The next day, Monday, was my day off from the inn. My mother and I were together in the kitchen, canning strawberry preserves. While my mother stirred the boiling mixture of strawberries, sugar, and lemon juice, I sterilized the jars. Holding a pair of tongs, I watched the water roiling around the jars and lids and rings, checking the clock to be sure it boiled for a full ten minutes. On the counter I laid out a clean towel, ready to arrange the items when they came out of the pot. I was still angry with my mother, but I thought in this quiet work we were sharing, there might be a way to bring up the conversation again.

In the afternoon I would be picking up Ruthie from school. I planned to leave a little early so I could stop at the inn and speak to Mrs. Aster. I would tell her that my parents had had a change of heart and didn’t feel that it was a good time for me to leave home. But if my mother gave me any indication today that she might be softening to the idea, I would tell Mrs. Aster that I would be in touch with her again when it was a better time for my family.

As I prepared to lift the first jar out of the boiling water, I heard a knock at the front door. My mother went to answer, and I heard her greet a quilt customer in her cordial way. I imagined her at the door, her face settled into the lines of the stranger smile. But there was something about my mother’s voice, confused and cautious, that made me set the tongs down on the towel. I heard her say, “I don’t understand. Surely there must be some mistake.” I turned off the gas burner and moved toward the front door, to see my mother standing face-to-face with Mrs. Aster.

Both women turned to me with confused expressions, and I swallowed back a wave of dread. “Eliza,” said my mother, “Mrs. Aster tells me that you’ve discussed a position with her. Do you have something to say about this?”

I turned to Mrs. Aster, who seemed to take stock of the situation quickly. “It’s my fault, Mrs. Miller. I was so eager to hire a new nanny for my children that I jumped ahead before checking with you. I should never have mentioned the job to Eliza without talking to you first.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said to my mother. “This is my fault. I thought that if I had a job offer, you might agree to it. But when you were so firm about not letting me leave home, I didn’t even have a chance to tell you about the job.” I turned to face Mrs. Aster. “I was going to come to the inn today to explain that I couldn’t accept the position. I’m so sorry.”

We were all standing in the front hallway, facing each other in an awkward circle. Mrs. Aster’s expression held concern and discomfort. My mother’s was unreadable.

She turned to Mrs. Aster. “When your children are teenagers, you will learn that they don’t always like to follow your rules.” I looked down, heat pumping to my face, as my mother continued, her voice polite and even. “I’m sure that you had the best of intentions, but I hope you understand our decision that Eliza will not be leaving home.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Aster. “And please know that I meant no disrespect.”

“I understand,” said my mother.

As Mrs. Aster turned to step onto the front porch, our eyes met. I tried in that flash of an instant to show her how sorry I was for putting her in this situation. And how sorry I was that I couldn’t go with her.

When the door closed, my mother faced me. I expected anger, but instead I saw tired resignation. “Will there be any more surprises for me on my front porch, Eliza? Will any other strangers be stopping by to ask me if you’ll be living with them?”

“No,” I said miserably.

“Good,” she said.

I started to go back to the kitchen to pull the jars out of the boiling water. My mother reached for my arm, and I turned around to face her. When she spoke, her voice was urgent.

“One day you’ll understand, Eliza.”

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn’t true.

I left early to pick up Ruthie, giving my mother the excuse that I had an errand to run in town. I hurried to the inn, hoping that Mrs. Aster would be there. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say to her, but I knew that I didn’t want to leave things this way. When she answered my knock, I stepped into the room, feeling shivery even in the June heat. She looked up from the papers spread across the bed, and sat up quickly.

“Eliza, I thought you weren’t working today.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I just wanted to explain things before you left.”

She got up and pointed to the two wing chairs in the corner of the room. We sat down, and she turned to me. “I hope I didn’t cause any trouble for you today,” she said. “When I met you at your mother’s dinner, I dreamed of having that kind of help around my house. I realize now that I shouldn’t have talked to you about the job without first checking with your parents.”

“I gave you every reason to think they’d be agreeable. I’m afraid I wasn’t completely truthful with you.”

Rachel spoke quietly. “Do you want to be truthful now?”

I nodded. “I’ve always wanted to leave home during my rumspringa and see what the English life is like.”

“I take it from your mother’s response today that your parents feel strongly about keeping you at home.”

“My mother does. My father was more open-minded about it, but he couldn’t get her to change her mind.” I glanced at the clock. “I have to go now. It’s time to pick my sister up from school. But I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your offer—even though I can’t accept it.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she said. “If anything changes, Mr. Allen knows how to get in touch with me. He’s a friend of mine.” I smiled my thanks and hurried off to pick up Ruthie, knowing that I would never have the need to contact Mrs. Aster. It was time for me to put that hope aside and move on. I just wished I knew where I was going.

That night after dinner I tried to feel more positive about being at home during my rumspringa. Some of my friends were starting to wear blue jeans at the parties, and we were all planning for the movies we were going to see together once our parents agreed. And now that I’d be staying home, I could consider the idea of having Daniel as my beau. I had a feeling that was what he wanted, too. It was only my wish to leave home that kept me from feeling the same way.

Before James went out for the evening, he came over to the table, where I was helping Ruthie with her arithmetic problems. He looked at me in a cheerless way and said, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Me too,” I said. “But thanks for your help.”

While Ruthie was bent over the paper, I noticed my parents standing together in the kitchen. Their voices were so low I couldn’t make out any of the words, but I knew my mother was telling my father of Rachel’s visit this afternoon. My father looked up for a moment, and our eyes met. Instead of disapproval, I saw sadness in his expression, and I knew that I had disappointed him.

I checked Ruthie’s division problem and reminded her to carry the remainder over to the next column. She rubbed her eraser so roughly over her mistake that it ripped the paper and she pushed it away in frustration.

“Here,” I said, blowing the eraser dust away and smoothing out the tear in the paper. “Let’s start this one over again. I had a hard time with long division, too, but I learned it eventually.” I brushed a strand of golden hair off her damp face. “And so will you.”

As I reached for a new piece of paper, I heard my father at the front door. “I’m going out for a little fresh air,” he said. I waved to him over my shoulder and went back to Ruthie’s homework. “See?” I said, when she corrected her mistake. “I knew you could do it.”

She looked up at me, a combination of boredom and gratitude in her round eyes, and we went on to the next problem.