You know how to operate this thing?” I say lightly to Rachel as she climbs into the front driver’s seat. I’m sitting in the back because I have a feeling she doesn’t want me up there.
Instead of answering, she does something with her foot, then snaps the reins and says something I don’t catch—probably to the horse—and soon we are going back to where we came from. I consider attempting to start a conversation with my disgruntled cousin, but I suspect she does not wish to speak with me. I lean back and daydream about Ezra.
However, my happy daydream seems to have frequent interruptions, almost like an obnoxious commercial popping into my favorite reality show. I can hear the comments Phoebe made about Ezra and Rachel and how they used to be “together.” I wonder what that means. At the same time, I do not want to know. Although I’ve never had a real boyfriend before, I’ve observed others. I’m well aware that some relationships begin and end in less than a week. Perhaps that was how it was with Ezra and my cousin. Nothing serious. Besides that, it’s history now.
What seems most important is that Ezra loves me. He said those words tonight. And I love him. What difference does it make that he has a past with my cousin? They were obviously not meant for each other. Not the way Ezra and I seem to be, anyway. If my cousin is feeling out of sorts because she sees someone else enjoying what she obviously didn’t want, why should I be concerned?
In fact, I have as much right to be irritated as she does. Perhaps even more. She’s the one who ruined my evening, dragging me away from a party that I was enjoying immensely. I look out of the slow-moving buggy, realizing that I could just hop out. I might take a little tumble, but it wouldn’t be enough to get seriously hurt. Then I could jog on back to the party and pick things up right where we left them. Rachel is so zoned out, she probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone until she got home. Then she’d have something to think about.
However, I’m not sure that I want to go back and pick things up right where we left them. The truth is, I think I was partially relieved that Jeremiah and his buddy showed up when they did. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Ezra that it was time to stop. I didn’t even know what I was going to say to him to make him stop. Their untimely intervention (or was it timely?) kept me from having to deal with an uncomfortable situation. I can act miffed and outraged at Rachel, but really I’m not. And on some level I feel kind of sorry for her. I know what it feels like to be the only person who’s acting responsible when everyone else is acting like immature juveniles. Yet, at the same time, I think maybe it’s my turn—maybe it’s time for me to enjoy being a teenager. I suppose it’s ironic I would experience this sort of thing in Amishland.
The house looks dark when we pull up. Without saying a word to me, Rachel drives the buggy up to the barn, then gets out and starts doing something with the horse. I suspect she has to get the harness stuff off of him and put everything away. If she had been a little friendlier to me, I would offer to help her. As it is, I think she wants to be alone, so I go back to the house, quietly letting myself in through the back porch door. It’s so dark in there that I have to go slowly. I consider finding a lantern and lighting it, but I like the idea of sneaking through the house in the dark. I find my way to the stairs and go up, reminding myself that Rachel’s room is to the right and clear down on the end. At least I hope that’s right. I don’t like the idea of crashing in on my aunt and uncle or my cousin Isaac, all of whom must be soundly asleep by now.
To my relief, I open the correct door, and thanks to the moonlight flooding through the window that faces east, I can see my small pile of bags on the floor by my bed. It takes me a while to unpin and remove my layers of strange clothes, which I toss in a heap on the floor. Then I retrieve the nightgown Mammi gave me, slip it on, and hop into bed. I plan to pretend to be sleeping when Rachel comes in. I’ve decided I have no more desire to speak to her than she has to speak to me.
However, this makes me sad. I remember how much I liked her when we first met. She was so kind and friendly and helpful. She seems fairly smart too. And there’s no denying she’s pretty. But knowing that she used to be involved with Ezra—my Ezra!—no matter how briefly . . . well, that changes everything.
As I lie still in the narrow bed, listening for my cousin’s footsteps, I think that I would’ve been better off staying with my mom at the dawdi house. Sleeping on a hard floor—or out beneath the stars—seems preferable to sharing a room with the other woman. Okay, I know that’s a little over the top. Rachel is only Ezra’s ex. Lots of people have exes. And tonight Ezra proclaimed his love for me. Whatever Rachel was to him—if she was anything—is in the past. I need to get over it and act as if nothing whatsoever is wrong. And that is exactly what I intend to do. Tomorrow.
I hear footsteps in the hallway. Quietly the door opens and closes and I can hear her rustling about in the darkness. I suppose I could tell her it’s okay to turn on a lantern, but I’d rather just play possum. I hear her go to use the bathroom and realize I probably should’ve done this myself, but now I feel like I need to keep up the illusion that I’m asleep.
After a while she returns and I hear her getting into bed. It’s very quiet in here, and I’m thinking she must be asleep and I can sneak out to use the bathroom, when I start to hear something. I can’t figure out what it is. It’s kind of a snuffling sound. Then it hits me: she is quietly crying in her bed.
Even though I don’t really see what it has to do with me, I get the haunting feeling that it is totally my fault. I feel guilty and sad. I feel like my being here is making her unhappy. Yet I don’t see why. It’s not like I’ve stolen Ezra from her. Even if they were a couple—or whatever—it was obviously over with long before I stepped into the picture. Besides, I reassure myself, there is no way that her relationship with Ezra was anything like mine, because if it were, they would still be together, and clearly they are not. Still, I wish she wasn’t crying. I wonder if there might be some way to make it better for her. Maybe tomorrow.
The room is bright with sunlight when I wake up, but to my surprise, Rachel’s bed is empty and neatly made. I also notice that the dress and things I threw onto the floor last night are now tidily hanging from a peg on the wall by the door. I must’ve been sleeping hard. But since it was the first night I’ve slept in a real bed since arriving here, I suspect I was more tired than I realized.
I yawn lazily, stretching in bed, enjoying this unexpected spell of alone time and peace and quiet. Then I get up and, still wearing only my nightgown—which might not be good manners but is a necessity—scurry down the hallway to the bathroom. I hope no one’s in it, but if so, I am prepared to dash downstairs and outside to use the outhouse that Rachel said was mostly for the fellows. To my relief, the bathroom is empty.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I look both ways up and down the hall before I dash back to the bedroom. The place seems so quiet that I wonder if everyone is downstairs having breakfast. The faint smell of cooking tells me that someone’s been in the kitchen.
I go back down the hallway, leaning over the stair rail to listen. The house really does sound as if it’s been deserted. I tiptoe down the stairs, listening carefully as I go, but hearing nothing, I go all the way through the living room and dining room and clear to the kitchen. No one is here, but on the kitchen table is a short, simple note.
Dear Shannon,
We have gone to church.
Please have breakfast and make yourself at home.
We will be back in a few hours.
Aunt Katrina
Feeling unexpectedly happy to have the entire house to myself, I do a happy dance and, still in my nightgown, take my bowl of oatmeal out on the porch. As I sit out there I gaze over toward where I know Ezra’s house lies. I wonder if he, like me, is lounging around this morning. I imagine him sitting on his porch wearing only his trousers. It’s a nice image.
But then I wonder, what if he went to church with his parents? Since he’s not English like me, most likely he did. Of course, that would be expected of him. As I imagine him sitting in church, I feel sad and left out of things. Ezra is at church and I’m sitting here in my nightgown. Why didn’t my aunt and uncle invite me to church? Probably because I’m not Amish. But my church at home’s not like that. Everyone and anyone is welcome. In fact, our pastor is always encouraging us to invite outsiders. Why don’t Amish people do that?
Realizing it’s past eleven and I have no idea when my relatives will actually return from church, I decide I’d better get dressed. The idea of being discovered running about the house in my nightie is not pleasant. I go wash my bowl and breakfast things, then hurry back upstairs. I consider putting on my own clothes, but the thought of Aunt Katrina scowling at me makes me decide on the Amish clothes. Perhaps I’ll try out the purple dress today.
I manage to get the undergarments on okay, but when it comes to pinning the back of the dress, I am all thumbs. Bloody thumbs. I glance at the crisp white kapp and, not wanting a bloody scalp, decide to skip it. I doubt anyone will be too concerned about that. Especially since Rachel said it wasn’t necessary to wear it around the house. Besides, I doubt I could smooth my hair back as well as she did.
Satisfied that I look somewhat respectable, I go downstairs and write a note on the back of the one my aunt wrote to me. Mine is even simpler than hers. I want to add that I felt left out by not being invited to church, but I decide that would be rude.
Dear Aunt Katrina,
I have gone to visit my mother.
Thank you for breakfast.
Shannon
As I walk through the grass pasture between my uncle’s house and the dawdi house, I can tell it’s going to be a hot day today. I remember how my mom hated to waste money on air-conditioning. Perhaps that was good because it has prepared her for life in Amishland where AC is about as likely as TV.
“Hello?” I call into the house after I knock a couple of times. “Mammi?” For some reason I assume she will be here. I don’t think she’d want to leave my mom alone. But not hearing any answer, I go in and knock on the door to my mom’s room. When she doesn’t answer, I get concerned. Surely Mammi and Dawdi couldn’t have taken her to church. More likely she’s sleeping.
I push on the door but am surprised to see that it only opens a few inches. Something on the floor seems to be blocking it. I push harder, sticking my hand in to discover that it’s my mom’s body that’s blocking the door. “Mom!” I cry out. “Are you okay?” I shove my shoulder into the door, pushing with all my strength, but hearing her groan, I’m afraid I’m hurting her.
Remembering the open window, I run outside, take a chair from the porch, prop it up beneath the window, then climb inside. “Mom?” I cry as I run to her side. “What happened?”
“Dizzy,” she tells me as I help her sit up.
“Are you okay? Anything broken?”
“I . . . am . . . okay . . .” She looks at me with relieved eyes. Throwing her arms around me, she starts to cry. “Oh, Shannon.”
As we hug I realize that the floor is wet and her clothes are wet. When I point this out, she explains she had an “accident.”
I clean her up and find her some dry clothes, then help her back to her bed. “Where’s Mammi?” I ask as I position pillows behind her.
“They went to church.”
“And left you here alone?” I say indignantly.
“I told them to go. I thought I would be fine.”
“What happened?”
“I needed to use the bathroom. I thought I could do it. But I got dizzy, and then I fell.”
“How long were you on the floor like that?”
I hand her a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
“I need a pill,” she says.
“Did Mammi give you one?”
She shakes her head. “Mammi says I don’t need them.”
“What?”
“She says they aren’t good for me.”
I consider this. On one hand I agree with Mammi. On the other hand, after finding Mom like this—on the floor—I’m not sure. “Well, I think you might need a pill now,” I say. But when I look around the room, I don’t see the bottle. “Where are the pills?”
She shrugs. “Mammi keeps them somewhere.”
I go out to the kitchen, and after looking around a bit, I finally locate them in the pantry, next to a jar of cinnamon. I shake a pill out and take it to Mom. She is so grateful that tears fill her eyes again.
As she takes her pill, I clean up the wet floor. Then I take her soiled clothes out to the back porch, wondering where Mammi keeps the dirty laundry. Not seeing a hamper, I set the sodden pile by the door, then wash my hands and return to check on Mom. She seems more relaxed now but looks perplexed as she stares at me. “What are you wearing?”
I explain about Aunt Katrina wanting me to wear Amish clothes and about Rachel’s help.
“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s okay. As long as they’re not recruiting you to become Amish.” She chuckles like this is a good joke.
“Judging by the way I pinned this dress together, I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Come here,” she says. “Let me see.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, waiting while she fixes the mess I’ve made of the pins. “I forgot you used to dress like this,” I say as I turn around. “So pinning a dress is kinda like riding a bike?”
“I suppose.” She still has a pin in her hand. “Let me show you how it’s done, Shannon.” She folds fabric from my skirt, then pins it, showing me how to slip the pin in and out of the fabric. “See how it holds?”
“Yeah.” Now I try it a couple of times, finally getting it without drawing blood. “I’m not so sure I can figure out the kapp, though. It might help if I could use a mirror.”
She smiles. “It’s actually pretty simple.” Using my skirt again, she explains how the hair would go and how the pin would go through the kapp, weave into the hair, and then come back out into the kapp again. “See, this part of the pin would hold the kapp in place because it’s fastened to the hair.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
She frowns. “But I really don’t like seeing you dressed up as an Amish girl, Shannon. It’s giving me the creeps. I didn’t raise you the way I did just to let you get stuck in a place like this.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. That will never happen to me. And it’s no big deal dressing like this. I have to admit, though, it was nice sleeping in a real bed last night.” I tell her how I slept in and then got up and wandered about the house in my nightgown. “It was kinda fun.”
“Well, that kind of fun will only happen once a week,” she warns. “On the Sabbath.” She makes a sleepy yawn, and I can tell the pill is starting to work.
“Well, I think I’d better spend Sunday mornings with you,” I say. “I don’t think you should be left home alone.”
“No . . .” She sighs. “Maybe not.”
“I can come over during the week too,” I assure her. “Although I suppose I should make myself useful to Aunt Katrina and Uncle Ben, to show appreciation for taking me in.”
“Yes, please do that, Shannon. Benjamin is a good guy.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And he’s a minister too.”
Her sleepy eyes look surprised. “My brother Benjamin is a minister?”
“Yeah. I guess that puts some pressure on the family.”
Her head barely nods. “Oh, yeah. For sure.”
“Just rest,” I tell her. “I’ll stay here until Mammi gets back.”
After I’m sure that she’s asleep, I go back to the kitchen for a drink of water. Standing by the sink, I drink it and stare blankly at Mammi’s calendar and notice that she’s flipped the page to July. Since July 1 is a Sunday, that means Wednesday is Independence Day. I’ve always enjoyed fireworks on the Fourth of July; however, since I haven’t heard anyone mention it, I suspect that the Amish don’t observe this holiday. Things like “independence” aren’t exactly encouraged in this community.
I go outside and sit on the porch in the shade. I am wishing and wishing with all my might that Ezra might happen to come by. Maybe he has another tool to return to Dawdi, or perhaps his mother wants him to borrow an egg—some neighborly excuse to come over here and discover me sitting on the porch by myself. I run my fingers through my hair, which is curling around my shoulders and glowing in the sunshine. I suspect he would be pleased to see me like this. That is, unless he’s still in church. I wonder how long church lasts. It seems like it’s been hours already. I hope it’s not an all-day deal. Too bad I didn’t think to ask anyone about this.
Thinking about them all at church together, I feel left out again. I know I’m not shunned like my mom is, but I do feel snubbed. As if I’m not good enough to be invited, just because I’m not Amish? But what if I wanted to become Amish? How can I find out about their religion if they exclude me? I remember when Ezra said he wouldn’t mind being Amish if I was Amish. Despite assuring Mom that I would never become Amish, I am not so sure. If that is what it would take to win Ezra—I mean, win him for life—well, I might consider it. Okay, I know that sounds crazy. I can’t even imagine what Merenda would think. Or my mom. But it’s my life, isn’t it? I have the right to live it as I want. I know that sounds selfish, but if I don’t look out for myself, who will?
As I gaze out over the peaceful green countryside, mentally comparing it to the noisy, messy chaos of life in the city, I wonder why I shouldn’t want this. What would be wrong with living in a place like this for the rest of my life? Seriously, what would I possibly have to lose?