Leaving Lancaster (4 page)

“Good idea. I still have a hard time believing you've never ridden in a jet, or that you were raised in a community where people were proud to be called plain.” I was transported back to fourth grade. “Plain doesn't sound like a complimentary remark. Who wants to be ordinary? I sure don't.”

“The Amish live that way intentionally. Humbly, not trying to outdo their neighbors. It's a trade-off. What they lose—cars, electricity, and telephones in the home—they gain in quiet family time. Board games after dinner and volleyball on Sunday afternoon.”

I wasn't buying her explanation. “Wait up, Mom, you love watching the Mariners on TV. Any time you want to play a board game, let me know. But I think you'd be bored.” I quoted the word
board
with my fingers, but she didn't catch my pun. She rubbed her palms together like they were sticky.

“What makes you more nervous?” I asked. “Our sketchy family reunion or stepping onto an airplane?”

“I don't know.” Her hair had straggled out of its bun and fallen to the middle of her back. She gathered it up, winding it around her fingers and pinning it into place.

I decided not to push her further; she had enough to fret about. I realized I needed to call Larry to tell him I'd be out of town. He'd probably find another dinner date. Our church singles' group was swarming with unmarried women, and he was considered a prime catch.

No time to worry about Larry now. I was about to take a trip and needed to find a way to entertain myself on the flight. I scooped up a novel I'd been meaning to read and hoped it had a happy ending. I was in no mood for mystery or suspense. I had enough uncertainty in my life.

Letting my thoughts leapfrog ahead, I imagined the awkward moment when I met Grandma Anna. Or went to the graveyard and saw her headstone. Gee, I hoped she was still living, but curbed my enthusiasm. Would a grandma never send a birthday card?

“When we get there, I'll rent a car and be the designated driver.” I let resentment steer my tongue. “Were you always this helpless? I still wish you'd learn to drive.”

Before age sixteen, I was at the mercy of my girlfriends' parents to ferry me to soccer practices. Unless someone gave me a ride, I rode the bus to school until I got my license. Then I insisted Mom buy a used car. It was a clunker, but had four wheels.

“Eventually I'll move out and how will you get your groceries home?” I said.

“Ach, 'tis too late.”

“Meaning it's too late for me to get married and start a family?”

“Stop that. You're distorting my words.”

I heard the front door swing open.

“Yoo-hoo,” Dori called in her alto voice. “I brought the carry-on suitcase.”

“I'll be right there,” Mom said, and scowled at my bathing suit. I tossed it back into the bottom drawer with my other summer garments. I left my helter-skelter of clothes on the bed and meandered down the stairs to see Mom handing Dori a ring of keys and a two-page list of instructions.

“Don't worry about a thing,” Dori told Mom, then noticed me. “Hi there, honey bunch. Isn't this exciting? I'm going to run the store in your mother's absence and you're going to meet your grandmother.”

“It's exciting all right, but maybe we should let sleeping dogs lie.” I wondered if Mom or I were more anxious and bet I was; the floorboards beneath me seemed to sway.

Dori's smile was broad and confident. “Now, now, it will be a marvelous adventure. A time of new beginnings.” Her arms stretched out to hug Mom like they shared a common pact. Or a conspiracy.

My brain swarmed into a bee's nest of worry. I had no job and was flying across country to see relatives I didn't want to meet, not after all this time—if they existed. I thought about my father's parents, the Fishers. Did they know about me? Were they still living in the area? If so, would Mom and I be greeted with contempt? Mom and I were about to stir up a whirlwind of trouble. I felt like I was wandering out on thin ice, headed toward the center of Green Lake, which even on Seattle's coldest days rarely froze solid.

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, Esther heard Dori rapping on the Amish Shoppe's front door to drive Holly and her to the airport. When Esther opened the door, Dori zeroed in on the suitcase she'd lent Esther and extended the collapsible handle.

As if reading her thoughts of doom, Dori said, “Your customers will understand you needed a vacation. Although I have the feeling your clients are the least of your worries.”

“You're right.” If the Amish Shoppe burned to the ground, it wouldn't cause Esther half the torment she was about to endure. She'd never been more terrified in her life. “I wonder, am I doing the right thing?” she said, an internal conflict waging. “Well, of course I am—what I've been telling myself for years. It's time to face the consequences of my actions. And my mother.”

“I agree,” Dori said. “Get those skeletons out of the closet.”

“Holly's unusually quiet this morning,” Esther whispered, watching her daughter lug her suitcase down the stairs.

“Hey, Mom, seeing you two together gave me a wonderful idea.” Holly flashed them a smile. “Dori should go with you instead of me. I'll run the shop. After all, I am the woman who needs a job.”

“Come on, gals,” Dori said, corralling them into her VW parked at the curb. “You're acting like you're being shipped to the Middle East for combat duty.”

“I think I'd rather be,” Holly said. “Am I too old to enlist?”

As she drove them south to the airport, Dori kept the mood light by describing Jim's plans to remodel their living room. “While I'm working at the Amish Shoppe, he's going to build new bookshelves on either side of the fireplace.” She parked at the passenger departure zone, and made sure Esther and Holly each had suitcase and purse, treating them as if they were children on their first day of kindergarten. And that's how Esther felt—immature and disoriented.

An hour later, Esther and Holly passed sock-footed through security at the airport. The guard investigated Esther's knitting needles and confiscated them.

“I told you to bring plastic needles,” Holly said with a snap. “Never mind, we'll buy you new ones when we get there.”

If we get there, Esther thought.

Finally seated on the aircraft, Esther tightened her seat belt. She grasped the armrests as the jet muscled through a mattress of clouds, reminding her of snow-covered Lancaster County in January. The entire flight she worried God would punish her by smashing them out of the sky before they reached Pennsylvania.

After a harrowing five-hour flight and a bumpy landing at the Philadelphia International Airport, Holly rented a small Nissan sedan with a GPS system. The tangerine sun had sunk behind a curtain of foreboding clouds an hour ago, while they'd still been in the air.

“I don't want you attempting to negotiate a road map and getting us lost,” Holly told Esther as she agreed to pay extra for the navigational device. “Although I figure once we get to Lancaster County you'll transform into a homing pigeon and direct us straight to Grandma Anna's.”

Esther stood in the darkened parking lot watching Holly juggle their bags into the trunk. Rubbing the back of her neck, Esther bet she'd aged ten years since this morning. She noticed her raincoat was fastened lopsided, the buttons in the wrong holes.

Holly rounded the car and plopped into the driver's seat, but Esther lingered, the chill evening air creeping up her sleeves, making her shiver. A sprinkling of rain misted down, then escalated into a full-blown torrent, reminding Esther of her youth—scampering barefoot out of the vegetable garden up the back steps.

“Come on, hurry up.” Holly's voice sounded tetchy. “Is this typical Pennsylvania weather? It never rains this hard in Seattle.”

Esther finally got in, clutching her purse.

“Sorry, Mom, you must be wiped out from your first ride on a jet.”

Esther rebuttoned her coat. “Yah, confined to our seats most of the time.”

“The choppy ride didn't rattle me as much as what lies ahead.” Holly thrust the key in and turned on the engine.

“Me, too.” Ever since she'd entered the plane, Esther surmised her life would never be the same, her thoughts harassing her like the first day of the flu.

Holly found the windshield wipers and the headlamps, and backed out of the stall. “What's Grandma's address?”

“She lives on Hollander Road, north of 340. But my mother doesn't know we're coming.”

“Are you nuts?” Holly jammed on the brakes. “You plan to show up without warning her first? I refuse to pick my way across the state to what may be an empty house.”

“She'll be home. It's after dark and my mother leads a simple life. There's no way she'd be out on a cold, wet evening. Let's go.”

“But I'm exhausted and not in the mood for a scavenger hunt.”

“Someone will be there. The kitchen door will be unlocked.”

“No way.” Holly's upper lip lifted into a snarl. “Are you sure—and we're talking positive—Grandma Anna still lives on the same farm where you grew up?”

“Yah, I'm sure.”

Holly rifled through her purse and whipped out her cell phone. “We'll call her. Oh, that's right, you claim your mother doesn't have a telephone. Well, then, we'd better find a cheap motel for the night.”

“I have an idea,” Esther said, her lips going numb. “We could call my mother's Mennonite neighbor, Beth Fleming.” She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a scrap of paper. “Here's her phone number.”

“I don't get why Mennonites use phones, but Amish don't.”

“Old Order Amish will speak on them, but not keep them in the home. You'll see. They have phone shanties tucked away from the house for emergencies. But from what I hear, Beth's quite modern. Her house is fancy schmancy. A convection oven, plasma TV, and every kind of electronic gizmo. She often drives my mother and my brothers and their wives and kids into town in her minivan.”

“Then why didn't you call Beth yesterday? Have you lost all common sense?”

“I should have, but we've never met. She moved here about the same time I left.”

“She's all we have.” Glancing in the rearview mirror, Holly maneuvered the car out of the stall. “Maybe she'll know a cheap bed-and-breakfast or a motel. I don't feel like sleeping in this cramped car. At least this Beth woman can confirm if Grandma is still alive—or not.”

Esther recited the telephone number and Holly punched it into her phone. Esther's throat grew tight with anticipation and her forehead ached, like she'd swallowed ice cream too quickly.

“Good evening, I'm Holly Fisher, Esther Fisher's daughter, Anna Gingerich's granddaughter,” Holly said when a woman answered.

Esther could hear the woman say, “What a lovely surprise. Did Esther give you my number?”

“Yes, in fact she's sitting right here next to me in a rental car at the Philly airport.”

“Won't her mother be delighted to see you both!”

“I hope so.” Holly's free hand gripped the steering wheel like a vise. “Um, does my grandmother still live in her house?”

“Yes. If I stand on my front porch, I can see it from here.”

Holly's arm relaxed, bending at the elbow. “Then, Grandma Anna is alive?”

Beth let out a sputter of laughter, followed by a pause. “Yes, most certainly. What's this all about?”

“This is my first trip. I wanted to make sure.”

“No matter. Isn't this exciting? An answer to Anna's prayers.”

“We rented a car, but I think we'd better wait until tomorrow to pop in on my grandmother. It's been a hectic day.”

“Then I insist you two stay with me,” Beth said. “I have more than enough room. Just my husband and me in this big old house, and he's away on a business trip. Our three kids moved out years ago. I look forward to seeing Esther again.”

Holly closed her phone, entered Beth's address into the GPS system, and headed to the checkout gate. She took a left onto the street, thanks to the GPS's directions. “Did I hear Beth right?” she asked Esther. “I thought you said you never met her.”

“Well, I guess, maybe. A couple of times. But my mother acts like Beth's part of the Gingerich family.”

“That's good, because we're spending the night at Beth's house.”

Esther stared out the front window, like Holly was taking her to meet the principal to be suspended from school.

“Come on, Mom, we're here. It's what you wanted, isn't it?” She swerved onto a highway entrance. “What's wrong?”

Esther could tell Holly was furious she'd been forced to call Beth, a complete stranger, and beg for lodging. What would Beth think of Esther, the footloose daughter who'd danced off to become a hippie, and who never returned? Not even for her father's funeral. A woman who didn't know her own siblings; they were strangers to her. Esther dressed and spoke like an outsider now—an Englischer.

She dreaded the next day. The day of reckoning, she thought, not knowing what the phrase entailed. God's punishment on earth?

Holly aimed the car past hotels and factories, heading them west, traversing graceful hills. Esther felt a comforting warmth gathering in her chest, like recognizing an old friend, until she glanced over to see Holly's severe features, her mouth hard.

An hour later, after switching roads, they passed a golf course where a farm used to stand. In windy gusts, the rain slanted across a posh strip of car dealerships and a discount outlet Esther had never seen before.

The GPS's female voice instructed Holly to turn right, directing them northwest. The downpour increased, slapping down in sheets, puddling at the side of the road, beating upon harvested cornfields. Globules of water flung themselves at the windshield. Holly turned up the wiper blades; they flashed like daggers.

“I'll never complain about Seattle's weather again,” she said. “This is awful.”

“Can you see all right?” Esther asked, listening to raindrops clattering against the car's roof. “Are you sure we're going the right way?”

“Yes, according to this device. See? It's like a map.”

In the blackened car, Esther examined the GPS's screen and saw undulating colored lines that must represent highways and names of towns she couldn't read without her glasses.

“Look!” Holly pointed out the windshield. “There's a horse and buggy on the road right along with the cars in this wretched weather.”

“Be careful,” Esther said, as if she had any right to tell Holly how to drive after spending a lifetime as a passenger. “My dat, your grandfather, died in a buggy accident. A truck hit him.”

“How horrible.”

“I'm sure it was. After all these years I can't bear to think of it.” As a child, Esther had witnessed a buggy collision on the Ronks Road near Bird-in-Hand, the gruesome scene forever etched in her memory. The driver and his wife died. “If only there were a way to reinvent the past.”

Holly let up on the gas pedal and reached over to briefly take Esther's hand. “You and I both lost our fathers too young. But at least you got to know yours as a child and had a chance to say good-bye to him at his funeral.”

“Yes. I knew him as a girl. He was a strict but hardworking, diligent man.” She couldn't bear to mention she didn't learn of Dat's death until weeks after his funeral, via Mamm's forwarded letter. Esther hadn't shown that pitiful tearstained note to Holly the other night.

Folding her hands in her lap, Esther's head fell back against the headrest. All is in your hands, God Almighty, she thought. She'd raised a child alone and owned a business. She was here to see her mother by choice. Why did she feel so helpless?

The traffic—cars, trucks, a tractor with rubber tires, RVs—grew less dense, and the rain lightened to a drizzle. Holly switched the wipers to the intermittent setting. She slowed the car to what Esther figured was the legal speed limit.

The deciduous trees—oaks, birch, maples, and elms—growing on either side of the road had discarded much of their foliage, allowing Esther to peer into the landscape to see a newly constructed Englisch housing development with streetlamps. Dozens of homes used electricity; incandescent lightbulbs brightened the porches and yards. A half a mile further, a recently built high school stood next to a sports stadium.

Approaching from the other direction, Esther spotted a pinto, much like the mare Samuel's family once owned, pulling an enclosed gray buggy driven by a man wearing a straw hat. The driver looked to be about Samuel's age when he and Esther skipped town.

She cracked the window and inhaled the aroma of damp pavement and soil. Her mind reeled with remorse and longing.