It’s almost morning. Low tide. The shore is crusted with shells. When I was little I’d swim until my toes wrinkled. Now there are signs everywhere. DANGER. BEACH CLOSED. It makes me sick, just thinking about it. A hole bleeding poison into the sea.
“This is the best time to look for sand dollars,” I tell Faron. But when I glance at the sand, I don’t see any. “Did you know they’ve got a secret?”
“What’s that?” He smiles at me.
“If you crack open the shell, you’ll find the doves.”
“Doves?”
“Yeah, they’re tiny bits hidden inside.”
“But you’d have to break it,” he says.
It’s true. I didn’t believe until I cracked my first sand dollar. I wanted to see what was inside. Hold it in my hand. Then I knew it was real.
A siren cuts through the early morning quiet. Red and blue lights sway across the sand. There’s a police cruiser near the seawall. Sarasota Beach Patrol.
“Let’s go. The cops are kicking everybody off the beach,” says Faron.
The crowd is already moving away from the shore. Old Order girls in long, dark dresses. They all look the same. But where’s Alice? I thought she’d be here. I feel bad that I waited so long to look for her. The siren pierces through me. So does the guilt.
“Come on,” Faron says, looking over his shoulder. Why is he so nervous?
“I need to find Alice.” I turn and start running in the other direction.
“Lucy,” he shouts.
I push against the crowd. Maybe Alice never made it to the beach after all. If I had a cell phone, I’d call her. But it’s just another thing I don’t have. I keep moving, calling her name. Alice was carrying a lot of money. More than I’ve ever seen. I bet she saved up all summer.
Tobias saw it too.
I’m thinking so hard, I don’t even notice the cop. He’s waving a flashlight and motioning for me to leave.
“Go home,” he says. “The party’s over.”
I glance at the seawall, but Faron is gone. I’m blinking back tears as I walk to the bus stop on Ringling Boulevard. The seagulls wheel above me, silent and watchful, and slowly, it begins to rain.
• • •
The sun is on the horizon. I get off at the bus stop in Pinecraft and walk home as fast as possible. Maybe I can sneak inside the house before Dad wakes up. Too late. He’s already working outside, sanding lumber.
Dad glares at me. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I got up this morning and you weren’t here.”
My stomach burns. I feel horrible, knowing he was worried about me. My dress is soaked, the hem crusted with sand. I’m so embarrassed, I can’t even look at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“You were with Alice. Is that right?”
He probably went next door and talked to Mrs. Yoder. Did she tell him about me and Alice sneaking out? Yeah, I bet she did.
“I know you girls are close,” Dad says. “But now you’re running around all night, doing who knows what.”
“We stayed up late, talking. That’s all.” The words come out fast. I hardly recognize the way I sound.
“Don’t raise your voice at me, Lucy. You’ve been running a bit too much with that Old Order girl. And it’s going to stop.”
“But—”
“Get inside,” he says. “Your face is dirty. Better wash up before the neighbors see you.”
I go in the house and head straight for the bathroom.
All this time, Alice kept her secrets to herself. Now I’ve got one of my own. I hold it close, buried someplace deep, like the doves inside a sand dollar. Slowly, I take off my prayer cap and let my hair spill down my back. I peel off my dress. Then I sit in the tub until the water turns gray.
chapter seven
keeping secrets
I’m on the porch, snapping green beans for supper, when I spot the Old Order woman in her long dress, making her way through the moss-draped trees. Mrs. Yoder never comes to my house. I’m so surprised, I barely hear what she says.
“Alice is gone.”
A shiver runs across my skin. “Gone where?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
All day long, I’ve been carrying Alice in my mind. I can’t talk about what happened at Water Tower Park. Or ask if anybody’s seen her after the party. I don’t want her to get in trouble.
We’re both in trouble now.
“Don’t just stand there, catching flies,” says Mrs. Yoder. “I know you girls were together last night.”
I stare at the orange trees in the front yard. Their branches shift and bend as a breeze picks up. It smells like something’s burning far away.
“Am I correct?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly.
“I’m thinking Alice has run off again.”
So it’s not the first time. Then why do I feel so worried? And why didn’t Alice tell me about it before? I thought we could tell each other everything. It hurts, the fact that she never shared this secret with me. In my head, I keep going back to the party. All those Old Order girls on the beach. But Alice wasn’t there. What happened to her after I left the park?
I shouldn’t have left her alone.
“Well?” says Mrs. Yoder.
“I don’t know where she is.”
Mrs. Yoder frowns. “You’re telling half the truth, Lucy Zimmer. And that makes a whole lie.”
The front door swings open.
“What’s this about?” Dad wants to know.
Mrs. Yoder steps onto the porch. She marches up to Dad like I’m not even there. “My daughter, Alice, is missing.”
Dad glances at Mrs. Yoder, then at me.
“Come inside,” he says, motioning for us to follow him.
In the kitchen, we sit around the table. Mrs. Yoder and Dad on one side. Me in the chair with the wobbly leg. The chair keeps rocking as I tell them about last night.
Not everything.
Enough.
“What’s the matter with you, Lucy?” Dad says. “That was a foolish thing to do, going to Water Tower Park at night.”
If he finds out I was with a boy, I’ll really be in for it.
Mrs. Yoder stays quiet the whole time. She’s not crying or anything. That’s what’s strange about it.
Her sharp little face turns to me. “Where did you go after the party?”
“I didn’t go anywhere.”
“You went straight home?”
I shift my weight in the chair. “That’s right. I took the bus.”
“And you went by yourself?”
I nod.
“What about Alice?”
“She wanted to stay longer, I guess.”
“You guess?”
I don’t know what else to say.
“You’re protecting my daughter, aren’t you, Lucy? Just like when you girls were small.”
I look down at my hands folded in my lap.
“You and Alice have always been good friends. I can’t believe she’d run off without telling you. Didn’t she say something?”
Yeah, she did.
And it still hurts.
“I never should’ve come down to Pinecraft this year,” says Mrs. Yoder. “Not with Alice on her Rumspringa.”
“What’s Pinecraft got to do with it?” Dad’s losing his patience now. He turns to me. “So you’re running around with these Old Order kids last night. They’re down in Florida on Rumspringa. The Lord knows what they’re doing in Water Tower Park,” he says. “Probably drinking. Am I right?”
I can’t even look at him.
“Answer me, Lucy.”
“It was just one beer.”
He shakes his head. “Does that make it okay?”
“No.”
“Alice didn’t leave the park by herself. That much, I can guess. Did she go off somewhere with a boy?”
It’s not easy, hiding t
he truth from Dad.
“I don’t know what happened after the party.”
That’s all I can say.
Alice wanted to go to Lido Key and watch the sunrise. But I never saw her leave Water Tower Park. I drove to the beach with Faron, a secret I can’t tell anybody.
Mrs. Yoder leans across the table. “Lucy Zimmer,” she says in a voice so cold, I flinch. “Don’t lie to me.”
Dad slams down his fist. “My daughter’s no liar.”
The house is quiet.
I listen to the clock ticking above the stove.
Finally, Dad pushes back his chair. “We were just about to have supper,” he tells Mrs. Yoder. “You’re welcome to stay and eat a little.”
That’s how Dad handles everything, as if a slice of Key lime pie could solve all your problems.
“All right,” says Mrs. Yoder, still looking at me.
Dad pats my hand. “Come outside for a minute. I need some help.”
I know he doesn’t need help, but I follow him anyway.
When we reach the koi pond in the backyard, he says, “I’m really disappointed in you, Smidge.”
The way he’s talking, I feel like the ground has split between us.
He opens a can of orange pellets and flings a handful at the koi. They flail against the surface of the water like knives. “Why did you keep quiet about your friend? You could’ve talked to me.”
“I’m talking now.”
“Okay.” He yanks a hanky out of his pocket and mops his neck. “I’m listening.”
I glance across the road. Some Old Order boys are rattling down Kruppa Avenue on metal scooters, while a couple of girls shuffle quietly behind.
“Alice doesn’t want to get baptized.”
“And why is that?” he asks.
I lower my gaze. There’s a calico scallop at the bottom of the pond, leaning against a rock.
“Lucy,” he says. “Your turn’s coming soon.”
Next week, I will stand in front of everybody at church and say my baptismal vows. That’s the main thing we have in common with the Old Order. We both believe that baptism is a grown-up decision.
Ever since I was little, I’ve been getting ready for this day. Now I’m having second thoughts. If I go through with it, I’ll have to stay Amish forever. I’ll probably never leave Pinecraft. And I’d never go to school and learn about the ocean.
Dad sighs. “It’s time you started acting more grown-up. Think about what I’m saying here.”
I think too much. That’s what Dad says.
He dips his thumb in the water. All the fish swarm around it, waiting for food. That’s how much they trust him.
“What’s going to happen if Alice doesn’t get baptized?” I ask.
“If your friend isn’t baptized, I’m afraid she’s lost.”
“But what if she did it just to make everyone happy? Wouldn’t that be like lying?”
Dad doesn’t say anything. He closes the screen over the pond, keeping the fish safe for the night. Then he walks back to the house.
• • •
That night, I toss and turn under my quilt, the one Mama sewed for me. No use trying to sleep. I get up and go to my dresser. Everything reminds me of Alice. The mason jar filled with seashells and tiny doves. The shoebox I keep under my bed, stuffed with my best friend’s letters.
I open the box and take out the envelopes, so delicate and scented like wood smoke. As I trace Alice’s old-fashioned cursive, my eyes sting, but I can’t look away.
January 17
Smyrna, Maine
Dear Lucy,
The ice storm hit something fierce last night. Mom told me to bring the horses in the barn. I couldn’t find the red mare so me and Shepherd (that’s what we decided to name the dog) went out looking for her. Mom says horses don’t have enough sense to find their way home. But she’s wrong. They’ve got more brains than most people I’ve met. Maybe they can smell the storm coming, just like I always know when it’s going to rain. Or the way green things can smell sunshine before they twist out of the dirt. What makes plants and animals so different from us?
Sometimes I walk out on the frozen lake at twilight. The sky is so big I could fall into it. Everything turns this purply color, like the jellyfish on Lido Key (I can’t wait to see you at the end of September. Then we can swim at the beach every day). Don’t you wish we could make time move faster?
Lucy, I miss your letters. You used to write all the time (I’m not judging you, I swear. I really wish our “paper conversations” could go on forever). You’d tell me all about Pinecraft. The sand dollars on Lido Key. The doves hidden inside the broken pieces. I didn’t believe you until I saw it. Sometimes you have to see to believe.
You’re so lucky down in Florida. No farm chores. No horse and buggies. Everybody riding around on bicycles. Palm trees and beaches. And you wear nice dresses in the prettiest colors (I love pink and purple best of all). Also: your dad lets you watch TV (I know you’re not allowed to have a TV in your house. Still, I’m so jealous).
One day, I’m moving to California. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m going to be in the movies. Then I’ll be famous. Mom says if you’ve only got money, then you’ve got nothing. But I think things would be better if we had a little more.
It’s still dark here every morning. Before sunrise, I get up and milk the cows in pitch-blackness. You can see the steam rising off their backs like gauze. Did I tell you? We lost a calf last winter. I don’t know what happened. I held her in my arms all night. When I woke up, she was gone.
PS: The red mare finally turned up. She was waiting for me outside the barn. Wish she could tell me where she’s been hiding. Mom says it’s all my fault. But I think that mare would’ve run off sooner or later. I could tell, just by looking into her eyes, so soft and full of secrets. There’s no holding her back. All the rope in the world can’t keep her still. Next time, she’ll be gone. Just you wait and see.
238 days until Florida.
Alice
I watch the headlights dive across my bedroom wall. I remember how free Alice looked, waving like a princess in the back of that truck. I try to picture her chasing after that mare. The frozen lake. The calf that died in her arms.
All she wanted was a little freedom.
What’s so wrong about that?
I think of Faron, our kiss on the beach. I hold the secret tight, curled like my fist in my lap. There’s no letting go of it. I used to tell Dad everything. But I can’t tell him what really happened after the party. Or the things Faron told me before we kissed in the sand.
I listen to the water splashing in the bathroom sink. Dad’s finally getting ready for bed. Footsteps creak in the hall. After what seems like forever, the light under my door goes out. I wait a couple minutes. Then I sneak out of my room.
The house is so quiet, I can hear the whippoorwills calling back and forth, like they do every night. It seems so wrong, the fact that they’re still singing, and yet everything has changed.
Dad keeps his cell phone in a kitchen drawer. I’m not allowed to use it. He won’t even let me borrow that phone. Not unless it’s an emergency. Well, if this isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is.
Alice wrote her number on my wrist, hidden inside my sleeve. The ink has smeared like a bruise. I can barely read it. My fingers won’t stay still as I type the number into Dad’s phone.
I lift the phone to my ear. There’s a click and a staticky noise, as if I’m drifting through space. It rings once, twice.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Are you okay?” I whisper. “Why didn’t you go to the beach? I was looking everywhere for—”
“You know what to do. Leave a message.”
Beep.
I snap the phone closed. Lean back against the kitchen counter. My heart’s pounding so fast, I feel like I’m going to pass out. Why didn’t Alice pick up her cell? I’m getting really nervous now. But I’m still ang
ry at her, too.
I try calling again. Same thing. No answer. Did the battery go dead? Or did something else happen?
Something I don’t want to think about.
A light clicks on in the kitchen. Dad’s standing in the doorway, looking at me.
“Smidge? What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I tell him, sliding the phone back in the drawer. Too late. Dad’s already seen it.
“Why are you on the phone?” he says, frowning. “I don’t want you using that cell without my permission. You know better.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Who are you calling at this hour?”
I stare at the floor.
“Answer me,” he says.
“I was trying to call Alice.”
He looks confused. “Your Old Order friend has a cell phone?”
“Someone gave it to her,” I explain.
“And did you get through to Alice?”
“No,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m really scared, Dad. I think she’s in trouble.”
He throws his arms around me. For a moment, he holds me close, like when I was small and I’d wake up screaming from a nightmare.
“Come on,” he finally says. “It’s late. We can talk about this in the morning.”
I have to find Alice. But how? I’m always stuck here, working for Dad. I can’t just leave. He won’t let me take off by myself. I don’t even have a car. And besides, even if I could drive away from Pinecraft, I don’t know where to go.
Maybe she’s just run off, like her mom said. But I’ve got a shivery feeling deep inside. It doesn’t make sense, Alice disappearing without telling me where she’s headed. She’s always been my best friend. Growing up, we were both alone. No brothers or sisters. Alice lost her dad a long time ago. My mama got sick after I was born. I don’t even remember what her voice sounded like.
When we were little, Alice used to tell everybody that I’m her sister, but it isn’t true.
We were just pretending.
chapter eight
head in the clouds
The next morning I’m late for church. It’s so quiet in the house, I figure Dad’s left without me.
Now I’m really in for it.
I kick the covers off my bed. No time to get ready. I grab a pale blue dress from my wardrobe and quickly pin up my hair. It’s always freezing in church. I’ll have to bring my cardigan, even though it feels like a hundred degrees today. I don’t know why they crank up the AC. Maybe it’s supposed to keep us from falling asleep.
Snowbirds Page 5
