Shadows of Lancaster County (13 page)

The story actually began when Bobby and I were just children.

Though we lived with our parents in Hidden Springs, we often visited our grandparents in Dreiheit. They owned a gorgeous old stone home on about five rolling acres there, and as children Bobby and I loved to explore the grounds and play with Grete and Lydia Schumann, the Amish sisters who lived next door with their parents and grandparents and baby brother, Caleb. Their whole family was just so different, so sweet, that I used to come home from our visits there and try to talk my parents in becoming Amish too.

Our grandmother died of cancer the year I was twelve and Bobby was fourteen. Her illness had been so prolonged that her death hadn’t come as much of a surprise, but we were all stunned when an aneurism took our vibrant grandfather’s life just one year later. As my father was their only child, he inherited the beautiful old family home in Dreiheit that had been passed down through several generations of Jensens. Though our parents would have liked to keep the house in the family, they couldn’t afford the cost of maintaining it. As sad as it was, our family had had no choice but to clear out the century-old, Federal-style stone mansion and put it on the market. Mr. Schumann expressed an interest in buying the land, which worked out quite well because the Realtor was able to sell just the house to an architect who had property along the Susquehanna River and had
been looking for a uniquely beautiful structure to move there. Once the deal was sealed, Bobby and I missed our grandparents terribly, of course, but we also missed their gorgeous home in Dreiheit, not to mention our Amish friends from the farm next door.

Over time, as Haley Wynn and I grew closer, I began to go back to Dreiheit occasionally with her. Her parents were divorced, and though Haley lived in Hidden Springs with her father, who had primary custody, she spent many weekends in Dreiheit with her mother, who lived in a little cottage about a mile away from the very place where my grandparents’ house had once stood. Though her small home was a far cry from the grandeur of the old Jensen homestead that was no more, it was still nice to visit the town I loved so much there in the heart of Amish country. As we grew older and got driver’s licenses—and Haley’s father gave her a car—we continued the tradition, driving out to Dreiheit for the occasional weekend of fun and relaxation at her mom’s. A hippie-type who had long wavy hair and wore peasant blouses, Mrs. Wynn was not a typical suburban mother. Once we started high school, she began insisting that I was old enough to call her by her first name, Melody, and that I make myself completely at home whenever I was there. She had an organic garden out back, one that was so prolific that it was like having our own personal produce stand. Though Haley was allergic to tomatoes, I loved nothing more than to pick them right off the vine, wash them, and eat them like apples.

As nice as Haley’s mother was, though, I liked her father better. Melody was pleasantly laid back, but Orin Wynn had the sharp mind, quick wit, and boundless energy of a hugely successful entrepreneur. I was used to boring, mostly trivial conversations around my family’s dinner table at home, but whenever I was invited to dinner at Haley’s with her and her dad, the conversations were challenging and fascinating—and never predictable. On one evening we might debate the merits of capitalism versus socialism or name the Ten Places We Most Wanted to See in Our Lifetimes. When Haley and I were in our junior year of high school, I was eating over when the conversation turned to Bobby, who was in his first year of college at the University of Pennsylvania.

“That’s rather impressive,” Mr. Wynn had said, adding that UPenn was
a top-notch school and a member of the Ivy League. When he learned that Bobby was in premed, hoping to continue on after graduation at the medical school there, he stopped cutting his steak and gave me a nod. “Do you know if he has plans for next summer? Because we’re expanding our research extension out in Lancaster County. We’ll have a few openings for summer interns in the DNA lab, if he’s interested.”

I had no idea if Bobby was into DNA work or not, but I told Mr. Wynn I would ask him.

“We’ve already filled one spot with a fellow down from Harvard, a first-year med student named Reed Thornton. There are still two spots left though, so have your brother give me a call.”

Have your brother give me a call.

It was just a chance remark, a kind offer from a family friend, but it would end up being the seven words that were the beginning of the end for all of us.

Mr. Wynn owned Wynn Industries, a huge pharmaceutical company based in Hidden Springs. I didn’t think his offer of an internship was any big deal, but when I called Bobby at school a few days later and conveyed the conversation to him, he was beside himself with excitement.

“DNA is where the future is!” Bobby cried. “Of
course
I’m into DNA work, you goofball.”

Bobby had contacted Mr. Wynn immediately and arranged an interview, and about a month later he learned that he had been hired. The third internship went to a student from yet another Ivy League school, a guy from the Midwest named Doug Brown. That June, as soon as the semester was over, Bobby packed up the things from his dorm room and moved them out to a rental in Dreiheit, where the lab was located. Unlike the other two interns, Bobby was already very familiar with the town and its environs from the years of visiting our grandparents there.

A few weeks later, Haley and I drove to Dreiheit to spend the Fourth of July weekend at her mom’s. We decided to pay a visit to Bobby at the lab while we were in town, and though I enjoyed seeing his workplace and meeting his boss, the brilliant Dr. Updyke, Haley had been more interested in one of Bobby’s fellow interns, the one from the Midwest
named Doug. Haley and Doug hit it off immediately, and by the time the fireworks went off on the night of the Fourth, they were making a few fireworks of their own.

Soon they were officially a couple, the guy from Harvard had arrived and stepped into his position as the senior intern, and Haley was talking about staying in Dreiheit for the whole summer. Once she found a job at the local ice cream parlor, it was a done deal. Her job was a lot of fun, and when another opening became available soon afterward, she started bugging me to come out and apply for the position myself and spend the summer at her mom’s with her. I was already bored with the random babysitting jobs I was getting at home, so I took her up on it. Haley was thrilled, as she was hoping to play matchmaker with me and the intern I hadn’t met yet, Reed Thornton, whom she described on the phone as a “major hottie” and exactly my type.

When I first met Reed, I thought Haley had made an understatement. He wasn’t just a “hottie,” he was, in fact, the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. He seemed attracted to me as well, at least until my big-mouthed brother stepped in and pointedly referred to me as his “seventeen-year-old
baby
sister.” Reed, who was twenty-one at the time, quickly seemed to lose interest, though he was still very nice to me. Instead of having the romance I would have liked, Reed and I became good friends instead. The five of us—Reed, Doug, Bobby, Haley, and I—ended up spending a lot of time together that summer. We would work all day, and then in the evenings we would go to the local tourist traps or drop in on the occasional
rumspringa
party or just spend time hanging out at Haley’s mom’s house. Melody worked in agriculture and was fascinated with the potential of exploring plant DNA, and she loved to pick the guys’ brains about their research with human DNA at the lab. Their conversations were often way over my head, but I loved to listen anyway, simply because Reed was so incredibly smart.

Just as Haley had predicted, that summer was great fun. The men were brilliant and funny and loved to tease, and of course Haley and I enjoyed being around older, more mature guys for a change. The more time I spent with Reed, the harder I fell for him, and soon I was convinced I
was absolutely in love, though he still treated me more like a sister than anything else. Reed may have been oblivious to my charms, but Bobby certainly noticed the vibes I was giving off. More than once he warned me not to fall too hard for Reed, saying there were things about him I didn’t know and would not like. I just assumed Bobby was being an over-protective big brother, and I ignored most of his advice. As the summer progressed, I continued to make a shameless play for Reed, and he continued to treat me like a close friend.

To everyone’s surprise, the real romance of the summer ended up being not me and Reed or Haley and Doug, but Bobby and an Amish girl named Lydia Schumann. The Schumanns were the ones we had played with as children, who lived next door to our grandparents. As kids, Lydia and her siblings had taught us Dutch Blitz and taken us sledding and pretty much showed us how much fun you could have without a television set or sophisticated toys of any kind.

Bobby and Lydia were the same age, and as children the two of them had been positively unbeatable in any game we played. They both loved pulling practical jokes and weaving fantastic stories and rounding up every possible person for pickup games of stickball. When our grandparents died, my brother and I had felt sure we’d never see the Schumann kids again.

Once Bobby began his internship there in Dreiheit, however, one of the first families to walk through the door of the lab was Lydia’s. A rare genetic disorder ran in her family, and her mother, Kate, who was pregnant, had come in for some genetic testing. Around her family Lydia acted quiet and shy, but when Bobby saw her that weekend at a
rumspringa
party, she was anything but. Still mischievous, fun, funny, and smart, she was now also beautiful as well. They fell in love almost instantly and began spending every possible moment together that they could.

Lydia was nineteen at the time, the age when she should have been preparing for baptism into the Amish church and marriage to some nice Amish boy. Instead, she had fallen for Bobby, and she had begun to seriously question whether she was going to be baptized as Amish or not. The stakes were high, and she knew it. If she went ahead with a baptism and
later changed her mind, she would be shunned by the Amish community forever. If, instead, she made a break with the church now and never was baptized at all, she could remain in contact with her family and would not suffer the complete social ostracization that shunning created. Either decision would lead to serious consequences and could not be taken lightly.

Bobby and Lydia continued to date the rest of the summer, but the more in love they grew, the more frustrated he became with not being able to see her except on weekends. Amish parents usually looked the other way on Friday and Saturday nights when their kids were on
rumpspringa,
hoping that a little taste of freedom and a brief exploration of the outside world would be all they needed to make the decision to remain Amish for the rest of their lives. It was a little harder to pull off sneaking out during the week, but Lydia was determined to start trying. Because the family had no phone, however, she and Bobby had to come up with a system of communication for the weeknights that he didn’t have to work late and wanted to see her.

It hadn’t taken long for Bobby to figure out how to get a signal to Lydia. Her bedroom was the only one in their house with a view of the family’s back fields; the rest of the bedroom windows were obscured by a row of maple trees. Because she could see so far, Bobby bought a pack of fireworks, and to signal her to come out and meet him, he would simply drive around to the back of their farm—on the property that used to belong to our grandparents—and shoot one off. Eventually, he changed to Roman candles because they didn’t make as much noise and they contained six flares in a row. That was almost always enough to get her attention, and whenever she saw those bright orange streaks across the sky in the distance, she would quietly get dressed and slip outside and run down the long, straight rows of the cornfield until she reached him at the other side.

Usually, they didn’t even go anywhere. They would just spend time together out there in the darkness, sometimes late into the night. On cooler evenings, they would make a small fire or bundle up inside Bobby’s truck. Despite the risks of dating a girl who was off limits, we all thought it incredibly romantic that Bobby and Lydia had each fallen for their childhood friend. Their clandestine meetings were made even more special by
the notion that the very ground they were sitting on had once belonged to his family and now belonged to hers.

One night near the end of the summer, Bobby was planning to meet Lydia as usual. That time, however, the rest of us had nothing better to do, so we asked if we could come along, maybe build a fire in their fire pit, roast marshmallows, and just hang out. It was a beautiful night and it sounded like something fun to do. We all piled into Bobby’s big truck, making one stop on the way for Doug, who wanted some beer.

Out at the farm, I could see why Bobby enjoyed being there. In the place where our grandparents’ house once stood, all that remained were the front and back cement steps, the basement, which was now open to the elements, and their old garage, in which Lydia’s father now stored some farm equipment. Otherwise, Mr. Schumann hadn’t done much with the property, so the graceful old trees that used to shade our grandparents’ front lawn were still there. Our old rope swing even hung from the tallest of those trees, though the rope had nearly rotted away.