Rachel’s house was quiet when we got home. We went into the family room and sat close together on the couch. “I have a present for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled a shiny silver disc out of a white envelope. I waited, not understanding. On the disc he had written the names of songs in black marker. “I burned this for you,” he said, proudly. “It’s all the songs we listened to together.” He pointed to titles one by one. “See? This is the Dylan song you liked, ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door.’ And here’s the song we danced to at the club. Here’s the slow dance from Homecoming. Here’s ‘Blackbird,’ the first song we listened to on my iPod.” He smiled proudly. “I even put on a Billy Joel song. That just about killed me.”
He looked at me, waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure what to say. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given me. It was also the silliest. “Thank you,” I said, waiting for him to understand.
Then his face changed. “I’m an idiot,” he said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “You don’t even have a way of listening to this. What was I thinking?”
I smiled and took the disc from his hand. “It’s okay,” I said. “There’ll be parties at home. Someone will have a CD player. Or I can take it with me to the library and listen.” I looked at the disc and heard parts of each song in my head as I read the titles. “I love that you did this for me.”
We said good-bye to each other on the front stoop, our arms wrapped around each other, our teeth chattering in the November cold. Josh whispered something in my ear, the heat from his breath tickling me. “I’ll never forget you.” I nodded against his chest, my throat too filled to speak.
The next morning, I was up early. I put on the purple dress, the white apron, the kapp. My English clothes were packed in boxes at the front door, waiting to be stored at Aunt Beth’s house. My duffel was repacked with the same items I had carried to Aunt Beth’s house in anger a few weeks ago. The room was clean and empty.
I went downstairs and set my duffel by the front door near the boxes. In the kitchen I made coffee and began to mix the batter for pancakes. A knock at the front door startled me. It was too early for Aunt Beth to be here. I ran to answer the door and found Josh standing on the stoop.
“I wanted to see you one more time.” He stepped inside, and I felt his eyes on me, looking me up and down. “I’ve never seen you in your Amish clothes,” he said. “You look so…”
I waited to see what he would say. Out-of-date, old-fashioned, quaint.
“Pretty,” he said. “You look so pretty.”
I stepped into his arms one last time. We had talked of visiting and of writing to each other, and maybe it would happen. But more likely we’d both just recall this moment, a boy in blue jeans embracing a girl in a dress and bonnet. I held the picture in my mind so I could commit it to memory. This is what I wanted to think about when I remembered our time together.
Back in the house, I cooked the pancakes and ate a quick breakfast, leaving the rest for the family. Rachel came downstairs followed by the children. “Sam’s taking them out today,” she said. “I thought it would be easier for them to say good-bye to you if they had an outing to look forward to.”
Ben and Janie climbed into their seats at the table, and I served them breakfast. Rachel sipped her coffee and nibbled on a pancake at the sink. These images would also be in my memory. Ben looked at my clothes. “You look just like your mom did when she came to visit,” he said.
Janie’s face was more curious. Then she lit with an idea. “You look just like the doll you gave me, only with a face!” Rachel and I exchanged a smile.
A few minutes later, Sam came downstairs and walked over to me with a shy look on his face. “Thank you for everything, Eliza. It’s been wonderful having you in the family.” I felt the bristles of his closely trimmed beard as he hugged me. “Come on, guys,” he called to the children. “We have some adventures to get to today.”
The children bounded up from the table and ran to me. I felt two pairs of arms wrap around my waist, and I looked down to see their round upturned faces, etched with the kind of temporary sadness that comes over children until they move on to their next emotion. I kissed each of them and inhaled their salty scents one more time.
“I promise to write to both of you,” I said in a choked voice.
I watched as Sam led the children out the front door. They turned around to wave to me before running to the car.
I turned to Rachel. Tears were brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do around here without you.”
I swallowed back a tightness in my throat. “You’ll do fine.”
She shook her head. “I’ve loved having you in my life.”
I searched for the right words to tell her. Finally I found them. “You changed things for me,” I said. “I needed this, and you made it happen.”
Rachel pulled me to her. I felt her hand cupped at the back of my head and my tears against her sweater. We stood like that for a few seconds or a few minutes. It was hard to tell. But neither of us wanted to let go. Finally we did, and we stepped back and laughed at our wet faces and red eyes. “You’ll be coming back to visit your aunt?” Rachel asked.
“I plan to. I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll be checking my mailbox every day, waiting for letters.”
“And me as well.” Then I thought of something. “When you finish your thesis, I’d like to read it.”
Rachel smiled and nodded. “I’d be honored.”
Just then the front door opened and John and Beth stepped in. We greeted them, and Aunt Beth went back out to her car carrying my duffel. As Uncle John prepared to pick up one of my boxes, he turned to me, speaking softly. “I want to thank you for finding Beth.”
I smiled. “And I hope to hear some good news soon. I’m ready for a new cousin.”
John pulled me into the bear hug that I’d come to expect from him ever since the day I’d surprised him in his living room. “This isn’t good-bye,” he said.
Finally I was in Beth’s car, the hugs and farewells behind me. I turned to my aunt, who had taught me that there wasn’t only one way to live. Even in her rebellion she held some love for the life she had left behind. It would be that way for me, living in one place and carrying another place in my heart. She had told me that there were other choices than the ones I knew about, and I was determined to find them. She reached for my hand and squeezed it before turning the key and backing the car out of the driveway.
I looked out the windshield and watched the white lines on the road disappear beneath the car as it moved forward. Rachel’s street led to a highway that, in a few hours, would lead me back home, to the place I had been so eager to leave a few months ago. Soon the sight of buggies and clotheslines would be tenderly familiar. I settled back in my seat, enjoying the ride.
My life was ahead of me. And it was filled with possibility.
My greatest lesson during this journey has been that no book has one author. My dear friends, Barbara Kline and Debbie Stone, were with me at the Amish dinner table when this story found me. Then, during yearly trips, they listened to the scant pages I had written since our last gathering and always wanted more. My writing teachers—Randall Albers, John Schultz, Betty Shiflett, and Ron Suppa—gave me the tools and confidence to go forward, and the members of my Monday night writing group were gentle midwives at this novel’s birth. Later, the Ragdale Foundation provided a setting conducive to reflection and productivity. There, I met Sheri Holman, who became my mentor, adviser, and friend.
Many thanks to Jan Caron, Wendy Herst, and Jackie Gross, who read an early manuscript and saw the possibilities through the flaws. Thanks also to Jason Anthony, whose interest and guidance helped me fix the flaws, and Barbara Chandler, who helped me write the quilting scenes. I appreciate the nine girls who inspired me to write about the love between an aunt and niece, and my many students who helped me recall what it was like to be a teenager. And to Deb
bie Batko and all the women in my life, thank you for making it easy to write about friendship. I’m also thankful to Steve and Gary for reading a book about a girl; Fern Schumer and Travis Ross for setting aside their writing to help me with mine; and Marsha Hoover for reading boring stuff and helping me understand it. And I deeply appreciate my wonderful boss, Helen Marlborough, who supported this book even when it meant shouldering my work on top of her own.
I’m grateful forever to my agent, Holly Root, who changed my life one August morning when she called to say, “I loved your book.” My thanks, also, to Dina Sherman, who gave the book an early vote of confidence from someone who knows the heart of the girl in the library. Thanks also to Laura Schreiber for her insightful editorial assistance, and the staff at Disney-Hyperion, who gave this book their attention and expertise. And I will always be indebted to my editor, Abby Ranger, for seeking this project and for pushing me to know more about the story and its characters. Thank you, Abby, for wanting this book, and for insisting that it could be better.
To my son, Kevin, love and thanks for being the first boy reader, for giving me the information I needed to write the party scene, and for not telling me how you got the information. To my daughter, Maggie, my cherished reading partner and first editor, thank you for uttering the words that rang in my head through all the years of writing: “Oh, Mom, I feel like I’m reading a real book!” Finally, to my husband, Ken, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done over the years to make sure this book got finished. Thank you for accepting my marriage proposal in that Omaha bar. Since then I’ve felt lucky every day.
A World Away Page 30
