Plain Jayne (16 page)

“Haight Street,” Mike mumbled.

Gideon nodded. “That is a good joke. Would you like us to call someone for you?”

The boy fidgeted. He had to be awfully cold down there, considering the whole saggy-pant thing. “My sister.”

I retrieved my cell phone from the house and gave it to Mike to make the call. While we waited for her, Martha and Gideon helped Mike into the house and set him up by the stove. Martha clucked over his foot and wrapped it up with ice and a salve that smelled like the inside of the ton-ton from the Star Wars movie
The Empire Strikes Back.

Mike's sister showed up about a half hour later, looking as though she wanted to kill her brother with a pair of dull hedge trimmers. “You were out with Nate and Sean again, weren't you.”

Mike looked down. “They left.”

“Of course they did. How bad is it?” She gestured toward his purple, swollen foot.

“Probably broken,” Martha offered.

The sister reached for her purse. “Did he break, damage, or steal anything? Do you people take checks?”

Gideon held up a hand. “No need. He ain't hurt nothing but himself. Take him to a doctor—it'll be all right.”

She tried to argue, but Gideon wouldn't budge. They helped Mike to the waiting car.

I think Martha gave them a loaf of zucchini bread on the way out.

When the headlights disappeared down the road, the three of us went back to our respective rooms.

Sara, Elam, and Amos stood in the hallway, concern covering their faces. Gideon spoke a few words in Dutch; everyone returned to bed.

I lay in bed, trying to sleep, not able to get the evening's events out of my head.

How could Gideon be so gentle, so gracious, so
forgiving
of Mike the hoodlum and yet refuse to have a relationship with his law-abiding, talented son? Levi's only crime was to leave the community and join a church with instruments. Mike had taken the family's main form of transportation and was caught removing one of their horses, and still he had received patience and kindness.

Why was Levi held to such a different standard? Wasn't he, as Gideon's son, worthy of a certain amount of grace?

I drove into town the next morning, citing the deadness of my laptop and cell batteries. Truth be told, it felt good to put on normal clothes and head toward civilization. I picked up Starbucks on the way in, filling a tray with an assortment of drinks and carbohydrates.

“Jayne!” Spencer's eyes lit up when I entered the office. “Nice of you to drop by.”

“Hi, Spencer. I brought coffee for everybody. Did I bring enough?”

“More than. I think Levi's here somewhere—want me to get him?”

“Yes, please. I need to plug in my computer and phone—all my batteries are dead. This,” I gave the tray a tap, “is my thank-you present.”

“We feel thanked. Hold on.”

He disappeared behind the shop door. Levi stepped through a moment later, followed by Grady.

“Hi, Jayne. How are things?”

“They're fine,” I said, wondering what Spencer had told him. Knowing Spencer, it could be anything. “I really need to charge my laptop batteries. Do you mind if I plug in and hang around a while?”

Was it me or did the three of them brighten? “I brought coffee for everyone,” I added.

“You're our new favorite person,” Levi said. “Everyone's been dragging today. Do you want to come back to my office?”

“Sure,” I said, not particularly wanting to be Spencer's verbal sparring partner while I worked. “If I'm not in your way.”

Spencer didn't say a word as I headed down the hall with Levi. A quick glance revealed his face stuffed with scone.

Which was, in fact, the root of my intentions with the Starbucks trip.

“How are things with my family?” Levi asked, sorting through some papers and desk bric-a-brac to make space for me.

I sighed and relayed the events from the previous night.

“Have they said how they are planning to bring the buggy back?” he asked when I finished.

“No.”

“I have a hitch on my truck. If it worked for the boys, I don't see any reason why it wouldn't work for me.”

“Wouldn't you have to drive awfully slow?”

“I learned to drive a buggy before I learned to drive a car. I'm not a complete stranger to driving slow.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How many speeding tickets did you get after you left?”

“Don't ask.”

“What made you leave the community?”

“I wanted to go to school.”

“That was all?”

He shrugged. “It was time.”

“You know Sara wants to leave.”

“Did she tell you?”

“She showed me her sketches.”

“Do you mind taking back some contraband? I've got a stack for her.”

“What are you going to do if she decides to leave?”

“Help.”

“You don't think she should stay?”

“I think it's up to her. If she makes the decision to leave, I'll support her.”

“And if she decides not to go back?”

“That's up to her too.”

“Will your dad cut her off as well?”

“I don't know. Probably. I don't know how many children he'd have to lose before he changed.” Levi shrugged. “It's who he is, who he was raised to be.”

“You were raised the same way.”

“Mostly. Everyone's different. Is this enough space for you?” He pointed at the tidy desktop.

“I'm game.”

“I'll let you work, then. Want to try to get the buggy with me afterward?”

“Sure.”

He grinned. It was such an engaging grin, I didn't mind the prospect of driving at fifteen miles per hour, towing a buggy behind us.

I
checked my email in the quiet of Levi's office. There were the usual memos about sundry office happenings but nothing life altering. Then I poked around online, catching up on current events.

Bombings, earthquakes, corporate shenanigans…life seemed so much easier on the Burkholder farm.

Granted, the previous evening's events with Mike weren't exactly a picnic. But in relation to world destruction, the attempted horse theft didn't amount to much.

I pulled up my word processor, discovering that if I was careful I could still type with my left hand. I wrote about life at the Burkholders', learning to bake and sew, and my experience with Naomi's children.

Then there was my confusion over how to deal with Sara.

The part of me that grew up in the English world wanted to support her to be all that she could be, to believe in herself, dream big, stretch her horizons, reach for the stars—all of those cheesy sayings found on motivational posters.

But another part of me recoiled at the thought. I wanted to remind her she was Amish and, because of that, above the English desire to live life in the fast lane. Sara had a family who loved her, who would surround her with strength and love and food for the rest of her life.

Maybe that was it—the idea that being Amish set Sara and her family at a different standard. They were the last bastions of a nonconsumer existence so foreign to those of us who complained of being sucked into the rat race.

I don't think I was alone in that belief. The Amish clearly held themselves to a very high standard of behavioral expectations. Leaving their way of life was not included.

Gideon could forgive Mike because he expected Mike to behave badly, being English. It was his nature. But Levi…Levi was raised to join the church and follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather.

A knock interrupted my thoughts. “Do you have a moment?” Levi's head appeared in the doorway.

My hands froze on the keyboard.

It really is awkward when the person you're writing about walks in. “What's up?”

“I need an opinion in the shop.”

I closed the lid to my laptop. “Yeah?”

“There's a sideboard I'm working on and…well, you'll see. Put these on.” He handed me a pair of safety glasses.

“I don't know why you'd want my opinion,” I said as I followed him. “Design isn't really my thing.”

“Do you own a Star Trek uniform?”

“No…”

“Then you're more qualified than one of the people I would have asked.”

“Grady?”

“Spencer.”

I squeezed my eyes shut as the visual flooded my imagination. “Wow.”

“He goes to the conventions and everything.”

“May he live long and prosper.”

The shop was just as loud as I remembered. Bits of dismembered—or preassembled, I supposed—furniture littered the expanse of the space. A heavy layer of sawdust coated the floor.

“It's over here,” Levi said, pointing toward the corner.

The sideboard stood six feet tall, and though it was clearly unfinished, the wood gleamed. “It's beautiful.”

“It's a commission piece,” Levi said, running his hand over the side. “The client was specific about some parts, but not the side shelves.”

I examined the side shelves. The ones in the center were long, with short rows of shelves on either side. “Okay.”

“I want to put a glass cabinet-cover over the side shelves.”

“Can you do that?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Yes…”

“I mean, is that Amish? Do the Amish do glass?” I tried to think of instances of glass in the Burkholder furniture.

“Sometimes they do. Our customers aren't exactly Amish purists, though.”

“No?”

“People read ‘Amish' as code for ‘quality wood furniture of simple construction.'”

“I think people read ‘Amish' as a lot of things.”

“You're probably right.”

“So what did you need my advice for?”

“You agree that the glass would look nice?”

My hand stroked the smooth wood. “Yeah. I think it would look great.”

“I've got a few kinds of glass over here…”

“Aside from the breakable kind?”

He rolled his eyes. “Different patterns. Some with a bit of tint to them.”

I tilted my head. “I don't think you'd want color. The wood is so pretty, you wouldn't want to take away from that.”

“It is good wood.”

“What kind is it?”

“Walnut with a hand-oiled finish.”

“It's beautiful.”

“Thank you. Want to see the glass?”

He showed me panes of glass, and we talked about the merits and detractions of each one. In the end we picked water glass for the rim of the cabinet, with plain glass on the inside. Levi explained how he would use silver solder and place the glass insets into the finished piece. “Want to help?”

I jumped back a foot. “No, no, that's fine.”

He laughed. “Why not?”

One of the other guys in the shop started a saw and I jumped again. “You know…saws…blades…death…not really my thing. Besides, I have a sprained wrist.”

“It's your left wrist, and the swelling's going down. You still have your right wrist. I'll help.”

“I don't think so…”

“You ride a motorcycle but won't try carpentry?”

My back stiffened. I knew what he was doing, and I wouldn't let him win. “I know how to ride a motorcycle. I don't know how to use power tools.”

“I do. I'll help.”

“I'm wearing safety gear when I ride.”

“I wear safety gear when I work. You're wearing safety gear right now,” he said, pointing at my goggles.

“Building isn't my thing.”

“But you're a reporter. Reporters try new things. Weren't you baking something last week?”

“Baking is different.”

“How?”

“It's hard to lose a finger while baking.”

“I won't let you lose a finger.”

“What if I suddenly spaz out toward the moving blade? How would you stop that?”

“Why would you?”

“Seizure.”

“Do you have a history of seizures?”

I straightened. “Not yet. I might.”

“You might develop a history of seizures?”

“You never know.”

He shrugged. “It's okay if you don't want to. I just thought you might want to try something new, you know, being a reporter.”

He was good.

He was very good. “You wouldn't let me lose a finger?”

“Nope.”

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “If anything happens, I'm blaming you.”

“I would be surprised if it were otherwise.” He smiled. “I have sisters. Are you ready?”

“Sure.” I exhaled.

As patient as if I were ten, Levi helped me pick an appropriate piece of wood to cut into frame pieces. After I chose a piece, he helped me line it up under the table saw.

My face was in a permanent flinch as I made the cuts, but all of my digits remained in their original locations. They even remained after I cut the angles and finished the matching pieces for the opposite door.