After a while, though I have no idea how long, I figure I should get up and get moving. I should find the barn and find my cousin, but I have no idea which way to go. So I just sit here feeling emotionally drained and mortally wounded and unbearably sad. A part of me says I should be scared out here alone in the dark. Maybe there are wild animals about—I have no idea if that’s true or not, but even if there was a pack of hungry wolves prowling, I’m not sure that I really care. Let them tear me apart. It can’t hurt as badly as it hurts to know that Ezra doesn’t care.
As I’m sitting there I can see a light moving side to side, as if someone is walking with a lantern. I remember how my cousin found me last Saturday and assume it’s him again—Jeremiah coming to rescue me. I hop to my feet and run through the grass toward him. But when I get close enough to see his face, I realize that it’s Ezra.
“Shannon!” he cries out as he runs toward me, swooping me into his arms. “Where have you been?” He hugs me close to him. “I’m sorry, Shannon. I’m sorry.”
I’m crying again. The more I cry, the tighter he holds on to me, telling me over and over that he’s sorry.
“I’m sorry too,” I say. “I expected too much from you. It wasn’t fair.”
“It’s just that I don’t know anymore.” He lets me go now, stepping back to look at me in the lantern light. “I know I need to make some decisions. But I don’t know what I want.”
I look down at the ground, feeling my heart tumbling to the dirt.
“I mean what I want for my life,” he says suddenly. “I want you, Shannon. I know that.”
I look up, feeling hopeful again. “You do?”
He gathers me into his arms. “Ja. I do.” He leans down and kisses me. The smell of beer is even stronger than before, but I decide I don’t care. All I care about is that he wants me. He still loves me. I know he does. “Here.” He hands me the lantern, then scoops me up into his arms as if I’m a child. With me giggling, he proceeds to carry me.
“Where are we going?” I ask between giggles.
“You’ll see,” he says. Before long, we’re back in the thicket, and the blanket and bucket are still in place. “Here you go.” He sets me down on the blanket, falling over on top of me, making us both laugh. Then he is kissing me again—with more passion than ever—and I start to feel nervous again. “Wait!” I say firmly, pushing him off of me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Jeremiah is going to be worried,” I say as I sit up. “I should get back.”
“No.” He reaches for me again. “You just got here. You can’t leave.”
I place both my hands on his cheeks and kiss him again. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” I tell him. “And maybe someday we will. But not tonight, Ezra. My aunt and uncle will be worried if I don’t come home with Jeremiah tonight.”
“I can take you home.”
“Not without telling Jeremiah first,” I say as I stand up. “Do you want my uncle coming out to search for me?”
I can see the concern in his eyes as he stands. “You’re probably right.”
I hold the lantern for him as he gathers up his “camp,” and then we walk back to the barn, which thanks to the bonfire is clearly visible. I can see Ezra weaving left and right as he walks, and sometimes he stumbles. I notice that his bucket is empty too. Did he really drink all those beers? And if he did, wasn’t it partially my fault? After all, I was the one who ran away from him, leaving him alone like that.
It looks as if the party’s starting to break up when we get to the barn. Already some buggies have left, and I discover my cousin and his friends have been searching for me. Although they seem relieved to see me, they are also aggravated at me for worrying them. Naturally, they tease me without mercy as we ride home. I pretend to ignore their nasty little jabs, but it bugs me that they assume I’ve been doing something “shameful” when I actually spent most of the evening feeling brokenhearted and lost, sobbing by myself in a cow pasture. Oh well, let them think what they like. I know what I was and was not doing.
It’s weird—just when I think I’m getting a grasp on what it means to be Amish, I witness a whole different side to these people. Although they are definitely different from the English in many highly visible ways, beneath the surface they are very much the same. Perhaps that’s simply because we are all human. And all flawed.
16
Amish church is nothing like the church Mom and I have attended over the years. I’m not just talking about the building either. I was surprised that the Amish, who seem sort of hyper-religious, do not believe it is right to own an actual church building. Instead, families take turns hosting the Sunday services in their barns.
It wasn’t so bad since it’s summertime, but I can imagine it might be cold in the winter. Benches and chairs are set in rows in the barn—the women and girls sit on one side with the men and boys on the other. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t sit next to Ezra. I had imagined myself silently flirting with him, maybe even holding hands under my apron. However, that was so not happening.
These people take their church service very seriously. Of course, it is almost entirely in Pennsylvania Dutch. Even the singing, which was more like chanting, was in this other language. The service was so long. I think I know why they don’t wear watches. Everyone would be looking at theirs and wondering when it would all be over. Although, to be honest, no one seemed the least bit concerned. Even the children were okay with it. I actually think they all enjoy these services. I am mystified.
After the service ends, we all go outside to where tables are set up with food. The men eat first, followed by the women and children. Mostly it seems to be sandwiches and cookies and moon pies. I’m well aware that these people like their sweets, but their obsession with marshmallow cream is rather amusing. I worry a little about the children’s teeth as they gorge themselves on marshmallow and peanut butter sandwiches. I hope they go home and brush, but I have my doubts since I’ve yet to see a toothbrush in my aunt and uncle’s house.
As we ride home, this time in the larger two-horse buggy since Isaac took the smaller buggy to pick up his fiancée, I sit in the back with Aunt Katrina and Rachel. My uncle and Jeremiah are in front. Everyone is fairly quiet, and I use this time to think about things. I wonder if I would have liked the service better if I understood the language. Maybe I should try to learn it. But when I mention this to Rachel, she laughs. “Why would you need to speak our language?” she asks with a slightly creased brow, as if she is guessing my real motivation.
“I don’t know,” I say nonchalantly. “It might be interesting.”
“If you want to learn, we have books. We can help teach you,” Aunt Katrina assures me.
“Okay,” I agree with some uncertainty. “I think I’d like to try it.”
“Your uncle tells me that you have interest in learning about our faith,” Aunt Katrina says. “He is willing to give you instruction. But only if you are willing to work hard to learn.” She nods to Rachel. “Our children have grown up learning all these things. You will have much catching up to do, Shannon.”
“I want to learn,” I assure her. “I really do.”
“Why?” Rachel asks me again.
Aunt Katrina peers curiously at her daughter. “Why do you ask her why, Rachel?”
Rachel looks down at her lap. “I think she is doing it for the wrong reason,” she says somberly.
I take in a quick breath, wondering how much Rachel knows and how I should respond.
“The wrong reason?” Aunt Katrina’s eyes narrow slightly as she studies her daughter. “What reason is that?”
“Ask her,” Rachel replies quietly.
“Shannon?” My aunt turns to peer at me. “What is Rachel talking about? Do you know?”
I look at Rachel, who is still looking down at her lap. “I don’t know,” I say to my aunt. “What makes one reason right? Or another reason wrong? I am interested in the Amish faith for a nu
mber of reasons.”
“Ja?” My aunt nods. “What reasons?”
I go over my usual list, saying how I love the countryside and having family around and the simple way of life. “I already believe in God,” I say. “I’ve gone to church most of my life. And I thought my faith was strong. But living here with you people, I’m not sure it was as strong as I thought.”
“That is true,” my aunt tells me. “The English do not understand how to serve God. They are too concerned with vainglory. Even when the English profess to have faith, it is not the kind of faith that pleases God. Faith without works is useless.”
I nod, trying to absorb this.
“Tell Mamm about you and Ezra,” Rachel challenges me.
“What?” I try to play innocent.
“Jeremiah told me. You were with Ezra again last night. Jeremiah says that you want to marry Ezra . . . that perhaps you will have to marry him.”
“What?” Aunt Katrina’s eyes flash with alarm and maybe even anger. “What is this, Shannon?”
My cheeks are flushing and my heart is pounding, but I am determined to keep my voice calm. Although I doubt Jeremiah and Uncle Ben can hear us back here, I don’t want this to turn into an ugly family feud. “I don’t know what Jeremiah told you,” I say to Rachel, “but it is gossip. And it is untrue. The Bible I know says that it’s wrong to gossip and to lie.” I turn to my aunt. “Does it say that in your Bible too? That gossip is wrong? That telling a lie is wrong?”
“Ja.” She barely nods. “But why would Jeremiah say something that is untrue?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But it is hurtful.”
Rachel looks up at me with a confused expression. “Were you with Ezra last night?” she asks in a challenging way.
“I was with him,” I answer. “But not in the way that Jeremiah has suggested. You have no need to worry that I would have to marry him.” I make an indignant scowl. “I am not like that.”
“But you would like to marry him?” Rachel demands.
I just shrug, but Aunt Katrina looks even more concerned.
“I believe that is the true reason Shannon wants to learn about being Amish,” Rachel tells her mom.
“Even if that was true,” I begin, trying to think of the right way to put this. “Even if I did want to marry Ezra, would that be any different than it is for other Amish young people? I’ve heard other kids saying that they are getting baptized so that they can marry and be part of this community.” I stare at my aunt. “Isn’t that right?”
She barely nods again. “But when they meet with the ministers and the bishop, they must show that their faith is genuine.”
“My faith is genuine,” I declare, although even as I say the words, I feel doubtful and unsure. Is it really genuine? Oh, certainly, I believe in God. But is God as central to my life as he is to my relatives’? I don’t think so.
“If your faith is genuine, there is no reason for concern,” my aunt tells me. “Your uncle will help you to understand these things better.” She squeezes my hand. “I am happy you want to learn, Shannon. Your mammi and dawdi will be happy too.”
“What about your mamm?” Rachel asks me. “Will she be happy?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. Then I decide to change the focus from me to her. “How about you? Will you be happy for me, cousin?”
She tilts her head to one side. “Ja. I will be very happy for you to become Amish, Shannon. There will be celebrating in heaven too.”
“And what if I did marry Ezra?” I continue. “Would you be happy for me—for Ezra and me—then?”
“Ja,” she says with sad eyes. “I would be very happy. I would pray for God to bless you both.”
Aunt Katrina looks troubled but says nothing. I decide that this is a good place to end this uncomfortable conversation. So I ask them to tell me what today’s sermon was about. I pretend to be patiently listening as they talk about the humility of serving one another the way that Jesus served by washing his disciples’ feet, but the truth is, I’m daydreaming about Ezra again. Somehow this conversation—talking to my aunt and cousin about marrying Ezra—has made it all seem very, very real.
I’m aware that girls marry young in this community. After church today I met a cousin named Emma who is married and pregnant with her first child. And she only turned sixteen last month! Okay, it’s a strange world . . . but if these people see nothing wrong with it, why should I?
After we get home, I tell my aunt that I need to go visit my mom, and she seems relieved to see me go. I have a feeling that whole conversation about Ezra and whatnot has slightly rocked her world. I’m not sure if it’s because she is concerned for my welfare or because she had hoped that he and Rachel would marry, but I suspect it is the latter.
Finding my mom highly agitated because Mammi and Dawdi are not home yet and she has not had a pill, I feel guilty and neglectful. “When did you have your last pill?” I ask contritely.
“Days ago.” She lets out a groan.
“Did you run out?”
“I don’t know.” She presses her hands to her temples. “Mamm says I don’t need them.”
“You don’t need them?” I feel alarmed. “But how are you getting along?”
“Not well, Shannon. I think we may have to go home.”
“But I—”
“I don’t want to hear any arguments,” she snaps.
“How about if I get you a pill?” I offer.
“Yes!” She exhales loudly. “Please, do. Now!”
I hurry to the kitchen and find the pills right where they were last time, and I’m surprised to see there are still about six left. They should’ve been used up by now. In fact, I had planned to find a way to go to town to get more. I rush back to Mom, give her the pill, and watch as she washes it down with water.
“Thank you,” she mutters, leaning back and breathing heavily.
Wondering about my missing grandparents, I straighten her bed and her room and talk pleasantly to her until I can tell she’s drifting off. She seems even more exhausted than usual, and the smudgy shadows beneath her eyes are darker than ever. I place my hand on her forehead, curious as to whether she has a temperature or not, but as usual, I can’t really tell. Thankfully, she seems to be resting quietly now.
As I leave her room, I hear my grandparents coming into the house. I know it will not go well if I express anger at them for leaving her alone so long. Besides that, I feel partly to blame since I had offered to spend Sundays with her, and then I went off to church instead. Interesting that I feel guilty for going to church.
“Mammi,” I say as I find her in the kitchen.
“Shannon. You are here,” she says as she fills the kettle with water. “But you were at church too.”
“Yeah. I came over right afterward to check on Mom.”
“Ja? How is she?”
“Not very well, Mammi.”
Mammi turns to me with concern. “Did she fall again?”
“Again?”
“Ja.” She sets the kettle on the stove. “She has fallen some.”
“She said she hasn’t been taking her pills?”
“Ja.” Mammi nods. “I think you are right. Those pills are not good for her.”
“I didn’t say they’re not good for her,” I clarify. “I only meant that I worry she relies on them too much. I know she needs them. I gave her one just now.”
Dawdi comes into the kitchen now. He has changed from his dark church clothes to his regular clothes. “You gave your mamm a pill?” he asks.
“Yeah. I think she needed it.” I glance from one to the other. “She told me she wants to go home.”
Mammi looks shocked. “Home? Back to the city?”
“Ja.” I nod, waiting for them to respond.
“That is not good.” Mammi turns to Dawdi. “Did you know this?”
He shakes his head, then looks at me. “What about you? Do you want to go home?”
“I—uh—I don’t know.
”
“Do you like living here?” Mammi asks hopefully.
“Ja,” I tell her. “I do.”
“Benjamin tells me you are interested in being Amish,” Dawdi says.
“That’s true,” I admit. “But I am worried about my mom. I think she needs to see a doctor.”
Mammi purses her lips. “I do not know if that will help. We believe God is wanting to help Anna, but we do not think she is ready for his help.”
“What do you mean?”
“God cares more about our souls than our bodies,” Dawdi tells me. “We believe God wants Anna to care more about her soul too.”
I agree with this in some ways, but at the same time I feel confused. I believe my grandparents love my mom, but I’m not sure about their thinking on this. “Do you mean that God is making my mom suffer so that he can get her attention?” I ask.
“Our earthly life is short,” Dawdi tells me. “The next life, eternal life, lasts forever. God is more concerned for Anna to enjoy the next life than this temporary one.”
“So are you saying I shouldn’t take Mom to the doctor?”
“We are saying it is more important to think about the next life than to worry about this one.” Dawdi gives me a sad smile as he reaches for his straw hat. “God will do what God will do.” He gives me a quick nod, then goes out the back door.
Mammi looks concerned for my sake. “Do you want me to keep giving your mamm her pills?” she asks.
“Yes,” I tell her. “And I want to see about taking her to a doctor. Do you think Dawdi can help me get her to town?”
Mammi looks uncertain.
“Or maybe Uncle Ben or one of my cousins can help,” I say.
“Ja . . . maybe.” But her eyes look doubtful.
Feeling let down and slightly hurt, I tell Mammi good-bye and leave. But instead of going back to my aunt and uncle’s house, I decide to walk over to the pond to think. When I reach the pond I realize I still have on the black bonnet that Rachel insisted I must wear over my kapp for church. With the sun beating down on it, as well as onto the black cape and apron that I also wore to church, I am sweltering. When I reach the pond, I remove all these extra pieces as well as my black shoes and stockings. Feeling somewhat rebellious, not to mention hot, I remove my kapp and let my hair down, and then I hoist up my skirt and wade out into the pond, curling my toes into the cool, slimy mud on the bottom. I’m considering peeling off this dress and totally submerging when I hear a rustle in the bushes.
My Amish Boyfriend Page 14
