A Simple Spring: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  Frank checked his watch. “We’re off in thirty minutes. Soon as you’re done, meet me at the van. Red and Tara are going to be psyched to hear about your new availability. Chin up, church girl. This is going to be awesome.”

  Two hours later, Sadie was lost in another world. Tonight, the music was really coming together, and each song was taking Sadie off to a different place.

  Behind her, Red swooshed a brush over his shiny golden cymbals or thunked a steady beat on his drums, giving her a place to land after she soared over each note. Tara’s bass gave each song deep, warm rumbles, like the churning of earth under the plough in spring. And Frank’s guitar wailed in the empty spaces or plunked away sweetly like a brook trickling over stones in the distance.

  “But God bless the child that’s got his own,” the music spilled from her heart, “that’s got his own.” With her eyes pressed shut, she swayed to the music as the song swung to an end.

  “Woo-yeah!” Frank clapped his hands together. “That was awesome. Is this not one of the best rehearsals we’ve ever had? Yes!”

  Sadie opened her eyes to the animated faces of her fellow band members.

  “Yeah, that was smooth,” Tara Grace said. She cradled the large electric bass as she perched on one of the big amps.

  “Sadie, I love the way you just pour it out when you get in the zone,” Frank said. “It’s like you go off and visit the melody of the song in a land far, far away.”

  “Yeah,” Red’s low voice rumbled. “It’s like some weird, energized trance comes over you,” he said, shaping an imaginary ball with his hands. “Really cool.”

  Sadie hugged herself, basking in their praise. “I love that song,” she admitted. She didn’t always agree with the songs Frank picked, but “God Bless the Child” was one that everyone in the band could climb into, like a boat carrying them together down a winding river. That was how it felt when a song worked; as if they were all traveling, one boat, but four very separate passengers.

  Sadie always enjoyed the voyage.

  “You know what?” Frank rubbed the hairs on his chin, squinting at his bandmates. “We sound really good tonight. I say we get some of this recorded. I’m going to get my video camera.” He slipped his guitar off and went out the side door of the garage.

  While Tara pecked out a low murmur, Sadie went to thank Red for the tunes he had downloaded onto her iPod. Sadie bought new songs with money from her job, but Red was always happy to download any music from his CD collection.

  “I love the James Taylor songs,” she said. “He’s a wonderful good singer, but best of all, his songs talk about things I know. Colors and growing seeds. Rivers and mountains and roads. Sunshine and the moon.” And longing and love, she thought, though she didn’t dare say it aloud. That would be too embarrassing to mention to an Englisher boy.

  “Cool.” Red tucked his drumsticks under one arm, his long, flame-colored hair falling over his eyes as he looked up at her. “Yeah, JT knows how to put a song together. His phrasing is great, and he can play the guitar like nobody else on the planet. So which song did you like the best?”

  “ ‘Blossom,’ ” she said. “I want to sing that song. Do you think we could try it sometime?”

  “We can’t do James Taylor,” Frank said from across the garage, where he was setting a camera on a little stand. “Our style is nothing like his. It would fail, man.”

  “You never know.” Red stood up from his stool and stretched his drumsticks over his head. He was a tall, skinny boy, all bones in his T-shirts and baggy jeans. “You can’t be sure till you try it.”

  “We are not playing ‘Blossom,’ ” Frank snapped.

  “Just chill, Frank,” Tara said. “You’re not the boss of this band.”

  Frank grumbled as he bent over and squinted into the little camera on the stand. “Okay, this is going to be great. This shot will get all of us. Perfect.”

  “What exactly are we recording for?” Red asked. “Is this our first music video, because I didn’t get the choreography memo.”

  “It’s just a trial, okay? Something to send out to promoters or clubs so they can get a taste of us.”

  “But I can’t do it.” Sadie lifted a hand to one cheek, worry piercing her chest.

  “Sure you can,” Frank said. “You’re doing great. Just keep going the way you are.”

  “Not that. I’m not afraid. I can’t let my picture be taken. The rules of our church forbid it. The Bible says we are not to let ourselves become graven images.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Frank straightened, rubbing the patch of hair on his chin. “I forgot about that.” He bent toward the camera again, then went over and turned off the overhead fluorescents so that the light of a single lamp on one of the amps cast a shadowy golden glow through the room. “How’s that?” Frank asked. “This way people will see only your silhouette. Not enough that anyone would ever be able to identify you.”

  “I don’t know.” Sadie glanced over at Tara, who shrugged. No one cared but Sadie. “Are you sure no one will see me?”

  “Positive,” Frank said. “Here. Have a look if you want. I like the dark profile. It’s sort of mysterious that way. Who is that mystery singer? People will want to know.”

  She bent over and took a peek at the tiny screen on the back of the camera. Frank was right; she could see the shape of Tara sitting on the amp, but the image was fuzzy. She resembled a sack of potatoes more than a girl.

  “I guess that will be okay,” Sadie said, though it still worried her a bit. To have her picture out there, to even be here after getting fired from the hotel … She was dipping into the Englisher world more and more. If Adam and the church brethren found out, she would be in trouble. They might even ask her to repent for breaking the rules.

  But they were not going to find out. And for now, Frank and the band brought comfort to her lonely heart by helping her make beautiful music.

  She stepped back into her spot by the microphone and the rehearsal continued. Once again, she went to that special place when she closed her eyes, soaring high like a bird in the sky.

  When the rehearsal ended, Frank loaded his guitar into the back of the van and gave Sadie a ride home. This was their routine on rehearsal nights. Frank would pull up to the embankment on the main road, just out of sight of the farmhouse. There he would turn off the engine, and they would talk a bit more about the rehearsal or songs or the weather.

  Tonight, as Sadie wondered if she should try to find another job in Halfway, Frank couldn’t stop talking about the “gigs” he was trying to set up for the band in Philly. He frowned down at the screen of his cell phone, annoyed that he had missed a call during the ride.

  “That was my cousin Heather.” Frank winced, showing his teeth. When he did that, he reminded Sadie of illustrations of the devil she’d seen in children’s Bible storybooks, especially with his pointy chin with that patch of hair on it. “She’s got an in with this club owner in Philly. I think we’re going to get our first real gig out of it.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  “Nice? It would be an amazing break for us. Big-time, baby! We’re going to get your voice out there.” He pointed out the open van window.

  She glanced over the dark landscape. “Out in the cornfield? I already sing to the sprouts. So far they haven’t sung back.”

  “Funny girl.” Frank shook his head as he texted someone. “You know what I’m saying. I’m going to make you a star.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. She loved singing, but she didn’t share Frank’s desire to perform in a bar. Sure, she loved making beautiful music, and she believed the Heavenly Father meant for her to “make a joyful noise” and share her gift. But performing in taverns? That was not her dream. She knew the ministers would never approve of it, and to be honest, the few times she had done karaoke in the city with Frank, she had been uncomfortable with the looks of the place. The lights were always dim, the rooms were dank and cluttered with tables, and they all served alcohol. She ha
d worried that she could get in trouble with the police since she was only eighteen.

  “Nah, it’s cool,” Frank reassured her at the time. “See those rug rats over there eating with their parents? If the place serves food, and you stay away from booze, you’re fine.”

  As she’d gotten to know Frank, Sadie had learned that he had a story to explain everything. Sometimes his stories amused her; other times his habit for stretching the truth annoyed her.

  Frank grinned down at his BlackBerry. “My cousin thinks she can get us a spot in May. We just might get a regular gig by summer.” Frank’s eyes lit with hope at the prospect of a gig, but for Sadie it meant a shiver of guilt and uneasiness.

  “I can’t do a regular gig,” she said. “Already it’s hard to slip away from the farm for rehearsals.” If she started doing it every night, surely Adam would question her.

  “But now that your job at the hotel is done, you’ve got nights free.”

  Sadie bit her lips together. “It’s not a good thing that I lost my job. It was my fault, you know.”

  “Hey, I know it sucks that you got axed, but there’s a silver lining in that cloud.”

  Sadie folded her arms. For a while during rehearsal the music had carried her away from her problems, but Frank’s reminder of her lost job now made her sink into shame again.

  “Church girl … relax. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ve lost more jobs than I can count, and I can’t even count that well. Wow, maybe that’s why I lost all those jobs.”

  The cold feeling began to drain. “You’re joking, I know that. You’re trying to make me feel better.”

  “And is it working?”

  “A little.” She cracked a smile.

  “Good. You know, you’re beautiful when you smile. I know girls who would kill for those cheekbones.”

  She pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks. “I hope not.”

  “Aw, church girl. What’s it going to take for you to be comfortable with me?” He cupped one of her ears, his dark eyes glistening in the shadows. “When can we get closer?”

  “Get closer?” Sadie squinted at him. He was pretty close already. More words twisted like a pretzel. “You know, you Englishers can be very confusing with all your expressions,” she said.

  “We’re confusing? I’m talking to a girl who can rip a tune like Billie Holiday but won’t let me peek under her bonnet.”

  Sadie tugged the string of her kapp. In the months that they had been dating, he had always been so curious to see her hair, but it wasn’t something Sadie would consider right now.

  “Do you know the saying ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?”

  “Well, I am one persistent cat, but you’ve probably figured that out already.” He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the lights from the dashboard. “How long have we known each other, Sadie? Since November? That’s five months and I’m still kissing you good-bye on the forehead like an old grandpa. You won’t let me drive down the lane to take you all the way home. What gives?”

  “How many times have I explained it, Frank?” Sadie shook her head in dismay. Why didn’t he see how it was for her? “The Amish way of courtship is so very different from the way you Englishers do things. Courtship takes time.”

  He tilted his head, cocking one eye. “Five months isn’t enough? How about six?”

  She grinned, giving his shoulder a teasing shove. “I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

  “Typical female. I’m convinced that you girls have some secret rule book that guys can’t read.” He looked out through the windshield. “So I guess I’m still not allowed to drive down that lane and take you all the way home.”

  She nodded. An Amish boy would have understood this. “Not yet.” She opened the door and got out of the van. Frank met her at the rear of the vehicle, where he helped her get her scooter and dress from the back.

  “Call me,” he said, making the funny little gesture with his thumb and pinky finger sticking out.

  “I will.” She had charged her cell phone at the hotel, but in the future she would need to figure out a way to keep it charged. Ach! Such a problem not to have her job anymore.

  “We’re set to go to Philly this Saturday,” he reminded her. “Open mike night. Take good care of those pipes.”

  “You and your expressions.” She shook her head as she got on her scooter and rolled toward the lane.

  As she steered carefully, trying to avoid the ruts, she thought once again about her courtship with Frank. She kept waiting for love to come over her. How she longed for the simplest brush of his fingertips or squeeze of his hand on her arm to stir her heart.

  Sadie wanted to fall in love. A big love—true love—would cure the loneliness she felt in her heart, the ache that reminded her she was different from most Amish girls. Like an exotic seed that somehow blew onto the farm and blossomed despite all odds, she didn’t quite fit in among the pansies and petunias and wild buttercups. Even in a family of eleven kids, Sadie felt a loneliness that squeezed her heart.

  A big love would ease that. She knew her parents had shared a deep, solid love for each other, and she’d noticed the look in Mary’s eyes when she saw her beau. And the way Remy smiled at Adam at the dinner table. So far, she hadn’t dared speak of it with anyone, but she was eighteen now, old enough to ask about it.

  She would ask Remy about it, she decided. Remy would understand.

  When exactly did the big love come over a girl? When Sadie turned sixteen she had attended every youth gathering, singings and bonfires and volleyball games, always on the lookout for a wonderful good Amish fellow. She had accepted rides home from a few of them, but none caught her fancy. Ruben Zook liked to laugh, but he was a terrible prankster, and when Amos Lapp stared at her with that grin, all she could think of was a large dog who wanted a pat on the head. She had even drawn out a few of the quieter boys who kept to themselves. How she’d prayed to find the seeds of love, the spark in a fellow’s eyes, the heart-racing feeling she’d heard about.

  Oh, but it had never happened. The only excitement she’d known was the thrill of having a secret boyfriend, and even that was wearing thin now.

  Dear Lord, please let it happen soon, she prayed, looking to the stars sparkling in the heavens above. Please, let it happen for me, too.

  SIX

  As usual the long kitchen table was the hub of activity, but this time instead of eating, nearly everyone in the family was trying their hand at dipping eggs into cups of water turned red or sapphire or crimson with food coloring. Sadie could hardly believe that tomorrow was Easter Sunday, but then her favorite season always moved by quick as a rabbit. Uncle Nate, Aunt Betsy, and their family had come over to visit and found the Kings dying eggs. It was a tradition Mamm had allowed, as long as the children remembered the real meaning of Easter.

  Seated at the table covered in newspaper, Sadie listened as her cousin Rachel compared the emerging egg colors to the light of a setting sun or the yellow of a daffodil or the blue of a winter sky. Rachel King saw the world through an artist’s eye, a gift that had always set her apart from most Amish girls. Sadie felt sure that she and Rachel would have been good friends if they hadn’t already been cousins first.

  “I think I’ll make a green egg next,” Rachel said. She had pale blond hair and blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle with humor. “So tomorrow for breakfast Sam can have green eggs and ham.”

  “I know that story,” Sam said.

  “Um-hmm.” Rachel dipped an egg into the forest-green dye. “But how will you ever find green ham? Do you have a green pig out in the pen?”

  “We don’t have any pigs at all,” Sam replied, and Sadie had to suppress a smile.

  Although the Easter tradition didn’t hold its usual excitement for Sadie, she had to hold back amusement as she watched Katie dabble in coloring eggs for the first time.

  “Look at that!” Ruthie nodded to their baby sister, who was lifting a hard-cooked egg from the cup of dye.
“Katie dropped her red egg into the blue dye, and now it’s purple!”

  “Purple is gut,” Katie said, her eyes bright with wonder.

  “It’s wonderful gut, Katie.” Sadie guided the toddler’s wobbly hand to lower the colored egg onto the newspaper for drying.

  “So red and blue make purple.” Simon dipped an egg in a cup of orange by hand, ignoring the dye that had already soaked into his fingertips.

  “I wanted to use crayons,” Sam said dolefully. “But Mary says if I press too hard, the egg will crack.”

  “Mary’s right, but I can show you a trick for dying eggs with crayons.” Rachel bent her head close to Sam’s and handed him a white crayon from his box. Ever the artist, Rachel possessed far more patience than Sadie.

  Sam smiled up at Rachel, warmed by the attention. It struck Sadie that he had lost their mamm’s love at so young an age. Sam was only three and Katie not even a year old when their parents had been killed. Though Sadie missed her parents every day, she offered her sorrow up to the Heavenly Father, and over the weeks and months she had been blessed by his healing grace. But Katie and Sam had been so young to lose their parents; too young to understand how to turn to Gott.

  Heaviness overcame her like a cape of sadness, and Sadie got up from the table in a fit of restlessness. Was she getting too old for coloring eggs? Or was it the heat of guilt that kept her from feeling at home with her own family?

  Two weeks had passed since Sadie had lost her job, and she still hadn’t told anyone in her family. No one had noticed anything unusual, since she had left the farm three or four times a week, as if she was working a shift at the Halfway Hotel.

  Frank was happy to have more rehearsal time, and Sadie noticed how the band was coming together. They sounded wonderful good. As Tara had said, “We rock!”

  But Sadie’s joy in the music was slightly spoiled by guilt. She didn’t like sneaking around.

  And now, the Easter preparations that she usually enjoyed seemed to be happening miles away. The laughter, the talk of horse auctions and vegetable gardens and recipes, the glee of the children dying eggs, the smell of chocolate chip cake in the oven … this was the quilt of her life. This was her own family, ya? So why this feeling that her future was outside this farmhouse, somewhere down that road?