At least that was how it was supposed to be and often was, but he knew of a few cases where it had not been so chaste. These things were sometimes talked about in whispers during the young folks’ singings. Yet the tradition went back so far with their people that it was seldom questioned by the Swartzentruber sect. The New Order Amish, on the other hand, strictly forbade it. At this moment, Levi was wishing desperately that Zillah and he were New Order Amish.
But this bed courtship, sometimes called bundling, was supposed to take place in the girl’s bedroom, not the boy’s. For Zillah to come to him like this was completely out of bounds.
“I thought we could talk about our future together,” she said.
“We have no future to talk about, Zillah.”
“Why not?” This came out as a whine, as though she were a little girl being denied a treat. She even stamped her foot. “I have been waiting on you for a long time, Levi Troyer. Neither of us is getting any younger. I have shown you every way I know how that I have picked you for my husband. There is not one girl in our church my age who is not already married. Girls younger than me already have three or four babies.”
“I am not in lieb with you, Zillah. I never have been.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why don’t you love me?”
How did one tell a girl that although she was beautiful on the outside, she was a mess on the inside? This was not something he knew how to do.
“Is it that nurse who came to the funeral?” Zillah demanded. “Do you care for her instead?”
This was going too far. He could not afford for Zillah to start gossip.
“There is nothing between us. She is only a neighbor.”
Zillah thought this over. “I am prettier than her.”
He took hold of the door, anxious to close it behind her. The careful dance he had done around Zillah’s fixation on him had been going on for years and he was sick of it.
“You should leave now, Zillah.”
“Never mind about love.” Zillah stepped closer and looked up at him through slanted eyes. “I want you. That should be enough. I want to bundle with you—even if you don’t love me.”
The Swartzentrubers did not allow the tradition of Rumspringa for their young. There was no closing of their church’s eyes when a young person chose to run wild. But thanks in part to the ancient tradition of bed courtship, some babies still came suspiciously early.
For a moment, in spite of his dislike for Zillah, Levi felt a wave of desire so strong he knew it must be a direct attack from Satan. He had never wanted anything to do with Zillah, but just for a moment he seriously considered ignoring the consequences and simply doing as she wished.
Zillah read the momentary weakness in his face and her eyes once again took on that sly look he had known since childhood. It was like a splash of cold water. She was planning something—and she being Zillah, it was not good. Giving in to her could very possibly trap him for life. An Amish man did not abandon a woman he had impregnated. A few minutes of pleasure with her could buy him a lifetime of misery.
“No, Zillah.” He shook his head and reached for the door. “You need to leave.”
She saw that he had closed himself off from her and it made her furious.
“You will be sorry for this,” she warned.
“I am certain you are right.” He knew she would find some way to punish him. But he also knew that he would be a whole lot sorrier if he did as she wished.
She had stepped inside the room as they had talked. Too late, he realized that his temporary living quarters were open for her perusal.
“What have we here?” she said.
“Please leave, Zillah.” He tried to block her view.
She sidestepped him and headed straight to the table where he had been reading. Unfortunately, the biology book was still opened to the pages explaining the human muscular system.
“You are not supposed to own things like this, Levi Troyer.” She flipped a few pages. Then her eyes caught the other books on the bookshelf.
“Why, these are all textbooks.” The satisfaction in her voice was infuriating. “You have been very dumm, my friend. You are going to be in so much trouble!”
He knew that short of physically picking her up and throwing her out, Zillah would not leave until she was good and ready. And when she left, she would have quite a tale to tell her father.
His mind, unbidden, flashed to the great gulf between her and Grace. They were about the same age, and yet Zillah was still not much more than a childish tattletale, and Grace was . . . well, Grace was so much more than Zillah could ever dream of becoming.
“What on earth do you want with all of these?” Zillah ran her fingers along the spines. “Why waste your time?”
Levi had asked himself that a million times. He gave her the only answer he knew. “It feels good to learn new things.”
“New things?”
Well, that was the wrong answer. Individuality was a sort of sin to the Swartzentrubers. They dressed alike, drove buggies that looked alike, worshipped alike, cooked alike, and as far as he could tell, they were supposed to think alike. What he had just said could be considered dangerous and divisive.
“All of these are worldly books.” Her voice was sanctimonious. “My father will want to know about this.”
Levi wasn’t about to beg her to keep his books a secret. It was exactly what Zillah wanted him to do, so that she would have something to hold over his head.
“Then tell him.”
Zillah realized that she had reached a stalemate. She brushed by him and sashayed down the steps, humming a little tune, carrying toxic information for her father.
And there wasn’t a thing in the world Levi could do about it.
chapter THIRTEEN
He closed the door behind Zillah and prepared for bed by removing all his clothing. It was the same clothing he would wear tomorrow and the day after that until he could take his once-a-week bath.
Swartzentruber men, at least the ones from his church, were forbidden to wear underwear—except for long johns in the winter. Even then, if the long johns were store bought, they had to have the elastic removed before they were acceptable. Nor was he allowed to own any sort of pajamas.
As he lay between the rough sheets, he realized what he had to do. His family had endured enough. He would not be the reason for bringing more trouble down upon his mother’s head. And he knew Zillah would most definitely make trouble if she could.
Knowing that he would not get any rest until he rid himself of the forbidden books, he threw back the blankets and dressed. Then he gathered a few pieces of kindling, some matches, an armload of books, and went behind the barn to start a small bonfire. With the barn between him and the house, the fire would not be visible to the women in there. He didn’t want to frighten Rose or his mother, and he certainly did not want to give Zillah the satisfaction of knowing what he was doing.
He might as well destroy all the books tonight because the bishop would insist on it after he got an earful from Zillah.
Elizabeth was having a restless night and Grace was heating water for cocoa when she glanced out the kitchen window and saw flames coming from the direction of the Shetlers’ barn.
Turning the teakettle down to simmer, she walked out onto the porch to get a better look. There was a definite blaze. Grace couldn’t tell if the barn was on fire or if there was some sort of bonfire.
She glanced at one of the clocks in her grandmother’s kitchen. It was eleven o’clock, definitely the wrong time to see a fire coming from neighbors who, considering they didn’t have electric lights, probably went to bed with the chickens.
She debated whether to call the fire department but decided against it. She was still so new to this area that she did not know if having bonfires late at night might simply be some sort of strange custom the Swartzentrubers practiced.
Hurriedly, she made the cocoa and took it into her grandmother.
“Do the Shetl
ers ever deliberately set fires late at night?” She sat the cup down on the nightstand. “Be careful, this is hot.”
“There’s a fire there?”
“It looks like it’s behind the barn, but it’s a little too far for me to see clearly. Should I call the fire department, or go down and investigate?”
“Normally, I would tell you to call the fire department and the police. Sometimes vandals think it is funny to set an Amish barn on fire. But considering how out-of-whack things have been around there the past few days, it could be something as simple as Levi burning trash because he’s behind in his chores.”
“I think I’ll drive by and check.”
“Keep your windows rolled up, your doors locked, and make sure you’ve got your phone,” Grandma said. “After all, there’s still a murderer on the loose.”
Grace slipped on her shoes, grabbed her keys and cell phone, and, just to be on the safe side, slung the medical basket Levi had made for her over her shoulder. It was best to always go prepared.
As she drew closer to Levi’s farm she saw that the barn wasn’t on fire. Then she caught sight of Levi throwing something on the fire and decided to stop and make absolutely certain all was well.
She parked away from the house so as to not awaken any of the inhabitants—particularly the hair-trigger crying of Daniel. Levi did not say a word of welcome when she walked over to him. No big surprise there.
“What are you burning?” she asked.
His face was illuminated by the flickering fire. He didn’t look up.
“I was afraid something was wrong,” she continued when he said nothing. “Grandma said sometimes vandals set fire to Amish barns. Is that true?”
“Sometimes barns burn. I do not know the reasons.”
He shifted his weight, obviously waiting for her to leave, but she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to know what he was doing, and frankly, she was beginning to enjoy—as her grandmother would say—rattling Levi’s chain. Primarily because it was so easy to do.
“I thought you guys went to bed early,” she said. “Why couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow?”
He didn’t reply but tossed something onto the flame—a book.
“Books?” she said. “You’re burning books?”
He tossed another volume into the fire.
“Why in the world are you burning books?”
He still didn’t answer.
“Look. I’m sorry for being so nosy, and I know I’m as ignorant as dirt about your people’s ways, but in my world, you take old books to Goodwill, or a used-book store, or you use them to prop up table legs—but you don’t burn them. And you especially don’t bother to burn them this late at night! So excuse me if I’m a little confused.”
The fire flickered up, and she saw that there was a sizable pile lying at his feet. A new thought struck.
“Are you burning porn, Levi?”
“What’s porn?”
“Dirty books.”
“No!”
“Well, then, what you’re doing doesn’t make sense. But then again, not much of what you do does make sense to me.”
This, finally, got a rise out of him.
“Our lives might not make sense to you—but at least our tables are built so sturdily they do not require books to prop them up!”
“Was that a joke or an insult?” she asked.
“I was making a point.”
“And it was a good one,” she said admiringly. “Point taken!”
“It is harder to burn books than I thought,” he muttered. “This is going to take a long time.”
“What are they about?”
He seemed to be weighing the consequences of talking with her. Finally, he responded.
“History. Science. Mathematics. Biology.” He ripped all of the pages out of one of the books, crumpling them up and tossing them and the book’s binding into the flames. The fire leaped up as it consumed the destroyed book. “There. That helped.”
“Where did you get them?”
“I found them.”
“Where?”
“A bookstore was throwing them away.”
“So you got some books for free. That doesn’t explain why you are burning them.”
“We are forbidden to read worldly books like these.”
“Textbooks on math and science are worldly? Why?”
“I do not know.” He ran both hands through his sweat-drenched hair. It shoved his bangs off his forehead, revealing a face etched with regret.
There was something terribly wrong here. They were only books—the kind that could be purchased at a thrift store for pocket change. And yet it was obvious that burning these books was a great sacrifice on Levi’s part.
The healer inside of her wanted to reach out to him, in spite of the fact that he did not want her here.
“Levi, what happened to make you start burning your books in the middle of the night?”
“An Englischer would not understand.”
“Maybe not. But you could try me.”
In the flickering firelight, she could see that he was weighing the wisdom of taking her into his confidence.
She got a whiff of acrid sweat coming off him. It was not the scent of a man who had simply worked hard all day. She had experienced this particular smell on the battlefield. It was the scent the body gave off when it was under tremendous stress.
“These books mean a great deal to you,” she prompted.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I have read every word of every one of them. But we Amish have a saying. It is from a line in our hymnal. ‘Demut ist de Schonste.’”
“And that means?”
“‘Humility is the best virtue.’ Studying these books is not a humble thing to do. I cannot allow myself to become like the de Hochen, the proud ones.”
“And who are these ‘proud ones’?”
“The Englisch. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“I cannot allow the bishop to throw this sin of mine in my mother’s face. Not now. Not when she is so weak. None of this was her fault.”
“So—if you can’t read textbooks, what are you allowed to read?”
“The Bible, but only the German Bible—the one our ancestors read. We are not like the Old Order Amish. Some of them allow Englisch translations into their homes.”
“That’s all you can read? The German Bible? Nothing else?”
He thought for a moment. “We are allowed to read the book about our martyrs and the trials they endured.”
“No magazines? No newspapers?”
“Very few.”
“You love to read, but you are pretty much forbidden to read.”
“It is wrong to love learning so much that I would defy my church’s teachings. It is a weakness I should not give in to.” He grabbed a shovel and moved the books around on the coals until the fire licked through them more efficiently.
She watched, wondering what sort of hold the leaders must have on their people to be able to deprive hungry minds of learning.
“So—do you read German well?”
“Not well.”
“But you speak it.”
“I speak Pennsylvania Deutsch. It is not a written language. High German is what our Bible is written in. It is different.”
“So if you don’t read the language of your Bible all that well, you sort of have to take your bishop’s word for what it says.”
“I should take the time to read High German better.”
“So does that mean that Bishop Weaver is some kind of biblical scholar?”
“An Amish person would never claim to be a Bible scholar—that would be prideful.”
“But he reads German well?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you have no way of knowing if what he is telling you to do is right or not?”
“I do not wish to talk about my bishop anymore, Grace. You are Englisch. You will never understand our ways.”
She ignor
ed his rebuff.
“I’m just saying—you have no way of knowing, do you? I mean, Bishop Weaver sounds and acts like someone with a pretty dark interpretation of the Scriptures.”
He rested his hands on top of his shovel. “Are you a Bible scholar, Grace?”
“Well. No.”
“Then you have no idea what you are talking about. You should go home now.”
“Maybe I don’t know a lot about the ins and outs of your . . . Ordnung. Did I pronounce that right?”
“Go home, Grace.”
“I’m just saying . . . I could not live like you do, Levi.”
“No one is asking you to.”
“So, let’s talk about something else. How are things in your house? Is everything okay over there?”
“My aunt will be leaving soon,” he said. “The bishop has sent his daughter to care for my mother.”
She could hear the unhappiness in his voice about the situation, but she didn’t pry. She had pried enough for one night.
“Do you mind if I check in on your mom tomorrow?”
He hesitated.
“I won’t say anything about tonight.”
He seemed to be wrestling with the decision of whether to allow her to come back.
“I’m a nurse, Levi. I just want to make certain her wounds are healing. It doesn’t appear that she intends to go to the doctor anytime soon. Besides,” she said, “I’m sorry for talking about your bishop the way I did. That was out of line. I won’t do it again. It’s just that it hurts me to see a friend in pain.”
“You may come and check my mother,” he said. “But there is something you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“You and I will never be friends.”
She knew she shouldn’t be hurt, but his words stung. “I’ll check on your mother tomorrow, and I won’t speak to you unless spoken to.”
“That would be wise,” he said. “I am sorry. But we are not like the Englisch.”
“That’s quite an understatement, Levi.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket. “I’ll leave you to your book burning now.”
chapter FOURTEEN
There was a strange hollowness in Levi after Grace left. Having her there beside him, even with all of her questions and arguments, had helped drain away some of the toxins over his confrontation with Zillah.
An Uncommon Grace Page 13
