Plain Jayne (7 page)

Ida drove herself home shortly after dinner. Even before the sky quite darkened, the children quieted, and before I knew it, everyone headed for bed.

At nine thirty.

Hadn't gone to bed so early since middle school.

After an unsuccessful attempt at sleep, I booted up my laptop. A message bubble informed me that no wireless networks were in range.

Somehow, I was not surprised.

I transcribed a few of the day's conversations and events for use in the future article. Played a couple hands of solitaire. Moved on to Minesweeper when it was time to relax, and then powered down the machine.

I burrowed under layers of quilts. Wished I had an electric blanket.

Sat up straight when a light flashed into my room.

Several irrational explanations fought for first place.

Maybe Ida had left something, and the lights were her car's headlights.

Maybe Levi was coming to tell me something. I dismissed that idea as soon as I'd thought of it—for Pete's sake, I wasn't fifteen anymore.

There could be robbers of some sort, but unless they were after the giant milking equipment or Martha's cast-iron cookware, I couldn't think of anything worth stealing.

And I doubted the resale value on cast-iron cookware made the effort financially viable. Cattle? Were cattle rustlers outside my window?

The light flashed again. I rolled out of bed, staying close to the ground. Glad I was a brunette and not a light-reflective blonde, I raised my head until I could just see out.

A man was outside with a flashlight. Okay, an Amish man, but an Amish man hanging around outside with a flashlight didn't seem that safe, either.

My heart stopped when I saw him reach toward the window next to mine.

Sara's window.

I pulled a quilt around my shoulders and whipped out to the hallway, the protective moves I'd learned in Joely's self-defense class playing through my mind.

I could have at least brought a heavy shoe as a weapon
, I thought before turning the knob on Sara's door.

The opening door revealed the young woman, sitting at the window. “Get down!” I ordered, all but tackling her to the ground. “There's a man outside!”

“No,” Sara said, her voice hushed but firm. “There's none but David Zook outside.”

I tilted my head to see David Zook peering at us through the window.

The “male lurker” was about seventeen, confused, frightened, and in need of a good haircut.

“What's he doing skulking around?” I asked, gesturing wildly at the window while vaguely aware of my fleeting dignity. “And pointing his flashlights at people's windows in the dead of night?”

Oh yeah, and never mind that this particular “dead of night” landed two hours before I usually went to bed.

“David is my…” Sara's eyes darted to the window and back at me. “He's my, um…”

“Gentleman caller?”

“Boyfriend,” she spat the word out. “He's picking me up for a date.”

I felt a headache coming on. “You knew he was coming?”

She nodded.

“Okay, whatever.” I turned around and walked to the door. “Just remember,” I said before making it out the room, “ninety-two percent of female murder victims were killed by men they knew.”

I doubted this kind of thing ever happened to Seymour Hersh.

I dreamed about aliens that night. They landed in front of the farmhouse, their flashing saucer lights causing everyone concern. Shane captained the ship, although the aliens had trouble communicating with him. Instead of the helm, Shane stayed in the party area of the ship, where the aliens served orange fizzy drinks and made
Star Wars
references.

They clapped to an odd kind of rhythm with their webbed alien hands. At some point, I realized I wasn't listening to the clapping of extraterrestrials but someone knocking at my door. I sat up and reevaluated my surroundings. The tiniest hint of morning light was peeking through the windows.

The knock sounded at my door again. I shook my head to clear it. “Come in.”

Sara poked her head in. “Could I come sit?”

I waved her in. “Sit.” My mouth tasted awful. I yearned for an orange Tic Tac. “What's up?”

“I told David to be more careful with his flashlight,” she said, pulling lint off her apron. “The boys always come to the girls' windows after everyone goes to bed. That's how we have dates. That's how my parents had dates.”

“Your parents are perfectly fine with you crawling out of windows with boys they don't know?” My parents would have had joint hernias, and before this conversation I would have considered them
less
conservative than Gideon and Martha.

“Oh, they know David.”

“Do they know you're together?”

“No.”

“How many girls come home pregnant?”

Sara's eyes widened. “None that I know.”

I wondered how many she didn't know about, but I kept that question to myself. “I'm sorry if I startled you last night.”

She giggled. “David might not come back.”

“I'm truly sorry,” I repeated.

“There are other boys,” she said, with a shrug that was almost coy.

I played along. “Oh?”

“There is Milo Stutzman. And Henry Mullet.”

I pressed my lips together to ensure a serious response. “You have choices.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about your grandmother,” I said, swinging my feet around. The floor was freezing. “Why does she have a car?”

“Grandma is Mennonite.”

“Oh.”

“She joined the Mennonite church when I was little, she and my grandfather.”

“And your family still has contact with them?” I didn't say, “unlike Levi,” but she caught my meaning.

“They joined a Mennonite church. Because they did that, we could still see them. Not Grandpa anymore, though. He passed on. But Levi joined a Baptist church. Our bishop didn't accept it.”

“But the Mennonite church is acceptable?”

She nodded.

“Do you miss your brother?”

Sara nodded again. “Very much. Everyone thought he would marry Rachel Yoder. I heard that she wouldn't leave with him. Levi wouldn't talk about it.”

“How often do you see him?”

She shrugged. “When my dad's not home, he'll come visit. Sometimes…” she leaned in closer, “I visit him in town.”

“Really?” I couldn't hide my surprise.

“At the shop?”

Sara gave a secret smile. “Grandma takes me.”

Ida was more of a rebel than I'd given her credit for. “So he's stayed in touch with your grandmother too?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone but Dad.”

“Your dad's angry?”

“Hurt, I think. But it's not my place to question.”

At that moment my stomach gave a long, loud commentary on the state of its condition.

Empty.

“I think I'm ready for breakfast. You?”

Sara grinned, and the rest of the day began.

I
called Levi after breakfast, using the cell number he'd given me earlier. “Your grandmother drives a car and your sister sneaks out at night,” I said. “There's so much you didn't tell me.”

“Is everything okay? Are they treating you well?”

“They're fine so far. Why didn't you warn me that things between you and your dad were weird?”

“If I tried to warn you about every family struggle, we'd be talking for a very long time.”

“Oh. Well, then. Anything else you want to fill me in on while you've got me on the phone?”

He sighed. “My mother is wary of outsiders. Amos and Elam rarely speak to me if they have a choice.”

“Why the tension between you and your dad?”

“It's complicated.”

“Try.”

“Cutting me off is the Amish version of tough love. The reasoning is that if I'm separated from everybody, I'll eventually relent and return.”

“But you aren't separated from everybody. Your mom and your sisters talk to you. Ida too.”

“They figured out I had no intention of returning, ever. I think my mom decided she still wanted me as a son.”

“That's good, I suppose.”

“And as for Sara sneaking out, that's how they date.”

“She told me. Still doesn't make sense to me.”

“Imagine having seven or more siblings teasing you about the guy you're dating.”

I winced. “Good point.”

After breakfast, the younger children went to school, the men went to work, and I shadowed Sara with her chores. The Burkholder household attained a level of clean I doubted I could ever aspire to. We scrubbed the floors before moving on to the laundry.

Never again would I take washing clothes for granted—Sara and I had to start their washer using the gas generator. To dry the clothes, we pinned them to a line of twine strung across the washroom. “If we hang them outside in the wet, they'll turn colors and smell bad.”

“I'll bet,” I said, pinning the shoulder of one of the boys' shirts. “Mildew is gross.”

“Mildew?”

“They get greenish-grayish patches?”

“Yes.”

“That's mildew.”

“What is it?”

A part of me wondered how on earth she didn't know about mildew, and then I reminded myself that she'd stopped attending school at fourteen. “Like mold. It's a fungus—it starts out with spores and it likes to grow in warm, damp environments.”

“Spores?”

I bit my lip, thinking of how to phrase it in a way she'd understand. “Fungus seeds.”

“Fungus seeds,” she repeated, mulling over the concept. “I understand.”

“And they're nasty to get out of clothes. I lost a load of towels that way—left them in the washer. Stank so bad.”

She pinned up a dark dress. “You talk like Levi.”

“How so?”

“You both seem to understand the world better. You've learned things. Gone to school.”

I wanted to tell her she could go to school too. I mean, there had to be some sort of program that would help her catch up, wouldn't there?

But I didn't think today was a good day to make waves in the family. “You can learn things outside of school.”

“I've learned everything I can here,” she said.

The bitterness in her voice took me aback. “Do you want to learn more?”

She seemed to catch herself. “I want to learn how to be a better person. To serve my community, to serve God.”

I shrugged. “I'm probably not the best person to talk to when it comes to God, but my guess is that it's possible to learn and serve at the same time.”

“Maybe in the English world,” Sara said, pinning the last pair of pants to the line with a kind of sad finality. “In the Amish world, there is only serving.”

“We're going to Grandma's,” Sara told me that afternoon. “There is room for you to come if you like.”

“I'd love to.” I put down the laundry I'd been folding. “What's going on at Ida's?”