A World Away

by Nancy Grossman

  She got up and poured herself a cup of coffee and took a long sip before sitting down again. I listened quietly. “It was a dilemma for me,” she said, “having you here, given the kind of work I was doing.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a dilemma if you had told me.”

  “I know that now,” she said. “And I would do it all differently if I could.” She curved her fingers over the top of her coffee cup. It was a gesture that had become familiar to me.

  “Once I made the mistake of not telling you about it, I didn’t know how to fix it.” She set the mug on the table. “But I want to fix it now.”

  I shook my head and looked down. “Everything’s different now,” I said. “Every time I remember one of our conversations, I wonder what you were trying to learn from it.”

  Rachel shut her eyes and pressed her fingertips over them. “I’ve made a mess of everything,” she said. Then she took her hands away from her eyes and looked at me fully. “I understand if you need to leave early. But can you give the kids some time to get used to the idea?”

  I nodded and got up. Rachel stayed at the table, staring into her coffee cup. “Do you have my chore list ready?” I asked her. She shook her head.

  I went upstairs and found my room the way I’d left it, with drawers and the closet door open and yesterday’s clothes on the floor. I changed back into English clothes, unpacked my duffel, and straightened up the room. The day drifted by with an unnatural quiet, and I kept myself busy with laundry and housework. In the afternoon, when I came into the living room to dust, I found Rachel there reading the newspaper. She looked up when she saw me. I felt self-conscious around her now, but there was something I still wanted to understand. I sat down and put the dust cloth aside.

  “Why are you writing about the Amish?”

  She put down her newspaper. “I was always interested in the Amish and how they’ve been able to keep to their ways even while everything around them changes,” she said. “And I was interested in studying a culture that was different from my own.” She looked at me in a knowing way. “I think you can relate to that.”

  I looked down. It was true that my curiosity about the English wasn’t so different from Rachel’s interest in us. We were both a bit hungry for a life we didn’t have.

  “The difference between us,” Rachel continued, “is that you can come here and, after a bit of adjusting, fit right in. If I came to live in your district, I’d be way out of my league. I don’t think I could last a week.”

  I tried to imagine Rachel with no cell phone or computer or car, hanging clothes on the line and washing dishes by lantern light. She may have been curious about my world, but she belonged in hers. “A week might be a stretch for you,” I said. I watched relief rise in Rachel’s face that we were able to share a smile together.

  “I know you had the right intentions,” I said. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

  “Thank you, Eliza,” she said, her voice wobbly with emotion. “You know, you’ve become an important person to me—to all of us. And I was devastated to think I had hurt you.”

  Then I remembered something Sam had told me. “I don’t want you to stop your research. You should finish your thesis.”

  “Thank you,” she said. In a quieter voice, she asked, “Will you be staying?”

  “I made a commitment to work for you until the end of November. After that, I’m not sure.”

  Rachel nodded, and a look of calm came over her face. I thought about how she had said I fit in here, and I felt oddly heartened. I realized that it was true.

  Josh came over that night, and we went out for coffee. He tapped his spoon on the table in his fidgety way.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “I was worried that you were going to leave.”

  “All along, my parents have been expecting me to come back home,” I said.

  “I know,” said Josh. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

  “Me too,” I said. “But in a way it’s been on my mind ever since you went back to school. Things have been different for me.”

  “They don’t have to be,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’ve been thinking that you can go to school, like your aunt did. You’ve always told me how you didn’t want to leave school.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I think it was my one-room school I was missing. At your school you’re doing science experiments, and I don’t even know the name of the math class you’re taking.”

  “Calculus. And you’re smart enough to learn it. I would help you,” he said. His voice was sincere, and I believed him. I could learn anything I wanted. But I shook my head.

  “The thing is, I don’t want to learn calculus. I just wanted to know that I had the option.”

  “So you would just leave?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I said. “This was only supposed to be for the summer, remember?”

  “But there’s nothing for you back there.”

  I sat up straight. “Excuse me?”

  Josh shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re always talking about the things you don’t have back home.”

  I tried to keep my voice even. “We may not have computers or telephones or television, but we have books and conversations. And we talk to each other in person, not through e-mails and texts.”

  Josh sat back and looked at me. When he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. “So, if everything was so perfect there, why were you so anxious to leave?”

  I pushed my cup of coffee to the side. “Lately, I’ve been wondering.”

  We were quiet on the walk home. When we got to Rachel’s house we stopped and turned to each other. “I’m sorry,” Josh said, pressing both of my hands between his. “I shouldn’t have said there was nothing for you there. You know I don’t believe that.”

  “I know,” I said, enjoying the feeling of my hands sandwiched inside of his. “And for a while, I did think I wanted to leave home.

  But really, I just wanted to see this world.”

  “And now?” he asked.

  “And now I’ve seen it.”

  Back in my room, I pulled out the journal and flipped through the scribbled details of my life here. My list of new experiences was getting scanter. I had added the football game and the Homecoming dance and drinking alcohol and Halloween. Now, at the end of each day, it was getting hard to find new things to include.

  Josh’s words had made me angry, but I understood. He had watched me take in this place as though it was a big present that I kept unwrapping, and he couldn’t see why I might want to leave it. Realizing that this latest anger at Josh was March snow, I thought that when I got home I’d tell Kate about this expression that Aunt Beth had taught me. When I get home. I gulped in a breath at how naturally the thought had come to me.

  I closed the journal and thought about my mother’s visit, and how she had told me not to make a decision for a boy. She had also said that we could do without things easier than we could do without people. And she was right. When I thought of what I would miss if I left here, I didn’t think about television or movies or the computer. I thought of Aunt Beth and Uncle John. Of Rachel and her family. Of Josh.

  I went to sleep washed in melancholy, knowing that either choice I made would lead to good-byes.

  For the next two weeks I tried to follow Josh’s advice from earlier in the summer, and I lived in the moment. He and I stopped talking about the possibility that I might leave, but when we bundled at the end of the night, our bodies connecting to each other, there was a distance inside that kept us just a little bit separate.

  At the end of the two weeks, a thin letter came from my father.

  Dear Eliza,

  You have not written again to ask that your time be extended, so I assume that Mrs. Aster has completed her work and can let you return home. Please write back to tell us your plans.

  All my love,

  Dad

 
I brought the letter with me to Aunt Beth’s house that Sunday. She glanced at it and looked at me. “So, you’ve decided?”

  “I still have some things to think about,” I said. She turned the fire down on the pot of stew, and we sat together at her kitchen table. “What do you think it’ll be like for me at home?”

  “You’ll be happy to be with your friends again,” she said. “I think you’ll settle right into those Friday night parties. And it’ll be nice to be with your family.” I smiled thinking about sitting at the table, reaching for James and Ruthie before saying grace. “Of course you’ll miss some things. Movies, phones, Josh.” She paused before adding, “Me.”

  “Will I still be able to stay in touch with you even though you’re under the bann?”

  Aunt Beth nodded. “It’ll be a while before you decide to be baptized. And your mother didn’t get any sanctions from the district when she came to see me. So I think I’ll be able to be your aunt even if you join the Order.”

  I breathed in my relief. “There’s something else I’m wondering about,” I said. “I’m not sure what my plan would be if I go back home.”

  “What was your plan before you came here?”

  I grinned. “My plan was to come here.” Suddenly I felt an odd freedom. My list was finished. Nothing else was lingering, waiting to be experienced. “Now I need to think about what happens next.”

  “Amish women do stay pretty close to home, but some of them venture out a bit,” Beth said. “Teaching is always an option. And some Amish get permission to go to school or training programs. I think your parents would be open to that.”

  “Now I think they would,” I agreed.

  “And there are other jobs besides teaching and quilting,” Beth went on. “I loved my work in the library. And two of my friends were working when I left home. Holly was a veterinary assistant and Regina was studying to be a midwife. I think there are more possibilities at home than you realize.”

  I had always pictured that my adult life would be like my mother’s, but now I was thinking maybe it didn’t have to be.

  “And, remember, all of your friends at home will be in the same situation,” said Beth. “They’re all in that time before they’re baptized, wondering what’s ahead.” I smiled. It was comforting to think that my friends and I would be facing the questions about our future together. We would share our ideas during quilt circles and Friday night parties. We would sit together at services and think about each other when we baked friendship bread.

  Beth’s voice was low now, and I realized it was hard for her to talk about my leaving. “And everything you’ve learned in your time here, it doesn’t go away. It’ll all be part of you.” I closed my eyes and thought about these words. Then I looked at Beth.

  “Here’s a question,” I said. “What would I do with all my English clothes?”

  “I was thinking that we can leave them here at my house. One day I may need you to come for a long visit and you might want to wear them.” She paused for a moment, looking at me carefully. I waited, sensing there was something Beth was trying to tell me. “John’s been wanting us to start a family, but I haven’t felt ready. I didn’t know if I could be a good mother after all that happened between my family and me. But having you in my life made me feel what having a child could be like, and I know now that I do want it.” She paused, her voice breaking. “And if that happens, I’m going to need your help around here.”

  Warmth filled my throat and chest. I reached across the table for my aunt’s hand. “It’s the right thing,” I said, and she nodded.

  After dinner, Beth and I curled up on opposite ends of the couch, our quilts spread over our laps and across the space between us, our needles rising and falling in unison. When Beth spoke, her voice was a murmur. “So, when would you leave?”

  “Next weekend,” I said.

  “Uncle John and I have been talking,” she began. “I’m going to ask my boss for some time off so I can drive you home. And maybe I’ll stay a little while.”

  I gasped. “Can you? Are you allowed?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that ever since your mom came here. I know there’ll be restrictions, since I’ll be there under the bann. I won’t be able to sit at the table or go to services. Some people won’t see me, but others may take a chance.” She stitched quietly for a moment, her face tight with emotion. Then she set her needle down and looked at me. “I want to see my parents. I want to meet your sisters and brother. And I’m hoping to be able to talk to Emmy. I think she’ll see me now; it’s been so long.”

  My eyes clung to Aunt Beth’s across the couch and the expanse of our quilts. I couldn’t think of what to say. I was going to bring my aunt home.

  We decided to leave on Saturday. I would finish my week of work and give the children time to understand that I would be going. When I got home from Beth’s house I went into Rachel’s office. She looked up from the computer screen, and I sat down in the chair facing the desk. “I got a letter from my father,” I said. “He wants to know when I’ll be coming home.”

  Rachel nodded and bit her lip. “What did you tell him?”

  “I haven’t answered him yet, but I’m going to write tomorrow and tell him to expect me on Saturday.”

  “I knew this was coming,” said Rachel. “But it still feels like a jolt.”

  I told her about my evening with Beth and about her plan to come with me. A smile crept up Rachel’s face. “I hope she has a nice homecoming.”

  I told the children the next day after school. Janie’s lips quivered, and tears collected in her eyes. Ben’s face twisted for a moment, but he gathered himself together. I pulled Janie into my lap and looked at Ben. “I’ll miss you both.”

  “Will you visit us?” he asked.

  “Yes, I will. And I’ll write you letters. Will you write me back?”

  “I’ll e-mail you,” he said.

  I shook my head. “We don’t have a computer.”

  “Can we talk on the phone?”

  I shook my head again. “No phone and no computer. Remember, I live in the ‘olden times.’ It’ll have to be snail mail.”

  Janie looked up at me, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’ll write you every day,” she said solemnly.

  A few minutes later they were back in front of the television, control panels in their small hands, maneuvering the images on the screen to avoid scary obstacles that popped out of nowhere. This is how I would remember them, their thumbs moving frantically, their eyes glued to the screen.

  I called Josh and asked if he could come over after dinner. There was a moment of quiet on the phone before he said, “I’ll see you at eight.”

  At a corner table in the Bean Scene, Josh looked at me and waited. I couldn’t think of what to say. Finally he said it for me. “When are you leaving?”

  “Saturday,” I said. “My aunt is going to drive me home.”

  “And there’s nothing I can say to change this?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s what I want to do.”

  He nodded. His brown eyes were cloudy and his face had a pinched look. “Can I just ask you one question? Are you going back to him? To Daniel?”

  “No.” The word came out forcefully. “No,” I said again, quietly. “This isn’t a decision about a boy. It’s a decision about me.”

  He looked reassured. “So, how should we spend your last few days?” he asked.

  “Just like this,” I said.

  Josh came over every evening that week. We went to the Bean Scene or watched movies, our arms and legs tangled around each other. We talked about all of our times together, recalling the day we met and how he’d played music for me. We laughed about all the things I didn’t know about then, and the way I fumbled with each new device before I learned how to use it. We talked about going to the city and the Cubs game and the under twenty-one club. We even found a way to laugh about Valerie’s party.

  One day after school, Carly and Jill came over to s
ay good-bye. I smiled at memories of how Jill helped me shop for the dance, and how Carly stood up to Valerie on my behalf. Each girl hugged me and promised to write me letters, but they probably wouldn’t. They would buy dresses for the next dance and take their college tests, and I would be a small memory of someone they once knew. That is what they would be for me as well, and it was all right.

  Later that same night, the doorbell rang and Greg was on the stoop, his smile wide and friendly. He visited with me in the living room, and we laughed together about how excited I had been to see my first movie, and about how Mr. Rozey almost wouldn’t let me into the dance. “Hey,” he said. “My man Josh is going to be one hurting dude when you leave.”

  My throat felt tight. “It’ll be hard for me too.”

  Greg laughed, a mischievous look in his eye. “I might have to go to his house and watch The Sound of Music with him to make him feel better.”

  I smiled. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

  “I know about a lot of things,” he said with a grin. At the door, Greg gave me a hug. “Take care of yourself in Amish country.” He stepped outside and then turned back. “Oh, and I’ll say good-bye for Valerie too. In case she doesn’t get around to it.” Our eyes met, and he nodded to me in what I thought was a knowing way.

  Josh and I agreed to have our own good-bye on Friday night. He was going to work early on Saturday, and I was happy to have one less good-bye on the day I left. That night Josh took me out to dinner to a restaurant with no television sets on the walls. He turned off his cell phone, and I was the only one with him at the table. All week we had talked about the time we’d spent together. Now we talked about the time ahead. “Do you think I can ever visit you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. There wouldn’t be much for you there.”

  “You’d be there,” he said.

  I was filled with a fragile feeling, like I was going to laugh or cry or both, and I had no control over it. But I didn’t feel like I was going to break, so I knew I would be okay.