Plain Jayne

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  My inward sigh deepened. I hugged my arms to myself. “Thanks,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  Levi chose that moment to step through the shop door. “Good, you’re here.” He closed the door behind him. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long, Jayne.”

  I shook my head. “Grady and I have been catching up.”

  “We went to the same high school,” Grady told Levi.

  Levi’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? In Lincoln City?”

  “Her dad was an elder in the church I grew up in.”

  Ah. No wonder he knew. “He passed away recently,” I blurted out, wanting to get that in the open before Grady could.

  Levi’s face softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I hiked my bag higher up my shoulder and nodded.

  “I’m ready to go when you are,” he said.

  “Go?” I’d anticipated another interview in his office.

  “I’m desperate for coffee.”

  “There’s coffee in the kitchen…” Grady offered.

  “Spencer made it.”

  Grady winced. “Oh.”

  Levi turned back to me. “Are you game? There’s a coffee shop within walking distance.”

  “Ah…sure. That sounds fine.”

  “Excellent.” He brushed off the few remaining wood shavings from his shirt. “If Mrs. Van Gerbig calls, tell her the walnut came in and she’ll be very pleased.”

  Grady nodded and then Levi and I set off.

  “Tell me how you decided to write about the Amish,” Levi said about six steps into our walk. “I gather you’re not on assignment.”

  “I’m a staff reporter for the Oregonian,” I answered, fighting the indignation welling inside me. “But I also write freelance on the side.”

  “No offense to your professionalism. I just figured there’s no breaking story around here—didn’t think a newspaper would pay for you to come down unless someone was dead. You’re at the Oregonian? I think I’ve read some of the pieces you’ve written.”

  I must have heard him wrong. “Really?”

  “Didn’t you write that article on children in foster care?”

  Officially impressed. The indignation died down. “Yes, that was me.”

  Granted, he very well could have googled my name. Most of my stories live on in online archives.

  “I remember reading that story. You made the children and their foster parents seem so…real.”

  “They are real.”

  “A lot of people don’t like to observe the reality. They record the surface and pat themselves on the back. You didn’t.” He shot me a look. “A lot of writers do that with the Amish.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “Will you be different?”

  “I’ll try. From what I’ve read, the Amish hold the rest of the world at arm’s length. I can only observe so much from the outside.”

  “That piece you wrote about the gubernatorial scandal—that wasn’t bad either.”

  I suppressed a grin. “That was actually a whole series. I was the one who discovered the diverted funds.”

  “I’ll bet you’re popular in Salem.”

  “I’m fairly certain there’s a picture of me with some darts in the middle. I had good sources, though. Something I need for this story too.”

  He seemed to process that thought for the rest of the walk.

  The café featured small, uncomfortable-looking booths, cranky baristas, and coffee so strong I felt my tooth enamel cringe.

  “Much better,” Levi said after a sip. “Spencer makes the office coffee much too strong.”

  “Spencer’s is too strong?” Stronger than the cup o’ joe eating away at my stomach lining? “Does he brew it to float a horseshoe?”

  “Hand planer.”

  “Ah.” How appropriate.

  “Are you going to answer my question?”

  I furrowed my brow. “What question?”

  “Why are you interested in the Amish?”

  Cute. “Maybe. But yesterday I asked you about your personal involvement with them. I asked first. I win.”

  “Touché.” He shrugged. “My best friends growing up were Amish. We played a lot of volleyball, spent all of our time together.”

  “Amish kids play volleyball?”

  “Like there’s no tomorrow. Baseball and soccer too. And they can be very competitive.”

  “Huh.” I fished my digital recorder from my bag again. “Do you mind?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why an Amish-style carpentry shop? What made you want to start a business?”

  “I have an economics degree from the University of Oregon. Worked in corporate land for a few years, made money. At the end of the day, I wanted to be closer to my family.”

  “Why?”

  “You like the tough questions, don’t you? My parents are getting older, and I’m the oldest. I suppose I feel a certain amount of responsibility. I have different…resources, I guess, than they do. As for the shop…well, like I said, I wanted to move closer and I’d always liked working with my hands. There’s a market for the Amish woodcraft, as well as a steady supply of labor.”

  “How many siblings?”

  “A lot.”

  “‘A lot’ being code for…”

  “Seven,” he answered, before downing the last of his coffee. “Okay, your turn. Why the Amish?”

  I thought about turning off the recorder but decided against it. I never knew when he might say something interesting.

  “Hard to say,” I told him truthfully. “There’s something very simple and beautiful about the Amish, yet also very confusing.”

  I watched Levi’s expression but couldn’t read the emotions behind his eyes. “Confusing?” he asked.

  “It seems like such a difficult lifestyle. The rest of America is so driven by technology and information that the fact the Amish aren’t in school after eighth grade astounds me.”

  “Technology and the Amish aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.”

  “No?”

  He checked his watch. “I know an Amish family in the community outside town. They’ll serve lunch soon, and I’m sure we could invite ourselves over.”

  “Really?”

  “You can observe firsthand.”

  “My goal is to spend some time in an Amish household,” I admitted. “In fact, I’m waiting to hear back from one of the columnists I know from the paper. She promised to look into that for me.”

  Again, the face I couldn’t read. “I may be able to help you with that,” he answered after a moment. “But lunch first. If you walk with me back to the shop, we can take my truck.”

  I hesitated. Driving to a place I’d never been with a man I didn’t know to a location with spotty cell phone reception did not rank high on the list of good ideas.

  “Or you can follow on your bike,” he added. “I have four younger sisters. I wouldn’t want any of them riding with strange men.”

  That was the thing; Levi wasn’t strange. There was something about him that was completely trustworthy.

  And I had pepper spray in my bag. Just in case.

  I watched the landscape change as we drove by. Once we were out of town, we passed neighborhoods with houses perforated by a dozen wires. Satellite dishes served as lawn ornaments.

  I hated small towns.

  And I grew up in one, so I was allowed to say so with experience.

  After a while, the neighborhoods thinned out and cattle ruled the open spaces. A few sheep.

  I remembered my earlier conversation with Joely. “Do Amish kids cow tip?”

  Levi laughed, an easy laugh that made me remind myself I had a boyfriend. “None of the kids I knew did—they were busy dating. Can’t say about some of the Pennsylvania kids.”

  Twenty minutes later occasional clusters of homes came into view. They sat in a small valley, homes surrounded by pastures and farmland. There were no wires, but if I wasn’t mistaken, a sprinkling of wind-powe
r generators.

  Interesting.

  It started to rain as Levi turned the truck down a long gravel road. A large white farmhouse sat at the end, with a barnlike building on either side for moral support. A woman hurriedly removed several pairs of pants from the laundry line as the raindrops grew larger. Levi raised a hand in greeting.

  She waved back, yanking the last pair of trousers off and carrying the basket inside. By the time we made it to the covered porch, she was waiting for us at the door.

  “Levi!” she said, standing on her tiptoes to cup his face and kiss his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

  “Do you have extra for lunch?”

  “I always have extra for lunch,” she answered, her eyes on me.

  “This is Jayne Tate. Jayne, this is Martha.”

  Martha looked from me to Levi, her eyes searching but guarded. “You are welcome in our home.”

  I tried not to stare. She was dressed as I’d seen Amish women in photos—a long dark blue dress, black apron, and white kapp. Her feet were encased in black, lace-up shoes. Dark, itchy-looking stockings covered the visible part of her legs.

  A small storm of footfalls thundered from the upper floor, and two little girls, an almost adolescent boy, and a teen girl descended the stairs. The youngest girls squealed Levi’s name and ran for his legs. He hugged them both, calling them by name. The older two followed at a more dignified pace. That they knew him well was obvious.

  “Jayne,” Levi said, continuing the introductions. “This is Sara—” he started with the teenager, “Samuel, Leah, and,” he picked up the littlest girl, “this is the oldest, Elizabeth.”

  “I’m not the oldest!” Elizabeth squealed, revealing a missing front tooth. “I’m only five!”

  “And they’re all playing hooky from school today.”

  Another round of giggles and disagreement. “It’s grading day,” Leah said. “No school.”

  “Oh, right,” he said. “They’re all out of school and they’re all having lunch with us.”

  “You’re staying for lunch!” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his shoulders, preventing him from putting her down.

  But she had to get down anyway, because Martha ordered a group hand washing. Each child, except Sara, had a surprising amount of grime coating their fingers.

  Lunch consisted of chicken potpies, cooked cabbage, rolls, stewed tomatoes, and sliced apples hidden under layers of brown sugar and oatmeal.

  I enjoyed the potpie and decided that if I didn’t think about the calories, they didn’t count.

  I ate a sparing amount of cabbage.

  And avoided the tomatoes.

  The rolls and apple dessert were divine—I knew Gemma would want the recipes.

  I asked some questions about the farm and how the family spent their day. Martha gave simple, short answers. They began working at dawn and retired for the day around nine. The younger children attended school during the day while the older ones worked. Amos helped his father on the farm while Elam worked as a bricklayer in town. Sara made most of the family’s clothes and mended on demand.

  I tried to scribble down notes as I ate.

  After the plates were cleared away, Martha showed me around the farm with the children following like ducklings. They ignored the rain and I tried to follow suit, even as the raindrops seeped into my clothing.

  Once inside the barn, Samuel, Leah, and Elizabeth showed me the animals they took care of. Samuel had a pig, while Leah and Elizabeth watched over a pair of lambs. I could hear Levi mentioning something to Martha, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  We trudged back a few moments later. Levi hugged them all around. I shook Martha’s hand and waved at the kids. Then Levi opened the truck door for me, and I climbed in. Samuel and Leah ran after the truck for a little while, feet bare in the mud. Levi relaxed when they turned back to the farmhouse.

  “I hate it when they do that,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t think they really understand how dangerous cars can be.”

  “Your truck is probably one of the only motorized vehicles that comes on their property.”

  “Buggy accidents happen every year. They should know better.”

  “How many accidents? I remember seeing reflectors and lights on the buggy in the…” Buggy barn? Garage? What did they call the buggy-storing shelter?

  Levi didn’t seem to notice my terminological confusion. “Lights and reflectors don’t negate the fact that they’re still unprotected on the road. Even motorcyclists wear helmets, and the wood buggies leave the Amish every bit as exposed as a biker. They may as well be walking down the highways.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “They seem to like you.”

  Levi’s hands began to fidget on the steering wheel. “I’ve known them for a long time.”

  “Through your business?”

  “No, before that. They’re…my family.”

  Chapter 4

  As Levi’s words sank in, I felt myself stiff en. “Wow. Okay. Your family. Right. You see, in journalism school they teach us to begin with the most important information.”

  “I know I should have explained earlier—”

  “I don’t know. Do you think that would have been helpful?”

  I replayed scenes from lunch over and over in my head. Everything made sense now. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t picked up on it before now.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t say anything.”

  “Hey, your call. By the way, I’m actually a European royal. Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier.”

  “It took me years to get over the stigma of being ‘the Amish boy.’ ”

  “I was the elder’s daughter. Didn’t slow me down.”

  I looked into his eyes. Levi had very nice eyes; I tried to remember if I’d noticed his eyes before. I caught myself before I continued down that mental road. He had lied to me. Well, he hadn’t exactly lied to me, but he had deceived me, and I didn’t much appreciate it.

  Frankly, being a reporter, it was fairly embarrassing. That’s what I got for not asking the right questions.

  At Levi’s suggestion, he and Grady grabbed some wood for a ramp and rolled my bike into the back of the pickup. I sat and waited for them, teeth chattering. My clothes had refused to dry, despite the fact that Levi turned the heat on until it felt like inner Qatar inside the cab.

  Levi never complained.

  He dropped me off at my hotel and helped me unload my bike. “I could arrange a time for you to interview my parents, if you’re interested.”

  I chewed on my lip. “I’ll let you know.” Frankly, I was feeling pretty forgiving at the moment and I couldn’t trust myself to be rational.

  Inside my hotel room, I stripped off my work clothes and wished I’d brought my sweatpants. Instead, I made do with the softer clothes that I had, rolled up my pant legs and soaked my feet in the bathtub.

  I called Shane while my toes turned lobster red.

  “Jayne?” He sounded surprised. “Where are you?”

  I was surprised to hear the amount of noise surrounding him. “In my hotel room. Where are you? It sounds like you’re at a club.”

  “Something like that. How’s the story coming?”

  I’m spending a lot of time with a guy you probably wouldn’t like. “Fine. Taking some interesting turns. I miss you.”

  “Yeah. Good. Good for you.”

  Okay… “Can you hear me?”

  “It’s pretty loud in here. Can I call you back later tonight?”

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to feel blown off.

  He never called back.

  I considered my options the next morning.

  First, my absence from the paper was limited. I really did need to manage my time well, which meant I needed to use the resources I had instead of wasting time finding new ones.

  And second, if I was going to use my existing resources, I needed to forgive Levi.

  What a pain.

  I took a shower and checked my
phone afterward. Still no call from Shane. Where had he been the previous afternoon, anyway? He’d never been that much into the club scene…and usually when I called, I very nearly had his complete attention.

  Unless he was watching a game. At that point, my only chances for conversation came at commercial breaks. Maybe.

  Shane aside, I put away my pride and called Levi’s shop.

  Spencer answered the phone. “Albany Amish Woodcraft, how may I direct your call?”

  “May I speak with Mr. Burkholder?” I asked, trying not to sound like myself.

  “I can see if he’s available,” Spencer replied. “May I tell him who’s calling?”

  I sighed on the inside. There was no avoiding it. “Jayne Tate.”

  “Jayne?” The tone of his voice switched from phone automaton to best buddy. “When are you coming down here?”

  “If you transfer me to Levi I’ll be able to find out.”

  “I can ask him for you. Wouldn’t want to add to your stress level.”

  “I’ll live.”

  Spencer gave a dramatic sigh and I heard a click before being transported into harpsichord land.

  When Levi picked up, I heaved a sigh of relief. “I hate harpsichord.”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Jayne. Tate. Sorry—you have harpsichord music playing while your listener is on hold. I hate harpsichord. Makes me want to jump off of things. Tall things. I’m rambling. I didn’t mean to call and ramble.”

  “Why did you call?” He didn’t sound annoyed, only curious.

  “I had a couple more questions for you. For the story.” “Oh. Does that mean you accept my apology?”

  I wanted to find a way to skirt around answering that and came up blank. “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice softening. “In that case, I can tell you that my mother called me this morning. Said she and my dad talked it over, and they’ve agreed to let you stay with them while you’re working on your story.”

  “Really?”

  “I assured them that you wouldn’t be bringing drugs or alcohol into their home. They’re prepared to keep your bike in their shed, and when you need to charge your laptop—I’m assuming you have a laptop—you can bring it here.”