Chapter 7
C HAPTER 7
T HE DAY WAS brASSY WITH HEAT, THE ROAD AHEAD SHIMMERING with it, the macadam softening beneath fast-moving tires. Mary was headed home in the front seat of the minivan, listening to the idle chatter of the bakery workers and wishing for the hundredth time she had chosen to stay home on Sunday evening.
The evening itself had been alive with a melancholy beauty, the kind of summer evening when the sound of katydids was a lilting ode to lovers everywhere, the grass dewy with promised coolness of night, the air vivid with countless fireflies.
And Steve had actually been bold enough to corner her down by the board fence at the edge of Joe Beiler’s pasture, the volleyball lights and sounds dimming in the background. His pale shirt and blond hair, the height and width of him, the scent of his aftershave, his calm, relaxed manner, his words . . . all of it swirled in her mind.
He asked gentle questions, seemed to really want to know her. Eventually, they were seated on the ground, a line of dark trees behind them, the night sky still and luminous.
“You seem hesitant to speak of New York.”
“I am.”
“And why is that?”
She could not find a fitting answer, so she said nothing.
“Shall we change the subject?”
“We shall,” she said, laughing lightly.
He laughed with her.
“You know, Mary, I would ask you out, but I have a pretty good feeling you’d turn me down. You seem a bit hesitant about a lot of things, not just New York. Are you even remotely interested in me?”
He touched her shoulder with his. She felt the heat of him, moved away quickly.
“I have nothing against you. I just have a lot of personal issues that should be sorted out first.”
“First? Like, there’s a chance for the future?”
“Don’t make me answer that, okay?”
“Alright.”
“For one, I’m not sure I want to stay Amish.”
For a long moment, he was completely still. The regular thud of the volleyball, the heartbeat of the Amish youth’s gathering, sounded through the night. Behind them, crickets chirped. Katydids trilled. A horn honked, then another as the low rumble of traffic moved on the highway.
“Can I ask why?”
“Oh, Steve. I don’t want to drag you into my troubled life. It’s too hard. You deserve better than me.”
“Try me.”
“You don’t want to know. It’s too complicated.”
He waited quietly, his eyes telling her he could take it, whatever it was.
“Alright,” she said, finally. “Where to start? I guess . . . well, I have a Mennonite friend. Nothing romantic at all. We’re just friends. He asked me to accompany him on a business trip to Maine next week. And I’m going. I need to sort out truth from . . . I don’t know, Steve. From what? I’m confused about many things, and as I get older, it only becomes harder.”
“You’re traveling to Maine, with a guy, alone? But there is nothing between you?” There was the slightest mockery—a hint of bitterness— in his voice.
“There isn’t. Believe me.”
“But you’re thinking of leaving the Amish for him.”
“Not for him.”
“Then why?”
“I guess . . . I just haven’t ever really felt like I belong. It’s hard to explain.” She looked down at her hands, then back to him, determined to avoid talking about her upbringing. “I’ve never been to Maine, and I think I need a change of scenery. It feels like a chance to get away and think things through.”
She could hear the sound of his long exhale, then another. When he spoke again, it was in a level, well-modulated tone.
“Well then, if that’s your choice, it’s not my place to try to stop you. Will you be back to the singings?”
“I imagine so.”
“What if you aren’t? Do you have a phone number?”
She shook her head. “No phone.”
“Surely there is a number where you can be reached.”
“Just my aunt’s.”
“Okay . . . can I have her number? Or know where she lives? Mary, if you’re willing, I’d feel so much better if I knew there was a way to be in touch.”
“Alright. We live two houses up from Anna’s quilt shop. As you’re heading into town on 340.”
He nodded, got to his feet, and offered both hands to help her up. She grasped his firmly and stood in a smooth, fluid motion. Quickly, she drew her hands away and held them behind her back.
“I guess this is goodbye, huh?” he said huskily, too quietly.
“I’m just visiting Maine, not moving there,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Still. May I kiss you goodbye?”
“No. Of course not.” She turned and walked away as quickly as possible, her heart racing.
He put out a hand, called her name, but she had already reached a distance too close to the volleyball game for him to make a spectacle of himself trying to detain her.
T HE BAKERY WAS slow, the heat like a thick yellow haze over the city. She still made freshly brewed tea poured over ice, fruit salads, and lettuce salads, but the baking had been reduced by half.
Two of the girls, Karen and LeAnna, were in Ocean City, Maryland. She chuckled, thinking of her father’s damnation of that modern day Sodom and Gomorrah.
Why would their parents allow them to go? But why not? Likely the mothers had gone before them, that one week of being worldly. On vacation. But they were so young. She hoped the principles they had been taught would support their comings and goings. Ach , these wearying thoughts. She felt old.
T HE MORNING OF their departure arrived. Chester picked her up at five in the morning, drew open the back of the SUV, and stashed her luggage alongside his.
The two pieces together only fed the fires of his ardor, and he smiled to himself, imagining the marriage ceremony, the car covered in streamers, well-wishers smiling and waving, and the honeymoon, the long-awaited fulfillment of his life.
They went through the drive-up at Starbucks. Mary said she’d take a chai latte with sweet cream foam, and he got a regular coffee. Mary handed him a five-dollar bill, but he pushed it away, his eyes searching for hers, without finding them.
She was being evasive, but he was in no rush. There would never be anyone else for him.
Mary was eager to see new places, if only for a few days. She was concerned about the bakery, but Aunt Lizzie was there, and business was at its lowest ebb in July. She glanced at Chester, noticed again how much she liked his profile.
They talked easily, his large hand relaxed on the wheel, his seat tilted back, so that he seemed to be lounging as he drove. The interior of the vehicle smelled of leather and air fresheners, the windows so clean there didn’t seem to be glass at all.
She was impressed. She found herself imagining sharing a home together. He had the means of buying a beautiful house. She pictured a three-car garage with an opener, the clean cement on the floor, the feeling of parking the car, unhooking her seatbelt, her sandals hitting the floor, her lovely print dress swishing around her knees. Perhaps she wouldn’t wear a covering. Who knew?
She’d carry her groceries through the door leading to the kitchen. White cabinets, black countertops, spotless hardwood. Expensive rugs. The world at her fingertips as she opened the computer to check her emails.
It all could be made possible with this man.
Thrilling to this envisioned life, she watched as the lights of Lancaster sped by. She knew she was getting ahead of herself, was vaguely aware that she had just told Steve that she had no romantic interest in Chester. But was there anything wrong with indulging her imagination?
“That chai any good?” he asked.
“Sure. You want a taste?”
“Oh, you don’t want me to drink from your cup,” he said shyly, which she found endearing.
“Here’s a straw. Try it.”
He did, then nodded his head. “Very good.”
She smiled. He smiled back.
“I’m so glad you decided to come. I think we’ll have a lovely time, you and I.”
Why, just then, did her thoughts go to the long gravel driveway winding up the hill to the old homestead? The way she walked in the thick growth of weeds and grass to avoid the sharp stones hurting her feet, the dandelion stalks, so soft and hollow and waxy, catching between her toes.
Where had those moments gone?
On the wings of time, she guessed. Never to return. One childhood was what every single person received, and it was up to her to direct her good thoughts to the past. There had been good ones, but there had been many she did not care to remember.
The sheer terror of being caught in disobedience. The hand clamped on her arm, the propelling movement into the woodshed, where a real paddling was carried out, the voice of her father afterward, explaining God’s displeasure, his abhorrence of anyone without honor to father or mother.
And she had trembled in real fear, for a while, until it became more important to soak herself on a hot day, setting up the sprinkling can with an attached hose, the cold water sending chills up her spine, the delight written all over her face. Discovery and impending punishment could not take away all of the pleasure, for sure.
She glanced over at Chester, the night sky giving way to streaks of light in the east. When the orange ball of heat rose on the horizon, she knew the day would be pulsing with high temperature and the sucking humidity taking away energy and stamina.
“You know it doesn’t get hot in Maine. Not what we’re used to. So if you brought your swimming suit, you might be disappointed.”
“I didn’t,” she said, tight lipped.
He dropped the subject.
“We’ll be going through New York, right?”
“Yes, we will. Would you like to stop at your parents’ house?”
“No.” Too quickly, too adamant.
She would be chased out of the Pinedale settlement by the heat of her father’s disapproval. Threats and admonitions like hailstones.
No, she had no wish to be seen in this beautiful vehicle by her father or any of her siblings. She imagined their horror at her outfit. She had on a blue dress with a matching bib apron, one she’d worn years ago when she was young, fancy, and full of hope.
She would appear unclothed to her father, completely out of the ordnung and far from the realm of grace. A twitch began in one eyelid. She shifted positions in her seat, cleared her throat. The thoughts flooded into her head, like gashed watertight compartments.
Wailing and gnashing of teeth. They will cry for the mountains to fall on them, so great will be their fear , he had said.
She swallowed, her mouth drying as her heartbeat accelerated. She inhaled deeply, to steady herself.
Please, God, help me.
But God remained silent. She broke out in a sweat, smoothed the wet palms of her hands across her stomach. Wasn’t she safe anywhere?
Chester reached down and turned on the radio. Country music drifted through the vehicle, sad lyrics about drinking beer and losing a girlfriend, only adding to the panic swiftly overtaking her.
Nausea rose in her throat.
“I . . . I need to . . . would you please pull over?”
He swiveled his head to look at her but quickly complied, bringing the vehicle to a stop. She hopped out, grasped the guardrail, and lowered herself over it as she heaved. She was aware of Chester standing by, before turning away and disappearing.
She stopped, breathed in, wiped her mouth with a crumpled tissue, and returned to her seat, laying her head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.
“I didn’t realize you got carsick,” Chester offered, in a slightly nasal tone of condescension.
“I’m not carsick.”
“What is it then?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m alright.”
They drove north on the interstate, the scenery lost to Mary, who was deeply ashamed of having deposited the chai into the weeds.
Chester turned to revive the former camaraderie, but it was lost, like a popped balloon. She had failed again. Failed miserably at keeping those torrential thoughts at bay. How could thoughts control body function? Why did this keep happening? She realized she hadn’t been taking the organic apple cider vinegar recently.
Quickly, she grasped at this remedy, asking Chester to take her to the next supermarket. She thought of something she needed.
When she told him, he was completely put off. But he quickly recovered. Mary saw the way he drew the curtain on that stage, before opening them on another, the kind and caring demeanor he’d cultivated.
Locating a bottle of Bragg’s organic vinegar, she purchased a plastic bottle of water, poured a bit out, and added what she guessed to be a teaspoon of vinegar. She shook the bottle, drained it quickly, then went back to Chester, who was watching something on his phone.
He turned to her.
“Feel better?”
“I do. Thank you for being kind.”
He gave her a long look, full of meaning. Mary thought of a hungry hound dog, but quickly pushed the idea away. He had very soft, very expressive brown eyes, and she held the warmth with her own.
“I love being kind to you.”
She said nothing, only turned her head to stare in the opposite direction.
Breakfast, however, was pleasant, with Chester being funny, expressive, entertaining. They ordered waffles and bacon, drank so much coffee they were bouncing in their seats, and Mary loved the way his eyes crinkled, actually folded into creases when he laughed.
They reached Maine in the evening and Mary had her first glimpse of the rocky New England coast. The air was salty and tangy. She took in the restless waves and screaming gulls, lobster boats and piers reaching out into the quiet inlets. The sky was as blue as the dress she wore, and Chester was quick to notice it.
They stood together at a landing, the red fishing shack below them, boats far out on the waves, riding up and down as the faint sound of the engine was heard.
Mary was thrilled, loved the wind tugging at her skirt, the unexpected scent of pine needles mixing with saltwater.
Chester gazed down at the tendrils of dark red hair and dreamt of a time in the future. She could be taught to be a bit more careful of her low upbringing, but that would all come later.
She was deeply troubled when he found a cheap motel, a blinking neon arrow on a rusted red sign with The Silver Dollar painted in black letters. There was only one room with two beds.
“No,” she said firmly. “I refuse.”
“But it’s the only one left.”
She held her head high and inquired at the desk, where they assured her there was, indeed, a room available. She paid for it herself. She pushed past him, retrieved her luggage, and bade him goodnight. Once in the room, she turned to lock the door securely before relaxing in a long-awaited shower.
The water was hot, the flow strong, so that was something. The room was reasonably clean. The smell of mold and disinfectant was strong, the carpet stained and unraveled, but if the beds were made up of clean sheets and fairly comfortable, she could sleep.
Why had he been so frugal, saving money by booking only one room, when clearly he had plenty of money? She switched on the TV, was becoming interested in a show about Alaskans, when there was a tentative knock on the door. Her heart leapt. She drew the covers up to her chin and rolled her eyes.
Again, the persistent knock.
She swung her legs out of bed and opened the door. A narrow strip of light from the parking lot fell over her face.
“Mary, I forgot to pack shampoo. May I borrow some?”
“Sure. I’ll get it.”
She closed the door, hurried to snatch it off the sink top, and brought it swiftly to the door, shoving it out the narrow, light-filled opening.
“May I see if your room is the same as mine? I thought you might want to have evening devotions together.”
Very firmly, Mary told him they could have morning devotions in the dining area, and she was sure her room was just like his except there was only one bed.
He told her goodnight in a soft, warm voice edged with frost, and took his leave. Mary turned, sighed with relief, and returned to her show.
Her thoughts wandered back to Chester, though. She would have to be firm, as obviously romance was indeed heavy on his mind. She would have to keep clear boundaries. She thought of his reaction to her being sick, and now this . . . this intrusion on her privacy, coupled with the audacity of thinking she’d sleep in the same room with him. None of it was what she’d expected of him.
But she’d be slow to judge, quick to show compassion.
T HE NEXT MORNING, he was very handsome in a black shirt and jeans, fresh from the shower, attentive, praising her punctual arrival, very soft-spoken and sincere with devotions as they sat together. He spoke in depth of grace and mercy, the flight of the soul after death, but nothing really clicked with Mary, who still viewed all spirituality with the same magnifying glass of fear and repression.
“Tell me, Mary, what do you think of the resurrection?”
She shrugged, averted her eyes.
“I don’t know that much about Scripture,” she said shortly.
“Don’t you have a hunger and a thirst for the Word of God?”
“Well, yes, but it’s hard to unravel. I mean, sometimes I feel as if it’s a giant ball of yarn, and nothing will ever be clear.”
“To those living in the flesh, spiritual matters are a joke.”
“Now you sound exactly like my father.”
“No, no. I didn’t mean it that way.”
And he knew he’d overstepped his bounds. He’d come on too strong last night, and now this. She was a babe, a lamb, and could only consume the milk of the Word, for now.
He took them through the McDonald’s drive-through for breakfast sandwiches and then attended his meeting, leaving her at the local library in a town along the coast. He was very caring, telling her where the best restaurants were located, and saying he’d be back around three.
She wandered the stacks of books and thought through their short trip so far. What had he meant by coming to her room like that? She was wise enough to know it wasn’t really about the shampoo. And what was all that stuff about grace and the resurrection?
She knew Jesus had died and rose on the third day. She also believed in grace if you were good enough to receive it. It wasn’t handed out for free, like a soup kitchen, was it? Sometimes the Bible stuff could be worrisome, especially if you didn’t understand it. She was well versed in the way of sin and repentance, but the rest was a little murky.
She felt very far away from Aunt Lizzie, and from her home in New York. And from her newfound friend, Steve.
Why now, in this stage of her life, were there two available suitors? She had to admit that Chester was indeed a suitor. He wasn’t an option according to the rules of the Amish church, but if she were to leave the church, he would be.
Sometimes she imagined herself to be like a tennis ball, whacked back and forth on a court, never knowing the direction she would go. Unstable, wavering. Living her life according to her own terms, hurting family, disobeying parents, bounding back and forth.
She found a book about coastal birds and a comfortable chair. But it didn’t hold her interest. She left the library and poked around some shops, got a turkey sandwich to eat, and sat on a bench overlooking the water. Then she went back to the shops, amazed at the local talent— rugs, pottery, intricate works of iron and silver.
She purchased a painting of sailboats on choppy water, and a pottery bowl, glazed with a black fish swimming on white water.
There was a glow to her cheeks now, her eyes sparkling as green as the water along the coast. The bell above the door tinkled as she entered another shop, one called “The Fiddler’s Roof.”
She forgot time as she purchased a small copper bowl, a perfect hand thrown pottery pitcher, and was contemplating the purchase of an outrageously expensive trivet to set on the stove in her aunt’s kitchen.
She felt his presence, years of disobedience honing her senses, so she turned, her eyes wide, before he uttered a word.
“Here you are, finally. Do you know what time it is?”
“No, no. I’m sorry. Have I miscalculated?”
“Wildly. If you had a phone . . .”
Clearly displeased, he glared as she paid for her purchases, putting his weight from one foot to the other, sighing, rolling his eyes as she stepped past him.
“I was waiting for nearly an hour.”
“I can only say I’m sorry again.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not since lunch. I suppose I was swept away by the excitement of seeing all the local art, things you can’t purchase at home.”
“We’ll find a place to eat.”
He drove them to Burger King. Duly repentant, Mary did her best to get him into a better frame of mind, but after they’d eaten, he told her the meeting had not gone in the direction he’d hoped. The deals he’d been counting on were falling through, so the trip would be cut short. Mary was disappointed but saw the intense regret in his face and assured him it was quite alright to return the following day.
“No, we’re starting home now. We’ll go get our stuff and then drive all night.”