Leaving Lancaster (9 page)

The trunk Dat had made for her sat at the foot of her old bed; she recognized the headboard. Was the chest still packed with gifts for her future marriage?

Esther opened the trunk, its lid heavy in her hands, and recognized pillowcases, tablecloths, and a baby quilt, making her feel like a
Laus
—a louse. Was her diary buried at the bottom? The night she and Samuel ran away, she'd thought she'd sequestered the journal. But the first night on the road, after digging through her backpack, she couldn't find it. Her mother had probably discovered and read the diary, meaning Mamm knew she had worked part-time at the restaurant where tourists stared at her and that she'd pocketed her tips instead of giving the money to Dat. She'd even driven a car on a bet. Not to mention the many times she and Samuel sneaked off on Saturday nights, or stayed up until dawn after Sunday Singings. Esther could have listened to Samuel's pure tenor voice for hours and relaxed in his arms forever.

Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, Esther realized her mother had followed her upstairs and stood watching her.

“You should use this chest and linens,” Esther said.

Mamm leaned one shoulder and her head against the doorframe. “It's been waitin' for ya. I knew you'd come home eventually.”

“Mamm, I'm too old for a hope chest.”

“Nee. You're young compared to me, and still beautiful. Why did you never remarry?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I had a few men come round, but none could take the place of your father. Anyway, I had five sons to run the farm.” She sighed, her chest sinking and her volume decreasing. “Without you here, I was too busy for courtin'.” Hands on the doorframe, she turned and tottered toward her bedroom at the end of the hall.

Glad for a break, Esther closed the trunk and tiptoed downstairs. She padded outside onto the front porch and noticed a mare pulling a buggy, making her once again ponder Holly and Nathaniel's whereabouts.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Thank you, you've been most kind,” I said from my side of the buggy.

Was I flirting with Nathaniel? At home, I never gushed or inflated my praise. Just the opposite. What would friends think if they heard me carrying on?

“Before today, the closest I've come to a horse was riding a pony at the Woodland Park Zoo when I was seven or eight.” I glanced down at my hands, folded in my lap—also not like the usual me— holding my cell phone.

My vision caught sight of a goat pen. “I wish I knew more about livestock.”

“You can easily learn by doin'.” Was he referring to me—as in him and me—here on this farm? Fat chance. If only Nathaniel could see me dressed for work, speeding my car down the freeway, radio cranked up.

“I won't be here long,” I said. “We need to get back home. My mother owns a retail store and I've got to find a new job.”

“Plenty of jobs here.”

Brokerage houses? I thought, but didn't wish to hurt his feelings. Besides, he was growing better-looking by the moment, now that I could see past his beard and archaic hairdo. And he didn't seem like the kind of man who'd run out on a woman. He'd remained a widower for fifteen years after his spouse's death—a tad strange when he could have had a wife spreading a feast out on the table. And keeping him warm at night.

“I hear you've been a bachelor a long time,” I said. Mom would cringe. Since I'd been a kid, she'd advised me to count to ten before speaking, but I rarely did.

“You certainly ask a lot of questions.” He unhitched the horse from the buggy. “Say, you could help me out since you're here. How about brushing Galahad?”

“Me? Groom a horse? I guess, if you showed me how. He doesn't bite or kick does he?”

He guffawed. “Nah, he's a pussy cat. Most of the time.” He led the horse into a stall in the larger barn—the other stalls were empty. He replenished Galahad's water and poured a scoopful of oats into his trough.

I scanned the barn's spacious, tidy interior, and inhaled the dusty aroma of hay. Not bad. In fact, I wouldn't mind hanging out here.

“I should let you get back to work,” I said. “I've taken you away from Uncle Isaac. He's probably miffed. Don't want him sending Mom and me packing.”

“'Tis too late now. I have my own chores. But, as I said, you could brush Galahad. He needs it, for sure.”

“Okay, if you'll give me a lesson.”

Nathaniel fetched a currycomb and demonstrated how to brush the horse. Then he handed it to me and I lazily stroked Galahad's neck and shoulders—Nathaniel called them
withers
. I enjoyed every moment.

“That's good. No need to be
naerfish
—nervous.” Nathaniel said.

Dad's image came to mind—a fuzzy picture at age eighteen. If he'd stayed here, he would have embraced this life and I might have siblings galore. I'd be the oldest, like Mom was. Would I have left home? I didn't think so, not with my father loving and encouraging me.

I felt my blood pressure and my shoulder muscles relax for the twenty-five minutes I brushed Galahad's silky coat. Lavishing the horse with attention, I removed bits of dirt, loose hair, and debris. I had no idea so much effort went into grooming, but I luxuriated in the job. Maybe when I got home I'd work in a stable instead of a brokerage.

I stayed my hand for a moment. What was I thinking? I needed to climb back on the stock market saddle and resurrect my career.

Nathaniel returned carrying a pitchfork and leaned it against the wall. He looked the horse over. “
Des gut
.” He pointed out a side door to a gate across the paddock. “Time to put him out and get you back to your family.”

I was proud of my grooming accomplishment, but Nathaniel didn't remark on my fine job. Or thank me. I guessed brushing horses was an everyday occurrence around here. Nothing out of the ordinary. Like me. Ho-hum.

My toes felt damp. I looked down at my mud-covered shoes. “What a doofus. Why did I wear these?”

“I keep extra work boots in the backroom, belongin' to my daughters,” Nathaniel said. “Sorry, I should have offered them earlier.”

“Not your fault.” I was curious to hear about his daughters. Were they my age?

While we were in the barn, the sky had brightened to a cobalt blue. With me on the other side of the horse, Nathaniel led Galahad out of the barn to the pasture and opened the gate. A young goat captured my attention with a high-pitched “Ma-a-a-a.”

Nathaniel unbridled Galahad and the horse's head jerked. He arched his forceful neck, his luxurious mane flashing, startling me. Back-stepping, one of my heels sank into a patch of mud. I slid a few inches. My arms swung out to counter-balance my weight, but to no avail. My second foot flew out like a toboggan on an icy slope.

I hovered midair for an instant before my rump landed with a splat onto spongy slush. My palms sank in up to my wrists.

“Oh, no!” Mud covered my rear and hands. A swearword I hadn't uttered since high school almost escaped from my mouth, but fortunately I contained my temper. Nathaniel would not appreciate foul language. And his approval mattered to me, I realized.

“What a klutz.” I chuckled, but wanted to cry.

He secured the gate, then turned to me. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

“Easy for you to say.” I felt moisture seeping through my jeans. “I can't go back like this.”

Springing to my feet too quickly, I slipped again, this time floundering forward onto my knees. “Now look at me!” I'd never been such a mess.

He let out a belly laugh. “Maybe I can help. My daughters left extra clothes upstairs in their old rooms. They won't mind if you borrow them.”

“Sure, why not?” When in Rome.

He walked me to the porch and into a utility room. “I'll be right back,” he said, and loped through the kitchen. He returned minutes later with a towel, a long sapphire-blue dress, and a black apron, and set them on the kitchen table. By this time I was shivering.

He fetched a shopping bag for my mucky garments. “'Ta give ya privacy I'll be in the barn,” he said, handing it to me.

Ditching my drenched shoes and socks, I wiped my feet on the mat and entered the kitchen barefoot, feeling the cool linoleum floor.

During our buggy ride, I'd noticed a woman walking barefoot and had contemplated giving up shoes for the rest of our visit. I'd toss my orthotics away.

Looking around the kitchen, I saw a rectangle table with six chairs and a kerosene lamp in the center. No decorative touches—only an outdated stove, a refrigerator, and built-in cabinets. The kitchen didn't smell enticing like Grandma Anna's. What did single Amishmen feed themselves? I was tempted to peek in his refrigerator, but needed to clean up first.

I wriggled my legs out of my jeans; they felt like a second skin. I hoped Grandma Anna could clean the mud out with her decades-old washing machine I'd noticed in her utility room. Then, would my clothes hang on the line on the front porch for all the world to see?

I changed into the dress and smock, not sure how to fasten the waist. I called out the back door and asked Nathaniel for instructions.

“My daughters use straight pins,” he said from afar. “I left them on the counter.”

Was he pulling my leg? Careful as I was, I jabbed myself several times inserting them. Why not a zipper, buttons, or Velcro?

Finally clad much like Greta and my grandma, I savored the aged fabric; it felt like velvet cascading against my legs. I liked my new—make that old—attire, even if it didn't flatter my figure. I thought of the Amish Shoppe and wondered why Mom never hung a dress in the store for customers to view.

I looked around for a mirror, but couldn't find one. I reminded myself no one cared about my appearance. Certainly not Galahad. Hey, I'd overcome a fear and groomed a horse.

I heard knuckles rapping on the back door.

“Nate?” a woman said, and I opened it.

A perplexed-looking Amish woman in her early twenties carrying a wicker basket full of baked goods—oatmeal cookies, cornbread, apple strudel—peered over my shoulder. “Is Nathaniel in?”

“He's outside, maybe in the barn.”

“Who are you?” Her stare traced my loose, mussed hair. Apparently one woman in the county cared what I looked like. And she was not amused.

“May I invite you in?” My mouth watered for a cookie or a bite of apple strudel.

“Nee, denki.” She twirled around and stomped down the steps. Over her shoulder she said, “Tell him Lizzie will come back later.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Esther sat on a wicker chair on the front porch where she hoped Mamm wouldn't find her. Her mother's questions had pounded down upon Esther's head like pellets of hail. She was thankful she'd avoided the most daunting: Why did you leave us and never return?

Esther wouldn't admit she didn't understand her actions herself, only that her survival seemed to depend on living as far away from her parents as possible. And when Mamm had asked about Esther's business, she couldn't bring herself to confess she owned a shop specializing in Amish goods imported from states other than Pennsylvania—a fact Mamm might take as a slap in the face.

Gazing down the road, she spotted a bearded man carrying a grocery bag walking with a barefoot younger woman. Was he escorting his daughter, as her Dat had insisted? Once Esther had reached puberty, Dat rarely let her out of his sight unless she was helping Mamm. He didn't trust her, and he turned out to be correct.

Rebel without a cause, Esther thought, recalling an old James Dean film about a defiant teenager. On a daredevil, reckless game of chicken, a young man tragically died.

She moved to the edge of the porch to get a better look. The couple was striding in her direction at a breezy clip. The woman wore a traditional midlength Amish dress and apron, no doubt a pattern passed on from generation to generation. Esther was surprised to see the young woman's cinnamon-brown hair was
schtruwwlich—
disheveled—not tucked into a traditional white cap.

The woman waved, wriggling her fingers, then giggled. No one but Holly laughed in that graceful free-and-easy way when she was happy, a mood Esther seldom enjoyed.

Esther stood, slack-jawed, as the two approached. She was flummoxed—unsure what to do.

“Holly, is that you?” Yes, she clearly recognized Holly with Nathaniel, but neither looked her way or answered.

She considered trotting down the stairs and sprinting over to them, but restrained herself. Holly wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. Why was her daughter in an Amish dress and apron?

Waiting, Esther wondered why no one had thought to include her on the buggy ride. Nah, she was thinking like a nitwit. A handsome man like Nathaniel—his posture confident, his shoulders broad—wouldn't wish to spend time with a woman in her late fifties, not when lovely Holly was available.

Esther's spine stiffened as she realized she was musing about Nathaniel's rugged good looks, the first man she'd considered attractive since she'd lost Samuel. Over the years, men had asked Esther out to lunch, dinner, or a movie, but she'd usually begged out. Today, she just might accept an invitation from Nathaniel. No, no, he'd never enter a movie theater. But he might dine in a restaurant.

What was happening? Had her mind gone haywire?

The front door swished open, and Esther turned to see Mamm bustle outside and descend the steps as Nathaniel and Holly came to a halt a few feet from her.

“Why, Holly, don't you look beautiful,” Mamm said.

Holly curtsied. “I had a slight accident.” She grinned at Nathaniel, who smiled back, like they shared an inside joke.

“On the way over, I made up several colorful scenarios,” Holly said. “But the truth is, I fell in the mud. I warned everyone I was a city gal.”

“And Nathaniel loaned you clean clothes?” Esther was not sure what riled her the most. “How very kind of him.” She forced a stingy smile, like she bestowed upon difficult customers who insisted on entering the shop after closing time.

Esther wondered if Nathaniel had set his eyes on Holly as a future bride. A widower would need a wife in this community. Someone to take care of him.

Nathaniel set down a brown sack. “Holly may keep my daughters' clothing.”

“At least through tomorrow,” Holly said. “Okay?”

“Yah.” He tipped his hat. “As long as ya like.”

“They suit her, ain't so?” Mamm said.

Esther felt ready to explode. “What on earth are you up to, Holly?” Esther's words grated through clenched teeth. “Pretending to be half-Englisch and half-Amish?”

“She looks
lieblich
—lovely.” Mamm lightly clapped her hands. “Now, we must find her a Kapp.”

Esther wouldn't mention the prayer cap sitting on her old dresser. Would Mamm entice Holly into trying it on? The first moment she had a chance Esther would hide it, that's what she'd do.

“Did you two enjoy your ride?” Mamm asked.

“Yes,” said Holly. “Absolutely.”

“And the covered bridge? Did ya like it?”

Nathaniel kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot. “We didn't make it that far.”

“I hear tell there are twenty-eight covered bridges in the county.” Mamm waggled her finger at Nathaniel, but her face displayed pleasure. “You can see one next time.”

“What took you so long, then?” Esther clamped her arms across her chest.

“Never you mind,” Mamm said. “Nathaniel, next time you owe Holly a ride to a bridge. I bet you don't find covered bridges in Seattle.”

“Or air that smells so sweet,” Holly said.

Mamm turned to Esther. “Have I told ya? My four other daughters-in-law are stoppin' by. It must be God's will, because I invited them before I even knew you and Holly would be here.”

Esther felt a crescendo of anxiety as she envisioned her brothers' wives scrutinizing her. Lancaster news spread like swarming bees. Mamm had probably gotten Greta to use the phone shanty to call everyone they knew. Esther could imagine the chatter flapping amongst the community. “She's like a fancy ghost back from the dead,” she could predict neighbors and relatives saying. “Samuel Fisher's parents will be mortified.”

Please, dearest God, not Samuel's parents, Esther prayed silently.

She found herself staring into Nathaniel's eyes. Their vision locked for a beat too long. Was he hoping to get acquainted with Esther so he could court Holly? No, an upright man like Nathaniel wouldn't marry an unbaptized non-Amish woman. But with Mamm's support he might attempt to convert Holly.

Esther looked away, forcing herself to admire the multistoried purple martin birdhouse in the yard, standing tall like an apartment building. Esther had always loved watching birds and listening to their trills and chirps, but at this moment they held no interest. All she cared about was going home—wherever that was.

“Grandma Anna?” Holly said.

“Please, call me Mommy Anna,” Mamm said.

“Okay. Mommy Anna.”

“That's better. Now, to complete your outfit, let's find you a prayer cap. I'd offer you Esther's, but she may still want it.” She turned to face Esther. “I notice you've kept your hair long.”

“Out of convenience.” Her hands reached back to make sure her hair hadn't loosened from its bun. No, it was secured in place.