Plain Fame (13 page)

She was stretched out on the sofa in the kitchen, a basketful of thread at her side as she crocheted a blanket in various colors of blue. She hated the scratchy feeling of the blanket against her skin and kept pushing it onto the sofa. If she couldn’t help around the house or outside in the garden anymore that day, she could at least keep busy with the crocheting.

“It’s awful warm for crocheting that blanket, ain’t so?” Lizzie asked with a look of concern as she sat down in the chair next to the sofa. “Mayhaps you should crochet something lighter, like a table runner or place mats.”

Amanda shrugged. “Need to finish this one, Mamm. Might as well do it now while I have time.” But she kept miscounting her stitches and having to pull out some of the rows. Frustrated, she shoved the ball of yarn and crochet hook aside, then leaned her head back on the sofa.

She needed to get out of the house, wanted to walk around or go somewhere. She was tired of not being able to move freely and at her own will. She wondered why her
daed
hadn’t asked her to ride along to the Edwardses’ farm, to see the horses and visit with his wife, Sylvia. Clearly, he was bonding with Alejandro, viewing him as a surrogate son. A wave of guilt flooded through her, and she reached for her crutches.

“Going to go lie down a bit, Mamm,” she said.

She shut the door to the downstairs bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Her mind floated back to the conversation she’d had with Alejandro the evening before, and she flushed as she remembered how bold she had allowed herself to be. How could she have asked him that question? she wondered. And why did his answer bother her so much?

Covering her face with her hands, she tried to erase the memory.
Because I respect you,
he had said. That said so much about who he was as a man as well as whom he truly wanted to be. She had suspected that he was troubled, struggling with inner demons. Now she knew for a fact that he was staying at their farm for more than just a few days of relaxation. Indeed, it was a respite with the intention of searching for himself. Unfortunately, the more he searched for himself, the more she felt as if she was losing herself. Yes, she realized, she was losing herself to him.

Even when he had held her earlier, she had felt lost. She imagined it was the same feeling someone would have if she were drowning. Yes, that was how she felt, as if water surrounded her, embracing her and calming her in the very moment when she knew that, unless she could break free, she would be lost forever. Would she give in to the final hold of the depths of the sea or would she struggle to return to the only world she had ever known?

It was close to evening chores time when she heard the buggy wheels rattle down the driveway. Her heart began to flutter, and she quickly moved over to the dresser, picking up the small hand mirror in order to fix her hair and pinch her cheeks. Then, grabbing her crutches, she hobbled into the kitchen and, as quick as she could, she sat down on the sofa. Leaning back, she tried to look as if she had been sitting there for a while.

Her
mamm
was coming down the stairs when the men walked into the kitchen. She paused at the bottom step as they entered the room, laughing and smiling. Clearly, they had enjoyed themselves on their excursion to the Edwardses’ horse farm.

“How were the horses?” Amanda asked, sitting up straight as Alejandro entered the room.

“Ay,
Princesa
,”
he gushed, rushing over to her.
“¡Qué lindos!”
She frowned at him, and he laughed, kneeling before her. “Beautiful, just incredibly beautiful.” He winked at her and playfully mouthed,
“Como tú.”
She didn’t have to understand Spanish to know what he said. Immediately, she blushed and looked away, clearly thankful that her parents hadn’t witnessed that tender moment. Her reaction delighted him. “I wish you could have gone. The young colts were running in the field.”

Elias nodded, turning his attention to Lizzie. “Becoming quite a breeder, that Jake Edwards. He is training some
wunderbar gut
horses. Says he already has quite a waiting list for next year’s foals.”

“Expensive, too, no?” Alejandro added, twisting on his knee so that he was looking at Elias.

With a simple shrug of his shoulders, Elias agreed. “For sure, but a
gut
horse is worth it,
ja
? And cheaper than an automobile.”

“
I don
’t have to scoop up after my cars,” Alejandro replied lightly, and they both laughed. He stood up and walked over toward the door that led to the section of the house where he was staying. “Now, if you will excuse me,” he said. “I must check my messages.”

Amanda stared after him, her heart pounding inside her chest. To him, it was teasing. She knew that, by now. But she felt different about his words and flirtations. That drowning feeling overcame her once again, and she tried to will herself to calm down. But she couldn’t. Her heart fluttered, and her face felt flushed. She knew that the water was over her head, and for the first time, she realized that she was giving in to the feeling, allowing herself to fall even deeper into the dark, watery abyss that surrounded her.

Chapter Ten

Later that evening, as the sun set behind the fields, casting a bright mixture of colors against the blue sky, the crickets chirped from the growing grasses and the birds sang from the branches of the trees. The air had cooled, but there was still a layer of humidity. Still, it was pleasant enough that Alejandro asked to take Amanda for a walk down the driveway.

Elias was quick to grant permission, saying it would be right
gut
for her to get the exercise. Only Amanda noticed the look of concern that crossed her mother’s face. But Amanda ignored it, eager to escape the house and more than happy to have an excuse to spend more time alone with Alejandro, this amazing Englische man who had captured her thoughts all afternoon. Perhaps even more than her thoughts, she started to wonder.

As always, Alejandro was the perfect gentleman. He walked next to her, matching her slow pace, for she was still adapting to using her crutches. He guided her as she carefully walked down the dirt lane that cut through the back of the farm.

Now the sky was changing colors. The more the sun set, the more the horizon darkened, the reds and oranges blending into grays, blues, and deep purples. A cool breeze blew from the northwest and rippled across the growing crops of corn.

As they walked—Alejandro, with his hands behind his back, and Amanda, focusing on avoiding holes in the lane—he asked her questions about growing up Amish in Lancaster County. Unlike the questions most Englischers asked on the few occasions she encountered them, during her recent summer trip to and from Ohio or at the market, his questions did not seem condescending. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in learning about the culture and the religion.

“No electricity at all?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Obviously, diesel-fuel-powered energy in the dairy for keeping the milk fresh.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “But why, Princesa?”

The explanation was involved, too involved, and sometimes she didn’t understand it herself. So she hesitated, trying to find a way to explain the rationale behind that decision. “Hmm,” she said, still thinking. She could feel him watching her, those blue eyes drinking her in, and she felt the color flood to her cheeks. Lowering her eyes, she cleared her throat before speaking. “It’s a connection, Alejandro. A connection with the outside world that isolates people. Without electricity, we have to work together, help each other with chores, and spend time together. It keeps us closer to each other and, by extension, to God.”

From the way his expression changed, she could tell that he was contemplating her words, and when he nodded his head, she knew that he understood.

“It’s like in Cuba,” he said. “We grew up poor and didn’t have much. So we spent time together and that helped create the ties of family.”

Oh, how she wanted to know more. She wished she could see his memories and feel his experiences. It sounded so romantic: life on an island, surrounded by crystal blue water and festive music. She wanted to know what it was like moving to a new country and learning a new language.

“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me how you feel about your life then, Alejandro.”

Lifting one eyebrow and tilting his head, he smiled, but just slightly. She knew that most people didn’t ask about his upbringing. In fact, she sensed that, in his world of music and travel and fans, he didn’t have many people who cared about his past . . . only his future.

“You want to know about Cuba?” he asked.

Nodding her head, she met his gaze and felt the warmth of his appreciation for her interest in his culture, especially when so many people were curious about her own.

So he talked. He told her about growing up, first in Cuba, then about his days as a young Cuban teenager in Miami. His father drank a lot and spent most of their money on himself. Alejandro declared, however, that despite those flaws, he was a decent man. There was always food on the table, even if it wasn’t good food. When his mother finally had enough of the drinking, she found a way to leave and bring her son to America.

He told her about living in Miami and how the streets became an extension of his home. “I learned to fight early,” he said. “Survival of the fittest.”

She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t know what that meant. Amish people never fought, unless they were small children, and even then, the consequences were so severe that it usually only happened once in their lifetime.

“My mother,
sí
? She worked several jobs and . . .” He paused, thinking. His eyes misted over, and she knew that he was remembering his youth. “Let’s just leave it that there are things I did to survive that would not have impressed you.”

“I wouldn’t judge you! I told you that before,” she gushed. In truth, what did her opinion matter? The final judge for each individual was God. “God forgives those who confess their sins,” she added softly.

The lane didn’t seem long enough as they came to its end, the continuation simply consisting of two ruts in the dirt where her
daed
regularly drove the mules and field equipment.

“Santa Barbara got me through some rough times,” he said, his voice breaking the silence.

Amanda looked at him. “
Santa Barbara?
”

He reached into the front of his shirt and pulled out a gold medallion that was hanging from a thin chain. He kissed it once before showing it to her. “
Santa Barbara,
” he said by way of introduction.

A frown crossed Amanda’s face, and she refused to touch it, despite him leaning over for her to see it better. “What is that?”

“It’s a medallion of Santa Barbara,” he said as if she should know what he was talking about. But from the look on her face, he quickly assessed that she was not familiar with patron saints. “You don’t know?”

“Is that part of your religion?”

“Sí.”
He nodded, tucking the medallion back inside his shirt. “She protects us.”

“God protects us,” Amanda said quickly in response.

“
Sí,
God protects us,”
Alejandro agreed.
“But he, too, can use some help from time to time,
sí
?”

Amanda looked away from him. She wasn’t certain how to respond. After all, she had never heard of saints before, so she didn’t want to insult his beliefs. Obviously, they both believed in God and Jesus Christ. Was it sinful to believe in something more? Did that dilute his love for God? Could it dilute God’s love for him?

“I’d like to think that he has everything under control,” she finally said.

“Hey,” he replied, dropping his voice so that it was low. He stood in front of her and reached out to take her chin in his hand, gently forcing her to look him in the eyes. “There are many religions in the world,
sí
? Maybe there is more than one way to worship God.”

“
You aren
’t supposed to worship anyone above God,” she said, meeting his gaze straight on.

He clasped her hand in his and smiled at her. “Not above God . . . I promise that to you.” He leaned down to kiss her fingers before, still holding her hand, he looked around at the fields with the sun setting behind the house. “How can you doubt the magnificence of God when you see such an amazing sight as that?” he asked, gesturing toward the sky. “How many colors do you see, Amanda?”

She was taken aback because he rarely used her name. Since the first time they had met, she had been Princesa. But she liked it when he did use her name. Especially now, for his voice was husky and thick. She liked the way it rolled off his tongue. His accent made it sound beautiful, and she repeated it in her mind as if to hear it again and again:
Aman-tha
.

He looked at her, wondering why she wasn’t answering. But she wasn’t staring at the sky. Instead, her eyes were on him. For a moment, he met her gaze, and there were no words to express the unspoken emotion shared between them. He was struck by the feeling that flooded through him and squeezed her hand gently. It didn’t surprise him that she squeezed his in return. But he turned his head back to stare at the sky. “I see every color in God’s brushstroke. Red, blue, purple,” he said.

“Yellow and orange,” she whispered.

“Ah,
sí
, yellow and orange.” He nodded. “Those colors are there, too.”

A silence fell between them. He was lost in the moment, trying to understand what he was feeling. There was a beauty at the Beiler farm that he had not seen for many years, not since his early childhood in Cuba. There was something magical about living off the land. It was pure and it was honest. And he missed it.

“Sing me a song.”

Her voice was so soft that he wasn’t certain he had heard her properly.
“¿Qué?”
he asked, asking her to repeat what she had said.

“I should like to hear a song from you,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze for fear he might laugh at her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he began to sing in a low, soft, slow voice.

Arrorró, mi niña, arrorró, mi amor,

arrorró, pedazo de mi corazón.

Esta niña linda, que nació de día,

quiere que lo lleve a la dulcería.

Esta niña linda, que nació de noche,

quiere que lo lleve a pasear en coche.

Duérmete, mi niña, duérmete, mi amor,

duérmete, pedazo de mi corazón.

When he stopped singing, the last syllable seemed to float through the air, the melody lingering between them. He watched her as she stared at the sky. She hadn’t moved while he was singing, listening to the words while her eyes took in the different colors of the sunset. Yet now that the song was over, he could see that there were tears in her eyes.

“
You cry?
” he asked, leaning over once again. “Why the tears?”

“
Your voice,
” she said. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes large and full of emotion. “Oh, Alejandro, you sing like an angel!”

This time, it was Alejandro who felt the color rise to his cheeks. Over the years, he had heard many things about how he looked, how he danced, and especially about how he sang. But no one had ever been so moved by a song. And such a simple song, at that. “
You humble me, Amanda.
”

“Tell me about that song,” she whispered. “It sounds beautiful.”

“It is beautiful,” he said, reaching out to brush the tears from her face with his thumb. He couldn’t help but stare at her, moved by her emotions from his song. “Beautiful. Like you are . . . on the inside and out.”

She caught her breath. “Oh.”
Beautiful,
he had said. The word echoed in her head, and she flushed.
Beautiful.
It was a word she heard in reference to sunsets and growing crops, not people. Indeed, no one had ever told her that she was beautiful. She had never even considered such a possibility. Lowering her eyes, she felt her heart quicken and her blood race.
He thinks I’m beautiful.

“It is a lullaby,” he said quickly, stopping her from protesting against his compliment and trying to shift the mood back to one of congeniality. He sensed that his compliment had thrown her off track, and immediately he regretted having said it. “My mother used to sing that to me when I was a child. She would tuck me in at night, and I would be upset about her leaving the room. It was just the two of us,
sí
? I didn’t like to be separated from her at night.” He paused. “I felt that I couldn’t protect her if I wasn’t with her. So she would sing me that song.”

“What does it mean?”

He took a deep breath. Turning his back to her, he stared across the fields. His mother, he thought. No, he hadn’t been able to protect her, not then. But at least now he was able to take care of her needs. He paid for everything: her apartment in Miami, her food, her clothing, her housekeeper. It was a man’s job to protect and provide for his family. That was how he had been raised. Yet, when was the last time he had seen her? He felt a tug at his heart. He could still hear her voice as she sang the song to him in Spanish. Now he quickly translated it and sang it again, only, this time, in English.

Hush, my child, hush, my love,

hush, piece of my heart.

This pretty child who was born at daytime

wants me to take her to the candy shop.

This pretty child who was born at night

wants me to take her out for a ride in a car.

Sleep, my child, sleep, my love,

sleep, piece of my heart.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was moved. He could tell that much simply by how she was looking at him. There was a distance between them, and briefly he contemplated taking the three steps to embrace her. But he knew from the look on her face that doing so would be a bad idea. He knew from the pounding inside his own chest that doing so would be disastrous.

So, instead, he cleared his throat. “I suppose we should start heading back.”

“
Alejandro,
” she said softly.

“¿Sí,
Princesa
?”

“Danke,”
she responded.