like a sleek truck. Long-handled machines and a variety of tools hung from the walls.
Parking the car in the driveway, Rachel switched off the engine and turned to me. “Welcome home,” she said.
As we walked around to the back of the car and lifted my bags out of the trunk, the front door burst open and two children scrambled over to us. Rachel wrapped her arms around a boy and a girl, then pointed to me. “Janie, Ben, this is Eliza. She’s your new nanny.” I bent down until I was face-to-face with the children. They smelled like chewing gum. Ben was a spindly-looking boy, all knees and elbows, almost a full head taller than his sister. His hair, a shock of black curls, was tucked under a backward cap. Janie was softer, with round blue eyes and tumbling black hair. She smiled at me in a politely curious way. Ben stared down at his sneaker, tapping the driveway. “She doesn’t look like Missy,” he said, his words lo
w and mumbly.
“That’s because she’s not Missy,” Rachel said firmly. “She’s Eliza. We’ve been over this, Ben. Missy graduated from college and she got a new job. She isn’t our nanny anymore.”
“Does this one know about baseball?” he asked, still looking down.
“This one has a name,” said Rachel sternly. She looked at me. “We’re working on manners.”
“That’s okay,” I said, but I was thinking that this job might be harder than I thought.
Rachel picked up my duffel, handing me the canvas bag, and we walked through the garage to go inside the house, with Janie and Ben following us.
My first sight of Rachel’s home was all black and white—like the country newspaper, or the tile floor of the dry goods store. On the stark whiteness of the wall was a collection of photographs, each picture showing the children sitting in odd, formal postures in front of a white drapery, and surrounded by a shiny black frame. Like all Amish children, I had been taught that photographs steal a person’s soul. My friends and I sometimes looked at news- papers and magazines, joking about the people in the pictures walking around without souls. But this was the first time I had seen photographs of people I actually knew. It was arresting, all those frozen moments in time. I couldn’t look away.
Just then, Rachel’s husband came in and stretched out his hand to me. “Rachel told me all about you, Eliza. Welcome to our family.” I shook his smooth, uncalloused hand.
Sam had a smiley kind of face. His eyes were the color of maple bark, and the lines at the corners deepened when he grinned. His hair was the same black as the children’s, but with a few flecks of gray. His beard was trimmed and tidy, not like the wild, tangled beards on Amish men, which I always associated with a long marriage.
“Come on, Eliza,” Rachel said. “We’ll show you the house.” The children were galloping around their mother’s heels, and I pushed away a feeling that I might not belong here. These people seemed to fit together so well. I wondered if I’d ever feel a part of them.
I followed Rachel and the children through the black-and-white hallway into the kitchen. The light shining down from the ceiling brightened the gleaming white cabinets. Before Janie took my hand and pulled me to the next room, I could make out an assortment of machines on the counter. I was anxious to learn what they did.
My feet moved from white tile to a soft carpet the color of mushrooms. “This is the family room,” Rachel said. “It’s where we spend most of our time.”
The room was shimmering with bold shades of purples and blues and greens and pinks. My mother would say the colors were too loud, but I thought they looked just right. Like a brilliant bowl of fruit. The plump furniture faced a wall that held a big screen and a variety of black boxes with knobs.
Upstairs, Janie’s bed was covered with stuffed animals, and the bookshelves were lined with dolls. The walls of Ben’s room were decorated with elongated felt triangles, some with the names of cities, and others with words like “Cubs” and “White Sox” and “Yankees.” I had a feeling that “Yankees” didn’t have the same meaning as the word my friends and I used.
“Here’s your room,” said Rachel, and the two children scuffled with each other for the honor of opening the door. A bed the size of the one I shared with Ruthie faced the door, covered with a brightly colored quilt. I recognized the log cabin pattern, the first one I’d learned when I started quilting.
Rachel was beside me now. “I bought that from an Amish woman when I was in Lancaster a few years ago,” she said. I hadn’t expected to travel all the way to the English world to sleep under an Amish quilt, but there was something comforting in the idea.
A dresser stood on the left-hand wall. My father would disapprove of the way the wood had been painted a dusky blue, but I liked it. Beside the bed was a small table made of the same blue wood. The lamp on the table was electric, and I smiled inside at the thought of reading late into the night. Next to the lamp was a clock that had bright red numbers instead of hands. A writing table with drawers and cubbyholes, like a smaller version of the desk at home, sat beneath the window.
“I hope you like it,” said Rachel.
“It’s the prettiest room I’ve ever seen,” I said. Rachel’s husband stepped in and set my duffel and canvas bag near the dresser. “Thank you, Mr. Aster,” I said. The children giggled, and I corrected myself. “I’m sorry. It’s Dr. Aster, right?” The children giggled again, and I saw Rachel and Sam glance at each other and smile.
“No, it’s not that,” he said. “Aster is Rachel’s name. She didn’t change her last name when we got married.” Once again I felt the thrill of surprise. “My last name is Morgan, and that’s the name the kids have, too. But please call me Sam.”
“Let’s give Eliza a chance to get settled,” said Rachel.
“Wait,” I said, remembering the gifts in my bag. “I have something for Ben and Janie.” Janie clamored over to me, holding her hands out greedily as I reached into my bag. Ben stood a few feet away, but he looked just as eager. I handed them each their packages and watched as Janie ripped apart the tissue wrapping and stared at its contents.
“It’s a doll,” I said, surprised that I had to explain. Kate’s mother made them in the traditional Amish style and sold them to the gift shops in town. This doll was wearing a purple dress, white apron, and black traveling bonnet.
Janie turned the doll over and over in her hands, and then looked up at me. “Where is she?”
Then I understood. “Amish dolls don’t have faces,” I explained. Janie nodded solemnly, then brightened. “Can I draw one on?”
“No, you may not,” said Rachel, plucking the doll from Janie’s hands. “We’ll put this on your shelf with your doll collection. Thank you, Eliza. She’s beautiful.”
I turned my attention to Ben, who was ripping the paper from his gift. When the wrapping slipped off to reveal a hand-carved wooden train car, he smiled. Then he turned the car upside down and peered at its smooth bottom. “How does it work?”
“Well,” I said, “it doesn’t actually do anything. It’s just…” I stopped, disappointed at the children’s reactions. Ben and Janie rushed off, leaving Rachel holding both of their gifts. “I guess they didn’t understand the presents,” I said.
“One day they will. They have a few things to learn.”
“So do I,” I said.
It only took me a few minutes to unpack. I folded my new shirts and shorts and settled them neatly in two of the blue drawers. The blouses and the khaki pants hung in the closet, along with my Amish clothes. I looked at the purple dress, white apron, and the crisp white kapp draped over a wire hanger. Quietly, I slid them to the back of the closet and closed the door.
I set Daniel’s bird on the bedside table and placed the black notebook from my mother on the writing desk. I put the quilting bag in a corner of the closet. My mother had insisted that I keep my hands busy, but quilting was the last thing on my mind now. I looked around the room with a sense of contentment. For the first time in my life I would have a room all to myself, and the realization made me feel rich.
In the bathroom that I would share with the children, I put away my toothbrush, comb, and hair bands. As I closed the drawer, Rachel called up to me that she was ready to leave for the grocery store, and I hurried downstairs. For this trip we were taking the other car that I had noticed parked in the garage when we arrived. Rachel called it a minivan, but there was nothing mini about it. I noticed that Rachel did not carry a basket over her arm, and I wondered where she would put her groceries.
The store was a short distance away, and Rachel parked in a row of other cars that looked the same as the minivan. As we approached the entrance, a closed set of double doors greeted me. I knew from my visits to town that I was supposed to walk toward them until the doors opened. “Ben used to call these the magic doors,” said Rachel. “The kids used to love to come with me just to watch the doors open and close.”
“And now?”
I asked as Rachel reached for the handle of a metal cart with wobbly wheels, instead of a basket, to hold her groceries.
“I guess the excitement wore off,” she said with a shrug. I trotted to keep up with her as she walked down the first aisle, tossing a variety of cans and boxes and jars into the bottom of her cart. She didn’t look closely at any of the items that she chose, and I wondered how she could decide so casually about her purchases.
At home, my mother and I went almost every day with a carefully written list to the market owned by the Krueger family. After we walked through the four sections, placing into the basket only those items that we don’t grow in our garden or preserve in jars or purchase from the Yoders’ dairy farm, Mr. Krueger would nod at us from under the brim of his hat and make a neat list of numbers on his yellow pad.
Rachel’s pace quickened, and I soon lost track of how many aisles we had gone down, passing other shoppers with barely a glance. I tried not to gape at the scales, where glowing green numbers revealed the weight instead of a pointing needle, or the rows of iceboxes that kept food in a suspended state somewhere between fresh and spoiled.
Back at the house, Rachel put away the groceries, and I went into the family room to check on Ben and Janie. They were sitting in front of the television set, each holding a small black object and staring at the screen. My eyes raced to keep up with the moving images. Loud bouncy music came from somewhere behind the screen.
“What are you playing?” I asked.
“It’s Mario,” said Janie, her eyes focused straight ahead.
“But we don’t have any extra controls, so you’ll have to play later,” said Ben.
I watched as they pressed colorful buttons on what they called the “controls.” Every now and then one of the children would moan or cheer, and I realized that by pressing these buttons they had power over what was happening on the television screen. On the TV, bright cars carrying odd-looking characters raced around a twisting road, occasionally crashing into an obstacle that appeared out of nowhere. “I’ll go see if your mother needs help with the dinner,” I said. But the children didn’t seem to hear me.
A World Away Page 7
