“He was here earlier,” she tells me.
“Uh-huh.” I pretend to take another sip.
She gives me a curious look. “You and Ezra?” she asks with a teasing tone.
“What?” I act innocent.
“Do you like him?” she asks with twinkling eyes.
“Sure,” I say offhandedly. “He’s a nice guy.”
“And nice looking too.” She grins. “All the girls like Ezra.”
“Really?”
“Ja. All the girls are interested in Ezra Troyer, but he has only been interested in one girl.”
I smile, thinking that, like Levi, she’s heard about Ezra and the English girl. “Who is that?” I ask innocently.
She laughs. “You must be joking.”
I giggle, taking another fake swig of beer.
“Your cousin,” she tells me. “Didn’t she tell you?”
I’m confused. “Tell me what?”
“About her and Ezra.”
I blink, then glance over to where Rachel is talking to a girl. “What about her and Ezra?”
“They used to be together,” Phoebe says in a conspiratorial tone.
“Really?” Suddenly I feel off balance, like the earth beneath my feet is tilting slightly. I know it’s not the beer since I’ve only inhaled the fumes.
“Ja. But Rachel broke it off.”
“Rachel broke it off?” I echo dumbly.
“Ja.” Phoebe glances around like she’s worried someone’s listening, then lowers her voice. “Rachel’s daed is a minister, ya know?”
I nod. “Ja. I know.”
“Rachel is studying for baptism now. I think she plans to join the church this summer.”
“Oh . . .” I recall what I’ve heard about baptism and how it’s a life commitment that makes a person really Amish.
“But Ezra isn’t ready for that yet,” Phoebe tells me.
“I know.”
Phoebe’s eyes light up again. “But you and Ezra . . . ?” She grins. “Ja, that makes sense.”
I frown. “Maybe so . . . but where is he?”
“He might be outside with some of the other boys,” she suggests.
“Should I go look for him?” I ask her.
“Ja,” she says eagerly. “I’ll go with you.”
Grateful to have her company, I let her lead me out a side door in the back of the barn. I don’t look at Rachel as I exit. I suspect she wouldn’t approve of me going outside with Phoebe, but the truth is, I don’t care. All I care about right now is seeing Ezra. I feel like I would swim across a raging river, climb a steep mountain, walk over hot coals just to see him again.
Outside, the air feels fresh and cool. I look up to see the stars shining brightly and spy the moon coming up through the branches of some evergreen trees. “What a beautiful night,” I say to Phoebe as she leads me over to where someone has built a bonfire back behind the barn. A number of guys are standing around it, plus a couple of girls. All are drinking beer and seem close to being intoxicated.
“Anyone seen Ezra?” Phoebe asks loudly.
“Ja,” a guy tells her. “He’s around about here somewhere.”
“I saw him sitting by himself on a wagon over there.” Another guy jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
I peer in the direction of his thumb, but it’s so dark I can barely see. “I guess I’ll go look for him,” I mutter. This sets some of them to laughing, and as I hurry away, I can hear them making jokes at my expense. I don’t care. All I want is to find Ezra so I can find out what’s going on between us. I’m worried that he didn’t recognize me, dressed like this. Or maybe he didn’t like it. Or maybe it’s something else—something to do with my pretty cousin.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see the shape of what looks like a wagon, but I don’t see anyone sitting on it. Just the same, I continue over there, thinking I might sit there by myself and hope that he will return.
“Who’s that?” a voice says in the darkness. I think it’s Ezra and a rush of hope surges through me, but I am not certain.
“It’s me,” I say pleasantly. “Shannon.”
“Shannon?” Almost in the same instant, a figure leaps from the wagon and runs over to grab me, sweeping me into his arms. “I’m so glad to see you.”
I can smell beer on his breath, but I don’t care. “Why are you out here hiding?” I ask as he leads me over to the wagon with his arm still around me.
“I’m not hiding.” He pauses now, peering down at me in the moonlight. “What are you wearing?”
I giggle.
He taps my white kapp. “What is this?”
“You know what it is.”
“But why?”
“Because it was the only way I could get out of the house.” This isn’t exactly true, but I don’t think it’s exactly untrue either.
He points to the can in my hand. “I see you got yourself some brew.”
“Ja.” I nod, acting like this is nothing out of the norm for me.
Ezra puts his hands around my waist now. “Up you go,” he says as he hoists me to a sitting position on the wagon’s tailgate. Then he sits beside me. “Look at that moon,” he says as he pops open a can of beer and takes a swig.
“Yeah,” I say, watching as its nearly round shape crests the tops of the trees. “Beautiful.”
He slips his arm around me, snuggling close. “Not as beautiful as you, Shannon. I’m so glad you came tonight.”
“You didn’t seem glad,” I say in a slightly hurt tone.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when Rachel and I got out of the buggy.” I peer at him. “Didn’t you see me?”
He looks puzzled. “I saw Rachel,” he says quietly.
“But not me?”
He takes another swig of beer.
“Was it because I was wearing Amish clothes?” I ask hopefully.
“Ja,” he says quickly. “I never saw you dressed like this before.”
Part of me doesn’t believe him, but the rest of me doesn’t care. It’s almost as if I’ve switched off my ability to care—or maybe I checked my brain at the door. But I shut down the inner voice that always seems to question everything. Before long we are kissing again. Tonight it feels even more passionate and breathtaking than last night. Was that only last night? I find myself getting lost in his kisses . . . and liking it.
I’m not sure how it happens, and I suspect I’m intoxicated—not from drinking beer, but from being with him—but soon we are lying down in the wagon. I can feel and smell hay, and I can feel his body pressed close to mine. “I love you,” he mumbles into my ear, sending a fresh new thrill through me.
“I love you too,” I tell him.
His hands are starting to wander, and although a part of me isn’t comfortable with this, another part of me likes it and doesn’t want him to stop. Oh, I know I will have to draw a line eventually. But I don’t mind going right up to that line first.
“There she is!” a male voice exclaims as a blindingly bright lantern is held up to the wagon.
I scramble to push Ezra away and sit up, smoothing my rumpled clothes, squinting into the light.
“What are you doing?” a familiar voice demands.
Shielding my eyes from the light with my hand, I see that it’s Jeremiah.
“What does it look like she’s doing?” the other guy jokes.
“Ezra?” Jeremiah holds the lantern over where Ezra is slowly sitting up, rubbing his eyes and looking slightly confused as well as sheepish.
“Hey, Jeremiah,” he says in a slurred voice.
“Rachel is worried about you.” Jeremiah reaches for my hand, pulling me down from the wagon and onto my feet. “You shouldn’t be out here like this, Shannon. Daed would not like it.”
“But I—”
“Come on,” he says, tugging on my hand. “I’m taking you back to Rachel.”
I turn to look at Ezra, but he seems slightly disoriented, and I suspect he’s had more bee
r than I thought. “See ya,” I call over my shoulder. He says nothing, not even good-bye.
I can’t help but feel embarrassed as Jeremiah and his buddy escort me back into the barn, which seems brighter than before. I brush loose pieces of straw and hay from my bodice and my skirt, trying to appear more together than I probably look.
“You found her,” Rachel says to Jeremiah with a scowl.
“Ja,” his buddy says in a teasing tone. “We found her, all right.”
Rachel reaches over to pluck a piece of straw from my hair, tossing it to the ground. “What were you doing out there, Shannon?”
“She was with Ezra,” Jeremiah quietly explains.
Rachel gives me a disgusted look, then turns to her brother. “I want to go home.”
“Already?”
“Ja. Already,” she insists.
He frowns. “But it’s still early, Rachel.”
She folds her arms in front, glaring at him. “If I told Daed that I wanted to go home and you refused to—”
“Why don’t you drive the buggy home,” he suggests.
“Jeremiah!”
“I can drive you,” the other guy offers. I can tell by the way he’s looking at Rachel that he’d be more than happy to take her home.
“Thanks, Jonah,” she says lightly. “But I’ll drive Shannon and myself home.” She points a finger at Jeremiah. “Do not forget we have church in the morning!” she says sternly. Then she grabs me by the hand like I’m a six-year-old and marches me out of the barn.
I feel like protesting and demanding to stay here, but her power over me is overwhelming. Besides that, she’s taller than me and probably stronger, and it’s as if I can feel her personality dominating mine. Rachel is definitely a force to be reckoned with. And I get the distinct feeling that she is more than just disgusted with me—she is angry!
13
You know how to operate this thing?” I say lightly to Rachel as she climbs into the front driver’s seat. I’m sitting in the back because I have a feeling she doesn’t want me up there.
Instead of answering, she does something with her foot, then snaps the reins and says something I don’t catch—probably to the horse—and soon we are going back to where we came from. I consider attempting to start a conversation with my disgruntled cousin, but I suspect she does not wish to speak with me. I lean back and daydream about Ezra.
However, my happy daydream seems to have frequent interruptions, almost like an obnoxious commercial popping into my favorite reality show. I can hear the comments Phoebe made about Ezra and Rachel and how they used to be “together.” I wonder what that means. At the same time, I do not want to know. Although I’ve never had a real boyfriend before, I’ve observed others. I’m well aware that some relationships begin and end in less than a week. Perhaps that was how it was with Ezra and my cousin. Nothing serious. Besides that, it’s history now.
What seems most important is that Ezra loves me. He said those words tonight. And I love him. What difference does it make that he has a past with my cousin? They were obviously not meant for each other. Not the way Ezra and I seem to be, anyway. If my cousin is feeling out of sorts because she sees someone else enjoying what she obviously didn’t want, why should I be concerned?
In fact, I have as much right to be irritated as she does. Perhaps even more. She’s the one who ruined my evening, dragging me away from a party that I was enjoying immensely. I look out of the slow-moving buggy, realizing that I could just hop out. I might take a little tumble, but it wouldn’t be enough to get seriously hurt. Then I could jog on back to the party and pick things up right where we left them. Rachel is so zoned out, she probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone until she got home. Then she’d have something to think about.
However, I’m not sure that I want to go back and pick things up right where we left them. The truth is, I think I was partially relieved that Jeremiah and his buddy showed up when they did. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Ezra that it was time to stop. I didn’t even know what I was going to say to him to make him stop. Their untimely intervention (or was it timely?) kept me from having to deal with an uncomfortable situation. I can act miffed and outraged at Rachel, but really I’m not. And on some level I feel kind of sorry for her. I know what it feels like to be the only person who’s acting responsible when everyone else is acting like immature juveniles. Yet, at the same time, I think maybe it’s my turn—maybe it’s time for me to enjoy being a teenager. I suppose it’s ironic I would experience this sort of thing in Amishland.
The house looks dark when we pull up. Without saying a word to me, Rachel drives the buggy up to the barn, then gets out and starts doing something with the horse. I suspect she has to get the harness stuff off of him and put everything away. If she had been a little friendlier to me, I would offer to help her. As it is, I think she wants to be alone, so I go back to the house, quietly letting myself in through the back porch door. It’s so dark in there that I have to go slowly. I consider finding a lantern and lighting it, but I like the idea of sneaking through the house in the dark. I find my way to the stairs and go up, reminding myself that Rachel’s room is to the right and clear down on the end. At least I hope that’s right. I don’t like the idea of crashing in on my aunt and uncle or my cousin Isaac, all of whom must be soundly asleep by now.
To my relief, I open the correct door, and thanks to the moonlight flooding through the window that faces east, I can see my small pile of bags on the floor by my bed. It takes me a while to unpin and remove my layers of strange clothes, which I toss in a heap on the floor. Then I retrieve the nightgown Mammi gave me, slip it on, and hop into bed. I plan to pretend to be sleeping when Rachel comes in. I’ve decided I have no more desire to speak to her than she has to speak to me.
However, this makes me sad. I remember how much I liked her when we first met. She was so kind and friendly and helpful. She seems fairly smart too. And there’s no denying she’s pretty. But knowing that she used to be involved with Ezra—my Ezra!—no matter how briefly . . . well, that changes everything.
As I lie still in the narrow bed, listening for my cousin’s footsteps, I think that I would’ve been better off staying with my mom at the dawdi house. Sleeping on a hard floor—or out beneath the stars—seems preferable to sharing a room with the other woman. Okay, I know that’s a little over the top. Rachel is only Ezra’s ex. Lots of people have exes. And tonight Ezra proclaimed his love for me. Whatever Rachel was to him—if she was anything—is in the past. I need to get over it and act as if nothing whatsoever is wrong. And that is exactly what I intend to do. Tomorrow.
I hear footsteps in the hallway. Quietly the door opens and closes and I can hear her rustling about in the darkness. I suppose I could tell her it’s okay to turn on a lantern, but I’d rather just play possum. I hear her go to use the bathroom and realize I probably should’ve done this myself, but now I feel like I need to keep up the illusion that I’m asleep.
After a while she returns and I hear her getting into bed. It’s very quiet in here, and I’m thinking she must be asleep and I can sneak out to use the bathroom, when I start to hear something. I can’t figure out what it is. It’s kind of a snuffling sound. Then it hits me: she is quietly crying in her bed.
Even though I don’t really see what it has to do with me, I get the haunting feeling that it is totally my fault. I feel guilty and sad. I feel like my being here is making her unhappy. Yet I don’t see why. It’s not like I’ve stolen Ezra from her. Even if they were a couple—or whatever—it was obviously over with long before I stepped into the picture. Besides, I reassure myself, there is no way that her relationship with Ezra was anything like mine, because if it were, they would still be together, and clearly they are not. Still, I wish she wasn’t crying. I wonder if there might be some way to make it better for her. Maybe tomorrow.
The room is bright with sunlight when I wake up, but to my surprise, Rachel’s bed is empty and neatly made. I also notice that
the dress and things I threw onto the floor last night are now tidily hanging from a peg on the wall by the door. I must’ve been sleeping hard. But since it was the first night I’ve slept in a real bed since arriving here, I suspect I was more tired than I realized.
I yawn lazily, stretching in bed, enjoying this unexpected spell of alone time and peace and quiet. Then I get up and, still wearing only my nightgown—which might not be good manners but is a necessity—scurry down the hallway to the bathroom. I hope no one’s in it, but if so, I am prepared to dash downstairs and outside to use the outhouse that Rachel said was mostly for the fellows. To my relief, the bathroom is empty.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I look both ways up and down the hall before I dash back to the bedroom. The place seems so quiet that I wonder if everyone is downstairs having breakfast. The faint smell of cooking tells me that someone’s been in the kitchen.
I go back down the hallway, leaning over the stair rail to listen. The house really does sound as if it’s been deserted. I tiptoe down the stairs, listening carefully as I go, but hearing nothing, I go all the way through the living room and dining room and clear to the kitchen. No one is here, but on the kitchen table is a short, simple note.
Dear Shannon,
We have gone to church.
Please have breakfast and make yourself at home.
We will be back in a few hours.
Aunt Katrina
Feeling unexpectedly happy to have the entire house to myself, I do a happy dance and, still in my nightgown, take my bowl of oatmeal out on the porch. As I sit out there I gaze over toward where I know Ezra’s house lies. I wonder if he, like me, is lounging around this morning. I imagine him sitting on his porch wearing only his trousers. It’s a nice image.
But then I wonder, what if he went to church with his parents? Since he’s not English like me, most likely he did. Of course, that would be expected of him. As I imagine him sitting in church, I feel sad and left out of things. Ezra is at church and I’m sitting here in my nightgown. Why didn’t my aunt and uncle invite me to church? Probably because I’m not Amish. But my church at home’s not like that. Everyone and anyone is welcome. In fact, our pastor is always encouraging us to invite outsiders. Why don’t Amish people do that?
My Amish Boyfriend Page 11
