Plain Jayne (5 page)

“Do you have extra for lunch?”

“I always have extra for lunch,” she answered, her eyes on me.

“This is Jayne Tate. Jayne, this is Martha.”

Martha looked from me to Levi, her eyes searching but guarded. “You are welcome in our home.”

I tried not to stare. She was dressed as I'd seen Amish women in photos—a long dark blue dress, black apron, and white kapp. Her feet were encased in black, lace-up shoes. Dark, itchy-looking stockings covered the visible part of her legs.

A small storm of footfalls thundered from the upper floor, and two little girls, an almost adolescent boy, and a teen girl descended the stairs. The youngest girls squealed Levi's name and ran for his legs. He hugged them both, calling them by name. The older two followed at a more dignified pace. That they knew him well was obvious.

“Jayne,” Levi said, continuing the introductions. “This is Sara—” he started with the teenager, “Samuel, Leah, and,” he picked up the littlest girl, “this is the oldest, Elizabeth.”

“I'm not the oldest!” Elizabeth squealed, revealing a missing front tooth. “I'm only five!”

“And they're all playing hooky from school today.”

Another round of giggles and disagreement. “It's grading day,” Leah said. “No school.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “They're all out of school and they're all having lunch with us.”

“You're staying for lunch!” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his shoulders, preventing him from putting her down.

But she had to get down anyway, because Martha ordered a group hand washing. Each child, except Sara, had a surprising amount of grime coating their fingers.

Lunch consisted of chicken potpies, cooked cabbage, rolls, stewed tomatoes, and sliced apples hidden under layers of brown sugar and oatmeal.

I enjoyed the potpie and decided that if I didn't think about the calories, they didn't count.

I ate a sparing amount of cabbage.

And avoided the tomatoes.

The rolls and apple dessert were divine—I knew Gemma would want the recipes.

I asked some questions about the farm and how the family spent their day. Martha gave simple, short answers. They began working at dawn and retired for the day around nine. The younger children attended school during the day while the older ones worked. Amos helped his father on the farm while Elam worked as a bricklayer in town. Sara made most of the family's clothes and mended on demand.

I tried to scribble down notes as I ate.

After the plates were cleared away, Martha showed me around the farm with the children following like ducklings. They ignored the rain and I tried to follow suit, even as the raindrops seeped into my clothing.

Once inside the barn, Samuel, Leah, and Elizabeth showed me the animals they took care of. Samuel had a pig, while Leah and Elizabeth watched over a pair of lambs. I could hear Levi mentioning something to Martha, but I couldn't make out the words.

We trudged back a few moments later. Levi hugged them all around. I shook Martha's hand and waved at the kids. Then Levi opened the truck door for me, and I climbed in. Samuel and Leah ran after the truck for a
little while, feet bare in the mud. Levi relaxed when they turned back to the farmhouse.

“I hate it when they do that,” he said with a sigh. “I don't think they really understand how dangerous cars can be.”

“Your truck is probably one of the only motorized vehicles that comes on their property.”

“Buggy accidents happen every year. They should know better.”

“How many accidents? I remember seeing reflectors and lights on the buggy in the…” Buggy barn? Garage? What did they call the buggy-storing shelter?

Levi didn't seem to notice my terminological confusion. “Lights and reflectors don't negate the fact that they're still unprotected on the road. Even motorcyclists wear helmets, and the wood buggies leave the Amish every bit as exposed as a biker. They may as well be walking down the highways.”

I didn't know what to say. “They seem to like you.”

Levi's hands began to fidget on the steering wheel. “I've known them for a long time.”

“Through your business?”

“No, before that. They're…my family.”

A
s Levi's words sank in, I felt myself stiff en. “Wow. Okay. Your family. Right. You see, in journalism school they teach us to begin with the most important information.”

“I know I should have explained earlier—”

“I don't know. Do you think that would have been helpful?”

I replayed scenes from lunch over and over in my head. Everything made sense now. I couldn't believe I hadn't picked up on it before now.

“I don't know why I didn't say anything.”

“Hey, your call. By the way, I'm actually a European royal. Sorry I didn't mention it earlier.”

“It took me years to get over the stigma of being ‘the Amish boy.' ”

“I was the elder's daughter. Didn't slow me down.”

I looked into his eyes. Levi had very nice eyes; I tried to remember if I'd noticed his eyes before. I caught myself before I continued down that mental road. He had lied to me. Well, he hadn't exactly lied to me, but he had deceived me, and I didn't much appreciate it.

Frankly, being a reporter, it was fairly embarrassing. That's what I got for not asking the right questions.

At Levi's suggestion, he and Grady grabbed some wood for a ramp and rolled my bike into the back of the pickup. I sat and waited for them, teeth chattering. My clothes had refused to dry, despite the fact that Levi turned the heat on until it felt like inner Qatar inside the cab.

Levi never complained.

He dropped me off at my hotel and helped me unload my bike. “I could arrange a time for you to interview my parents, if you're interested.”

I chewed on my lip. “I'll let you know.” Frankly, I was feeling pretty forgiving at the moment and I couldn't trust myself to be rational.

Inside my hotel room, I stripped off my work clothes and wished I'd brought my sweatpants. Instead, I made do with the softer clothes that I had, rolled up my pant legs and soaked my feet in the bathtub.

I called Shane while my toes turned lobster red.

“Jayne?” He sounded surprised. “Where are you?”

I was surprised to hear the amount of noise surrounding him. “In my hotel room. Where are you? It sounds like you're at a club.”

“Something like that. How's the story coming?”

I'm spending a lot of time with a guy you probably wouldn't like. “Fine. Taking some interesting turns. I miss you.”

“Yeah. Good. Good for you.”

Okay… “Can you hear me?”

“It's pretty loud in here. Can I call you back later tonight?”

“Okay,” I said, trying not to feel blown off.

He never called back.

I considered my options the next morning.

First, my absence from the paper was limited. I really did need to manage my time well, which meant I needed to use the resources I had instead of wasting time finding new ones.

And second, if I was going to use my existing resources, I needed to forgive Levi.

What a pain.

I took a shower and checked my phone afterward. Still no call from Shane. Where had he been the previous afternoon, anyway? He'd never been that much into the club scene…and usually when I called, I very nearly had his complete attention.

Unless he was watching a game. At that point, my only chances for conversation came at commercial breaks. Maybe.

Shane aside, I put away my pride and called Levi's shop.

Spencer answered the phone. “Albany Amish Woodcraft, how may I direct your call?”

“May I speak with Mr. Burkholder?” I asked, trying not to sound like myself.

“I can see if he's available,” Spencer replied. “May I tell him who's calling?”

I sighed on the inside. There was no avoiding it. “Jayne Tate.”

“Jayne?” The tone of his voice switched from phone automaton to best buddy. “When are you coming down here?”

“If you transfer me to Levi I'll be able to find out.”

“I can ask him for you. Wouldn't want to add to your stress level.”

“I'll live.”

Spencer gave a dramatic sigh and I heard a click before being transported into harpsichord land.

When Levi picked up, I heaved a sigh of relief. “I hate harpsichord.”

“Who is this?”

“This is Jayne. Tate. Sorry—you have harpsichord music playing while your listener is on hold. I hate harpsichord. Makes me want to jump off of things. Tall things. I'm rambling. I didn't mean to call and ramble.”

“Why did you call?” He didn't sound annoyed, only curious.

“I had a couple more questions for you. For the story.” “Oh. Does that mean you accept my apology?”

I wanted to find a way to skirt around answering that and came up blank. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice softening. “In that case, I can tell you that my mother called me this morning. Said she and my dad talked it over, and they've agreed to let you stay with them while you're working on your story.”

“Really?”

“I assured them that you wouldn't be bringing drugs or alcohol into their home. They're prepared to keep your bike in their shed, and when you need to charge your laptop—I'm assuming you have a laptop—you can bring it here.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“‘Thank you' should do it.”

“How much should I pay them? I mean, I'm not expecting free room and board.”

“My mom said something along the lines of thirty dollars a day.”

“I'm sorry…thirty?”

“Yes. They're very thrifty.”

I shrugged, not that he could tell over the phone. “Could I pad that a little more?”

“If you want. I wouldn't worry too much about it.”

My mind reeled. I'd never thought this trip would be saving me money. “Thirty?”

He chuckled. “Do you want me to tell them you'll come?”

“Yes, before they change their mind!” I said, and then I caught myself. I never meant to be so relaxed around Levi. It just happened.

“How soon do you want to go down? I'll drive. We can load your bike in the truck again.”

Was I ready? A part of me balked at leaving civilization behind. I knew journalists who had survived the difficulties of the Afghan desert, but while I stayed within American borders I expected a certain standard of living.

Electrical outlets. Wireless connections. That sort of thing.

“Do they have indoor plumbing?”

Levi laughed. “Some Amish families don't, but my parents do.”

“You think I'm a wuss.”

“I think you're normal.”

“I guess I should pack and check out…”

“Do you want me to drive you down?”

“Probably better that way.”

“Meet me at the shop?”

“Okay.”

“What time should I expect you?”

I checked my watch. “Half an hour? An hour? Something like that.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said.

And I believed him.