But when she opened her eyes, she noticed some of the girls staring at her with meanness in their eyes. She wiped her sweaty palms on the back pockets of her jeans. This wasn’t as wonderful good as she usually felt performing.
Just close your eyes and forget about them, she told herself. And she pushed through the next few songs until the end of the set.
When Frank announced the short break, the girls shrieked and rose to their feet. As soon as he lifted his guitar strap over his head, the girls were on him again, like bees on a hive. Silly girls.
Tara’s boyfriend had come to see her, and she went outside with him to smoke a cigarette. Smoking seemed to be one of Tara’s favorite things to do.
Sadie turned away to go to the washroom.
“Good job, Sadie,” Red said, stretching. “It’s different when you’ve got a loud crowd, right?”
“Ya. Once I almost forgot the words,” she admitted.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
She went to the back stall of the ladies’ room, sat down on the toilet, and thought about the songs they would do next. Would the girls fall in love with “God Bless the Child” the way Sadie had?
Just then the door creaked and other girls came inside. From the volume and shrill tone of their voices, she realized it was Frank’s silly girls. Sadie tried to tune them out, but she wasn’t going to budge from this stall while they were there. This would be her little corner of peace.
“And what about that singer?” The words scratched through her little cocoon. “I mean, she’s got a voice, but the face needs work.”
“Check out her unibrow,” someone else said. “It makes me want to pull out my tweezers and start plucking.”
Stunned, Sadie pressed the fingertips of one hand to her brow ridge, gently touching the smooth hairs that grew there.
“I know! I know! She’s a chimp. You’d need a chain saw to deforest that thing.”
“Well, yeah. Frank said she’s a farm girl.”
“Elsa the cow and her unibrow.”
Someone made mooing sounds, trying to sound like a cow, and the girls laughed.
That’s not how a cow sounds. Not at all, Sadie thought as she sank forward, resting her forehead on her arms.
She waited there, curled up in the stall, until the girls finally left.
When she was sure no one remained, she got up and peeked out of the stall. Empty. Her knees felt shaky as a new colt, but she couldn’t fall apart now. She had five more songs to do.
She went to the sink and scrubbed her hands with soap. Then she splashed cold water onto her hot face. She needed to cool down.
Dabbing her face dry with a paper towel, she saw that her skin was still pink from embarrassment. She hoped that would go away soon.
Sadie dared to look at herself in the mirror, to really look at her eyes and the little hairs that formed a line above them. She didn’t know what a “you-knee brow” was, but she felt stung by their criticism. She had always been a little surprised by the image of her face in public restrooms. At home, there was only a small shaving mirror, and it was cloudy and too small to see her whole face. But now, in this bright light, her lips looked wider than she ever imagined. Her whole mouth was too big for her face … except when she smiled, and then it seemed okay.
Looking at herself now, Sadie felt her face begin to crumple on the verge of tears. Maybe she was not pretty. How was it that she had not seen the problem before? Her furry eyebrows had grown in across the top of her nose. The other girls had skinny little brows, arched like macaroni noodles, while Sadie’s grew across her face like one fat caterpillar.
And what about her eyes? They were nice enough, with little flecks of gold in them. “Be happy that you have eyes that see,” she told herself, thinking how silly it was to find fault with the blessings that God gave her.
Still … she needed to face her reflection in the mirror and see herself as those girls did. Next time, she didn’t want to be taken by surprise by their comments.
And her skin? Though it was pale as the paste that grade-school children used, she didn’t have any red bumps right now.
As a girl, she had never thought about her looks. Her only thought had been that she wanted to be good and work hard to please her parents and Gott. Her dat used to say she was one of his best workers, even when she was four and collecting eggs or feeding the calves from a big bottle. “That’s my Sadie girl,” he used to say, patting her on the back, and it had made her feel good, knowing she had done her best, knowing that he loved her.
Sadie didn’t remember her mamm talking about any of her daughters’ hair or faces, but Mamm had made sure their hair was always twisted back the right way and tucked under their kapps. Mamm had not been one to talk about the look of a person. Instead, she had valued how they spent their time. “Hard work is the yeast that raises the dough,” Mamm used to say.
Oh, Mamm and Dat, I miss you. Sadie longed to run to one of her parents, to be held in their arms, comforted and consoled.
But her parents were in heaven with Gott, and Sadie was left alone, with no one to pick up the broken pieces but her.
She lifted her chin and forced a smile. There came the little dimples, the same ones Dat used to have. Give me strength, Heavenly Father, she prayed. And with a deep breath, she went out to finish the show.
The hurtful comments from the girls helped Sadie escape to the zone during the second set, and once she found that special place, she dug in and held on tight. She was here for the music. She pushed herself to stand in front of strangers because she felt it was right to share the voice God had given her. And when the music flowed through her, she knew she was truly blessed.
After the performance, the loud girls rushed Frank once again, and Sadie turned away and started packing up. The microphone system belonged to the club, but there were wires to be coiled, amps and drums to be carried out to the van. She worked side by side with Tara and Red, aware of Frank holding his guitar in the center of the group of girls.
“Frank, we need to get out of here,” Red reminded him. “There’s another band coming in.”
“Give me a minute,” Frank said.
When Sadie glanced over and saw Frank exchanging numbers with Heather’s friends, she felt betrayed. Didn’t he see how the girls had hurt her? Maybe not. He hadn’t heard their cruel comments in the washroom.
But why was he planning to call these girls, if Sadie was his girlfriend? She was his girlfriend, wasn’t she? They hadn’t talked about love or anything like that yet, but they had been courting, there was no denying that.
When they finally got Frank out to the van, Sadie asked her question.
“What were you doing, getting phone numbers from all those girls?” she asked. “You made it look like you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Sadie, are you jealous?” He cocked his head to one side and peered into her face. “I think you are.”
“I asked a question. You know, they’re not a very nice group of girls.”
“I know, they have issues, but I’m trying to make connections for the band, hon. Those girls loved us tonight, and they’re going to get the word out to their friends the next time we have a Philly gig. It’s called networking, in the English world. Don’t be mad.”
“We’re packed and ready. Let’s roll,” Red called.
Sadie climbed into the van. She could forgive Frank for enjoying the girls’ attention, but she hoped that she would never see those mean girls again.
In the van on the way back to Lancaster County, Frank asked Sadie why she always wore her prayer kapp. “I know it’s part of the Amish thing, but since you ditched the dress for cooler clothes, why not get rid of the bonnet, too?”
“Frank …” Tara bristled with annoyance. “Can you just give Sadie a break? You’re all over the way she dresses and what songs she listens to. It’s a free country, and I’ll tell you right now, this band is never going to wear look-alike costumes.”
Red
grinned. “We could all wear Penn State T-shirts.” That was his usual outfit—a navy Penn State T-shirt with an unbuttoned flannel shirt over it.
“I’m just asking a question,” Frank said. “What’s the deal, Sadie? Bonnet or no bonnet?”
“It’s called a prayer kapp,” Sadie said. “It says in the Bible that I should cover my head when I pray, and a good woman should be praying most of the time, so I wear it.”
“Would something bad happen if you took it off?” Frank asked.
“Probably not, but I like wearing it. When I was a little girl I used to imagine my prayers lifting to God through my kapp. It was comforting.” Sadie didn’t want to admit that her kapp was still a source of comfort.
“Well, would you try doing a performance without it?” Frank asked. “It would give us a more contemporary look if you got rid of the kapp and cut your hair.”
“You want me to cut my hair?” Sadie scowled in the shadowy van. Shivers ran down her spine at the thought of cutting her hair.
“Hold up a second.” Red scratched his head. “I too find the scrutiny of Sadie’s clothes excessive. If Sadie wants to wear a kapp, so be it.”
Tara shook her head. “I agree, but you’re such a nerd.”
Red continued: “And if you’re concerned about marketing the band, Frank, think of the odd juxtaposition that Sadie’s wardrobe poses. Bonnet and jeans. Innocent and cool. Old-fashioned and New Age. People like mysteries. What’s the real person like? That’s what they’ll be thinking. They’ll want answers. You’ll leave them wanting more.”
“Let Sadie stick with the kapp,” Tara said flatly. “And don’t let anyone mess with your hair, Sadie.”
Sadie took a breath, reassured by the other girl.
“Okay, okay, I got it.” Frank nodded as he stared through the windshield. “Red’s right about the intrigue, and it’s something that sets our band apart from all the others. In fact, I think we should play it up. How about if we call the band Amish Blues?”
Tara shrugged.
“I’d rather remain nameless,” Red said. “But I could live with it.”
“How about that, Sadie?” Frank nodded. “The whole band could be named after you.”
“I don’t think the bishop would like it much,” Sadie said.
Frank laughed. “Probably not.”
The conversation turned to something else, and Sadie weighed the idea of calling the band Amish Blues. That could be a big problem if the leaders of their congregation ever found out. But how would they hear of it? Men like Bishop Samuel did not go into the city often, and they certainly did not frequent clubs. She let it go, knowing that Frank would probably change his mind before he acted on it.
When they reached Red’s house, they carried the drums and other equipment into the garage. Tara headed off to meet her boyfriend in Lancaster, though Sadie was yawning from the late hour. Red was setting up his drums in the garage when Sadie and Frank left for the King farm.
“Here we are.” Frank let the van roll to a stop on the side of the main road, just before the lane. He turned off the engine and yawned. “Wow. That trip takes it out of you after a performance.”
“Mmm. I’m tired, too.” It had stripped away her strength, hearing those girls make fun of the way she looked. Right now she felt drawn to her bed in the big upstairs room of the house. She could almost hear the comforting whisper of her sisters’ breathing. How wonderful it would be to slip under the sheet, surrounded by such loving peace. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Hold up a sec.” His fingers closed over one arm, stopping her. “Hang out a minute and talk.”
She paused, staring down at his hand on her arm. For the first time she had the sense that he was trying to hold her back, the way a horse was tethered to a post. “Don’t do that … please.”
“I’m sorry. Look, I just wanted to ask you about your kapp. I understand that you want to keep it on for the shows and all that, but what about me? Do you think someday you’ll take it off and let your hair down for me?”
Face-to-face with him, so close, she sensed his neediness. Many times she had explained the age-old tradition of Plain folk to Frank. A girl learned at a young age to coil her hair into a bun and keep it pinned back under her kapp. Why was he pressing her this way? He was giving her the rush, which was what the Amish called it when a fella pushed a girl.
“Why do you want this?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I guess you’re a challenge … and kind of a mystery, like Red said.”
Her resolve hardened, like a puddle turning to ice. “Because I’m a challenge?”
“You’re one of a kind, Lady Sadie, and I know you’re into me. What’s the harm in letting your hair down for me sometime?” His mouth puckered in a sad expression, but she wasn’t sure it was real.
That was the thing she was learning about Frank; he didn’t always say what was in his heart.
“You’ve been wonderful good to me, and singing in the band makes my heart glad.”
“But …?” he prodded.
“It’s late. And I’m not ready to go to that step, to take my kapp off.” She had always imagined that it would be a moment she would share with her husband, removing her kapp and uncoiling the long, golden brown hair that had never been cut. “Why do you keep asking me about that?”
“The mystery, I guess.” He turned back toward the windshield and sank down in his seat. “I’m beat. I should head home.” He opened his car door, and she quickly followed, going to the back to get her things.
“Good night, Rapunzel,” he said as he lowered her scooter to the hard-packed dirt.
Stung, Sadie wondered if Frank knew how his crazy name game could hurt a person. She knew the fairy-tale story of the princess who let her hair down from a tower, but she didn’t like being compared to an odd character like that, just because she kept her hair up. Frank needed to learn a thing or two about respect. “Oh, and you’re the fair prince come to rescue me?” she quipped, rolling her scooter away. “I don’t think so.”
“Funny girl.” With a smile, he turned back to the car.
As she walked down the lane under the starry sky, she hugged herself, needing comfort and warmth. She wanted to hear Ruthie remind everyone of her upcoming birthday for the umpteenth time. She needed the comfort of Katie’s chubby cheeks to kiss and the steady burn of Jonah’s dark eyes, wise and calm like their dat’s.
The events of the night had set her heart in a spin, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about Frank anymore. But she knew Frank was fond of her, no matter what those girls said. Let them call her names and make fun of her you-knee brow. She reminded herself that Jesus Christ suffered a lot worse treatment when he was here on earth. And besides, Sadie had her escape. When she was onstage, she could close her eyes and fall into the music and forget anyone else was out there. When she was floating on a song, no one could hurt her.
THIRTEEN
Mike bounded down the stairs of Gran’s house, humming a tune that had been on his mind since he’d awakened that fresh May morning. It was the song Sadie had found on the radio last month, the one she liked by Rihanna.
Actually, loved was the word she’d used, which sounded like any other teen Mike knew. But Sadie King was definitely unique. She was a girl with one foot in the Amish world, one foot in the English. The dichotomy made her more interesting and down-to-earth than any of the girls Mike knew at church here in Philly or at college in Lancaster. Then again, maybe he related to Sadie because he had spent the last few years trying to make sense of combining these worlds.
When he hit the first floor, Gran wasn’t sitting in her favorite chair, reading the paper in the sun, where he found her most mornings.
“Do I smell coffee?” He made his way to the kitchen, where he had promised to make scrambled eggs and toast if Gran got the coffee started.
The rich fragrance of French roast made his mouth water. Black liquid was streaming into the glass coffeepot, but where was Gran?
“Where’d you—”
When he turned to the pantry he saw her down on the floor. It looked like she had slid down against the open door, and though her eyes were open there was a dazed, glassy look about her.
“Gran …” Mike hurried over and dropped to his knees beside her. “What happened?”
“I was …” Her head lolled to the side. “Leg just turned to ssstone.”
Her speech was slurred and she kept pressing on her right thigh, saying something about her leg.
“What happened to your leg, Gran?” Mike asked as he stared into her eyes.
“Leg … numb.”
Mike fished his cell from his pocket. “Gran, I think you’re having a stroke. I’m calling 911.”
“Ah …” The fact that she wasn’t telling him not to call underlined the fact that his grandmother was in distress.
Mike stayed next to her, rubbing her arm as he told the dispatcher her symptoms and the address of the house.
“Don’t hang up,” the woman told him. “Stay on the line. Does she seem to be breathing okay?”
Mike’s heart was racing as he answered the woman’s questions, grateful for her knowing, patient tone. Just like a doctor. Mike had responded to distress calls like this dozens of times as a volunteer paramedic on the fire and rescue team in Lancaster County, but somehow, when the emergency involved someone you loved, the protocol was erased from your mind.
Within minutes, he could hear the approaching sirens of an ambulance. He thanked the dispatcher, then quickly went to unlock the door and let the paramedics in.
When they rolled the stretcher out the front door, Gran seemed thin and frail, like a wounded bird. Mike locked the house behind them and climbed into the front seat of the rescue vehicle, having been told he wasn’t permitted to ride in the back with his grandmother, “Even if you are a paramedic,” the driver said, a sympathetic look in his eyes.
A few hours later, Mike hoped that the worst of it was over as he sat at his grandmother’s bedside in a patient room at Philadelphia’s Doctors Hospital. Gran was asleep for now, which allowed him to think of all the things that could have gone wrong. What if the stroke had happened during the night? Dr. Somers had explained that immediate treatment increased the possibilities for a full recovery. In fact, the medication dripping in through Gran’s IV line was only administered if the patient received treatment within three hours of the stroke.
A Simple Spring: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 12
