I was starving by this time and resolved that I wasn’t going to be shy about eating. After a minute of being forced to leisurely stroll to the counter behind the other girls, I finally reached the source of the delightful smells. Wasting no time, I heaped two pork chops, mashed potatoes and creamy corn onto my plate. I also picked up two pieces of the thick, homemade bread and, to top it all off, a slice of cherry pie. Carefully, I turned and made my way to the table, pausing to see where I should sit.
Just as I expected, the men and boys sat on one side of the long table, and the women were seating themselves on the other side. Dad took the chair to the left of Mr. Miller, who sat farther down the table. I ended up taking the chair across from Noah.
Believe it or not, it wasn’t planned; just happened to conveniently work out that way. Or maybe it was a sign from the universe that the two of us were meant to get together. Either way, I was a happy little camper in my spot.
With so many people at the table, you’d think it would have been quite boisterous, but it wasn’t. The only sounds were the clinking of silverware on ceramic and the voices of Mr. Miller and Dad taking about all manner of things. The conversation started with the topic of the remodeling that our house needed. Mr. Miller offered to meet with Dad the following week to go through our lovely falling-apart home to give him an estimate for the work.
It turned out the Miller family had a building business, and I was secretly about to explode with excitement to hear the possibility that Noah might be spending a lot of time at our house this summer. Of course, he’d be working, but at least I’d get to see him, and that was better than nothing.
I tried to make eye contact with him during the meal, but he kept avoiding my gaze. He’d look over my head, out the window, down the table, but not at me. I was starting to wonder if I’d offended him earlier. I mulled that over while I took each delicious bite. The bread was especially yummy, and I was deliberating whether to get up in front of everyone and go for another piece, when I heard my name mentioned.
“Yes, they do keep very busy. Sam plays football, Justin soccer and Rose dances. As a matter of fact, Rose has been accepted to dance in the Cincinnati ballet youth program,” Dad said proudly.
Finally, Noah looked up at me, only for a second, before staring back at the food on his plate. I could have sworn he had a troubled frown on his face at that instant. He seemed to be listening closely to the conversation, though, pushing the mashed potatoes around with his fork, without bringing any of it to his lips.
“Dancing? How long have you done that, Rose?” Mrs. Miller asked in a slightly weird, clipped way, causing my face to flush with heat before I answered. I instinctually knew that what I was about to say wasn’t going to please her.
“For about seven years now.” I tried to change the subject. “But I also spend a lot of time riding my horse.”
This time Noah’s eyes shot directly at me, but I had picked up on the vibe that I shouldn’t be caught looking at him in front of his parents, so I didn’t. Instead, I just reveled in the fact that he was looking at me, making me feel both satisfied and disgusted with myself at the same time.
“Do you boys ride also?” Mr. Miller directed the question to my brothers, and Sam answered.
“No. Rose is the equestrian in our family,” he said politely and then went back to shoveling food into his mouth.
“Actually, Rose’s trainer is hauling Lady, her horse, to our place in the morning. I hope the creek is off the driveway by then,” Dad said, voicing his concern.
“Oh, no worries on that. I am sure it will be fine. It is a rare occasion that the creek swells that big. I think it’s been a few years since I last saw it go over your driveway.”
“That’s a relief,” Dad commented before asking Mr. Miller about the lights and the hot water that were powered by natural gas. As I glanced up, I realized that there was a queer odor in the house, and it turned out the smell was coming from the lights over the table.
Interestingly, I wouldn’t even have noticed them except for the smell. They gave off a similar light to an electric bulb. Actually, the house was very comfortable looking. Not at all how I’d imagined people who didn’t use electricity or drive cars would live. The inside was immaculately clean with pristine white walls. The open windows were letting in the dim evening light and allowing a gentle breeze to flutter through the house. I even caught a glimpse of overstuffed burgundy sofas in the adjoining room.
Still, as pleasant as the picture was, the quiet, reserved behavior of all the kids was unsettling. If Sam and Justin hadn’t been starving to death, I was sure they’d have been talking up a storm. But then as I watched my brothers, the thought occurred to me that maybe for once they had the sense, or fear enough, to follow the old saying “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
For the rest of the dinner, Mr. Miller, Dad and Jacob did most of the talking, with creepy Mrs. Miller occasionally asking one of us a probing question like “Who is going to stay with you when your father is at the hospital?”
“No one,” I answered. “We can take care of ourselves.” Then I sneaked a peek at Noah, who was staring at his plate with quivering lips on his handsome mouth. I guess I had managed to amuse him.
Mrs. Miller responded with a “hmm,” and I gathered she thought my answer was not appropriate by the inflection in her voice. But after all, Sam and I would be in college in a couple of years, and Justin wasn’t a little kid. Why would she care? The willies crept into my bones, and I avoided looking in her direction the rest of the meal. But I felt her eyes on me.
Following dinner, I helped clear the table with the women while the guys went out to the front porch. No surprise there. I was at least proud that my brothers and father picked up their own dishes and brought them over to the sink. The other men and boys left theirs on the table. These Amish guys liked to be waited on, that’s for sure, but the women didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, Katie hadn’t stopped smiling through the entire meal.
I didn’t care how gorgeous Noah was. If I ever somehow managed to get together with him, I would have to completely retrain him, sort of like working with a horse. But then, my horse probably wasn’t as stubborn as the Amish boy.
Why on earth had such a thought even come into my mind?
I’d been thinking about all kinds of irrational and strange things since I’d first seen my handsome new neighbor standing in the foyer. It would all be well and good if Noah were a normal guy. But he was Amish. There was no way the two of us would be hooking up—he’d never be interested in someone like me. And even if he were, would I be able to deal with the bizarre world he lived in?
Silently, I worked alongside Katie, scraping the leftover food from the plates into a black bucket and handing them to Sarah, who then washed them in the sudsy water. The kitchen was quiet except for the clinking of the dishes against one another as they were stacked.
My mind drifted, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about Mom. Maybe it was the home-cooked meal, I didn’t know, but the sadness pushed softly against me once again.
Before, I had missed her because she was my mom and she was gone, but as I glanced over at Mrs. Miller bustling around the table, I realized what I had really lost when she died—her wisdom. I needed her guidance now more than ever.
I figured Mom would have liked Noah well enough, although I couldn’t help wondering how she would have felt about him being Amish.
Deep down I knew the answer—but I wasn’t ready to acknowledge it yet.
4
Noah
The Beginning
DIM MORNING LIGHT spilled through the open window, along with a trace of chilly air. I quickly sat up, wide-awake and eager for the day ahead, in spite of the fact that I hadn’t gotten much rest the night before. I’d tossed around in bed for hours, it seemed, before finally settling down. It was the first night in a very long time that I could recall not being able to fall asleep straightaway. Usually by the time my head hit t
he pillow, I’d be unconscious from exhaustion. My days were filled with so much backbreaking work that sleep had never been a problem before. This was hay-baling season after all, and my body was definitely tired. Not my brain, though.
After supper the night before, when I glanced through the window and saw Rose standing with Sarah and Katie at the sink, an unexpected feeling of contentment washed over me. Besides her English clothing, she looked completely natural there with the other girls, behaving like one of our women.
Now that the sun was rising, the conflicting thoughts of the night before faded, and I wondered why I even cared about this girl that could never be mine. After all, Rose was just another pretty girl, right? No. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Who could blame me for admiring that beauty?
But it was more than her face that had caught hold of me—her lively spirit had connected with me, and that was the scariest part of all. I shook my head trying to erase Rose from it. I reasoned that within a day or two I’d be over the infatuation with the girl—probably the next time I saw her I’d look upon her with just as much boredom as I did the other girls in the community.
But still, I couldn’t keep my insides calm. Today, I would see her again.
Quickly I changed into my work shirt and pants and jogged down the stairs to the dimly lit kitchen, attaching the suspenders as I went. Mother already had a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage patties and hash browns put out for me. I sat and waited for Father and Jacob, who entered the room yawning and stretching. After a brief moment of silence for prayer, I began wolfing the food down.
I didn’t even really taste anything, eating so fast that Mother exclaimed, “What’s the big hurry, son?”
Then I realized the mistake I’d made, and I slowed myself down deliberately. Avoiding Mother’s searching eyes, I said, “I’m just hungry today, that’s all.”
She seemed satisfied with the answer and continued to dish out Father’s and Jacob’s plates.
Of course, the real cause for my hurry was that Father had told Mr. Cameron that we’d be over first thing in the morning to help unload the moving truck. But Mother could never know that.
I had hoped that the English family would have stayed longer after dinner the night before. But when Rose finally stepped onto the front porch with the other girls, her father stood up and thanked us again, saying that he was exhausted and needed a good night’s rest.
I’d caught Rose’s eyes regarding me during dinner, and then when she came out on the porch afterward. That was something a girl shouldn’t do, unless she was already officially courting, and even then she’d be modest about it. But Rose didn’t know any better. And even though I wanted nothing more than to gaze back into her clear blue eyes, Mother was watching me, so I controlled myself and avoided looking at her altogether.
And even though the morning light had made me realize how foolish I’d been for even considering that I could become involved with a girl from the outside world, I still wanted to be Rose’s friend. The only way that could happen was if I made her understand the way things were with my folks so she didn’t get me into trouble with her outgoing ways. The last thing I needed was for Father and Mother to think I liked her. And unless I was reading Rose all wrong, she definitely seemed interested in me. But then again, maybe that was just her normal behavior, being an English girl and all.
Hearing the roar of a diesel engine signaled that our driver had arrived with the work truck. The sound sent a pounding sense of anticipation through me. But I was careful not to let it show, continuing to sit at the table, waiting for Father and Jacob to finish eating.
The touch of the cool morning air invigorated my senses as I stepped out the door. I lifted my eyes to the overcast sky, taking note of the slices in the clouds where the sun sprayed through, convinced that the day would clear up to be a fine one. Stepping lightly over the gravel, I was filled with a sense of excitement that felt downright good.
It was almost seven o’clock when we climbed into Mr. Denton’s faded blue pickup truck. He was about as old looking as the truck was, but I liked him a lot. He was a nice man, playing country music on the radio while we were driving to work sites. Father hated the music but really couldn’t say much about it since the man was dependable.
I squeezed into the little backseat of the extended cab, next to Matthew Weaver, who was seventeen and worked on the crew with us. Matt was a good buddy of mine, but I knew that I couldn’t tell him about my attraction to the English girl. He wasn’t bright enough to keep his mouth shut about it, and if any of the adults found out, they’d tell my folks for sure.
I could already picture myself standing alone in front of the entire church congregation, repenting my sins the way poor Jacob had to do a few years back when he shot those paintballs at the Troyers’ buggy. It was all in fun. Jacob didn’t mean anything by it, and Elijah had shot at Jacob first. But the Troyer boys seemed to always get out of punishment. It was beneficial when your grandfather was the bishop.
Matt’s suntanned, freckled face grinned broadly at me, and he asked how my weekend was as Jacob squeezed in on my other side. The expression on his chubby baby face indicated something was up, and I answered suspiciously. “Fine… Why?”
Rolling his eyes, he snickered. “I heard you had the new English family over for dinner and that the girl is very pretty. At least that’s what Katie told Ella. And she wasn’t happy to hear it neither.”
Amazing how fast news traveled in the community, even without home telephones and computers. Twisting around, I checked to see how close Father was to the truck when he’d said it. Only Matthew Weaver could get away with saying something like that about a girl. He was such a clown that no one paid him much attention—up until now anyway.
Directing a threatening look at him, I hissed, “Shut up about it, all right?” The last thing I needed was his lack of common sense getting Father onto me.
After a few seconds of shock, he recovered from my anger and replied in a dejected voice, “Sure…whatever.”
The two-minute drive over to Rose’s house was free of conversation, with only the drone of country music playing softly against the rumbling of the truck’s engine. Pulling in, I was glad to see that the creek was moving high and swift through the culvert under the driveway, but above it was dry and relatively clear. Only the mud clumps were any indication that water had flooded over the previous day.
The ryder truck was already backed up to the house, and I immediately spotted Sam and Justin carrying a mattress in through the side door. My eyes searched for Rose, but she was nowhere in sight.
“Work quickly, boys, so we aren’t too late arriving at the Schrocks’ place,” Dad ordered, stepping out of the truck.
“We’re really going to help the English unload their belongings?” Matthew asked in cheerful amazement.
“Yes, Matthew, try to calm yourself—you don’t want to scare them with your enthusiasm,” I mumbled, shooting him a disapproving glance.
This time he came close to my ear and whispered, “Do you think they have a game system?”
Ever since we had worked on that English house last year where Matthew had had the chance to sneak in a video game with the teenage boy who lived there, he’d been obsessed with getting another chance to play. I playfully cuffed him on the head, moaning to myself as we climbed into the yellow trailer.
Mr. Cameron was inside, surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes. When he saw us, he stopped and said with obvious relief, “Oh, good, I’m glad you were able to make it. There’s quite a lot to unload here.”
“It shouldn’t take too long with all of us chipping in,” I said after quickly introducing Matthew to Sam and Justin, who’d just entered the shaded compartment. I picked up the closest manageable box and headed eagerly for the house.
Sam caught my arm and pointed to the large black R written on the side, saying, “That goes to Rose’s room, up the stairs, second door on the right. Just leave it outside her door i
n the hallway.” Then he went back into the trailer.
Funny how that worked out. I smiled crookedly walking up the stairs to the second floor. When I got to the door, I stopped, hesitating. I’d never been in a girl’s room before. Well, besides my sisters’—and that certainly didn’t count. The eagerness I felt earlier suddenly turned to apprehension as I peeked in through the crack where the door was ajar.
After a quick check over my shoulder to see that the stairway was still clear, I rapped softly on the door. I waited a few breaths, but nothing happened. The upstairs was dead silent; the only sounds reaching my ears were those of the others bringing in the boxes below. Impatience gripped me, stealing my sound mind, and I carefully pushed the door open wider.
My heart thumped faster in my chest when I saw her lying there, asleep on the wooden floor. She was curled up in a ball, with a pillow under her head. She had no blankets or cushioning, and she was wearing the same clothes she had worn to dinner the night before. Her hair was spread out around her in a wild halo like what I imagined an angel would look like.