An Amish Christmas (15 page)

“It’s fine with me if it’s okay with everyone else.”

Sam gave her another squeeze. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” He turned to go. “I left Rufus in my bedroom, so I better get back.”

Well, Meg thought, Sam was looking more relaxed than he had in ages, and he was obviously having the most fun of anyone in their family. Who would have guessed?

She caught a glimpse of Will and Eli walking past the window and went over to watch them. Her thirteen-year-old had his fleece jacket zipped up under his chin, his hands deep in his pockets. Eli wore the customary black brimmed hat and simple black jacket. He was talking and gesturing. Will nodded, his face neutral. Meg knew that face; it indicated he was participating in the conversation but didn’t want anyone
to think he actually cared about it. At least he was participating, she told herself. That was an improvement over yesterday.

Lunch was another huge meal, with fourteen people at the table. James had spent the morning out in the field with some of the men, and he sat on the men’s side of the table, away from where Meg sat with the women. He didn’t exactly blend in, she thought, with his expensive jeans and running shoes, now covered with mud, but he was enjoying himself.

The two of them had exchanged barely ten words since the day before. Apparently exhausted from whatever farmwork he had done, he had uncharacteristically gotten into bed at nine
P.M
. and fallen asleep almost instantly. The truth was, Meg had nothing to say to James at the moment, and he seemed to be taking advantage of the situation to stay away from her as well.

Several family members were taking a break after lunch, and Will, Eli, and Sam started a game of Monopoly. After helping clean up in the kitchen, Meg decided she would take Catherine’s suggestion and lie down for a half hour to rest her back. Upstairs, she saw Lizzie, who had ducked out of the lunch cleanup, stretched out on her bed, arms crossed behind her head. She was staring at the ceiling.

Meg leaned against the doorjamb. “What’s up?”

“Oh, if only there was something—anything—up,” Lizzie answered, not bothering to look at her. “I’m so bored I want to scream.”

“Where’s your iPod?”

“Needs to be charged.” Her voice grew more petulant. “But that would require an outlet, which would mean having electricity—which these freaks don’t believe in.”

Meg crossed her arms. “Hey, did you ever read
Tom Sawyer
? For school, maybe?”

Lizzie gave her mother a disdainful look. “Uh-uh.”

“I saw it downstairs on the bookshelf. Definitely worth reading. It’s a classic.”

“Oh, a
classic,
” Lizzie said with exaggerated awe. “Well, in that case …”

Meg ignored the crack. “That means it’s good. Pick it up. I think you might enjoy it.”

“This is what I’ve been reduced to: scrounging for old, boring books. Please just shoot me now. Really, I’m not kidding.”

Meg turned around so Lizzie wouldn’t see her smile. Her daughter was having to fend for herself without a cell phone, iPod, computer, or television. She might actually be driven to pick up a good book. Imagine. There were some unanticipated benefits to having a car accident, Meg thought as she shut her bedroom door behind her.

The day grew warm enough to melt whatever snow was left on the ground. By late afternoon, when the children had returned home from school, they congregated outside, where they were joined by a growing number of friends. Watching from the porch, Meg observed Amish children arriving on foot, roller skates, or scooters. One teenage girl came on a large scooter with a basket in front and oversize wheels; she brought along a little girl and boy in a small low cart with wheels attached to the back.

All the children seemed to be bursting with energy, delighted to have this unusually warm, sunny day in the middle of winter. Most threw off their jackets or capes. The younger ones ran about, playing games, shouting and laughing. Meg spotted Rachel, the youngest Lutz child, talking and giggling with three other girls.

The teenagers, both boys and girls, assembled at the side of the house to play volleyball. It was quite a sight, Meg thought, all the girls in their richly colored dresses, their hair so neatly coiled into pinned-up braids. The boys, too, with their black pants and suspenders and similar haircuts.

She reflected that her children’s friends also wore matching clothes, the same jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts. When she was a kid, she, too, had wanted to fit in by wearing the same clothes as the other kids. Not that her parents would pay for the stylish brands.

There had been rules then, even though unspoken, and there were rules now. It was different here, in that the clothing rules were dictated. They never changed. But at least everybody fit in, and no one had to struggle to do so. In that way, it was a lot easier for an Amish teenager, at least when it came to getting dressed in the morning.

Sam was out there with Aaron and another boy who appeared to be around their age. The boy was on in-line skates, making rapid circles around Sam and Aaron. Aaron held a long stick and kept tossing up small rocks, attempting to hit them as if they were baseballs. The boy spoke to Sam and pointed to a scooter leaning against the house. Sam raced over to grab it and was gone from sight.

“Mrs. Hobart?”

Meg turned around to see Amanda and Lizzie, zipping up her jacket, standing behind her.

“You said you want to go to the store. It is late, but we are going now. Do you want to go with us?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Meg grabbed her coat. “Lizzie, you’re coming?”

Her daughter shrugged. “It’s something to do.”

They followed Amanda to where Jonathan waited in what Meg now knew to be his buggy. He jumped out and extended a hand to help her up onto the front seat beside him. Amanda and Lizzie got in back.

They set out. Meg studied the young man next to her. Beneath his black hat, he had Catherine’s blue eyes and brown hair. No doubt, Meg thought, he’d had the same light-blond hair as his younger siblings when he was a boy. Initially, she had found the bangs and bowl haircuts on the men incongruous, like children’s hairstyles on grown-ups. She was getting used to them; they no longer seemed odd in the least.

“Do you do these deliveries every day?” Meg asked him.

“No, ma’am,” he replied, his eyes on the road. “Depends on the season, how much we need to bring. A lot of things.”

There was so much Meg wanted to ask him. She was dying to know how an eighteen-year-old Amish boy experienced the world.

“Please forgive me if I’m being rude, but I was wondering if you only work on your family farm or if you go to school, or anything like that.”

He flicked the reins, and the horse picked up the pace.
“We go to the school until eighth grade. Then we have a class one time every week. Like Eli. When we turn fifteen, we are done.”

Meg realized her daughter was leaning forward in the back, trying to hear what Jonathan was saying.

“Sounds good to me,” Lizzie interjected.

He turned his face a little to the side so she could hear him better. “It’s necessary for us. We have to work. The American government gave permission so we can do it our way.”

“All anybody talks about here is work. Don’t you do anything for fun?”

“Lizzie,” Meg admonished her, “that’s so rude.”

He smiled. “It’s okay. Teenagers do a lot of things. After church, on Sunday nights, they have sings, and we have many ways to have a good time.”

“What are ‘sings’?” Lizzie asked.

“The girls and the boys go to someone’s house, and they sing songs. It’s a big social event. That’s where many people find someone they like. Then they go out.”

“Go out?” Lizzie echoed. “Like on dates?”

He smiled slightly. “Not like you would think, I guess. They spend time together.”

“Do you mind if I ask whether you’re dating someone?” Meg inquired.

“Oh my God, Mom!” yelled Lizzie as Jonathan turned beet red. “You did
not
just ask that!”

“I’m so sorry,” Meg said. “That really was wrong of me. I’m very sorry.”

For the first time, Amanda spoke up from the back. “It is
okay, Mrs. Hobart. We never like to tell about those things to the grown-ups. When people are ready to be married, then they tell.”

Lizzie faced Amanda. “So you never meet anybody besides the other kids who live here?”

Amanda hesitated. After a moment, Jonathan answered. “When we’re sixteen, we can spend some time seeing the world if we want. We’re allowed to visit new places and do different things. If we want to meet new people, we can. That way we know when we are ready to join the church.”

Meg was confused. “Wait—aren’t you members of the church already?”

He looked at her with the same gaze as that of the younger children of the house: direct, guileless, and open. “No. That’s one of the things about the Amish people. We believe you should be baptized when you decide to be a church member, as an adult. So you have time to go out and think it over. See what you’re missing in the outside world.”

“Did you do this, leave for a while?” Lizzie asked him. She turned to Amanda. “Wait—you’re sixteen. Are you doing this?”

Jonathan answered again. “I tried some things, yes. But I knew what I wanted, and I was baptized.”

Amanda’s answer was firm. “I don’t need to do anything different. I am happy as I am, and I will be baptized, too.”

Lizzie spoke slowly. “I think I’ve heard about this someplace. There’s a word for it, right?”

Amanda sighed. “The word you are thinking about is
rumspringa
.
Many tourists ask about it. So, some kids maybe get their own apartment. They drive a car and wear the English clothes. We do things we are not allowed to do at home, and we see how we wish to live. Amish or not.”

“Your parents are okay with this?” Meg asked.

Neither said anything. Finally, Jonathan answered. “Some kids decide fast, or they are like Amanda and they already know. Sometimes they take a long time to decide, and it causes a great deal of trouble. Like with our brother Benjamin. He’s been gone now almost four months. My parents are very unhappy about him. They worry he’ll be one of the ones who don’t come back.”

“Jonathan,” Amanda reprimanded him, “you should not tell about this!”

That explained why they had the empty bedroom, Meg realized, the one that belonged to the son with all the sports equipment and posters. He was off somewhere, deciding about his future. Catherine had described him as being “away,” with no further explanation.

So, Meg thought, even Amish parents sometimes had their guts taken out by their teenagers.

Jonathan looked annoyed at his sister’s efforts to silence him but said nothing more. The horse trotted over the hilly roads, its hooves making their own music in the otherwise total quiet. The sun was setting, orange and pink streaking the sky. Meg guessed that by the time they got back to the farm, dinner would be ready, and everyone would gather for a silent prayer and the evening meal. She leaned back, relaxing into
the jostling of the carriage, not thinking about anything at all, and watched the sky transform into breathtaking purples and reds.

When they returned to the house, however, Meg had to acknowledge to herself that she had put off far too long making the call she had been dreading. Her parents were expecting her to arrive the day after tomorrow. That was out of the question. Still in her coat, she asked Catherine if she might use their telephone.

“It’s in the shed around the back. Walk past the gazebo.”

Meg thanked her and took a lantern outside. She pulled open the shed door and raised the lantern high enough to reveal a wealth of gardening tools and empty pots, all neatly arranged and well used but clean, ready be retrieved in the spring. Behind a wheelbarrow, she saw a small table with a telephone and answering machine, plus a white pad and several pencils. Meg almost laughed out loud, realizing she had somehow been expecting an antique phone, something tall and black, with an earpiece that she would hold up to her ear while shouting “
Operator, operator!
” This wasn’t a cordless phone, and the answering machine looked fairly old, but they were both perfectly serviceable.

She stood the lantern on the table, where it cast an eerie glow on the shed’s low ceiling, and dialed. Her mother picked up on the sixth ring. “Hello.” As usual, the same flat tone.

“Hi, Mother, it’s me,” Meg said.

“What’s wrong?”

Resisting the urge to scream at the assumption behind the question, Meg answered, “Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to let you
know we’ve had a little delay. We won’t make it to you quite when I thought.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a big deal, really. The car needs some work, and we have to wait for it to be done.”

“What do you mean ‘needs some work’?” Her mother’s suspicions were raised. “You had an accident, didn’t you?”

Congratulations, Meg wanted to say. You got it in one. “Just a small mishap” was what she said instead. “The car ran off the road. Everyone’s fine, and it’ll be fixed. But they have to order a part or something, and it could take a few days. Maybe even a week.”

“A week? That’s not some small mishap.”

Meg closed her eyes and rested her head in one hand.

“Will insurance pay for it?” her mother wanted to know.

Nothing about the well-being of her grandchildren, Meg noticed. “Yes, the money’s not a problem.”

Her mother let out a short snort of derision. “It’s hardly surprising. That old car wasn’t in any shape to make this trip. You knew that.”

“We didn’t have much choice, if you recall,” Meg retorted, knowing she was perilously close to inviting an argument.

Her mother chose to ignore the invitation. “Where are you?”

“We’re in Pennsylvania.”

“What on earth are you doing there?”

“This is where it happened. I can give you the phone number where we’re staying in case you need to reach us.”

“You’re in a hotel? How can you afford that?”

Oh, boy, here it comes, thought Meg. This is going to be a moment to remember. “No. We’re staying with an Amish family. They’re lovely people. And they refuse to let us pay them for anything.”