A World Away

by Nancy Grossman

  I was flooded with warmth, thinking of how my parents loved each other. I chopped vegetables for the salad while Aunt Beth mashed potatoes in a big blue bowl. “Where’s your young man tonight?” she asked.

  I concentrated on the tomato I was slicing. “I don’t know.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Beth. “I don’t like the sound of that. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I told her about Rachel’s warning and about dancing with Josh and bundling in the car afterward.

  “That’s all right,” said Beth. “You’re allowed to do those things during rumspringa.”

  “Well, while we were dancing, we said some things to each other that seemed right at the time. But now I’m all mixed up about it.”

  “What did you say?” Beth prodded gently.

  “He told me not to go back home, and I said ‘I won’t.’”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “I don’t know. At the time I felt like I meant it. Then later I thought about what I’d said. It’s the same as saying ‘I won’t be Amish.’”

  “Yes it is,” Beth said.

  “The next day I felt awful about it, and I decided that when he called I would have a talk with him, about maybe not being so serious in our relationship right now.”

  “Did you?”

  Tears gathered in my eyes. “Well, that’s the thing. He didn’t call.”

  Beth’s sigh was like a gust of wind. “Oh, Eliza,” she said. “Boys may act full of bravado, but they’re pretty insecure at this age. He must be as nervous about what you said to each other as you are.”

  I nodded. “So why didn’t he call?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s waiting for you to call him. I’m sure the last thing he wants to do now is have Rachel answer the phone when he’s calling you.”

  That did make sense. Before everything got tangled up with the promises and the closeness, we had sworn that Rachel couldn’t know about our feelings.

  In the next room, Uncle John groaned and turned off the TV. “Is it over?” Beth called.

  John appeared in the kitchen, shaking his head. “Down by one run in the bottom of the ninth. First and third. Nobody out. The Cubs can’t score one lousy run.”

  “Well, you’ve both had some disappointments,” said Aunt Beth in a hearty voice. “So I think we should eat.”

  I sat at the table with my aunt and uncle, who I hadn’t known existed two weeks ago, and who now welcomed me to their table as family. It had been a confusing weekend, but this was something that felt just right.

  The next morning I got up at 6:30, feeling more like myself than I had over the weekend. Anxious to get back to my usual routine, I washed and dressed and went downstairs. I packed the children’s lunches in brown paper bags and put up a pot of coffee for Sam and Rachel. Janie came down first, her hair rumpled, clutching a threadbare stuffed rabbit named Sophie.

  “What are we making for breakfast?” she chirped.

  “French toast,” I said. Janie pulled a chair over to the counter and stood on it, ready to help. Ben came down a few minutes later as I was helping Janie add a drop of vanilla to the egg batter. “Good morning, Ben,” I said. He set the table for breakfast before going out to the driveway to bring in the newspaper. Back at the table he scanned the box scores from yesterday’s games. “The Cubs lost again,” he said, looking up from the page.

  “I know,” I said with a smile. I watched as Janie dipped a slice of white bread in the batter and turned it to coat the other side.

  Then I dropped it, sizzling, into the pan. “Bottom of the ninth, no outs, men at first and third, and they can’t score.”

  Ben stared at me, his mouth open. I laughed. “I was at my Uncle John’s house last night. He told me.”

  I ate breakfast with the children, and then sent them upstairs to brush their teeth and get dressed in the clothes I had laid out for them the night before. I cleaned up the kitchen and assembled the children’s backpacks. When they came back downstairs, Rachel was with them. “French toast?” she asked.

  I nodded. “There are two slices for you in the refrigerator. You just have to put them in the toaster oven when you’re ready to eat.”

  I knew that Sam would be downstairs in a few minutes, his tie knotted against the crisp collar of his shirt. He would smile at me, take two deep swigs from a mug of black coffee, and head out the door, briefcase in hand, after hugging each child and kissing Rachel on the side of her lips. Rachel and I would help the children put on their sunscreen and bug spray, then send them outside at the rumbling sound of the bright yellow bus.

  Then Rachel would eat the French toast dry, standing at the counter, scanning the front page of the newspaper before gathering her materials and heading off to the library.

  There was a predictability to this morning routine that gave me comfort. I realized I had become a part of it.

  Alone in the house, I sat at the desk to write a letter to Daniel, but it felt awkward when just days ago I had danced with another boy and bundled in his car. I had received a couple of short letters from him since his visit, mostly descriptions of the work he was doing in his father’s store and stories of the friends he saw on his trips into town. Each letter ended with the words, “Missing you, Daniel.”

  I still thought about him at odd moments during the day, wondering how he would react to the saying on a T-shirt or the number of piercings in someone’s ear. But it had been soon after his visit that things with Josh had started to heat up, and now I felt a pang of guilt every time Daniel came into my mind. But then I would remind myself of the last words he’d spoken during his visit. I had never asked Daniel to wait for me, and I shouldn’t have to be accountable to him. With that thought, my guilty twinges were replaced by defiant ones, and that was a more comfortable way to feel.

  I pushed the letter to Daniel aside, knowing that I would have to contend with Josh and all that was unspoken between us over these past two days. Shaking away a nervous feeling, I picked up the phone and called him.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m glad you called. Can I come over in an hour? Is it safe?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Rachel’s gone and the kids are at camp. I’ll see you soon.”

  When he came up the walk, I opened the front door and saw his familiar grin. It lit me a little, though I didn’t want it to.

  “Hey.” He stepped in and leaned forward to kiss me. I pulled back for just a second, but then accepted the kiss.

  “This is weird,” he said, following me into the kitchen.

  “Weird how?”

  He opened the refrigerator and took out a can of Coke. “Do you want to sit outside?” he asked. I nodded and opened the sliding door to the small patio. We sat side by side on a big cushiony chair. Josh opened the can and took a deep drink.

  “What do you mean, weird?” I asked again.

  “I don’t know. Friday. Just when we decide that we have to be more careful and act like you’re my ‘summer pal,’ we go and have a pretty intense night.”

  I cleared my throat. “You know, we said some things while we were dancing.” I felt my voice rising a bit. “And we probably shouldn’t have said them.” I expected Josh to agree with me, but instead he just waited for me to continue. “You asked me not to go back home. I shouldn’t have agreed.”

  “Okay,” said Josh.

  “Just okay?” I said, feeling a nameless anger stirring in me. “Do you realize what you were asking me?”

  “Yeah, I was telling you how much I enjoy being with you. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “You were asking me to leave my family. You were asking me not to be Amish.”

  “Hey, don’t freak out on me,” he said. “I said what I thought was nice, what I was feeling. I wasn’t planning to have you shunned.”

  It was unsettling hearing that word from him. “Well, that’s what it feels like,” I said. But I had to admit that it hadn’t felt that way at the time. The words had sounded sweet and loving. I had been ha
ppy to hear them. The anger had come later, and it wasn’t anger at Josh, but at myself for being so reckless. I lowered my voice, regretting the confrontation. “I’m not ‘freaking out,’” I said. “But maybe Rachel’s right. Maybe we are going a little too fast.” I waited for Josh to say something, but he didn’t. “Maybe we shouldn’t just pretend to be summer pals. I’m thinking that I want to go back to when we didn’t say things like that to each other.”

  Josh set the empty can on the patio and leaned back in the chair. He was wearing shorts, and I liked the sight of the dark hairs on his legs. I looked away.

  “Well,” said Josh, “I didn’t see this coming. I just thought if we were more careful around other people, and no one suspected anything, that we could keep going. That we could still be together.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t call me all weekend?”

  “Is that what this is about?” Josh said.

  “Not really. But it was a little surprising that we could have a night like we did and then not talk all weekend.”

  “You were pretty clear that Rachel couldn’t find out about us,” he said. “And it’s not like you have a cell phone. I’d have to call you on the family’s line, where anyone could pick up.”

  I nodded. “That’s what my aunt said.”

  “Good old Aunt Beth,” said Josh. “At least someone’s on my side. So, what do you want now? Do you want to be a couple, and just play it cool so no one finds out? Or do you want to go back to the ‘friend zone’?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. And that was honestly how I felt.

  “Well, buddy, I’ve got to get back to work. Let me know when you decide.” Josh got up and walked across the patio, sliding his iPod out of his pocket and tucking the earbuds into his ears. I winced at his words and the tone of his voice. Even though I knew I had set this all in motion, it hurt to see how easily he could get up and walk away from me.

  As he crossed the lawn on his way to the front of the house, his body swayed a little to the song playing inside his head. For an instant I wanted to hear that song, too, so our bodies could sway the same way. I didn’t like the sarcasm in Josh’s voice, but I also didn’t like the sight of him leaving. I followed him. “Wait a minute,” I said. He turned around, and I stepped closer to him, gently lifting the buds out of his ears. “I really had a good time Friday night.”

  “So did I.”

  “I don’t want to be your buddy,” I said.

  He grinned and pulled me to him. I dropped the little white wires and linked my fingers through his belt loops. “We’ll be careful,” he said. “And no more talk about you not going home—or going home, for that matter. Let’s just live in the moment.”

  “In the moment,” I agreed.

  The new plan with Josh seemed to work. I found that I enjoyed being in the moment. It was much less worrisome. We agreed that Josh would never call the house, and when it was safe for him to come over for a visit, I’d call him on his cell phone. Sometimes we met at the Bean Scene or at Josh’s house if his parents were out. One night of the weekend, whichever night Sam and Rachel didn’t need me to babysit, we would go out with Valerie and Greg or another couple. I would also bring Josh to my now-regular Sunday night dinners at Beth and John’s house.

  Since we were living in the moment, we decided that kissing, and maybe more, was acceptable. I told Josh about bundling, and he adopted the term for his own use. But whenever he said, “Do we have time for a little bundling?” it was in a sly, flirtatious way.

  Sometimes he’d want to do more than bundle, and eventually I’d have to be the one to pull away. One night he asked, “Are you ever going to be ready?”

  I tried to be funny. “You’re with an Amish girl,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “Right?” he said. “Or maybe I should say, ‘What was I thinking when I decided to go out with an Amish girl?’” He smiled and shook his head at his joke, and I knew that the moment was over. I settled against him, enjoying the feeling of skin against skin, and wondered how long a Yankee boy would be happy with the small intimacies we had together.

  It wasn’t easy for me to stop, either. I was finding myself more and more drawn to him. But thoughts of consequences invaded the pleasure. I had been raised with rules about what was decent, and those lessons were still inside me. More important, I didn’t want to be sent home.

  By the beginning of August I found myself thinking about the approaching end of my time here and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. The list in my journal was bursting off the page. Every time I thought there would be nothing new to add, something would happen. Valerie and I would get manicures. Or I would keep score for Uncle John while we watched a Cubs-Mets game on TV. Or I would take the children to the library to see a magician perform.

  Then there was Aunt Beth. Every time I was with her I felt like I was unwrapping a new gift.

  And there was no way I could think about going home without grieving over leaving Josh.

  I realized that my life here was bursting off the page, and I wasn’t ready to leave it behind. I talked with Aunt Beth, who agreed that I might check out the possibility of extending my time away from home.

  One day, when Rachel and I were elbow to elbow in the kitchen making dinner, I brought it up. “You know, I hate to think about this, but the summer’s almost over.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, too,” said Rachel.

  “How are you doing on your thesis?”

  “I’m making progress,” said Rachel. “But I’m not as far along as I’d hoped to be. Do you think there’s a possibility that your parents would let you stay a little longer?”

  I smiled. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  In my next letter home, I wrote, Mrs. Aster talked with me today. She still has work to do on her thesis, and she’s hoping I might be able to stay on a little longer. I know that the agreement was for me to return home at the end of the summer, but I’d like to be able to stay here through autumn, if I may. I read the note over, then added: I’m enjoying my work and I believe I’m very useful here. I don’t want my absence from home to be a burden to you, and I’m sure that you miss my help when the inn guests come for dinner. But if you can spare me a while longer, it will be good for this family, and for me.

  I slipped the letter into an envelope and wrote my family’s address on it. Putting on the stamp, I thought for a minute about giving a little prayer for the letter to bring me the answer I wanted. Then I realized that I had all but abandoned my prayers since I came here, and I thought with a twinge that God probably had more important prayers to answer than this one.

  Every day I waited for the mail to be delivered. A week went by and no letter came from home. I tried another letter, filling it with news of the work I’d been doing and the interesting things the children said. Then in the PS, I wrote, Have you had a chance to consider letting me stay here a little longer? Mrs. Aster needs more time to work on her thesis, and I would like to help her. Please let me know.

  A few days later a letter arrived from my mother.

  Dear Eliza,

  I am wondering how you would feel about receiving a visit from your mother. I am thinking of coming for a few days to see you and perhaps take in the city a bit. I would come by train, and hope that you will be able to meet me there. I look forward to spending some time with you.

  All my love,

  Mother

  PS I hope to have the opportunity to meet your friend Betty as well!

  I didn’t know what to make of my mother’s letter. There was no mention of my request for more time, and I worried that she might intend to personally bring me home at the end of her visit.

  But she did want to see Aunt Beth. Right away, I called Beth and asked if she could stop by on her way home from work. She arrived at Rachel’s door just as I was putting a casserole in the oven for the family’s dinner. I took Beth’s hand and pulled her upstairs. She hadn’t seen my room before, and I watched
her smiling approval of my space in Rachel’s home. Then I handed her the letter, waiting for the moment of recognition.

  Her face changed. She made a sound like she was out of breath, and she put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide.

  “I know!” I said, although she hadn’t said anything. She lowered her hand and reached it out toward me. I rushed to hug her, feeling her body tremble against mine.

  There followed a flurry of letters back and forth between my mother and me, selecting dates, confirming the time of arrival at the train station, arranging for her to stay at Rachel’s house (though Beth was already preparing her guest room). Her arrival was a week away. She would be staying for six days, the longest she had ever been away from home as a married woman.

  All the while I was filled with worry. I worried about how the meeting would go between the two sisters. And I was concerned with what her plan was for me. I also had to reconcile my feelings about this woman who had shunned her own sister.

  One afternoon, with the children off to camp and my household tasks completed for the day, I sat on my bed with my journal open on my lap and flipped through the pages, reading snatches of my rumspringa life. Buttons everywhere, I had written in one of my first days. Beeps and buttons.

  I smiled and turned to another page. ANNIE WAS RIGHT, I had written in big letters. Yankee boys are cute! Josh draws out his grin in a slow way, until his face becomes a smiling one by inches.

  On the night of Daniel’s visit, I wrote:

  Daniel appeared at my door

  I was

  happy to see him

  sad to see him leave

  a little mad at him during the visit

  relieved that we made up

  nothing is new.

  One day, after Valerie and I returned from the mall, I wrote, Valerie envies my eyelashes. What an odd thing. And why does that make me feel so satisfied?