Forever Amish (7 page)

“I can't wait that long.” She smuggled the flashlight into her apron pocket and slipped her feet into ankle boots. “Don't your Englisch friends drive automobiles? Can't one of them come fetch you?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

They lapsed into Pennsylvania Dutch, but I could make out several words my father occasionally used, like
Dummkopp
—what he called an aggravating customer when he and I were alone. I'd always assumed my father was attempting to speak German but never corrected his pronunciation.

I got to my feet. “Hey, you two, if you need a ride I can help out,” I said, and they both stiffened—as I expected they would.

“Uh—never mind,” Lizzie told me. “I couldn't impose on you again tonight. But thank you ever so much for the kind offer.”

The rain continued drumming against the ground outside the kitchen window. I didn't relish venturing into the storm, but I wanted to see their drama unfold—enacted for me, I figured. In my teens, I'd sneaked out at midnight while Pops snoozed. Looking back, I wondered if he knew about my forays. As a single parent, he'd let a lot slide, bringing the incidents up later in the form of offhand wisecracks. Rarely a punishment.

“I don't mind.” I wondered if their parents would act as leniently. Doubtful. Not Reuben, anyway. “Could you lend me a pair of boots? My shoes are shot.”

“Never mind.” She slithered out of her jacket and draped it over a hook. “Armin will shut off the lantern in the barn like he always does.”

“The storm's too fierce for either of us.” Jeremy wrenched off his hat and pitched it onto a peg by the back door. His hair lay flat on his forehead. “I made sure the livestock was secure before I came in for supper, so there's no reason for us to go out to the barn. And like ya said, Armin is sure to turn off the barn light.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Liz, stick around and keep Sally company. Have another cookie.”

“
Leib
Bruder, you have one.” She held out the plate of cookies, but he shook his head.

“I've had my fill,” he said. “Whip up more hot chocolate for Sally.” He turned to me. “Liz makes the best hot chocolate in the district.”

“Ain't you generous? I'll make you a cup too.”

“Nee, denki.” He covered his yawning mouth, his fingers curled into a ball. “Dat will be rapping on my door before sunup. I'm betting Peter's already in bed.”

“Then I'll turn in too.” Lizzie blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Why, I'm so tired I can barely keep my lids open.”

“Me, too. Gut Nacht.” Jeremy plodded out of the room.

I was sure those two were up to mischief. But what could they possibly conjure up on a tempestuous night in the middle of nowhere? Unlikely either of them would coerce a horse into leaving the safety of the barn. I could imagine the animal refusing to budge from the dry structure, which made me wonder how they coped during winter.

I sat on the rocker again and set it in motion. “Where's Armin?”

Lizzie's eyebrows raised—one crease on her otherwise blemish-free forehead.

“Just curious,” I said, wishing I hadn't asked.

“Out in his cabin most likely.” Lizzie kicked off her boots and moved toward the front room. Noticing she'd left her boots conveniently near the back door, I wondered if she would traipse out as soon as I turned in.

She fiddled with her cap strings. “He makes himself morning Kaffi but eats his breakfast with us after milking. You can see his place tomorrow if you want.”

“No, thanks, if it means getting up at milking time.” Realizing I wouldn't speak to him again, I felt an unexpected twinge in my stomach, which I chalked up to indigestion. I doubted our paths would cross again. Except for a little ribbing, he'd been my hero out in the storm. But what would be the point in looking for more? In fact, I was so miffed at Donald I might give up men forever.

No, not if I wanted a family and children: to feel a baby maturing in my womb and dedicate the rest of my life to caring for him or her. A roomful would suit me fine. My father was an only child. Both his parents died when he was young. I had no siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins. What would I do if Pops died from kidney failure? How would I survive?

“I'll say good night, Sally.” Lizzie eased toward the door to the living room. “Leave your cup and plate. I'll wash them in the morning.”

“But wait, you and I haven't had our talk. You never explained your emails.”

“We can chat after breakfast.” She backed into the front room and closed the door. I heard Jeremy and her half-whispering to each other as they passed through the living room, then movement on the staircase. Maybe I'd been wrong after all and they were going to bed. What I should do as well. But I felt wired—wide awake—and didn't want to be alone, how I'd felt most of my life, even when surrounded by bustling crowds at dog shows: saying hi and good luck to acquaintances who knew me by name but who didn't know the real me. Bottom line: I longed for my mother's eyes watching from the sidelines. I'd often scanned the many faces, hoping she was there. Every time I received a trophy, I'd clung to the dream she'd run forward to congratulate me. Pathetic.

A newspaper—
The Budget
—lay folded on the floor. I opened it, but I couldn't concentrate on the articles, mostly concerning an unexpected cold front moving in, notices for auctions, and mention of a Mennonite nonprofit fund-raiser, a big to-do I wouldn't mind attending if it meant buying a new quilt. What was I thinking about? I didn't have spare money and doubted any of Donald's or Pops's friends intended to give us an Amish quilt as a wedding gift. If we got married.

Feeling glum, I finished my cocoa and washed the cup and plate in the sink. No need to leave Rhoda a mess. She was bound to be the first person in this kitchen in the morning.

The back doorknob rattled and heavy footsteps crossed the utility room.

I wasn't usually jumpy, but I felt adrenaline surge through me. At home, Ginger warned me when a stranger was approaching. And Pops was close by to protect me.

I watched the knob to the kitchen door turn, and Armin entered wearing slippers. He placed his damp hat on the peg next to Jeremy's, then rotated and stared at me, his eyes round, like I didn't belong here. Did he expect to find a young beauty named Lizzie?

“Looking for Lizzie?” I asked before thinking, then wished I hadn't.

Armin's jaw flexed. “I have permission to come and go as I please.” He reached out and filched a cookie off the plate on the counter, bit into it.

He hadn't denied he was searching for Lizzie. I couldn't imagine why this fact made my chest tighten. More than ever, I wished I could restart the day. No, I didn't. I wouldn't have met Rhoda, my hospitable hostess. What I'd hoped my own mother would be like should I ever meet her—if she were still alive. She could have passed away years ago. My life would almost be easier if Mom were dead and buried securely under a marble tombstone in a graveyard I could visit. Instead, I lived with the prospect she might unexpectedly appear in 3-D and flip my life into an ocean of chaos. Or fulfill my childish dreams.

Donald's mother, Darlene, my future mother-in-law, wouldn't plug the void left by Mom's abandonment. I recalled the day Darlene chauffeured me to Manhattan to Bergdorf Goodman to pick out a wedding dress. “My treat,” she'd insisted, not permitting the saleswoman to reveal the price tags on the opulent gowns with plunging necklines and elaborate skirts—when I'd hoped for an understated sheath. Why hadn't I spoken up? I usually didn't play the underdog. Probably because I wanted Darlene to accept me, to grow to love me as her own daughter. I should be grateful, I'd told myself. Most young women would be ecstatic to receive such a lavish gift. Would I ever wear that wedding dress? Or was I destined to never marry? I pondered what having Rhoda for a mother-in-law would be like. Or a mother. Lizzie probably didn't appreciate her good fortune.

Armin moved toward the back door, snagging my thoughts. “I suppose I'll be on my way,” he said, but seemed to be vacillating, not putting on his hat.

“Already?” He'd obviously not come in to speak to me.

“Yah, I was hoping to find … Reuben.”

Armin's explanation struck me as false; he must know Reuben turned in early. “I think he's in bed. But if you wouldn't mind, I could use help.” I got to my feet and pulled my cell phone out of my sweats pocket. “My phone's low on juice. Is there anywhere to charge my battery?”

“Can't you place your calls, then turn it off?”

“My father might need me,” I said in my defense. “And someone else could call, although he probably won't. I should have told him I was going away for the weekend hours ago.” But Donald hadn't contacted me to apologize for his bullying behavior.

Only feet away, Armin gave me his full attention. He had the most beautiful brown eyes. I wondered what he saw. A foreigner wearing smudged makeup or an attractive woman? Not that I should care.

I brought out my left hand to expose my engagement ring. Armin probably found diamond rings pretentious since no one around here seemed to wear jewelry. Not even a wristwatch. “The man I'm engaged to could call me. We had a disagreement—” As my mind explored the enormity of our differences, a lump in my throat closed off my words.

“I don't wish to be nosy.” Armin ran a hand through his thick espresso-brown hair. “But if he doesn't know where you are, it seems an unusual way to carry on a courtship. Can you not call him yourself?”

“I could, but I have my reasons.” I was tempted to spill the entire story but decided not to.

“Where's your phone charger?” he asked.

“In my overnight bag, zipped into a side pocket.” I was glad I hadn't brought my laptop computer, Pops's Christmas present to me. The rain might have ruined it.

“Rhoda set your bag in the utility room to dry off.” Armin swallowed the remaining cookie, then put out his hand. “Give me your phone, and I'll grab the charger on my way out. I'll plug it in next to Reuben's fax machine in his shop.”

“He has electricity?”

“Only in his workshop next to the barn. For now, anyway.”

I recalled Rhoda's comments about a bishop's visit. “What kind of a business does Reuben run?”

“He builds—well, I'd best let him tell you himself.”

“No hints?” I handed him the phone. “Something illegal?” I joked, but Armin didn't smile.

He stuffed the phone into his pocket. “I better keep my mouth shut. Reuben will tell you should he wish you to know.”

I recalled what Pops asserted about loose tongues sinking ships. “Fine. Okay,” I said.

“How did ya come to be here, anyway?” He stared at the closed door leading to the front room, as if expecting someone.

“Lizzie emailed me several times. Although how I ended up in this kitchen still boggles me.”

He shot me a look of disbelief.

“It's true.” My hands moved to my hips. “If I had my laptop with me, I could show you the proof.” Or had I deleted her emails?

“Was Lizzie advertising rooms for rent over the Internet?” he asked. “Her parents could use the money, but they wouldn't approve of that method.”

“No, she told me she had a problem but wouldn't be specific. And now she denies the whole thing. And she had questions about my dogs.” Lizzie's emails had never mentioned renting rooms, but maybe detaining me as a tenant was her goal, though I couldn't imagine inviting the kennel owner for a visit and then demanding rent. But what did I know about Lizzie other than I'd stopped her from sneaking out of the house against her parents' wishes? The word
conniving
came to mind. She was a trickster.

“Why isn't Rhoda billing me?” I recalled the sumptuous meal, the large portions, and desserts aplenty. Pops and I had scrimped over the years as the economy fluctuated. “Should I have insisted on paying for dinner? If she and Reuben are low on cash, I'll leave something on the bedroom dresser when I go. Not that I carry much money.”

Standing at about six foot—an inch taller than Donald—Armin's face revealed bafflement. “But you drive a fancy car that must burn gasoline like a schoolkid sipping soda through a straw.”

“Don't you all use gas, propane, or diesel to run the refrigerator and stove?”

“Yah, in small quantities.” He took a step away from me—not that I blamed him. I sounded snappish. What was wrong with me? Why take out my anger about Donald's and my spat, for the storm, for everything spiraling out of control on Armin?

“In many ways, your lifestyle sounds superior to mine. Fact is, I'd love to be part of a big family.” Except I preferred Pops to Reuben ten times over. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Two. A sister who moved to Ohio years ago, right after our parents died, and an older brother, Nathaniel, who lives next door.”

“Why don't you stay with him?”

“I tried, but we've never seen eye to eye. I lived up in New York State for several years. Then when I returned, I lived with Nathaniel until he remarried. His new wife, Esther, said I could stay on, but I felt like a third wheel.”

“Ever been married?” I asked him.

“Nee, not with this shaved chin.” He smoothed his hand across it. “Once an Old Order Amishman's been married, he wears a beard—not that I've been baptized into the church.” I tried to visualize him with a tuft on his chin. He'd look cute anyway with those puppy-dog eyes.

“I courted a woman once …” He frowned as if recalling bad memories. “Are you always this inquisitive?”

“Sorry. I'm being rude. I already scared Lizzie and Jeremy up to their beds a few minutes ago.” I wasn't ready to be alone.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Then you did both a favor.”