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Jemima kept to herself, and said little to anyone, for days after the bake sale. She was usually very quiet and peaceful, never one to nurse anger or to act out like her sister. But to Jemima’s dismay, all that had unexpectedly changed – because now she was angry and upset.
She was trying to stay away from other people because she was horrified by the idea that she might bark at someone, like her sister Deborah. She was angry with the Englischer, she was angry with herself, she was angry with Mark and Samuel and Joseph, and she was even angry at her parents – with her father, for grabbing every decision out of her hands, and even with her poor mother, for wearing herself out in a useless gesture that would help no one.
Because in spite of her confusion, one thing at least was depressingly clear: despite of all their neighbors’ hard work, the total proceeds that the Yoders would receive from the bake sale had only been 351 dollars and 43 cents. About what it would cost for Adam Yoder’s parents to take him to a doctor...once.
The Yoders were like every other Amish family – they didn’t participate in traditional health insurance. And if their Amish neighbors couldn’t help them, they had no way to pay their medical bills. Who had that kind of money?
Except...her?
It was on her now. She was the only one who could help the Yoders, and therefore she had a moral obligation to do it. The preacher had been right; it was sinful for her to have the means to help her neighbors and to do nothing, just because she dreaded the process of selling that letter, or the people she’d have to deal with.
But why did it have to be her? Why did she have to find that cursed letter? Why couldn’t it have gone to someone else – anyone else?
She had no head for business, and no interest in business. She had no desire to go among the Englisch or to be rich. She was horrified by that crazy Englischer, and appearing in a newspaper – on purpose – well, it was the opposite of what a good Amish person should do.
Jemima mulled these things over uneasily as she sat, well hidden, in the loft of her father’s barn. It was where she always ran to hide when she’d been small, and it was still a good place for that. Because since she’d grown up, and grown pretty, no one ever suspected that she’d ever return to such a dusty corner.
But it was perfect for thinking. It was quiet and cool and sweetly fragrant of hay. She closed her eyes and rested her head against a big bale.
She’d hoped that Mark would help her find a way out when they had talked at the bake sale, but she’d been disappointed. Or maybe she had just been naïve. It wasn’t Mark’s fault that he wasn’t a mind reader – it was hers, for expecting him to be one.
She had sought advice from him because he was a childhood friend – as if she could hide from her problems by going back to the past. But Mark was no longer a child, and neither was she.
And because they were courting, he’d naturally assumed that she’d been talking about her choice of a mate, and had been anxious to show his sympathy. He’d tried to make love to her because they were alone, and because his way of expressing affection was almost purely physical.
She sighed, and was momentarily distracted by an old grievance.
If only Mark would tell her that he loved her – just once! – instead of expecting physical closeness to say it all!
Because what did a kiss mean, anyway? It could mean anything, unless the person doing the kissing bothered to explain what it meant.
But that was another worry, a distraction that she didn’t have the luxury to dwell on.
Her problem now, was the letter.
There was no getting around her duty. She had to call the Englischer, accept his help and sell the letter. It was a fate she dreaded, but there was one thing that was even worse – the thought of little Adam Yoder, and others like him, suffering for lack of the medical care that she could easily provide.
If she could only work up the nerve to do what she must.
Jemima looked out through a chink in the barn wall, out toward the garden. It was drowsing peacefully under a quiet summer sun.
She hated the thought of her home being invaded by strangers, of being stalked by some crazy, greedy newspaper reporter that she didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
It was true that he was very handsome, with that big bush of sandy brown hair. It was streaked with all different colors of brown and blond, like the sun had bleached it out, but not all the same.
And his eyes were bright and blue, and his eyebrows were bushy and wild and moved as if they were alive.
And he did have a strong chin, nice white teeth, and a strong...mouth.
A slow wave of heat crawled from her feet to the top of her head. She couldn’t help it, the memory came surging back, of his mouth clamped down over hers, and how that had felt.
An electric thrill flashed up her spine and branched out into little tingling, sparkling threads along every nerve in her body. She shuddered, and shook her head and frowned. She had been kissed many times before, and by many boys. But she had never, never been kissed by a madman.
It terrified her.
It was true that he had apologized, looked sorry, and even called her the most beautiful girl he’d ever met.
Jemima put her chin on her knees and hugged them.
Then she frowned. But her mother was right, a man’s actions were what counted, and the Englischer was a madman, and a wicked one, to treat her so disrespectfully.
She opened her eyes, and the look in them was troubled. But if so – then she must also be mad, and wicked. Because when the Englischer had taken her in his arms and kissed her, she had been – electrified.
She frowned again, and her mouth moved in silent prayer. But when she opened her eyes, she had no sense of the presence of God, and was downcast about it.
Maybe her heart wasn’t right any more.
That made it all the more awkward and terrifying to call that madman, and to talk to him again. Because, with her own feelings so jumbled up, surely she should stay as far away from him as she could get?
She chewed her thumbnail. Maybe she should just tell her father everything, and let him deal with the Englischer. That would be safest, and perhaps best.
But even though she knew it was right, somehow – she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Her father would take the letter and the decision out of her hands, just as he always did. And that would be the end. But for once in her life, Jemima thought, she wanted to be the one to decide. Even if that meant that she had to take a risk and do something that other people might not understand.
Something that she, even, might not fully understand.
She bit her lip, looking out through the little chink in the wall, out to the garden. But the idea of seeing the reporter again made her very uneasy. There was no knowing what he’d do. That mad Englischer always surprised her.
Always.
He frightened her, he shocked her, he made her angry, and he amazed her.
And what was even more unsettling – maybe she liked that, just a little bit.
Jemima’s beautiful eyes widened in fear. She frowned, pulled her knees to her chest and prayed even more earnestly.
