Plain Jayne (12 page)

I'd come through the pie and the following emergency with a certain grace, but seeing Levi caused my heart to pound.

“How long have you been there?” I demanded.

“Long enough,” he said, his smirk answering my question.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?”

“I didn't want to startle you while you were firefighting.”

“Thanks.”

“Where's my mom?”

“Chasing a pig and taking too long.”

“She likes you,” he said, replacing the smirk with a smile.

“How can you tell?”

“She trusts you with pie.”

“Good to know. So you came down to give me a hard time?”

“Yes. And I have your car.”

“As long as you've done something useful.”

“Keys?” He held out a familiar-looking set of car keys.

I took them and dropped them in my apron pocket. “Thanks. Everything go okay with Kim?”

“Yes,” he said, but another answer flashed in his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Your boyfriend is Shane?”

I chewed my lip. “Yes…”

“He came for your mail. That's what he told Kim.”

“Okay.”

“I don't think he was happy to see me.”

Not really, no. “I wouldn't take it personally. How's Kim?”

He shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

Huh. “She's one of my best friends,” I said. “She's brilliant. Great instincts.”

“Good for her.”

“And she's pretty. Don't you think she's pretty?”

Levi sighed and leaned against the wall. “I'm not interested in Kim, if that's what you're hinting at.”

“Well, you should be. She's a catch.”

“I'm sure she is.”

“You should be so lucky.”

“Jayne—” He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he must have changed his mind. “Never mind.”

“Thanks for getting my car. It was a huge help.”

He gave a small smile. “You're welcome. Anytime.”

There are buffet restaurants with less food than at an Amish barn raising. Tables had been set up thirty feet from the charred barn. Pies upon pies stretched nearly as far as the eye could see. The sky threatened rain, but this group seemed to hold back the emptying of the heavens out of sheer will.

“How often do you guys do this?” I asked Sara as we carried food items to the tables.

She shrugged. “As often as we need to. Usually not till summer. We don't get many fires this time of year.”

“Makes sense. Thanks for my dress, by the way.”

Her face lit up. “Do you like it?”

“I do. It seems like it hangs really well.”

“It's because I cut it on a bias. That's why there's a seam down the middle—if you look at the weave, it forms a V-shape when it's sewn together.”

“Clever.” I set the pork down on the table. “How's that?”

“Fine.”

“Do we have to carve it?”

“The men will.”

“You really like sewing, don't you.”

Her face grew still, and she looked as though she chose her words carefully. “I understand fabric and the way it covers people. I understand it the way Levi understands wood.”

“Do you think you would ever want to work with fabric outside the community, the way Levi does?”

“I think there's another pie in the buggy—I'll go get it,” she said, her words coming out in a panicked jumble.

She all but ran back to the field of parked buggies.

I felt like Kelly McGillis in
Witness
, walking around and watching men sweat, move beams, and pound nails.

Except there was no Harrison Ford or that other blond guy vying for my attention. And that was okay with me, because I'd come to the conclusion that there were too many men in my life right now.

Personal life aside, I focused my attention on the structure taking shape before my eyes. What would it be like to live in a community where everyone took care of each other? When my dad died, my mom had the reception catered. I had the feeling that here, she would have been swimming in custard and cobbler.

One year a coastal storm blew a tree into our kitchen. We had to leave it until the insurance man came out; contractors arrived two weeks later. What would it have been like if the neighbors had come over with their tools and gotten the job done?

On the other hand, the din was incredible. Aside from the gaggle of men constructing the new barn, another group tore the old one down, piling the burnt and damaged wood near the road. The scene looked and sounded like a battle, builders versus breakers.

I tracked down Leah and Elizabeth, who were playing with the other children mercifully far away from the noise. Two sets of sticks had been driven into the ground, turning an otherwise ordinary field into a soccer
stadium for the kids. Leah and Samuel, in particular, could boast of FIFA-worthy feet. I'd never seen kids move like that.

Not that I was a soccer aficionado of any kind, but I'd watched enough with Shane to know what did and didn't constitute ability. If these were any other kids, they'd be recruited out of high school to play nationally. Not these children, though. At some point, they would put down the soccer ball and turn to adult responsibilities full-time. But wasn't it better that way? I'd known scores of people from school who dreamt of the rock star or pro-baseball player life, but whose careers never made it further than the video rental store. These kids were realistic, or at least their parents were.

Were they losing anything by having fewer opportunities? Or did their lessened options serve their purpose?

I mulled the thought in my head as I watched the ball travel up and down the field.

“Jayne?”

I jumped, nearly dropping my laptop. I looked up at Sara. “You have very quiet feet.”

“Can I show you something?”

“Of course.”

“In my room?”

“Okay.” I closed the lid to my laptop and followed her.

When we were inside her room, she shut the door and spent another moment with her ear pressed to the doorframe. Once she decided the coast was clear, she walked across the room and stamped her heel.

At least it looked like a heel stamp, but her foot went right through the floor, revealing a loose board. She got on her hands and knees before retrieving what looked like a stack of magazines.

“Yes,” she said, laying the pile on the bed.

I took a closer look. There were catalogs for JCrew and Anthropologie, as well as copies of
InStyle
and
Vogue
.

“Yes to what?” I asked.

“Your question.”

“Which one?”

“The one about me and Levi being the same.”

I
lowered my voice, not wanting my questions or Sara's revelations to be overheard. “You would leave?”

Sara clasped her hands around her knees. “I would think about it.”

“What would you do?”

“Go to school. Become a clothing designer.”

“Really.” I sat back on the bed. “Where do you get these?”

She looked down. “Sometimes I get them when I go to town. Sometimes Levi gets them for me.”

I tried to picture builder Levi, motorcycle-riding Levi, purchasing a copy of
Vogue
.

Nope. Couldn't get there.

But Sara as a fashion designer? Couldn't get there, either. “When did you start getting interested in—”

“We would go into town, and the women would be wearing such beautiful colors. Not just blues and greens and purples, but reds and pinks and yellows. I could tell by the cut of their clothes which ones were more flattering and why. And,” she said, reaching to the bottom of the stack, “I have these.”

She held a sketchpad.

“May I look?”

She nodded.

The sketches were very well done. Even I could tell that. Sara's designs showed a creative use of lines and a good eye for color. I would have expected an Amish girl to design dresses with high necklines and low hemlines, but these weren't. “I can see Gemma in this one.”

“Gemma?”

I lowered the sketchbook. “Friend of mine, back home.”

Sara pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to herself. “What's it like choosing what to wear from a hundred options every day?”

“I don't have a hundred, although Gemma probably does. I don't know. It's hard sometimes to choose.”

Sara looked skeptical. “Really?”

“Usually I throw things on and don't think about them much, but I've known Gemma to be twenty minutes late because she couldn't decide on an outfit.”

“But you don't?”

“Well, most of my clothes are black. Matching isn't hard at that point. Gemma has shoes that match sweaters, and bags that match pants, and skirts that match earrings. Dressing like Gemma is complicated.”

“I want to meet her.”

I smiled. “Maybe I can get her to come down.”

“I hate wearing black. I don't like blue, either.”

“What do you like?”

“Yellow. Purple. Orange. Bright green. Pink.”

“Hopefully not together.”

She laughed at that. “No, not together. I like white too. Everything looks cleaner with white.”

“How would you leave?”

Sara bit her lip. “Levi would help me. I'd live with him for a while. Get my GED. Try to get into design school.” She shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I'll stay and be baptized here. My parents stayed.”

“Your grandparents left.”

“I don't know. Do you think it's possible to go to heaven, even if you're not baptized?”

“I—I'm not really the person to ask,” I stammered. “I haven't been to church in years.”

“But you went to church?”

“My dad was an elder.”

“You left the church?”

“I stopped going, yeah.”

“Do you worry about going to hell?”

“Do you?” I found it safer to deflect the question.

“Our bishop says the English don't go to heaven. I don't think Jesus was
Amish, though, and I don't think His disciples were. I think His disciples went to heaven.”

“I think so. So…do you think you could live apart from your family? You seem so connected.”

“I'd have Levi. And Grandma.”

“I don't see my mom and sister. Sometimes, I wish things were better.”

“Why don't you make them better?”

“It's complicated.”

“You should try to make things better.”

“Sometimes, people just get stuck. Why don't Levi and your dad talk?”

Before she could answer, footsteps sounded down the hallway. Before you could say “Spring Collection,” Sara snatched up her pile of contraband and stashed it safely under the flooring.