Forever Amish (5 page)

“I could ask Dat to read the Bible in English.” Lizzie stood and moved to the sink. She rinsed the dishes and flatware with vigor and arranged them on the drying rack. “You'd do that, Dat, wouldn't you?”

He yanked his scraggly beard. “I 'spose.”

“Ich bedank mich, Dat.”

“Please join us,” Rhoda said to me as she stowed leftovers into the refrigerator. “Then you can play checkers with Jeremy and Peter.”

“Or Scrabble,” Lizzie said. “That's my favorite.”

Scrabble was my favorite board game, too, but I wondered what language they'd use. And the spelling?

“I'm comfy right here for now.” I sank my teeth into the best peanut butter cookie I'd ever tasted, then pushed the back of my head against the rocking chair as if there were nowhere I'd rather be. After all, how would I entertain myself if I were at home? Would I be waiting for Donald's call? No, I would have broken down by now and crawled to him, when, in fact, he owed me an apology for being selfish and not considering Pops's welfare.

The back door shuddered open and Armin trudged in, lugging my dripping wet canvas bag. He'd removed his jacket. I found myself admiring his brawny physique and his damp curling hair.

“Thank you.” I stood up, hoping no one had noticed my ogling. Rhoda rushed over with a towel to wipe my bag and mop the puddle.

Reuben got to his feet. “
Kumm shnell
—come quick—Lizzie and Rhodie.” Then he left the room. Although cantankerous, he'd given Rhoda a pet name, telling me he loved her.

“You want me to help?” I asked Lizzie as I sent Armin a sideways glance, watching him pat his hair with a towel. No two ways about it; he was more interesting than he should have been. I had no business getting to know him. We might as well be from opposite ends of the globe. And I was engaged to be married. Had I turned fickle? No, I wouldn't allow myself to be.

“Dat wouldn't like it, Sally.” Standing at the sink, Lizzie scrubbed a pan and rinsed it. “I need to pull my weight around here.”

I contained a smile. She couldn't weigh much more than one hundred pounds. “I don't mind,” I said.

“Nee, I'm used to it.”

“You're our guest, so please relax.” Rhoda dabbed the floor around my bag and handed the damp towel to Armin. “Thank you,” she said to him.

“
Gern gschehne
—you're welcome.” Armin took the towels into the darkened back room and hung them by the small sink.

“Thanks for getting my things,” I said, but he didn't answer or return.

“Is he shy?” I felt disappointed he hadn't given me eye contact again.

Lizzie chuckled. “Our Armin shy? Nee. Every
Maedel
—young unmarried woman—in the district has her eyes set on him.”

“Are you one of them?” I figured no subject was off-limits between us after the emails she'd sent to lure me here. Or had she? Pops had remarked I had an overly active imagination. But I wasn't imagining his opposition to this sojourn.

“Armin is like a Bruder to me,” Lizzie said. “And he's too old. Thirty-seven.”

“He's not so old,” Rhoda said, then turned to me. “He could be living in his own house and farm. Unfortunately, he and his older brother, Nathaniel, have been at odds ever since Armin wouldn't get baptized then moved to New York State, leaving Nathaniel to work the family farm.”

“He could be courting someone for all I know. Around here, we often keep things hush-hush until the minister announces it.” Lizzie scoured the bottom of another pan.

“Weddings take place in late fall, after the harvesting's done,” Rhoda said.

“There will be many a wedding this next year, starting in November,” Lizzie said. “I can't wait. 'Tis such a gut time.”

“To those baptized in the Amish church.” Rhoda's voice turned serious. “So we don't have to worry about our Lizzie getting married yet.”

“But she's so young,” I said.

“Not around here I'm not.” Lizzie spoke over her shoulder. “Two of my friends are married and already have children. Such cute little fellas.”

Meaning she thought I was over the hill? “Do you wish you had grandchildren?” I asked Rhoda as she poured me tea.

“Between Lizzie's two older sisters, who live in Indiana with their husbands, I have seven grandchildren.”

I halted my rocking. “I assumed Lizzie was the eldest.” She was bossy enough.

Lizzie lifted her chin. “They treat me like I'm the youngest, because I've waited to get baptized until I tried my hand working in the Englisch world for a while.”

“You've had four years to join the church,” Rhoda said. “This summer—please tell me you're planning to take baptism classes.”

Lizzie gave her hands a quick dry on her apron. “I will. Most likely.” She moved to my side. “I'll come back to finish the kitchen after Dat is done reading. Don't ya lift a finger.” Her skirt swaying, she followed Rhoda into the living room.

Here I was, closing in on thirty and unwed. What must they think of me? Who cared? I did, or I wouldn't be seeing myself through their eyes.

I propelled the chair again. I envisioned Lizzie's grandma sitting here doing embroidery or quilting, two womanly tasks I never learned. I was struck by the fact I didn't even have an aunt or uncle, let alone a grandmother. Pops and I were a dynamic duo, we'd always joked. Maybe I should get online and search for our relatives. But Pops claimed he'd tried without success, and he was adamant I not waste my money or energy. And Donald's mother was ecstatic she'd be our kids' only grandmother. She'd never once asked me about my parents' families.

Through the kitchen door, I heard Reuben's somber voice reading the Bible in High German. Was he using Scripture to rebuke Lizzie for working rather than saddling herself with a husband and children at her young age? She seemed immature, but apparently not around here.

Reuben switched to English, for my benefit no doubt, his volume expanding, quoting from Romans 12:2. He cautioned believers not to conform to the world, which I supposed included me. Had he chosen the passage for Lizzie or his whole family, so none would get too chummy with this outsider? An explanation of why he hadn't welcomed me as Rhoda had.

 

CHAPTER 6

Nestled on the rocking chair in the kitchen, my toes tapped a comforting rhythm. The swaying motion lulled me to a dreamy state. I ignored Reuben's booming voice in the other room and the rain blipping against the windowpanes.

I reminded myself I'd longed for a space of time to sort through the complicated situation I'd left in New Milford. I mulled over my priorities, Pops at the pinnacle. He wouldn't like Donald and my arguing over his health. He certainly wouldn't want us delaying our wedding for him. If my father's health plummeted, who knew if he would accept one of my kidneys should he need one. He was used to calling the shots, but his choices were dwindling.

A dog howled in the distance. My thoughts drifted to Mr. Big. A weight of guilt still bogged me down, shackling me to the moment my favorite Welsh corgi leaped from the parked minivan's back hatch and injured his spine last month. If only I'd looked after him more carefully. Stroking his silky coat had grounded and soothed me. Exercising him, grooming, and showing him had brought me purpose. Now I had none. I recalled the joy of standing in the ring exhibiting his attributes.

I stretched out my hand, took hold of the teacup, and swallowed a mouthful of tea. What herbs were blended into this concoction that reminded me of dried dandelions? I noticed Lizzie had also placed a sugar bowl, honey, and a spoon on the small table. This family certainly liked their sweets.

My thoughts sidestepped to Donald—“the love of my life” I'd called him until days ago. I'd thought we'd spend a lifetime together but now held serious doubts. His convictions—his core beliefs—and mine didn't coincide, not when it came to Pops. And I had to wonder if I'd fit into his parents' hoity-toity community in Brewster, New York.

Years ago, my only steady high school boyfriend had launched off to college in Southern California and I'd never heard from him again, not even at my high school's five-year reunion. I'd dated over the years, but nothing serious until I met Donald Montgomery through a mutual acquaintance on Lake Candlewood. I was the only single woman not drooling over his ski boat and over him. He was drop-dead gorgeous, but as a salesman's daughter, I'd learned not to slobber over hot merchandise; interest in a vehicle only made the price skyrocket. Apparently Donald had found my standoffish attitude refreshing at the time. But since getting engaged, he didn't seem to respect me anymore. Had I considered what kind of a husband and father he'd make if his universe revolved around him?

From the sound of the pattering rain, the storm was subsiding—at a lull, anyway. I decided to dash outside and lock the car.

With the Mustang's key in hand, I pushed myself to my feet and shoved my arms into my jacket sleeves. No one would miss me.

Snapping my jacket, I stepped into the dank utility room and walked right into Armin. I came at his broad chest with such force I almost lost my balance. He took hold of my upper arms, steadying me, and held on to me for what seemed a beat too long.

I felt a curious current pass between us, like a pull of magnetism. No matter, I told myself. Any woman would find him attractive. I'd simply ignore him for the short amount of time I'd be here.

“Where are you going?” he said, his face inches from mine. “I got your bag.”

“But my car's still unlocked. Or did you lock it?”

“I left it as I found it. It's safe. We've never had anything stolen.”

“Are you kidding? Someone could go for a joyride, no sweat. That car belongs to my father.”

“Then I'll lock it.”

“No, I have to make sure it's done correctly.” My fingers tightened around the key. “That's a vintage Mustang.”

“I know how to lock a car, I can assure you.”

“You've driven a car?” I asked him.

“Yes, many times while buying and selling horses. It doesn't take a PhD to lock an automobile.”

“I wasn't inferring you're ignorant.”

A swirl of clouds must have blustered into the valley; the rain increased, pounding the roof.

“Better take this.” He handed me a flashlight. “The Zooks have a
Schaerm
—an umbrella—somewhere around here.” He rummaged through a bin of tools and handed me a black umbrella with a hooked handle.

“Thanks.” I stuffed the key and flashlight into my jacket pockets, stepped onto the back porch, and struggled to open the contraption. Then I picked my way down the steps. At the bottom, a gust of wind whipped the bat-like umbrella inside out, yanking it from my hands and tossing it several yards.

Armin loped down the steps, not bothering to put on a jacket, and grabbed the scuttling umbrella. He gave it a shake, then came over to shield me from the escalating downpour. I didn't deserve his kindness after speaking to him so harshly.

I grabbed the handle, my hand partway covering Armin's. I heard a tree branch creak in the forested area beyond the field, followed by a thud.

“I'll walk you out there,” he said, still grasping the umbrella's handle.

“Thanks.” I couldn't help but notice the warmth of his large hand, a workingman's skin, the opposite of Donald's, who made his living sitting behind a desk.

Nearing the car, I heard a rustling noise and sloshing footsteps, barely audible above the spattering rain. “Did you hear that?” I said. Glad to have Armin at my side, I clung to his elbow.

“Probably a barn cat,” he said.

“No way. What feline's dumb enough to venture out in this storm?”

His mouth widened into a smile. “A tomcat?”

I halted, held my breath, and heard what sounded like footsteps crushing leaves. A chill ran through me. “That's no cat.”

“A
Hund
—a dog?”

I could see into the car: a dim glow, the steering wheel and dashboard. “Hey, the car's interior lights are on.”

A gust stretched the umbrella's fabric. Armin reached up with his other hand to keep it from flapping away. He repositioned the umbrella over me as I brought out the flashlight and rounded the car. I wondered: Would Donald venture out here with me? He was a prep-school city boy, a Yalie snob teeming with qualities I'd admired until recently. How could I have fallen for a guy who looked down his nose at my father, the finest man I knew? And I figured Donald's parents deemed he was marrying beneath his potential, anchoring his family to the middle class when he could wed an uptown society girl.

I flicked on the flashlight. “Look.” I pointed to a couple footprints near the driver's door. “Someone's been out here. A man, judging by the size of the soles. Are these yours?”

“No. Too small. They're probably Jeremy's before he came inside.”

“Jeremy didn't have time. And his prints would have washed away by now. These are fresh. Someone's been in the car. See, the door isn't closed properly.”

“Well, I shut it just fine when I got your bag.”

I wondered if he'd slammed the door instead of using both hands to produce a substantial thud—a trick Pops taught me to make a car sound solid.

“Ach, what difference does it make now?” He peered down at me.

“None, I guess.” I felt moisture soaking my suede shoes—ruined; I didn't even need to look. “My fault. I should have locked it immediately.”

“We don't lock the house and have never had a break-in. Was anything stolen?”

I flashed the light on the AM/FM radio: still there. And so was the GPS, which I usually stored out of sight. “No, I don't think so.”

“No mud on the carpet,” he said over my shoulder.

“We might have scared the prowler away.” I turned the flashlight's beam into the darkness alongside the barn and smaller buildings. Reuben owned an impressive farm, but my gaze settled on the elongated shadows where a stalker might be lurking.

“After all this fussing, aren't ya going to lock it?” Armin said, in what seemed a mocking tone.

I glared at him. “In a minute.”

With damp hands, I leaned into the car, detached the GPS from the windshield, and stowed it under the front seat. Then I locked the Mustang, double-checking both doors and the trunk.

Minutes later, I plodded up the steps and into the back room with Armin following. Rain saturated his hair, rivulets snaking down his shoulders. He collapsed the umbrella and leaned it by the door.

I felt like a badger tunneling into its den after sighting a coyote. Someone had been casing my car and neglected to close the door; I was sure of it.

“Oh, look at ya!” Lizzie said as I entered the kitchen. “What were you doing out in that storm? You're soaked through and through.” She handed me a clean dish towel, and I patted my face and neck.

Reuben eyed me with suspicion. “What were yous two doing out there?” His stare cut into me like a serrated knife, as if Armin and I had been indulging in a scandalous rendezvous.

“I was locking my car.” I set the flashlight on the counter, then struggled out of my jacket, its shoulders darker from the rain. “I heard someone out there.”

I glanced behind me and saw Armin's tousled hair, beads of water hanging from the ends. He was in better shape than any man at my health club, muscles apparently earned from toiling in the fields.

“It was most likely a Hund,” Armin said. Reuben nodded in agreement, their camaraderie annoying. No two ways around it: they were poking fun at me. Yet Armin's gaze latched on to mine again—shutting out the rest of the world. Maybe he thought I looked like a drowned rat, as Pops would say. No doubt I did.

“Sometimes the neighbor's dog tries digging into the chicken coop,” Reuben said, his thumbs hooking his suspenders.

“I guarantee you that wasn't a dog,” I said, and Reuben snickered. “Listen.” I planted my hands on my hips. “I know what sounds a dog makes. And I certainly recognize their footprints, unless dogs in these parts wear boots.”

“You're an authority on dogs?” Reuben asked.

“As a matter of fact—” I sandwiched my lips together to keep from revealing more.

“The car door wasn't closed right,” I said, switching tactics. “I doubt even your neighbor's clever dog would open and close my door.”

Reuben huffed. “You probably didn't shut it properly to begin with.”

A canine down the road let out a succession of throaty barks, as if to emphasize his point.

“Who'd want ta steal your car?” Armin said, taking a towel from Lizzie and patting his hair.

“Plenty of people.”

“Not around here.” Reuben rubbed his eye. “Although the car's red color could be a temptation, luring a young lad like the devil.”

“I hope Bishop Troyer doesn't see it,” Rhoda said.

“He'd never forget a car like mine,” I said, but Lizzie kept mum, as if she hadn't heard my remark. Or been in the car when I'd almost run into the bishop's horse and buggy.

“Please, Reuben, Sally's our guest.” Rhoda took my jacket. “The bishop knows we accommodate boarders when the Lord sees fit. We talked about it with him this very day.”

“Hush,” Reuben said, his voice severe. Rhoda slipped into the utility room to hang up my drenched jacket.

“Bishop Jonathan Troyer was here in this house?” Lizzie's pale face and pencil-thin lips told me she was worried. Or afraid? When she noticed my stare, Lizzie's mouth formed a meager smile, and she said, “Sally, let me help you.”

Armin was sock-footed, and I realized I should have deposited my grime-covered shoes in the back room. I stepped out of them and peeled off my socks.

“Here, I can take those.” Lizzie placed them on a mat just inside the kitchen. “You can go barefoot if you like. Or I'll lend you slippers.”

My soaked jeans plastered my calves and ankles like a second skin. “Thank you. I didn't think to bring extra shoes, other than for running.” When packing today, I'd envisioned sprinting out of my cozy B&B in the morning before breakfast and taking a jog under sunny skies.

“Ya never drank your tea, and it's gone cold.” Lizzie examined my cup. “And your cookie's only half eaten.”

“I'll run upstairs, change into dry clothes, and be right back.” I looked for my bag. “I didn't bring much.”

“Mamm put your belongings in your room,” Lizzie said. “I'll have hot water waiting for you when you return.”

“Great. Then you and I can sit down and talk.”

“Yah. We can chat.”

Reuben frowned at Lizzie's enthusiasm. I was evidently an unwelcome influence on his daughter. He had yet to acknowledge me for helping Lizzie lock the store, then giving her a ride home. Jeremy had threatened to ditch her in town; she could still be walking if I hadn't. Did Reuben hold me responsible for the gruesome weather like a woman jinxing a boat at sea?

As I left the room, Armin said, “I'd best be turning in,” before I could thank him for escorting me to the car. Even if he'd razzed me, I was grateful he'd braved the storm. Not many men would. Certainly not Donald. I turned to reenter the kitchen and heard the door shut.

Then Rhoda said, “What got ya in such a foul mood tonight, Reuben?” To give them privacy, I closed the door but could still hear their voices.

“Besides the bishop's harping at me and his accusations?” he said. “And the whole district is privy to Lizzie's tomfoolery.”

“Ya know, Dat?” Lizzie said.

“I told him last week,” Rhoda said. “As soon as Arthur spilled the beans. You should show your dat the same respect.”

“I'm afraid our Arthur likes to gossip with his riders,” Lizzie said. I heard someone stacking dishes, placing them in a cupboard, its door swinging shut.

“When you're riding with him, sit in the backseat and button your lips,” Reuben said.

“It's not as if I haven't known Arthur my whole life,” Lizzie said.

“And ya can't blame the bishop's visit on our Lizzie,” Rhoda said. “That was partly your doing.”