As soon as they walked through the gates at the county fairgrounds, Anna knew she’d made a mistake in coming with Samuel. What had she been thinking?
The crowds flowed good-naturedly along the rows of stalls, aromas of a dozen different foods filled the air, and from the distance came the shriek of the rides. It was familiar, and at the same time it scared her.
It was one thing to be Amish again at home, among people who loved her. But when she’d ventured out, even in the church, her acceptance hadn’t been complete. The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.
And here she was back in the English world again, as an Amish woman.
“What is troubling you, Anna?” Samuel seemed to have an uncanny knack for reading her moods.
“Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t come.” She glanced down at Gracie, asleep in the stroller Samuel was pushing. “If we hadn’t come. It feels odd, being here like this.”
“Because people are staring at us?”
“I hadn’t even noticed that, but now you’ve given me something else to worry about.”
He smiled at her tart tone. It was oddly freeing, knowing she could talk openly to Samuel in a crowd and no one would understand them.
“It hasn’t been that long since I was one of them.” She nodded toward the nearest clump of English who passed.
“Anna, you were never like them.”
“Not those people in particular,” she said. Maybe she shouldn’t have picked a group of Goth teenagers, all in black, as an example. She shot a sideways glance at the piercings and dyed hair. “And they think we look odd.”
“So we do, to them.” Samuel was unaffected, no matter how people gawked. “You are Amish again now, Anna. That’s how it is for us.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Is this a test?”
“Only if you see it that way. Only for your own sake, not anyone else’s.”
“I don’t understand.”
He gave a quick glance at the kids. “Those teenagers dress as they do because they want to be looked at. We dress as we do in obedience to God and the church, to remind us that we are to be separate.”
A group of preteen kids in jeans and T-shirts, out of school for the first day of the fair, raced around them, jostling the stroller just enough to stir Gracie. She gave a startled cry.
“Ach, little girl.” Samuel bent over the stroller before Anna could move. Unfastening the harness, he picked her up. “There, now. It’s all right. There’s nothing to be scared about. I have you.”
He spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch, and Gracie quieted almost at once, as if she understood every word. Or maybe it was the slow, calm way he spoke that made the difference. Gracie, like the skittish horse, responded to his tone.
If they stayed, Gracie would grow up knowing the dialect, not even learning English until she went to school. If. Anna wanted to give her unruly mind a shake. It wasn’t like her not to know what she wanted.
“Let’s get a funnel cake and sit down for a few minutes until she feels like going back into the stroller,” Samuel suggested. He nodded at a stand with long wooden picnic tables and benches under a blue-and-white canopy.
“Ser gut.” Anna pulled the diaper bag from the stroller. “I’ll give her something to drink while you get the funnel cakes.”
By the time Anna had settled on a bench with Gracie chugging from a sippy cup, Samuel returned. He was balancing two paper plates filled with the powdered-sugar-coated treats.
“We could have shared one,” she said as he sat down next to her.
“Speak for yourself.” He grinned, holding a small piece out to Gracie. “Gracie and I will eat one ourselves, we will. Funnel cakes are wonderful gut, Gracie.”
Gracie took the fried treat from his hand and lifted it tentatively toward her mouth. She stuck out the tip of her pink tongue and touched the sugar. Suddenly her dimples showed, and she crammed the whole thing into her mouth, then reached eagerly toward the plate.
Anna laughed at Gracie’s delight, giving her a squeeze. “Just a little more. Too much funnel cake can upset a tiny tummy.”
“It tastes like the fair, that’s what it is,” Samuel said. “They never taste quite the same when we make them at home.”
“Better not let Myra hear that.” Myra had decided to make funnel cakes yesterday as a treat for Joseph, since he wouldn’t be going to the fair this year.
“I didn’t say they were better,” Samuel protested. “You know, that’s my first memory of the fair. Sitting on my daad’s knee eating funnel cake.” For an instant, sorrow shadowed his eyes.
“For me it was caramel apples,” she confessed, memory taking her back to that childhood taste. “Mahlon and Joseph always had to have their cotton candy, but I wanted a caramel apple. When we were little, we couldn’t wait for September so we could go to the fair. It was even more exciting than school starting.”
Samuel nodded, understanding, and gave Gracie another small piece of funnel cake.
“It wore off when I was a teenager,” Anna said. “Then I just wanted to be like my English friends.”
“Plenty of us are that way during our rumspringa. You weren’t the only one who hid jeans and T-shirts in the hay mow and learned to drive in some English friend’s borrowed car.”
“I didn’t want them to see me as Amish. I thought I could keep that part of my life separate.”
“Ja, kids are still trying that. Look at the haircuts on some of the teenage boys in service on Sunday morning. They didn’t get those cuts in the kitchen with their mother’s scissors.”
If he was trying to make her laugh, he succeeded. “I know. I noticed. If they want to hide it, they need to be a bit more subtle.”
“Annie!”
The exclamation had her turning toward the sound. The next thing she knew, she was being enveloped in a hug.
“You’re back. I never thought I’d see you again. Where’d you disappear to? Don’t you remember me? It’s me, Shelley.”
Anna disengaged herself. “Of course I remember you, Shelley.” The hair that had once been brown and curling was now blond, done in a sleek, smooth style that just brushed Shelley’s shoulders. Instead of the usual teen uniform of jeans and T-shirt she’d worn in the days before the accident, Shelley wore a pair of slacks and a bright, silky top.
“Never mind me,” she exclaimed. Apparently she still talked in exclamation points. “I want to hear all about you. Look at you, with a husband and baby!”
“I don’t . . .” Anna could feel herself blushing, but before she could think up an explanation, Shelley grabbed her arm.
“Let’s sit down and have a cup of coffee together, okay? I want to catch up on everything.”
“I don’t know . . .” She glanced at Samuel. He waited, his face impassive.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”
“I would like to find out what happened to all of them.” She said the words quickly in Pennsylvania Dutch to Samuel. “Do you mind?”
He stood, giving Gracie a little pat. “I will go and check out the farm machinery. I’ll meet you back here in about half an hour. All right?”
She nodded. Of course it was. She had every right to catch up with her old friends. But as Samuel turned away, she caught the disappointment in his eyes. If this outing had been a test, it seemed that she’d failed.
• • •
“Not bad,” Shelley said, sliding onto the bench opposite Anna and watching Samuel walk away. “If you like them solid and disapproving.”
“Samuel didn’t disapprove of you. He just didn’t want me . . .” She let that trail off, since the thought didn’t help.
“He doesn’t want you hanging around with your old teenage friends,” Shelley said. “I get that. How long have you two been together?”
“We’re not. I mean, we’re just friends.”
This was more complicated than she’d expected. She wanted to make contact with Shelley again—to feel that their friendship had been real. She’d left so soon after the accident that she hadn’t had a chance to talk with her.
“So, friends. Tell me more.” Shelley’s bright eyes flicked to the baby. “What about the baby’s father? I thought you Amish didn’t believe in divorce.”
“We weren’t married.” She hesitated. If she didn’t want to tell Shelley everything, it would be better not to say anything.
We’re friends, aren’t we? Her younger self seemed to be protesting. We tell each other everything.
“Wow,” Shelley said. “And you went through with having the baby? But I guess you people wouldn’t go for any other option.”
Other option. Anna’s arms tightened protectively around Gracie. “No,” she said, her voice strangled.
“Well, looks like it all ended up okay,” Shelley said cheerfully. “I sure wouldn’t want to be settled down with a family right now, though. Just getting through school is hard enough.”
It was probably safer to talk about Shelley’s life than hers. “You’re still in college?”
“Still.” She sighed. “I’m just home now because my mom got all nostalgic about having everyone here for my dad’s retirement party. I’m headed back to campus tomorrow.”
“This must be your last year. Do you have any career plans?”
“No, I have another year. I changed majors too many times. It’s accounting now, and I have to stick with it whether I like it or not. My dad says he’s not going to pay good money for me to party and change my mind every five minutes.”
That sounded exactly like the Shelley Anna used to know, and she smiled. “I’m sure there are plenty of good jobs for accountants.”
“At least I’ll be able to find a job in the city where something’s happening.” Shelley gave the fair a dismissive glance. “Did you hear about Casey? She got into UCLA, the lucky thing. Never comes home anymore.”
“No, I didn’t.” Since she’d barely known Casey, it was tough to generate any interest.
“It’s true. And Megan did get into Juilliard, but she dropped out her first semester. Couldn’t stand the pressure.”
“What about Jarrod?” Anna had been dating Jarrod that summer. She’d thought she was in love with him.
Their romance hadn’t survived for more than a month or two after she’d left home. Still, she cared what happened to him.
“He’s at Penn State. Runs track, got into a top fraternity.”
Their lives seemed so different from hers that it was hard to find something in common. This was what Samuel had meant when he talked about drifting away from his English friends. Shelley seemed years younger than she was, even though Anna knew they were the same age.
“So you and Jarrod . . .” Shelley tipped her head to the side. “That didn’t last long, did it?”
“No. After the accident we sort of went in different directions. But I’ll always be grateful for the way his family helped me then.”
“Well, they owed it to you,” Shelley said. “Jarrod never should have let you drive their car. Naturally his folks wanted it settled quickly and quietly, before somebody got the bright idea of suing them for damages.”
Anna took a moment to absorb that. It had never occurred to her that there was any reason other than kindness for their help.
“Nobody would have sued them,” she said finally. “The other family was Amish. They wouldn’t go to court any more than mine would.”
“Other family?” Shelley looked blank.
“The family in the buggy we hit. Don’t you remember?”
Shelley had been sitting next to her in the car that night. How could she have forgotten those terrifying moments—the lights striking the orange triangle on the back of the buggy, the realization that they were going too fast . . .
Gracie fidgeted in her lap, as if sensing her discomfort, and made a little sound of distress. Anna bent over her, soothing her, trying to get control of herself.
Anna didn’t remember. She hadn’t, in all these years, remembered anything about the accident. Those fragments that had flashed into her mind—she didn’t want them there.
“Sure, I remember now.” Shelley shook her head. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I thought about that. Anyway, at least nobody got hurt.”
Anna could only stare at her. “I did.”
“Oh, yes, well, I guess I forgot that you were in the hospital afterwards. But you’re okay, right?”
Shelley had forgotten. She hadn’t come to see Anna in the hospital, hadn’t gotten in touch.
Anna looked back at her teenage self with a sense of surprise. Had she really thought that Shelley was her friend?
Anna had known true friendship from both Amish and English people, but what she’d had with those kids wasn’t it. She seemed to be seeing that whole time more clearly now.
They . . . Shelley, Jarrod, the rest of them . . . they’d been into the novelty of introducing an Amish girl to the wild side of life.
And she’d been no better. She’d welcomed their company because they were the perfect means of rebellion, not because she cared about them. It wasn’t very pretty, but it was true.
Anna cleared her throat, trying to think of something to say. There wasn’t anything, it seemed.
“It has been so nice to see you, Shelley.” Anna rose, putting the diaper bag in the stroller basket. “I must go now.”
“Right, sure.” Shelley glanced at her watch and gave a little shriek. “I’ve got to go, too. Listen, stay in touch, okay?”
Anna nodded. But she wouldn’t. Neither of them would. She understood that now.
• • •
Samuel barely needed to touch the lines to convince Blackie to turn onto the county road. The old horse knew the way home as well as he did, maybe better. He’d chosen to drive old Blackie today, not wanting to trust one of the younger animals in fair traffic. Even Blackie had been a bit twitchy from time to time with all the excitement.
They could both relax now. There’d be little enough traffic on this back road.
He glanced at Anna. She’d been quiet while he’d negotiated the busy road around the fairground, but he’d caught a glimpse of her hand gripping the side rail. Now she patted the sleeping baby in her lap, her face tilted down.
“Did you enjoy the fair?” he asked, wanting to break the silence.
She nodded. “Gracie loved seeing all the animals up close. And that sausage sandwich we had was definitely overload.”
He grinned, relieved to hear her sounding normal. “Too bad you didn’t have room for one more caramel apple.”
“Ach, don’t remind me.” She patted her stomach.
“Well, you have to eat the thing that means fair to you.”
She sobered, glancing at him. “It bothered you when I wanted to talk with Shelley. I’m sorry.”
That was a little more plain speaking than he’d expected from her, and it took him a moment to reply. “It wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured our day at the fair together. For a second I wondered if you’d set that up.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “I didn’t.”
“No, I know that. I could tell you were surprised to see an old friend there.”
But her eagerness to talk to the English woman had made him stop and think about where he was going with this interest in Anna. Since his own return, he’d avoided showing attention to any woman, fearing his own character.
And if he did think about committing to someone, it needed to be an Amish woman who was strong in her own faith. He could hardly say that about Anna.
She pressed her lips together, making him wonder what she was thinking.
“Shelley and I are not friends anymore,” she said finally.
He nodded. “That happens.” He’d predicted that, in fact, but he didn’t think she’d believed him.
She shook her head. “She and the others . . . it seems as if they’re just kids playing at being grown-ups. Waiting to start their real lives. I can’t believe I wanted to be like them.”
He clucked to Blackie, who had taken advantage of his distraction to slow down. “It’s not so odd. Most of us go through a time of wanting the freedom our English friends have.” He suspected that her concern ran deeper than that, though.
Her eyes were shadowed. “I’m not sure that they ever were my friends.” A car went by, sending out a spray of loose gravel, and she seemed to wince.
“Maybe, maybe not.” He wouldn’t say things just to make her feel better. “Sometimes English kids want to hang around with the Amish just for kicks. To make fun of them, like. But I’m thinking you had other English friends who were real, like Gracie’s birth mammi.”
Anna’s smile flickered, chasing some of the shadows from her eyes. “That’s true enough, but I didn’t think to hear you say it.”
“Ach, I don’t discount the value of friends, even with folks who are very different. Take that horse of Mr. Bartlett’s, for instance.”
“The horse?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Now you’re comparing me to a horse?”
He grinned, glad to see the liveliness coming back into her face. “Now, just hear me out. That animal was nervous as a cat at first, kicking at the stall bars, knocking over his water pail, making a nuisance of himself every time he was in the barn. So I got the loan of a goat from Aaron Zook.”
“A goat.” Her lips were twitching.
“Ja, a goat. Don’t you make fun of me now, Anna Beiler. Those two animals got to be friends in no time at all, though they’re as different as can be. Calmed that nervy horse down in no time flat, that goat did.”
“So I get to be either a horse or a goat, do I?”
“Ach, you’re definitely the horse, if you must be one or the other. Strong and high-spirited, but a mite uneasy in a new place.”
“This isn’t a new place—” She stopped, her head swiveling as a car roared up behind them.
He didn’t bother to look around, concentrating on keeping his hands steady on the lines. The driver gave a loud blast on the horn, and the car swerved around them. Blackie, used to motor vehicles, flicked an ear at it, nothing more.
Samuel turned to Anna, but a casual comment died on his lips. Her face was dead white, her lips trembling, and she clutched the child fiercely against her breast.
“Stop—please stop. I have to get down. I have to!”
The hysteria in her voice sent a shock through him. “It’s all right, Anna. They didn’t hit us.”
A farm lane led off to the right through a grove of trees. He turned Blackie into it and off onto the grass, then brought the buggy to a halt. He let the lines drop, knowing Blackie would be content to stand there indefinitely.
“Anna—” But before he could get out more than her name, she slid down from the buggy, carrying the baby. She rushed a few steps away and stopped, her shoulders shaking.
He jumped to the ground and went to her, approaching as slow and easy as if she were a wild creature. “Anna?” He reached out gently to touch her arm. “Was ist letz? What’s wrong?”
She was trembling. A wave of caring had him putting his arm around her before he thought that she might not like it. But she didn’t pull away.
“Was ist letz?” he said again. “That car passing so close—did that frighten you? Blackie is used to traffic.”
She shook her head. “The accident.” Her voice choked on the words.
Easy, he cautioned himself. Take it slow. “The accident,” he repeated. “The one you were in with those English kids.”
She nodded, head down, pressing her cheek against the head of the sleeping child. “I know what happened. They told me when I woke up in the hospital. But I never really remembered it.”
“You had a head injury.” He’d gone to the hospital once, like most of the community. And he’d helped out with Joseph’s work, freeing him to see to his family. “Sometimes people don’t remember.”
“That’s what the doctors said. That probably I’d never remember. But today, when I was talking to Shelley, a little of it flashed into my mind. And just now . . .” She stopped, as if she couldn’t go on.
“When that car raced around us, it made you remember.” He patted her shoulder, wishing he could take the pain away.
“I was driving. Jarrod said he’d teach me. They kept telling me to go faster, laughing, saying there was nothing on the road.”
Her words seemed to gain momentum as she spoke, as if she couldn’t get them out fast enough.
“It was exciting, racing through the dark, seeing the road curving ahead in the headlights. When I saw the orange triangle, the buggy, I was going too fast. I tried to swerve, tried to brake, but it was too late. I hit them.”
“Ja.” What could he do but agree? “Thank the gut Lord no one was badly hurt.”
“It was my fault. I did it.” Her eyes darkened with pain. “There was a family in that buggy. A mother holding her child.” She held Gracie even closer. “I could have killed them. They must have been so afraid. How could I not remember that?”
“Maybe God knew that you needed time before you remembered,” he said gently. “We can’t understand His ways.”
“I did that to them,” she said again. “Afterward, when Leah tried to talk to me about it, all I found to say was that it wasn’t so bad. That other people had done worse. How could I have dismissed it like that? What kind of person am I?”
“Anna, stop.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “If you see now that you did wrong, then that needs confessing and mending. But you’re not that heedless girl anymore, are you?”
She took a breath, and it seemed to him that she steadied under his hands.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m not.”
“You’re not,” he agreed. “You’re a woman grown, and you’ve had your share of pain. It’s made you strong—strong enough to handle this, too.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t spill over. She nodded.
His own heart was full, and he knew that he was past the point of choosing whether he had feelings for Anna. Wise or not, he did.