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Lydia breathed in the pungent, briny air, glad to be at sea-level again and moving at a slow speed, even though the water was rough, and the wind tossed her bobbed hair. She watched the frothy bubbles floating on the water’s surface.
Ach. She felt a surge of nausea and tasted bile in the back of her throat. She had never ridden on anything larger than a rowboat in her parents’ pond out behind the barn. She affixed her vision on the shore ahead—not that far away she assured herself. The buggies back in Gordonville were this bouncy, and she never got sick.
Lydia let out an extended sigh. She missed the intoxicating farmland aromas of newly turned soil and of warm leather bridles. But not of mucking out the milking cows’ stalls, a chore she was always saddled with. She missed standing alongside her mam in the kitchen canning but not washing the never-ending sinks of dirty dishes. Why didn’t her brothers have to wash dishes? Maureen had an electric dishwasher that washed and dried the glasses and dishes until they sparkled. Sure, Lydia had to do a little scraping every now and then, but her workload was greatly reduced. For instance, she could toss dirty clothes in the washing machine and then the dryer instead of hanging them on a laundry line. This past winter on the farm she’d hung them in her parents’ basement to dry. It seemed as though she was stuck with every chore. Yet she missed the unique fragrance of sun-dried sheets. A splash of Downy Fabric Softener couldn’t compare.
Gulls circled overhead, screeching, sounding like sirens. An ill omen?
Their cries admonished her for leaving home without a word. She felt like crying for her disobedience but reminded herself that this was a chance of a lifetime. Amanda was a challenge, but Lydia had grown fond of the girl. Lydia often wished she could act like a spoiled brat too. Stomp her feet and scream the way Amanda did when her anger boiled over like a pot of oatmeal when the gas stove was set too high. Throw a tantrum.
Lydia recalled their trip earlier today to reach this distant point—what time was it anyway? She’d never been allowed to wear a wristwatch and wondered what time it was back in Lancaster County. Was Dat doing the morning or afternoon milking? Had Jonathan come over to help him? Were they talking about her? Was Jonathan asking Dat if he would allow Lydia to marry him or had Jonathan already found another woman to court?
A gull holding a piece of trash in its bill swooped past her. She grasped the railing, ducked her head. She had been surprised that she was not terrified on the flight over the Atlantic Ocean with nothing but thin air holding her up. Except for takeoff, she had been too preoccupied with Amanda, who’d demanded to go to the bathroom minutes before liftoff and accepting drinks and trays of food from the flight attendants. Who would have thought that she would have been so fussed over in an airplane? Not that she had been able to doze off as some of the passengers did. Men and women probably on their way to an important meeting and had popped sleeping pills in their mouths and dozed off like rag dolls.
Lydia was used to catering to others. Her job in the family had been to care for other people’s needs before her own. At home she’d been taught to serve others first and had been rebuked when she hadn’t. The second to the youngest of ten children, she was used to being last in line. And her parents demanded respect. Particularly after her father was chosen by lot to be minister of their district. Ach, what he must think of her now.
Maybe her parents didn’t know. It’s not as if they were allowed to carry cell phones in their pockets. Although somehow news traveled through the Amish community as fast as a rock in a slingshot. Her friends might have caught wind of this trip—and then told another and then another.
She rubbed her hands together for warmth. She was glad she was wearing her black winter coat and mittens and a blue scarf wrapped around her neck. Maureen had lent her a red crocheted beanie for the occasion. Maureen had hinted that Lydia should bundle up for this trip, and she was glad she’d listened. Nothing she would have worn back home, but the beanie was warming her ears. Her white heart-shaped cap would have blown off in the wind and as would her black winter hat.
Where was Amanda? Lydia reminded herself that this was not a pleasure trip. She was an employee looking after a scrappy girl who adored instigating trouble. Amanda delighted in it.
Lydia hadn’t let on that she knew Amanda had been put on probation and possibly would be asked not to return to her expensive preppy school after her vacation. Lydia never would have dared misbehave at her one room schoolhouse. Or at home.
Ach, she was tired of being obedient.
She heard chatter and noticed passengers were shuffling to the handful of cars. Since the four of them had arrived by bus and walked aboard, they would be met by a local driver whom Maureen had hired for a week to chauffeur them to their hotel and then around the island. How exciting.
“Where’s my daughter?” Maureen startled Lydia out of her musings. Maureen wore an expression of fear, her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth pulled back.
“She was here a moment ago.” Lydia looked around but did not see the girl. “She must be somewhere.”
Maureen let out a huff. “I brought you along to look after her.” Maureen’s voice turned frantic. “What if she fell overboard? What if she was kidnapped? Things like that happen.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll find her.” Lydia felt a jarring sensation and heard men speaking. She realized the small ferry must be docking. This was exactly like one of Amanda’s many strategies to rattle her mother. Lydia would not be surprised if Amanda had disembarked the ferry by herself just to garner her mother’s attention.
“You go this way, and I’ll go that way,” Maureen said. “And Denny, please, please, please, won’t you make sure she doesn’t get off with the cars?”
“Yes, ma’am, big sister.” Denny gave Maureen a mock salute. Lydia detected an eye roll behind Denny’s dark sunglasses.
“I’ll thank you not to call me big again,” Maureen snapped.
Denny didn’t apologize. “As if you didn’t call me a shrimp when I was young?”
Maureen seemed to be holding in a mouthful of barbed words.
“I’ll bet Amanda’s in the ladies’ room, wherever that is.” Denny looked around.
“Good thought.” Maureen pivoted to Lydia and said, “Find the ladies’ room or whatever they call it here.”
“Yah, okay, right away.” Lydia dashed off to do as told. Sure enough, in a room with a Toilet sign affixed to the door, she found Amanda peering in the mirror and slathering on makeup. Amanda stopped for a moment and then set about applying eyeliner and mascara. She looked five years older. Lydia wouldn’t mind wearing makeup too. She might even ask Amanda for a lesson on how to apply it. But not now.
Maureen must have seen Lydia’s expression as she swung open the door wider and said, “What’s keeping you, honey?”
“I had to go to the bathroom, Mommy.”
Maureen’s eyes bulged. “You scared me half to death.”
“Gosh, don’t freak out. Can’t I have a little privacy?”
Lydia was thankful that Amanda didn’t belt out a swear word. The girl was certainly capable of it. And right now, she looked like a woman of the night—an expression her parents had used. Whatever that meant. Lydia marveled at Amanda’s transformation and then reminded herself that her parents would think the same thing of her, what with her new hairdo and skinny jeans. She was relieved they weren’t here. Ach, her dat would call her short hair an abomination.
A thought hit Lydia like a poison dart. She might never see her family again. One thousand visions hurdled through her brain. She doubted she would be shunned if she returned and asked for forgiveness. Her parents and the community would grant her that. But the plane could crash on the way home, or some other gruesome tragedy might occur. She doubted Maureen or Denny would save her. Their attention would be fixed upon Amanda as it should be.
“Be anxious for nothing,” one of the ministers had said at church last year. She admonished herself for worrying, a pastime that had plagued her since childhood.
Wasn’t she aching for a new adventure? Yes. Even if it meant dying to achieve it.