For the next two weeks I tried to follow Josh’s advice from earlier in the summer, and I lived in the moment. He and I stopped talking about the possibility that I might leave, but when we bundled at the end of the night, our bodies connecting to each other, there was a distance inside that kept us just a little bit separate.

At the end of the two weeks, a thin letter came from my father.

Dear Eliza,

You have not written again to ask that your time be extended, so I assume that Mrs. Aster has completed her work and can let you return home. Please write back to tell us your plans.

All my love,

Dad

I brought the letter with me to Aunt Beth’s house that Sunday. She glanced at it and looked at me. “So, you’ve decided?”

“I still have some things to think about,” I said. She turned the fire down on the pot of stew, and we sat together at her kitchen table. “What do you think it’ll be like for me at home?”

“You’ll be happy to be with your friends again,” she said. “I think you’ll settle right into those Friday night parties. And it’ll be nice to be with your family.” I smiled thinking about sitting at the table, reaching for James and Ruthie before saying grace. “Of course you’ll miss some things. Movies, phones, Josh.” She paused before adding, “Me.”

“Will I still be able to stay in touch with you even though you’re under the bann?”

Aunt Beth nodded. “It’ll be a while before you decide to be baptized. And your mother didn’t get any sanctions from the district when she came to see me. So I think I’ll be able to be your aunt even if you join the Order.”

I breathed in my relief. “There’s something else I’m wondering about,” I said. “I’m not sure what my plan would be if I go back home.”

“What was your plan before you came here?”

I grinned. “My plan was to come here.” Suddenly I felt an odd freedom. My list was finished. Nothing else was lingering, waiting to be experienced. “Now I need to think about what happens next.”

“Amish women do stay pretty close to home, but some of them venture out a bit,” Beth said. “Teaching is always an option. And some Amish get permission to go to school or training programs. I think your parents would be open to that.”

“Now I think they would,” I agreed.

“And there are other jobs besides teaching and quilting,” Beth went on. “I loved my work in the library. And two of my friends were working when I left home. Holly was a veterinary assistant and Regina was studying to be a midwife. I think there are more possibilities at home than you realize.”

I had always pictured that my adult life would be like my mother’s, but now I was thinking maybe it didn’t have to be.

“And, remember, all of your friends at home will be in the same situation,” said Beth. “They’re all in that time before they’re baptized, wondering what’s ahead.” I smiled. It was comforting to think that my friends and I would be facing the questions about our future together. We would share our ideas during quilt circles and Friday night parties. We would sit together at services and think about each other when we baked friendship bread.

Beth’s voice was low now, and I realized it was hard for her to talk about my leaving. “And everything you’ve learned in your time here, it doesn’t go away. It’ll all be part of you.” I closed my eyes and thought about these words. Then I looked at Beth.

“Here’s a question,” I said. “What would I do with all my English clothes?”

“I was thinking that we can leave them here at my house. One day I may need you to come for a long visit and you might want to wear them.” She paused for a moment, looking at me carefully. I waited, sensing there was something Beth was trying to tell me. “John’s been wanting us to start a family, but I haven’t felt ready. I didn’t know if I could be a good mother after all that happened between my family and me. But having you in my life made me feel what having a child could be like, and I know now that I do want it.” She paused, her voice breaking. “And if that happens, I’m going to need your help around here.”

Warmth filled my throat and chest. I reached across the table for my aunt’s hand. “It’s the right thing,” I said, and she nodded.

After dinner, Beth and I curled up on opposite ends of the couch, our quilts spread over our laps and across the space between us, our needles rising and falling in unison. When Beth spoke, her voice was a murmur. “So, when would you leave?”

“Next weekend,” I said.

“Uncle John and I have been talking,” she began. “I’m going to ask my boss for some time off so I can drive you home. And maybe I’ll stay a little while.”

I gasped. “Can you? Are you allowed?”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since your mom came here. I know there’ll be restrictions, since I’ll be there under the bann. I won’t be able to sit at the table or go to services. Some people won’t see me, but others may take a chance.” She stitched quietly for a moment, her face tight with emotion. Then she set her needle down and looked at me. “I want to see my parents. I want to meet your sisters and brother. And I’m hoping to be able to talk to Emmy. I think she’ll see me now; it’s been so long.”

My eyes clung to Aunt Beth’s across the couch and the expanse of our quilts. I couldn’t think of what to say. I was going to bring my aunt home.

We decided to leave on Saturday. I would finish my week of work and give the children time to understand that I would be going. When I got home from Beth’s house I went into Rachel’s office. She looked up from the computer screen, and I sat down in the chair facing the desk. “I got a letter from my father,” I said. “He wants to know when I’ll be coming home.”

Rachel nodded and bit her lip. “What did you tell him?”

“I haven’t answered him yet, but I’m going to write tomorrow and tell him to expect me on Saturday.”

“I knew this was coming,” said Rachel. “But it still feels like a jolt.”

I told her about my evening with Beth and about her plan to come with me. A smile crept up Rachel’s face. “I hope she has a nice homecoming.”

I told the children the next day after school. Janie’s lips quivered, and tears collected in her eyes. Ben’s face twisted for a moment, but he gathered himself together. I pulled Janie into my lap and looked at Ben. “I’ll miss you both.”

“Will you visit us?” he asked.

“Yes, I will. And I’ll write you letters. Will you write me back?”

“I’ll e-mail you,” he said.

I shook my head. “We don’t have a computer.”

“Can we talk on the phone?”

I shook my head again. “No phone and no computer. Remember, I live in the ‘olden times.’ It’ll have to be snail mail.”

Janie looked up at me, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’ll write you every day,” she said solemnly.

A few minutes later they were back in front of the television, control panels in their small hands, maneuvering the images on the screen to avoid scary obstacles that popped out of nowhere. This is how I would remember them, their thumbs moving frantically, their eyes glued to the screen.

I called Josh and asked if he could come over after dinner. There was a moment of quiet on the phone before he said, “I’ll see you at eight.”

At a corner table in the Bean Scene, Josh looked at me and waited. I couldn’t think of what to say. Finally he said it for me. “When are you leaving?”

“Saturday,” I said. “My aunt is going to drive me home.”

“And there’s nothing I can say to change this?”

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s what I want to do.”

He nodded. His brown eyes were cloudy and his face had a pinched look. “Can I just ask you one question? Are you going back to him? To Daniel?”

“No.” The word came out forcefully. “No,” I said again, quietly. “This isn’t a decision about a boy. It’s a decision about me.”

He looked reassured. “So, how should we spend your last few days?” he asked.

“Just like this,” I said.

Josh came over every evening that week. We went to the Bean Scene or watched movies, our arms and legs tangled around each other. We talked about all of our times together, recalling the day we met and how he’d played music for me. We laughed about all the things I didn’t know about then, and the way I fumbled with each new device before I learned how to use it. We talked about going to the city and the Cubs game and the under twenty-one club. We even found a way to laugh about Valerie’s party.

One day after school, Carly and Jill came over to say good-bye. I smiled at memories of how Jill helped me shop for the dance, and how Carly stood up to Valerie on my behalf. Each girl hugged me and promised to write me letters, but they probably wouldn’t. They would buy dresses for the next dance and take their college tests, and I would be a small memory of someone they once knew. That is what they would be for me as well, and it was all right.

Later that same night, the doorbell rang and Greg was on the stoop, his smile wide and friendly. He visited with me in the living room, and we laughed together about how excited I had been to see my first movie, and about how Mr. Rozey almost wouldn’t let me into the dance. “Hey,” he said. “My man Josh is going to be one hurting dude when you leave.”

My throat felt tight. “It’ll be hard for me too.”

Greg laughed, a mischievous look in his eye. “I might have to go to his house and watch The Sound of Music with him to make him feel better.”

I smiled. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

“I know about a lot of things,” he said with a grin. At the door, Greg gave me a hug. “Take care of yourself in Amish country.” He stepped outside and then turned back. “Oh, and I’ll say good-bye for Valerie too. In case she doesn’t get around to it.” Our eyes met, and he nodded to me in what I thought was a knowing way.

Josh and I agreed to have our own good-bye on Friday night. He was going to work early on Saturday, and I was happy to have one less good-bye on the day I left. That night Josh took me out to dinner to a restaurant with no television sets on the walls. He turned off his cell phone, and I was the only one with him at the table. All week we had talked about the time we’d spent together. Now we talked about the time ahead. “Do you think I can ever visit you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. There wouldn’t be much for you there.”

“You’d be there,” he said.

I was filled with a fragile feeling, like I was going to laugh or cry or both, and I had no control over it. But I didn’t feel like I was going to break, so I knew I would be okay.

Rachel’s house was quiet when we got home. We went into the family room and sat close together on the couch. “I have a present for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled a shiny silver disc out of a white envelope. I waited, not understanding. On the disc he had written the names of songs in black marker. “I burned this for you,” he said, proudly. “It’s all the songs we listened to together.” He pointed to titles one by one. “See? This is the Dylan song you liked, ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door.’ And here’s the song we danced to at the club. Here’s the slow dance from Homecoming. Here’s ‘Blackbird,’ the first song we listened to on my iPod.” He smiled proudly. “I even put on a Billy Joel song. That just about killed me.”

He looked at me, waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure what to say. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given me. It was also the silliest. “Thank you,” I said, waiting for him to understand.

Then his face changed. “I’m an idiot,” he said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “You don’t even have a way of listening to this. What was I thinking?”

I smiled and took the disc from his hand. “It’s okay,” I said. “There’ll be parties at home. Someone will have a CD player. Or I can take it with me to the library and listen.” I looked at the disc and heard parts of each song in my head as I read the titles. “I love that you did this for me.”

We said good-bye to each other on the front stoop, our arms wrapped around each other, our teeth chattering in the November cold. Josh whispered something in my ear, the heat from his breath tickling me. “I’ll never forget you.” I nodded against his chest, my throat too filled to speak.

The next morning, I was up early. I put on the purple dress, the white apron, the kapp. My English clothes were packed in boxes at the front door, waiting to be stored at Aunt Beth’s house. My duffel was repacked with the same items I had carried to Aunt Beth’s house in anger a few weeks ago. The room was clean and empty.

I went downstairs and set my duffel by the front door near the boxes. In the kitchen I made coffee and began to mix the batter for pancakes. A knock at the front door startled me. It was too early for Aunt Beth to be here. I ran to answer the door and found Josh standing on the stoop.

“I wanted to see you one more time.” He stepped inside, and I felt his eyes on me, looking me up and down. “I’ve never seen you in your Amish clothes,” he said. “You look so…”

I waited to see what he would say. Out-of-date, old-fashioned, quaint.

“Pretty,” he said. “You look so pretty.”

I stepped into his arms one last time. We had talked of visiting and of writing to each other, and maybe it would happen. But more likely we’d both just recall this moment, a boy in blue jeans embracing a girl in a dress and bonnet. I held the picture in my mind so I could commit it to memory. This is what I wanted to think about when I remembered our time together.

Back in the house, I cooked the pancakes and ate a quick breakfast, leaving the rest for the family. Rachel came downstairs followed by the children. “Sam’s taking them out today,” she said. “I thought it would be easier for them to say good-bye to you if they had an outing to look forward to.”

Ben and Janie climbed into their seats at the table, and I served them breakfast. Rachel sipped her coffee and nibbled on a pancake at the sink. These images would also be in my memory. Ben looked at my clothes. “You look just like your mom did when she came to visit,” he said.

Janie’s face was more curious. Then she lit with an idea. “You look just like the doll you gave me, only with a face!” Rachel and I exchanged a smile.

A few minutes later, Sam came downstairs and walked over to me with a shy look on his face. “Thank you for everything, Eliza. It’s been wonderful having you in the family.” I felt the bristles of his closely trimmed beard as he hugged me. “Come on, guys,” he called to the children. “We have some adventures to get to today.”

The children bounded up from the table and ran to me. I felt two pairs of arms wrap around my waist, and I looked down to see their round upturned faces, etched with the kind of temporary sadness that comes over children until they move on to their next emotion. I kissed each of them and inhaled their salty scents one more time.

“I promise to write to both of you,” I said in a choked voice.

I watched as Sam led the children out the front door. They turned around to wave to me before running to the car.

I turned to Rachel. Tears were brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do around here without you.”

I swallowed back a tightness in my throat. “You’ll do fine.”

She shook her head. “I’ve loved having you in my life.”

I searched for the right words to tell her. Finally I found them. “You changed things for me,” I said. “I needed this, and you made it happen.”

Rachel pulled me to her. I felt her hand cupped at the back of my head and my tears against her sweater. We stood like that for a few seconds or a few minutes. It was hard to tell. But neither of us wanted to let go. Finally we did, and we stepped back and laughed at our wet faces and red eyes. “You’ll be coming back to visit your aunt?” Rachel asked.

“I plan to. I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll be checking my mailbox every day, waiting for letters.”

“And me as well.” Then I thought of something. “When you finish your thesis, I’d like to read it.”

Rachel smiled and nodded. “I’d be honored.”

Just then the front door opened and John and Beth stepped in. We greeted them, and Aunt Beth went back out to her car carrying my duffel. As Uncle John prepared to pick up one of my boxes, he turned to me, speaking softly. “I want to thank you for finding Beth.”

I smiled. “And I hope to hear some good news soon. I’m ready for a new cousin.”

John pulled me into the bear hug that I’d come to expect from him ever since the day I’d surprised him in his living room. “This isn’t good-bye,” he said.

Finally I was in Beth’s car, the hugs and farewells behind me. I turned to my aunt, who had taught me that there wasn’t only one way to live. Even in her rebellion she held some love for the life she had left behind. It would be that way for me, living in one place and carrying another place in my heart. She had told me that there were other choices than the ones I knew about, and I was determined to find them. She reached for my hand and squeezed it before turning the key and backing the car out of the driveway.

I looked out the windshield and watched the white lines on the road disappear beneath the car as it moved forward. Rachel’s street led to a highway that, in a few hours, would lead me back home, to the place I had been so eager to leave a few months ago. Soon the sight of buggies and clotheslines would be tenderly familiar. I settled back in my seat, enjoying the ride.

My life was ahead of me. And it was filled with possibility.