Trading Secrets (13 page)

“What kind of pleasures?” Rachel persists.

“Things like green pastures with happy brown cows,
well-tended gardens, handsome horses, apple trees, sunshine, big blue sky.” I wave at the table. “Good food.”

“The English don't have those things?”

I consider this. “Sure, they have them on farms. But I don't have them where I live. I realize not all Amish people live on farms, just like not all English people live in cities. But you people are lucky—or maybe I should say blessed—to live in such a pretty place. And I know it's such a pretty place because of how well you take care of it. I admire that.”

“Thank you,” Zach's father says solemnly. “God has been good to our family.”

“And we do all we can to be good stewards of his bounty,” Zach's mother finishes for him.

“Speaking of good stewards”—Zach's father stands—“we have planting to do.”

“Can I help you?” I ask hopefully. “I mean, since Rachel is here to help Mrs. Miller now?”

“Ja.”
Zach's dad reaches for his straw hat. “That would be good.”

“I'll go change,” I say as I eagerly stand up. I can't get out of this kitchen quickly enough.

“Meet us in the west field,” Zach tells me.

“I'll be right out,” I promise as I practically run for the stairs. As I go up, I'm already reaching for the straight pins, stabbing my finger into one as I go into the bedroom. I'm so ready to be rid of this silly dress. Of course, as I'm removing it and all the under-layers, I remember Rachel and how she actually looked rather pretty in her pale blue dress. I think it matched her eyes. For some reason, it also seemed to be more form-fitting than the potato sack dress I've been wearing. Or
maybe that was just my imagination. After all, Amish girls are not supposed to show off their curves, are they?

As I pull on my jeans and T-shirt, I wonder again what it would be like to live as the Amish live—every single day of my life, 24-7. Just thinking of how torturous it felt in the kitchen this morning makes me think I'd never be suited for a lifestyle like this. But when I think of Zach, suddenly I'm not so sure. Maybe for him . . . maybe I would. Of course, as I'm pulling on my dirt-encrusted shoes, I realize that there's no need to trouble my mind over this. Especially after I saw the look that Zach gave Rachel while she served him his soup. I suspect Zach's mother has it just about figured out. It's probably just a matter of time before Zach decides to settle down and join the church and marry Rachel Yoder. As I go down the stairs, I wonder what Lizzie will say about that. I almost go back up to get my phone so I can text her this weird turn of Amish events. Won't she laugh to hear that I actually got to meet her old Amish pen pal?

“An English girl going out to work with the men,” Rachel says with disdain as I go through the kitchen.

“I guess it just suits me,” I tell her as I put my dad's ball cap back on my head. “Kitchens are too hot and stuffy for me.”

“That's because you don't cook much.” She gives me a patronizing smile. “Have a good afternoon,” she chirps as I go out the back door.

Okay, I really don't want to dislike her. And to be fair, I really have no reason to dislike her. Except that it seems so certain that eventually she will win Zach's affection, and that just plain irks me. As I march out in the direction of the west field, I tell myself that I should be happy for Zach. After all, he's my good friend. If he's going to get himself such a fine
wife—and by all Amish standards, Rachel most certainly is—I should be thrilled for him. Instead I am aggravated, bordering on jealous. I can hardly stand to admit this—even to myself—but I am just plain jealous. As ridiculous as it seems, it irks me to realize I could never compete with such a perfectly lovely Amish girl. How dumb is that?

W
orking outside is a welcome relief after my long morning spent in hell's kitchen. Okay, I know that's a bit harsh. But being in the company of someone who despises you is not pleasant. As I lead the horse in a straight line and Zach operates the seeder from the other end, I distract myself from obsessing over the perfectly lovely Rachel by trying to figure out why Zach's mother loathes me so intensely. Why I care or am consumed with this indisputable fact makes absolutely no sense, but I can't seem to help myself. Besides that, it helps to pass the time.

“I know we'll be late for supper,” Zach calls out to me as we pause to turn the horse around. The sun is getting low in the sky. “But let's see if we can do this next row while there's still some light. That way we can leave the seeder near the barn to be ready for morning.”

I turn back to look at him. “Fine with me.”

He removes his straw hat, running a hand through his hair so that it frames his glistening face in feathery dark curls. I try not to gawk at him, but I can't help but notice how strikingly
handsome he looks in these last golden rays of sunlight. I wish I could sneak a photo. “That is, unless you're starving,” he calls out as he puts his hat back on.

“I'm okay,” I assure him, turning around and getting the horse lined up to do another row. “Let's get 'er done.” His dad has already gone into the house to eat, and the truth is, despite the empty rumbling in my stomach, I'm happy to postpone this meal. Hopefully the others—primarily Zach's mom and Rachel—will be finished by then.

The sun is nearly down by the time we reach the end of the row. “I can barely see,” I tell Zach as we finally stop.

“
Ja
, I know, but I wanted to get as much done as possible. As it is, I'm afraid the planting won't be finished before it's time to leave tomorrow.”

“What time do we have to leave?” I ask.

“If your dad wants us there by 3:00, we'll need to leave before noon.” Zach is removing the horse's harness now.

“Really?” I blink. “It'll take three hours? My dad said the airfield's only about fifteen minutes from town.”

“Fifteen minutes in a car,” he reminds me.

“Oh . . . yeah.” I try not to feel stupid.

“You go ahead and get your supper,” Zach tells me. “I'll see to the horse. I want to give Molly her medicine too.”

“I'm going to call my dad first, to figure out tomorrow.”

“Don't let anyone hear you,” he warns. “That is, if you mention the part about me going up in your dad's plane.”

“I'll be discreet.” Keeping his concerns in mind, I go around to the other side of the barn, standing next to the corral as I make my call.

“Micah,” Dad says happily. “How are you doing?”

I give him an update on the corn planting, describing what
a beautiful sunset I just witnessed. “It really is pretty here in the country.” I let out a tired sigh. “But I'm ready to come home.”

“I can't wait to see you, sweetie. It's been a long few days.”

“I miss you too, Dad,” I admit. “More than you know.”

“It's just not the same around here without you. Makes me glad that you're not heading off to some faraway college in the fall. I think I might die of loneliness.”

“Oh, Dad.” I wish I could hug him. “That reminds me of something.” I tell him about Katy offering me the little gray-and-white kitten. More than ever I want to bring her home now. It will be like having a piece of the farm with me. “Would it be okay, Dad? I mean, compared to dogs, cats are very low maintenance. And very independent. Do you mind?”

“It's up to you, sweetie. As long as you promise to take full responsibility for it, I'm okay with it.”

“No problem. She'll sleep in my bedroom, and I'll keep the litter box in my bathroom. You'll hardly know she's there.”

“All right. As for tomorrow, I plan to fly into Davis around 3:00. The freight I'm picking up is supposed to be there no later than 4:00. So if you kids can be at the airstrip before 3:00, we'll have plenty of time to take Zach up and show him around some.”

“That means we'll have to leave here before noon,” I inform him.

“What?”

I remind him about the speed of a horse-drawn buggy.

He chuckles. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“I just realized that will be six hours on the road for Zach. Not that he'll complain. He's so excited about this. But hopefully he'll make it home before dark.”

“Poor Zach. Hey, how about if I call one of the guys on the ground there in Davis? Maybe someone can loan me a car to get him back and forth.”

“That'd be awesome, Dad. We might even be able to get the last of the cornfield planted if we have a couple extra hours in the morning.”

“I'll see what I can do first thing tomorrow,” he promises. “I'll call or text you about it.”

I thank him, and after we finally hang up, I take a moment to send a quick text to Lizzie. Already she's sent me about twenty throughout the day, informing me that she's back home now and wondering when I'm coming back and if I'm okay. I don't even take the time to read them all. Instead I promise to call her later tonight. Hopefully I won't forget.

I can tell by the slit of lantern light that Zach is still in the barn, but because I'm seriously hungry, I decide to venture into the house on my own. My guess is that supper will be over and the girls will be cleaning up the kitchen. At least that's what I hope.

But after I wash up in the laundry sink, I'm surprised to see that the kitchen is already clean, and Mrs. Miller is sitting at the kitchen table with her sewing basket and what looks like a pair of small black trousers spread out in front of her.

“Good evening,” I say politely.

“Good evening,” she responds without looking up.

“We worked late.” I stand there just watching her. Hunched over, she's intent on what she's stitching, mending what appears to be a torn knee. She doesn't have on her white
kapp
, which is typical for being in the house, and from this angle I can see that her hair, which was probably once as dark as
Zach's, is faded and streaked with gray. Pinned into a tight bun, it makes her already angular face look even sharper than usual. This, combined with the harsh overhead glare of a propane-powered light, makes her look like she's very elderly. Zach once told me his parents' ages, so I know that both of them are younger than my dad, but I never would've guessed it.

She frowns up at me with a disapproving expression. “What are you looking at?”

“I . . . uh . . . don't know.”

“What do you want?”

I shrug, stifling the urge to say that something to eat might be nice. “Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I guess I'm just tired.”
Tired and hungry.

She shakes her head, then returns her attention to mending.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I blurt out, instantly wishing I hadn't.

“Hate you?” She looks up with surprise. “I don't hate you, Micah.”

“Never mind.” I glance over my shoulder, hoping that Zach will show up and put an end to this conversation.

“I love you,” she says in a slightly flat tone. “The Bible tells me I must love everyone. Even my enemies.”

“Yeah . . . I know about that verse too.” Why did I even open my mouth?

“But the Bible does not say I must like you.” She bends her head back down, taking a moment to tie the thread into a knot, and then, just as Zach enters the kitchen, she snips it with the scissors, smiling up at him. “Zach, you worked so late. You must be very hungry.”

“I am.” He nods eagerly. “We both are, aren't we, Micah?”

“Rachel?”
Mrs. Miller calls out. “Zach is in from the field now.”

Almost instantly, Rachel appears and is suddenly bustling about the kitchen, cheerfully chatting as she readies food that's been warming in the oven—hopefully for both of us. Although based on the treatment I'm getting from Mrs. Miller, I wouldn't bet on it.

“I'm surprised you're still here,” Zach says as he sits down at the table.

“My mamm says it's too far to go back and forth to my house while I'm helping your mamm,” she tells Zach. “I can stay until the end of the week.”

“A very good plan,” Mrs. Miller says approvingly. “We appreciate it, Rachel.”

“But where will she sleep?” I ask. “The beds in the girls' room are all taken.”

“Only until tomorrow night,” Rachel points out, reminding me that it's my last night here. “But it's all right. I can sleep anywhere.”

“You get Rachel what she needs to make a bed in the front room.” Mrs. Miller directs this to Zach. “Will that be all right for one night, Rachel?”

Rachel beams at her. “
Ja
. That is fine. But I don't want anyone to go to any trouble for me.”

“It is no trouble.” Mrs. Miller smiles at Zach. “Is it?”

“No.” Zach looks caught off guard. “No trouble.”

“Good. You'll find what you need in the linen closet by the bathroom,” his mom tells him. “Why don't you help me up the stairs there while Rachel gets your supper ready?” She moves awkwardly to her feet, reaching for what looks like
a makeshift cane to balance herself with. “Take my other arm,” she instructs. “Your daed has already gone to bed.”

“Want my help too?” I offer, remembering how it took both Zach and his dad to get her up the stairs last night.

“No, thank you. Zach is enough.”

Feeling dismissed and disliked and ready to count the hours until I can finally see the last of Zach's mother, I sit down at the table. I consider offering my assistance to Rachel but decide that she doesn't want my help either. Besides, I am tired.

She's just putting our plates on the table when Zach returns. Despite my crankiness, I can't help but be pleased at the generous helping of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans with bacon, corn topped with butter, and fluffy white biscuits. Never mind that Dad would call this a heart attack on a plate. I'm too ravenous to care.

“This looks good,” I admit as I reach for my fork.

“Wait!” Rachel holds up a hand, then primly tips her head toward Zach, who is just bowing his head.

Feeling like an uncouth heathen, I lower my fork and bow my head, silently expressing a sincere, albeit brief, prayer of gratitude for this bounty. Fortunately, not even a minute passes before Zach utters, “Amen.”

We both eat in silence while Rachel busies herself at the kitchen sink. I have no idea what she's doing since this place looked clean as a whistle when I came in here. Wishing she would leave us to eat in peace, I offer to clean up after we're done.

“Katy and Sarah will come wash up,” she informs me as she sits down in Zach's mom's usual place. “The girls are doing schoolwork now. I just sent the boys and Ruthie to bed.”

“Oh . . . okay.” I return my attention to my meal. Clearly,
Rachel has the Miller household under control. And that's fine with me. She obviously has a need to demonstrate her domestic prowess. Probably to impress Zach. Whatever.

“Do you like the meatloaf?” Rachel hopefully asks Zach.

“
Ja
. It's good,” he confirms with enthusiasm. “Very good.”

“It's my own recipe.” She leans forward, and with elbows on the table, she rests her pretty chin on her folded hands and smiles. “Daed says it's even better than Mamm's.” She giggles. “But he doesn't say it to Mamm.”

Of course, this removes some of this meal's pleasure for me, but I continue to shovel in my food just the same. Mostly because I want to get out of here and away from the queen of the kitchen.

“Looks like someone was hungry.” Rachel points to my empty plate. “Want seconds?”

“No, thank you.” I stand. “I need to go make a phone call. Excuse me.” I quickly make my way back outside, where the air is fresh and cool and I can hide in the darkness as I turn on my phone and call Lizzie. “Hey,” I tell her, “I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“It's about time you got back to me,” she scolds. “I was starting to think the worst.”

“The worst?” As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I move farther away from the house. I don't want anyone in there to hear me—just in case I decide to let my hair down a bit.

“You know, like something from an Amish horror movie,” she explains. “Like you refused to convert to their religion, so they chained you up and locked you in the basement and have been feeding you bread and water. Or maybe they got out the ax and chopped you into tiny pieces and buried you in the cow pasture, or under the cabbages.”

“Oh, that is so lovely, Lizzie. Thanks for the indelible image.”

She laughs. “Okay, how about this one? They did get you to convert, and now you are married to Zach and already in a family way.”

“Oh,
Lizzie
!” Since she brought up the marriage thing, I am forced to tell her about Rachel Yoder, the perfect Amish bride. Naturally, Lizzie thinks this is hilarious.

“No way! I can't believe my old pen pal is your nemesis! That's crazy!” She shrieks so loudly I'm forced to hold the phone away from my ear, hoping that no one in the house hears her.

“Anyway, I'll be home tomorrow,” I finally say. “I can fill you in on all the details then. I need to preserve what's left of my phone battery for now.”

“You got lots of photos?” she asks hopefully.

“Yeah, mostly of the land and animals and stuff.”

“None of Zach?”

“Of course not.”

“Can't you sneak one when he's not looking?”

“Maybe, as long as I'm discreet about it. Hey, speaking of animals, I'm going to adopt one of their kittens.”