by Mary Ellis
By the time he unhitched and rubbed down his horse, the women had set out sandwiches, salads, and cool drinks for the meal. He noticed Violet had trimmed crusts from the bread and decorated the salad with flower petals. Her fancy ideas came from magazines in doctors’ offices. Once she fixed twice-baked potatoes, even though the first baking had been sufficient. Violet apparently intended to sit in her wheelchair shooing flies until the anticipated guest arrived. Luckily for hunger’s sake, they didn’t have to wait long. The skinny girl with the baggy dress drove up the lane, set the brake, and hopped down just as his son arrived from the adjacent farm.
“Ah, Irvin. Please tend to the young woman’s horse and then have some lunch.” Sol would be able to remain in the shade.
“Thanks, daed, I will. My family is off visiting without me today.”
“Nora, you made it!” Violet’s exclamation belied the fact the Gingerichs lived less than two miles away.
“I have.” Nora walked through the clover with hands clutching a basket. “Guder nachmittag, Minister and Mrs. Trask. Emily sent you a peach pie for later.”
“Welcum. And it’s Rosanna and Minister Sol. We’re glad you could come. Why not wash in the kitchen and then join us out here?” Violet’s mother pointed to the seat next to her daughter as Nora headed toward the house.
Sol never heard so much formality in his life at an Amish meal. Who did the women think had arrived, the Queen of England or a new transplant from the East? Violet was already piling sandwiches, potato salad, and sweets onto Nora’s plate. Solomon almost objected, but then he remembered her skinny frame. If she can eat all that, so be it.
As soon as his son sat down they bowed their heads in silent prayer. Sol took a tiny portion and ate at a snail’s pace to be certain there would be enough. He was curious about the young woman who had tragically lost her parents and then chose to leave her remaining family behind. And while her sister had married Sally Detweiler’s brother-in-law in Maine, the Gingerichs were shirttail relations at best. Unfortunately, Violet managed to monopolize conversation with gossip overheard at the cookout as to who was courting whom. Rosanna seemed fascinated, while Nora nodded her head politely and nibbled like a mouse. However, every now and then she stole a nervous glance in his direction as though wary of any sudden move. She was terrified of him for some reason. Perhaps preachers of the East neglected to mention the fate of those who broke God’s laws. A little fear went a long way in modifying behavior.
He wouldn’t press the newcomer for answers to his questions or information about her past. Frankly, Solomon was pleased Violet finally had a friend. Humans required companionship, and his dochder spent too much time with Rosanna and himself. He would be patient. If this Nora King had hidden secrets, they would eventually be revealed. In the meantime, Sol whispered a silent prayer of thanks. It had been a long time since Violet had been this happy.
The following Friday Nora wished she had used the past week altering dresses instead of fretting over her second date with Elam. Although they were the soft shades of blue, green, and rose she preferred over matronly drab browns and grays, every one of them was too big on her.
A pink or green feed sack was still a feed sack.
This would be their first date by themselves because Violet refused to tag along, as she called it. She planned to drive herself to the singing or ask a brother to take her. She insisted Nora spend time alone with the love of her life—Violet’s term for Elam.
Was he the one for her? Nora didn’t know, but she worried too much about his wayward lifestyle to pine when he wasn’t around. Maybe tonight would clarify a few things once and for all. Because Violet wouldn’t accompany them, Nora decided they would walk to the singing. Cars were still forbidden in Old Order districts, rumschpringe or not. Elam reluctantly agreed, but it came as no surprise when he arrived in a horse and buggy at the appointed hour.
“Looks like you might stay Amish after all,” Nora said, stepping onto the porch.
“Whoa,” he said, probably to both her and the horse. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I borrowed the rig. And, Cinderella, the carriage must be returned by midnight or it’ll turn into a pumpkin.” Elam threw the reins over the post and strolled up the walkway, looking more handsome than any man had a right to. He wore a pressed white shirt, black pants, clean boots, and a straw hat. All good. But the day-old beard and long hair tucked behind his ears weren’t so good.
Nora flashed a smile. “I’ll probably have had enough of you by midnight, Elam Detweiler, and be ready to come home.” For some reason, she couldn’t control her tongue around him. Perhaps it covered up her nervousness. She felt like a side of beef hanging at the butcher shop, hoping to be chosen by the next hungry family.
“Ready to go?” he asked, unaffected by her sarcasm.
“As much as I ever will be.” Declining his assistance, she stepped into the one-seat buggy and placed her dessert between them as a barrier.
“What’s in the basket? More molasses crinkles, I hope.” He lifted the checkered cloth.
She batted away his hand. “Nope. I baked fruit tarts in peach, pear, and apple just to be different. No sampling ahead of time.” She sat as far from him as the small buggy would allow.
“I wouldn’t have you any other way. Different is what makes you interesting, Miss King.” With a slap of the reins, the buggy lurched toward the road.
For the next thirty minutes, he continued his saga across the United States. “Folks can keep their mountains. They’re pretty enough, but traveling through them takes forever and burns up lots of gas. Up and down, around and around—getting nowhere fast. A person can drive all day and barely advance a hundred miles.” He held the reins loosely between two fingers.
“Be thankful you weren’t in one of these.” She patted the wooden bench.
“You said a mouthful with those rosy-pink lips.” He winked mischievously. “I drove through the Alleghenies getting out of Pennsylvania, never realizing how close the mountains are to Lancaster County. The map didn’t bother to say what the mountains of eastern Kentucky were called. The No Name Mountains, I suppose. By the time I found the Ozarks of Arkansas, I was plum worn-out and ready for flatland.” Elam gazed off into cornfields stretching as far as the eye could see. “You can actually get from here…” he slapped his kneecap, “to there without going in endless circles.” Unexpectedly, he patted her leg when he enunciated the word “there.”
Nora gasped and shifted away. “Don’t get fresh with me.”
“What’s gotten into you, girl?” His forehead wrinkled with confusion. “You liked me back in Harmony. You even let me kiss you once or twice. Now you treat me as though I have hoof-and-mouth disease.” He watched her from the corner of his eye. “Honest, Nora, I’ve had all my shots.”
“That’s good to hear. I was particularly afraid of rabies.” She scooted back an inch. “And I still like you well enough, Elam, but I plan to take things slow. What good would it do to fall head over heels in love? You might decide to turn English and head to Denver or Topeka.” She couldn’t believe she had just expressed her deepest, darkest fear so blithely. But why not? Better to find out now where she stood rather than later.
His laughter was a rich, throaty sound. “Gals sure do love to worry.” He patted her knee a second time. “If I were to go anywhere, it would be to California to see that bridge made of gold. But for now I’m done traveling.” He met and held her gaze. “You got me a job at Gingerich Lumber, and I like it there. The salary’s good too. One of these days I’ll have to pay back those favors I owe you.” He parked at the end of a long line of buggies, got out, and tied the horse to a round stanchion of hay. She descended from her side, bringing the dessert with her.
As they walked to the barn in silence, her brain struggled to process his remarks. “Goodness, they’ve already started,” she said. “I can hear folks singing.” Nora hated drawing attention by arriving late.
Elam paused in the barn doorway. “I see roo
m on the girl’s side. You go on in.”
Her head jerked up. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Nein. People will be glad if I don’t because I sing like a braying mule. I’ll sharpen two sticks to cook hot dogs and marshmallows and wait for you by the fire.” Before she could object, he disappeared into the shadows.
“Nora, sit here,” called Violet, oblivious to the fact they were in the middle of a song.
Nora slipped onto the bench, grateful for a familiar face. Both sides of the table were crowded. For a long while she concentrated on staying in tune and following along in the Ausbund. She’d almost forgotten her unsociable date when Violet whispered to her between songs.
“Your beau is shy, no? Don’t worry. I’m leaving after the singing. He’ll have you all to himself on the log.” Violet giggled like a child.
“He’s not as shy as you think. There’s no reason for you to leave.” Nora remembered the futility of arguing as Violet rolled her eyes.
When the crowd filed out afterward to the refreshments or down to the fire, Violet limped away toward the buggies. “Wait!” called Nora. “At least let me fix a plate of snacks for the ride home.”
Violet had already reached Irvin’s buggy by the time Nora caught up to her. “Go find your Elam, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Violet winced in pain as her brother helped her up.
Nora handed Violet the plate, and for a moment she considered climbing in beside her friend. “That only rules out skydiving and bareback horseracing. I’ll talk to you soon.” She waved as the Trask buggy rolled away and then walked in the direction of shooting sparks and billowing smoke, forcing away thoughts of the house fire that claimed her parents’ lives.
Elam waited on a bench made for two, holding sharpened willow branches. “Hot dogs or marshmallows?” he asked with eyes particularly bright and shiny.
“Hot dog, please.” Nora sat and smoothed the folds of her skirt.
“A good choice. I’ve already eaten two and I’m about to roast a third. Should I cook yours or do you wish to be independent?”
“By all means, singe your eyebrows on my behalf,” she murmured.
“Who needs eyebrows anyway?” Elam crouched low by the fire, twirling the sticks expertly to cook both sides evenly. The man was no novice with campfire cooking.
Nora fixed plates with buns and condiments. On her way back to the fire something niggled at the back of her mind beside the noxious smell of the wood smoke. She’d detected an odd odor on his breath, stronger than hot dogs, mustard, and sweet pickle relish.
“Here we are—burned to perfection.” He slid one hot dog onto each bun and plopped down on the bench.
Burned to perfection? Nora lowered herself to the bench, feeling faint. She couldn’t look at the charred food, let alone eat it.
Unaware of her distress, Elam forgot about his own meal for a moment. “Did I mention I crossed the Mississippi River on a car ferry? I found it on a map and thought it would be another new experience. That ferry dipped and rocked in the strong current.” His hand undulated before her face. “It was miraculous the motor didn’t conk out, leaving us floating like a fishing bobber down to New Orleans.”
“Where exactly is New Orleans?”
Elam was talking louder than necessary and gesturing wildly. “It’s a city in Louisiana where the mighty Mississippi dumps into the Gulf of Mexico. Someday I’ll visit there if a pretty gal doesn’t make an honest man out of me first. If that happens, I’ll be working at that lumberyard until I’m a white-haired old grossdawdi.” He waved the pointed stick dangerously through the air.
Nora might have wondered who this fraa would be, giving him kinner and kinskind. She might even have pictured herself in that role, rocking on a porch with a boppli in her lap. But unfortunately the other guests at the bonfire were staring at them—at Elam in particular. She jumped to her feet and spoke softly. “Would you walk me to the buggy, please? I’d like to get my shawl.”
Elam blinked, struggling to focus. “Sure thing. I can eat this along the way. By the time we get back, we can roast our marshmallows.” He picked up his cold hot dog.
Nora smiled and nodded politely at the circle of youths and then strode into the enveloping darkness. Elam bounced at her side like a puppy released from its crate. After devouring the hot dog in four bites, he licked mustard from his fingers.
No one had ever accused her of being a genius, but truly she should have figured out what had triggered his change in behavior. The realization struck her like a whack to the head. “Have you been drinking?” she hissed.
“Maybe I enjoyed a few beers while waiting for that off-key singing to finish. But I saved a cold one for you. It’s hidden under the seat.”
She glanced around to make sure no one overheard him. “I wish you wouldn’t have done such a thing on only our second outing in the district.” Nora stepped into the buggy for privacy.
Elam sprang up beside her from the other side. “Do you really care what these hayseeds think of us?” His tone was soft, almost soothing. He settled his muscular arm on the back of the seat.
“Well, jah, I do. I like it here, and thought I’d made that crystal clear.” She sounded like a cat cornered by an aggressive stray Tom.
“Relax, sweet thing. No one at the bonfire suspects a thing. They were too busy chowing down and making moon-eyes at each other.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Remember when you joined your family for dinner while my Aunt Prudence was visiting?” Nora reached for her shawl as a chill permeated her bones. “You thought yourself subtle and clever, but your bruder figured out you were drunk. As I recall, that’s when Thomas delivered his ultimatum—shape up or pack up.” She wrapped herself in her warm covering as though in a cocoon.
Elam slumped against the wood. “You wound me with your sharp tongue. And I thought we were friends.”
She refused to take the bait and ignored his mesmerizingly dark eyes. “We are, Elam. That’s why I’m pointing out the slippery slope you’re on. Wouldn’t a friend mention that a high speed freight train were coming if you stopped on railroad tracks?”
He was slow to smile. “Before I left Maine, I left a message for you. I told your sister to tell you to be adventurous and not let Harmony moss grow up your backside. Here you are, Nora King, in Paradise. And you want to wear a straightjacket like everybody else?”
She had no reply to that…because on some level he was correct. The serenade of crickets and tree frogs rose to a din while she tried to organize her thoughts. “I wanted a change and so I came. But I don’t wish to date if you continue to drink. That doesn’t lead anywhere good.” Memories of her aunt, abused by a drunken spouse, fortified her convictions.
“I remember you had insisted on trying the stuff and willingly drank a beer. In fact, you drank two.”
“One and a half, and only because I was curious and angry with the world. I paid the price the next day and never plan to touch the stuff again.” She crossed her arms and drew an imaginary line in the sand. “So you’ll have to choose between us.”
His arm dropped from the back of the seat to her shoulders. “Easy decision. I pick you, sweet thing. I’m already in trouble with the family I’m living with. They threatened to evict me when they found my bottle of vodka, even though I’m caught up with the rent.” He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his thick, glossy hair. “And they intend to tell the bishop, even though I haven’t been baptized yet. They said I’m still part of the district.”
Nora shivered, despite the warm shawl. On the one hand, she was ecstatic he would give up alcohol for her sake, but on the other, she was unnerved that the ministerial brethren had found out about his nasty habit. The beginnings of a headache pulsed at her temples. What did mamm used to say about the company a person keeps? She didn’t want to be branded a troublemaker in such a nice community.
“Ready to walk back and roast marshmallows now?” he asked.
“Nein. Let’s h
ead for home. Tomorrow is a workday for both of us. Besides, you need to return the buggy before it turns into a pumpkin.
He sighed wearily and released the brake. “As you wish, Cinderella.”
The next day Emily watched Nora from her end of the long trestle table. The girl was cutting out sugar cookies, which would be baked, frosted, and then sprinkled with colored sugar. “How many have you done so far?”
“Six dozen. I’ll use purple on this batch because English kinner seem to love that color.” Nora focused on her work, looking paler than usual.
“You look tired. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Well enough.”
“You didn’t stay long on your date last night. How did things go?” Emily pinched up the edges of another piecrust to hold the fruit filling.
“Okay, I suppose.” Nora wielded the frosting spatula with precision. “What kind of pies are you making? I hope more apple walnut. Those and the blueberry are so popular.”
“Those two, plus pumpkin and sweet potato. Why didn’t Elam come in the house when he brought you home? I hope he’s not avoiding us.”
“I mentioned the bakery would be open today, so he probably figured you went to bed early.” Nora slid the next pan of cookies into the oven. “Should I mix up bread dough, or did you bake enough loaves last night?”
“We have plenty of bread. From the way you keep changing the subject, I take it you don’t want to discuss last night’s date.”
“There’s not much to tell. We attended a singing, cooked hot dogs over the bonfire, and came home. We’re not officially courting. Not yet, anyway.” Nora started a pot of coffee on the stove.
“I’m not your mamm, and even if I were, it still wouldn’t be my business.” Emily was hoping for a reaction but waited in vain.
