A World Away

by Nancy Grossman

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said before, Josh,” she went on. “About how you were happy I let Eliza come here.”

  Josh cringed. “I’m sorry. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “When you’re a parent, you want two things for your children. You want them to be happy, and you want them to be near you. But sometimes you can’t have both of those things at once.” She took a breath before continuing. “I can see that Eliza is happy. And I think I have to accept that, at least for now, she won’t be near me.”

  My heartbeat quickened. I looked at my mother, and she returned my gaze. “Before I left home, your father agreed to allow you to stay here through November if I approved.” I waited, holding my breath. “And I approve.”

  I let out my breath. I could feel Josh watching me. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  I looked down. I didn’t trust myself to look at my mother or Josh. I didn’t want my mother to know that my heart was singing. She turned back to Josh. “I trust Eliza,” she continued. “And I’m told that I should trust you as well. What I’m trying to say is, I give you permission to court…I mean, to date my daughter.”

  Josh and I looked at each other, and then turned back to my mother. Our expressions were the same—eyes wide, mouths slightly open.

  My mother smiled before turning more serious. She spoke to me. “The same rules will apply to your courtship that would have applied at home. You won’t stay out past midnight. And you’ll behave in a way that your father and I would approve of. Is this something you can both live with?”

  We nodded in unison. My mother’s smile touched her lips, but didn’t spread to her eyes. “Well, I think I’ll go help my sister clean up.”

  When she left the room, Josh let out a great breath. He turned to me and reached for my hand. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  I shook my head. “I know, right?” My head was exploding with this new information.

  Josh put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. I settled against him, feeling the warm closeness. Then I felt his lips against my ear, the heat of his whisper. “It’s official,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend.”

  I shifted so I could whisper into his ear. “And you’re my beau.”

  If this were a movie, a song would be playing now.

  On Sunday morning, I heard my mother moving around the room. I sat up in bed. “You can sleep a little longer,” she whispered. “It’s early.”

  I shook my head. “I’m up.”

  Gray light leaked between the blinds, leaving pale stripes on the walls. My mother was wearing the green dress she’d had on when she stepped off the train six days ago. Her suitcase stood near the door, her basket, black cape, and traveling bonnet on top of it. “The time went so fast,” I said.

  “Good times always do.”

  I went to the bathroom to wash and dress. When I returned, my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” she said, patting the place beside her. “I want to say something to you before we go downstairs.” I sat beside her as she reached for the hairbrush on the bedside table and began to brush my hair. I remembered how my childhood had been filled with mornings like this, quiet ashy dawns with my mother beside me, pulling a brush through the tangles of my long hair. “So, now you’ve seen both sides. You’ve seen your aunt’s life and you’ve seen mine. One day you’ll make your own choice.”

  I sat still, enjoying the tickle as my mother worked the brush through my hair and smoothed it with her sturdy hands. This was the first time she had ever discussed the possibility that I might not return to Amish life.

  “What are you saying?” I asked softly.

  “I’m saying that I don’t want another member of my family under the bann.”

  “So if I decide to stay here…”

  The brush fell away from my hair with an abruptness that startled me. My mother shook her head urgently. “Let’s not talk about that now,” she said. “I can’t bear to think of it.”

  “Okay,” I said. Then I added gently, “But you were the one who brought it up.”

  “I know. But there are some things on my mind.” I waited. She went back to brushing my hair. “Lately I’ve been thinking about Kate’s brother. His mother’s heart is broken. I’ve wondered how things might have been different for that family if they had agreed with William’s decision not to be baptized. Maybe they’d still be in contact now.”

  I listened quietly.

  “So I want you to know,” she continued, “that I don’t want to live the life that Kate’s mother is living. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” I said softly.

  “And whatever choice you make,” she said, “don’t make it for a boy. Don’t stay here for Joshua, and don’t come home for Daniel. Make the choice for yourself.”

  I looked at my mother. She stopped brushing my hair and waited for me to answer. “I understand.”

  “All right, then,” she said, her voice sounding more like the brisk, no-nonsense mother I had left behind, and less like the unexpected friend I had found in the last six days. “Now, let’s go downstairs and face those good-byes that we’ve all been dreading.”

  In the kitchen, Beth was standing at the sink, staring out the window, her fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee. When she turned to us, I saw that her eyes were red and swollen. “Well,” she said, with forced cheer in her voice, “what would you like for breakfast?”

  “Whatever’s easy,” said my mother, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  While Beth whisked the scrambled egg batter, I set the table and my mother made toast. Minutes later we gathered around Beth’s kitchen table. I scooped a bit of egg onto my fork, but when I tried to swallow, my throat ached with the effort. I glanced at my mother and aunt, who seemed to be having the same trouble.

  My mother set down her fork. “Is there any way we can have an easy good-bye?”

  Beth shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Not a chance.”

  “I didn’t think so,” said my mother, with a sad laugh.

  I got up and carried the plates and coffee cups to the sink, listening to the quiet comfort of the sisters at the table together. When I turned back, I saw my mother and Aunt Beth, their hands stretched across the table, their fingers interlocked. Watching them, I realized that one day I’d be saying good-bye to one of them.

  Forcing myself to look away, I saw John standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “Is it time already?” asked Beth. John glanced at the clock and nodded. My mother and Beth released each other’s hands and stood up from the table, their movements slow and fluid.

  “I’ll put your things in the car, Becky,” said John. “And I’ll wait for you outside.”

  I followed my mother and aunt through the living room to the front door. My mother was walking with exaggerated straightness. At the front door she turned and reached for me. I stepped into her arms. She pulled me close and whispered into my ear, “Remember what we talked about.” I nodded. My throat felt clogged. “And take care of your Aunt Beth. This is going to be a hard day for her.”

  I stepped back, my hands gripping my mother’s arms. “This was…” I fumbled, groping for the right words. I tried again. “This was an important time for me.”

  “For me too,” my mother said.

  I stepped aside and let Beth take my place in my mother’s arms. She was crying now, and my mother stroked her hair. My mother’s face was pale, and her lips twitched. “Watch your mailbox for letters, Beth. They’ll be coming.”

  “The bann.” Beth choked out the words. “You can be punished.”

  “I’ve been punished all these years without you,” my mother said. “There’s nothing worse they can do to me. It can’t be Good Amish to give up someone you love.” She reached for the door and opened it, then turned back to look at Beth, whose face was twisted with emotion.

  “It’s okay, Elizabeth,” my mother said. “Your sis
ter is here.”

  My mother was right about one thing. It was going to be a hard day for Aunt Beth. After my mother left, Beth looked like a child lost at the fair. I helped her clean the kitchen and then followed her to the guest room to strip the sheets off the beds. She stood in the middle of the room with the bundle of bedding in her arms.

  “Do you want me to put them in the washing machine for you?” I asked gently.

  Beth shook her head and sat down on one of the beds, letting the sheets drop from her arms, onto the floor. I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. “Everything’s good now. You and my mom are together again.”

  Beth laid her head on my shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “Together but apart. I guess it’s better than the way it was before.”

  “Much better,” I said. But I thought about Beth’s words. Together but apart. That’s how it was for me too. I’d have letters, and maybe other visits, but I was apart from my family and friends. It was something I hadn’t let myself think about during the excitement of coming here.

  Beth turned to me, her face drawn, as though she had just finished a long day of work. “I think I need to lie down for a while,” she said. “Is it okay if I take you back to Rachel’s a little later?”

  I followed Beth to her room, feeling protective and grown-up. Beth crawled into bed, and I pulled the quilt over her.

  “I just need a few minutes,” she murmured as I turned off the light and closed the door.

  While my aunt rested, I started a load of wash and remade the beds with clean linens. Then I cleaned the guest bathroom and hung up fresh towels. I was anxious to get back to Rachel’s house, to call Josh, to see the children. But the sadness in Beth’s eyes was tugging at me. It was a relief when Uncle John returned from the train station.

  “Aunt Beth is lying down,” I told him. “I think she wants to be alone for a while.”

  John nodded. “I’ve been dreading this day,” he said. “It was so hard when she said good-bye to her sister the first time.”

  “How was my mom?”

  “She barely said a word in the car. And she wouldn’t let me walk her into the station.” He paused and looked at me, a question in his eyes. “And how are you?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. I would miss my mother, but there were other things on my mind now. I had promised Josh I would call him as soon as I got back. This was going to be a new beginning for us. The truth was, I couldn’t wait to see him, but I worried that saying it would sound like I was happy my mother had left.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “All right, then,” said Uncle John. “Let’s get you back to Rachel’s house.”

  I ran upstairs to get my suitcase.

  My room at Rachel’s was comforting and familiar after the days away. I sat on the bed thinking about the time I had spent with my aunt and mother, hearing their revelations, seeing their faces etched with emotion.

  All through the week they had treated me like an adult, and I had been proud to be trusted with their secrets. But now I was tired of being an adult. I was ready to be sixteen again.

  I picked up the phone and called Josh.

  Josh and I were “official.” That’s what he called it. Back home, my friends would say that we’d gone from “keeping company” to “courting.” Whatever we called it, one thing was true: for the first time, Josh and I could present ourselves as a couple.

  There were two weeks left of summer, and we spent them in delicious closeness. Each evening, when my chores were done, I called Josh and he was over in minutes to take me out for coffee or to a movie or to someone’s basement where other couples had gathered. When we were alone, we were starved for each other, and though we’d stepped beyond bundling, I knew that there was one limit that was absolute. One evening, after watching a movie, wound around each other on his basement couch, I told him what I’d learned about my mother’s rumspringa. It had been her secret, but I had an important reason for letting Josh know about it. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s intense.”

  “It is,” I said. “And I think my mother wanted me to know so that nothing like that would ever happen to me.”

  “Okay,” he said, his voice a low hum. “Then it never will.” I felt relieved. Now Josh was sharing the burden of keeping our limits. It wouldn’t only be up to me.

  The last days of summer galloped by as only summer days can. I felt a new exhilaration when September neared, because this was the time I would have been returning home. Instead, I was still here and we were still together. And we didn’t have to hide our togetherness.

  When Josh’s class schedule arrived in the mail, he called one friend after the other to find out who would be in class with him. I felt a little left out, but I kept busy. Camp ended for the children, and I occupied them during the day while Rachel worked at the library or in her little office. School would be starting for the children, too, with Ben in fourth grade and Janie in first. I was the only one not making a fresh start in the fall. So I clung to those last summer nights, with the warmth of Josh’s arm draped comfortably over my shoulders, and the air rich and sweet.

  On the last day of summer vacation, Rachel took the children to their school for an orientation program. I waited excitedly for Josh, and when he greeted me at the door, he handed me a blue cap with the red letter C above the brim. Uncle John had told me endless stories about the Cubs, and I had watched so many games with him on Sundays that I was beginning to understand his proud and painful possessiveness of the team. But I had never been to a game. Now Josh and I would be sitting in the bleachers of Wrigley Field.

  The whole afternoon I sat elbow to elbow with the other fans, feeling the sun’s warmth pressing into my back and shoulders. I ate peanuts and threw the shells on the ground, where they crunched beneath my sneakers. In front of me was the field, so green and precise, with white lines and bases forming a perfect diamond.

  I had never seen so many people together in one space. It was a place where strangers were all in partnership for the same cause. When the Cubs scored runs, we cheered and slapped each other’s outstretched hands; and when a Cub player struck out, we all groaned in unison. What happened down there with the nine ball players on the green grass was the most important thing in the world. And when the Cubs right fielder caught a fly ball in the ninth inning to win the game, I stood up and shrieked my excitement with everyone else.

  Riding home on the el, I smiled while Josh replayed the game to me, as though I hadn’t just seen it myself. I was tired and sunburned, and happy that the Cubs had won. But I was also a little sad. This was another thing to put on my list, something else that I had wanted to do and had looked forward to with anticipation. Now it was over, like my first movie and play and concert. If I came to Wrigley Field again, I would already know about the emerald grass and the smell of peanuts and the cracking sound the ball makes when it hits the bat. I had been to only one baseball game, but already I could imagine it feeling ordinary.

  I turned to face Josh. He was talking about a play in the fourth inning when he was sure the umpire had incorrectly called a Cub player out at second.

  “But they won in the end, so that doesn’t really matter, does it?” I asked.

  “I know. I just like to analyze it. It’s the sportswriter in me.”

  I smiled. The boys at home talked about their future jobs, too. Most would end up doing the same work as their fathers. When the girls discussed their futures, they talked about their husbands and children.

  I shook away the thoughts of home that were taking me out of my present. I didn’t want to be back there, where the options were narrow and predictable. I wanted to be here, in the swaying el car, next to a boy who planned to earn his living by writing about sports.

  “Can we rent a movie tonight?” I asked.

  “Not tonight. I have to be at school early tomorrow.” I felt the hot rush of disappointment. “But I’ll call you after school.” I nodded, not wanting him to see that it mattered to
me.

  Now that school had started for Josh, I no longer waited for the phone in the middle of the day in the hopes that we could snatch some time together before the children got home. He left for school in the early morning and came home after he was done with his work for the newspaper. His lawn-mowing business ended, and his hours at the computer store were scaled back. Our schedules were suddenly at odds with each other. During the day while I was alone, with time weighing on me, Josh was at school. By the time he got home, I was helping the children with their homework and getting dinner ready for the family. In the evening, when my work was finished, Josh was studying.

  My life slipped into a five and two pattern: five days of work, two days with Josh. I spent my Fridays racing through my tasks, checking the clock, waiting for the weekend to begin. Most Friday nights I babysat while Sam and Rachel went out, and Josh was allowed to come over to spend the evening with me. After the children went to bed, we’d order pizza and watch a movie together, stretching out on the couch, our limbs intertwined. Saturdays and Sundays were my days off, and I usually spent them with Josh, as long as he didn’t have too much homework. On Saturday nights, Josh and I went out to a movie or party or a concert. At Sunday night dinners with Aunt Beth and Uncle John, I felt an unaccustomed sensation, a dismal feeling that the week loomed ahead.

  I’d often think about Josh and the mysterious place where he spent his days. High school. The only thing I knew about it was what I saw on television and read about in books. Students sat at desks listening to teachers until a bell rang, and they slung their backpacks over their shoulders and moved into another classroom to listen to another teacher talk. Between classes they gathered in large areas, like the cafeteria or gymnasium, where they talked and flirted with each other. Josh and his friends told me that school wasn’t like what I saw on TV; that the days were long and dull. But I wanted to find out for myself.

  One warm September Friday night, while I basked in the airy feeling of the weekend, Josh tried to explain it to me. Sam and

  Rachel had gotten home early, so we had walked to town for ice cream, and sat on a bench, the breeze catching the ends of my hair. “There are all these random rules,” Josh said. “Like we can’t use our cell phones or leave the room without a pass. And then each teacher gives homework assignments like theirs is the only class we have, so even when we’re out of school, our time isn’t our own.”