Chapter 8
E LLIE
“Between you and me,” Henry’s sister, Ivy, says as she hefts a backpack over her shoulder, “I think you should just date Henry. I mean, why not? It’s not like you’re agreeing to marry him or anything.”
I frown. “But that would be leading him on. And it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
“Well, suit yourself. But you’ll never find a man more devoted to you than Henry is. Trust me, I’ve looked.”
I think about the conversation my brother Elijah and I had earlier. How he said Simon had sold me out for a radio or speakers or whatever. And then I think about Henry, who not only paid a hundred dollars to take me home but made me whoopie pies. A place deep inside me warms at the thought, though I don’t want to admit it.
As though reading my mind, Ivy adds, “He was up until three o’clock baking whoopie pies. I don’t think he even got any sleep.”
I glance out the window just in time to see Henry lift his hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. It is a sweet gesture—no pun intended—even for Henry. But does it make up for all the past wrongs he’s done?
As much as I’m tempted to let my guard down, I can’t. I don’t trust Henry Yoder. Plain and simple.
“What is it about Henry you don’t like? That’s what I’ve always wondered.”
Do I dare pour my heart out to Ivy? Let my guard down? “Do you promise to keep this between us?”
Ivy frowns. “Now you have me worried. Did my brother do something to you?”
I sigh. “Maybe not the way you’re thinking, but jah . He hurt me.”
“What did he do?” Concern floods Ivy’s features.
“I mean, when I say it out loud to someone else, it sounds kind of dumm . Petty even. But, I have my reasons.”
“I won’t judge you, Ellie.”
I take a deep breath. “When I was in fourth grade, Henry stole my lunch. And I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but to me it was huge.” Should I expound? “You know my family has never been well off. And my schweschder was having a lot of health problems around that time. Mamm and Dat tried to hide it, but our family was struggling. Well, Mamm let me take the last of what we had for my lunch that day.”
I laugh bitterly then continue. “It was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips, an apple, and a whoopie pie for dessert. It was probably the largest lunch I’d ever had, but Mamm insisted. So, I took it, dreaming of lunchtime all morning.” I couldn’t help the tears in my eyes.
I wouldn’t mention that later that day I saw Henry behind the schoolhouse showing interest in one of my friends. It was the last straw. I may have been a teensy bit jealous.
“And Henry ate it?” Ivy’s tone was gentle.
“All of it.” I nod.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie. But you know boys that age don’t have many brains. And I’m sure he wouldn’t have stolen your lunch if he knew about your situation.” Ivy shakes her head. “It sounds like I’m making excuses for him, but there is no excuse for bad behavior. Henry shouldn’t have done that. No doubt.”
Ivy continues. “But you have to know that is not who Henry is anymore. He’s a man now, and probably more mature than most young men his age. I think our dad’s passing had a lot to do with that. It’s made him sensitive and built his character.”
“I think I might be starting to realize that.”
Ivy turns serious. “Do you want me to make him apologize?”
“I’m not sure he even remembers, honestly.”
“And you can’t forget it.” Ivy squeezes my hand and her eyes hold sympathy.
“Seems that way.”
“Maybe you should consider forgiving him, ain’t so ? It would be less of a burden on your shoulders. And by the sound of your family situation, you have plenty of that.”
Isn’t that the truth? “ Jah , you’re probably right.”
A car's honk sounds from outside. Ivy glances toward the door.
“Well, I should be going. My ride is waiting for me.” She smiles now. “It was good talking with you, Ellie. And maybe, just give Henry a second chance.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Pray about it too. You never know what God might have planned.” Ivy says goodbye, then disappears out the door.
Henry must’ve made several batches of whoopie pies because two platefuls sit on the Yoders’ kitchen table. Just then, I realize I’m alone in Henry’s house.
I glance out the window at the pond to see what looks like the three guys already working up a sweat. I notice Henry and Eli by their beanies, and Henry’s neighbor Jude by all his hockey gear—a helmet, pads, the whole nine yards.
It wonders me what it would be like to be an Englischer . Then I shiver, imagining how scary it would be out in the world where everyone is a stranger. At least here in my Amish community, I have family and friends. I’ve always felt sorry for the Amish folks that leave after they’ve become a member of the church and then face the shunning. To lose my entire community would be devastating.
But I do understand the pull of the world. To not have all these rules govern my life is appealing. I’ve heard stories of people not being allowed to do the simplest of things because the Ordnung forbids it. I couldn’t imagine getting into trouble with the leaders because I have one too many straight pins on my dress. How can that be considered worldly? It just doesn’t make sense to me.
It may sound funny to the Englisch , but for the Amish it is serious stuff.
One time, Eli was out working on our farm and he had his hat on at an awkward angle because of the sun. The deacon happened to be driving by, stopped, and warned my brother that his hat position was worldly, and he better make sure he was wearing it properly—after all, one of the younger boys could happen by and get his own ideas about not having to follow the rules. It could lead to wearing baseball caps or a cowboy hat, and then they’d be just like the world. That might cause them to desire more of the worldly trappings, leave the Amish, and be in danger of going to hell, the deacon had reasoned.
Which got me wondering, who decides whether something is worldly or not? And does the deacon believe that everyone who isn’t Amish—or anyone who leaves the Amish, for that matter—is doomed to hell? Even if the deacon believes it, I don’t. Because I don’t ever recall one Bible verse that has the word Amish in it. I even looked it up on one of the library computers one time, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. If that is what is required for salvation, wouldn’t God want the world to know?
But the more I think about it and the more I read my Bible, I think maybe the leaders don’t have everything right. Like, why would the Bible say that man looks on the outside, but God looks on the heart? It’s pretty clear to me that God sees things differently than we do.
And didn’t God say that a person is not made right with God by the works he does? Only faith in Jesus can make people right with God, is what I understood when Dat read the verses in the Bible. For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast . It seems pretty clear to me.
I sigh and realize that I might be here for a while. Alone in Henry’s house. I’m overcome with the urge to sneak around. Not that I’ve never been here before. I’ve attended church in the Yoders’ home many times. But I’ve never been here alone. Until now.
It wonders me what Henry’s bedroom looks like. Is it any different from Eli’s? Probably. After all, both Elijah and myself have to share our rooms with our siblings. But the Yoders only have Ivy and Henry.
What would it be like to have my very own bedroom for myself? Why, I could have complete and total privacy. I could hide things if I had a notion to.
I check out the windows one more time and see the guys still playing hockey on the pond. It will be at least an hour or two before anyone else shows up, probably.
What would it hurt? I don’t think the Yoders would mind. It’s not like they have anything to hide. After all, all their curtains are open. And the deacon always said that closed curtains are a sign that you’re hiding something. Not that she ever gave much credence to the deacon’s ferhoodled notions.
“Hello? Is anybody here?” I call out just in case.
When silence answers back, I grin, then make my way toward the stairs. Why am I tip-toeing? Even if it’s sneaky, it’s not like the mice are going to tell on me.
I turn right at the top of the steps and stop at the entrance of what is probably Ivy’s room, judging by the feminine colors on the quilt. Either that, or it could belong to their mamm . But I’m pretty sure that Martha Yoder sleeps downstairs like my mamm and dat . It’s easier to keep track of the kinner’s whereabouts that way.
Not wanting to disturb Ivy’s room, I move down the hall to find the bathroom. Of course, I already knew this was a bathroom, so I don’t know why I checked. Silly me.
One thing I am thankful for in my Amish community is that we are allowed to have bathrooms inside our houses. Dat grew up in a much stricter neighboring Amish sect and they had to go outside to use an outhouse. I couldn’t even imagine using one outside, as cold as it’s been lately. Fortunately, Dat’s folks had moved to this community, and I’m blessed by the choice they made all those years ago.
Which wonders me. Are there any choices I’m making that will bring blessings to future generations? I don’t ponder the thought too long. After all, when will I ever get another chance to scope out Henry’s house unnoticed?
I turn an about face and head in the opposite direction. But I’m met with yet another feminine looking bedroom. Not Henry’s.
The room I come upon next—the last one on the second story—appears to be a sewing and craft room. Not Henry’s. At least, I hope not. But at the same time, he did make those wunderbaar whoopie pies, so…
Apparently, the women own the entire upstairs. Must be nice.
I hear a noise and stop. I listen carefully, but all is quiet again. Must’ve just been a squeaky board under my foot. I peek out the upstairs window just to be sure the guys are still occupied. I blow out a breath, relieved to see that they are.
I charge down the stairs in search of another bedroom.
I know the moment I open the door which bedroom is Henry’s. The scent of the cologne he was wearing on our buggy ride last night lingers in the air. The scent I can’t seem to forget no matter how hard I try. Not that it’s an unpleasant fragrance or anything. It’s just that every time I smell it, I think about kissing Henry.
And that’s dangerous.
I stop at the threshold, second-guessing myself. Something about entering Henry’s bedroom feels awfully intimate. I breathe in deep to fortify myself, then step inside his forbidden private sanctuary.
Like Elijah’s bedroom, a rack with a shotgun hangs on the wall, along with a set of deer antlers. I suppose it’s a pretty common thing in Amish young men’s bedrooms. A blue chenille bedspread that matches his curtains covers his bed, but I stop myself from gliding my hand over it.
I step next to a bureau, and stare at it for several seconds. I don’t want to run across Henry’s underwear, so I decide not to open the drawers. That would just be too awkward.
My eyes search the room. His closet is open, but appears rather ordinary. Henry seems to be neat and tidy for the most part. Not a bad quality in a man.
Not that I’m in the market. Especially not for Henry.
I spy a cowboy hat on one of his deer racks and can’t help myself from snatching it off the wall. Jah , this was the same kind of hat the deacon warned my brother to avoid lest he be in danger of hellfire. Apparently, the deacon has never had the same discussion with Henry.
I search his dresser top for a mirror but find none, so I open his desk drawer. My eyes snag on something. A journal?
I lift it out and several pictures slide into my hands. I swallow as my likeness stares back at me. When did Henry take this? And how? That’s when I realize that Henry is in the picture too off in the distance. Maybe his Englisch neighbor, Jude, took these with his phone. Jah , that made sense.
Something about Henry owning a photo of me warms my insides. It wonders me how often he looks at it. Is it a daily ritual or something he does occasionally or not at all?
I take another look at myself in the photo. Probably not the cutest I’ve ever looked, but I suppose I look alright. At least I wasn’t in the middle of talking or eating. Because that would be embarrassing if my mouth was all crooked or I had a giant green salad leaf on one of my front teeth.
I banish the thought, sift through a few more photos, and finally slide them back into the notebook. I’m about to close it when I catch a handwritten phrase amongst the pages of Henry’s journal.
I never meant for it to happen.
Ach , did Henry write this? What did he not mean to happen?
I turn to the first page and begin reading.
Dear Dad,
That’s all the writing on the first page. Several random dried splotches fill the remainder of the paper. My heart clenches as I realize that Henry must’ve been crying when he wrote those words. Perhaps continuing his thoughts had been too painful?
Whatever it was, my heart went out to him. Poor, Henry.
I read page after page as Henry pours out his heart to his father. My tears can’t be stopped, although I do my best to brush them away. It is the single most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever read. I never realized how much Henry suffered after his father’s death.
Maybe Ivy was right. Maybe I don’t know Henry, the man.
I hear footsteps and swipe away the remainder of my tears.
But before I have time to escape or even think, I spin around. “Henry!” I say breathless, as he steps into his bedroom.
His grin broadens when he sees me and appears to drink me in. “Oh, heck, yes!”
I realize that I’m still wearing his cowboy hat. And apparently, he likes me in it.
And then I realized the drawer behind me is still open. Oh, no! Henry cannot know that I’ve been snooping through his most personal thoughts. He can’t.
I may not want Henry to court me, but I’m not a monster. And I just did a monster thing. I chide myself for being so intrusive and not minding my own business.
His brow furrows and his eyes begin roaming the bedroom. He cannot find out what I’ve been doing—what I’ve been reading.
I utter a silent prayer for a distraction of some sort.
“What are you…” His voice trails off as he steps near and I know that if he comes any closer, he will figure it out.
And I can’t just close the drawer without him noticing.
I’m desperate, so I do what any sane woman would do. I grab the front of Henry’s shirt, ignoring his wide eyes, and yank him down to my lips. But I completely miss his mouth and kiss the side of his nose.
Until he pulls me flush against him and claims my mouth like his life depends on it. His eager hands roam my back, and I have to suppress a whimper. Because, goodness, I could get addicted to Henry’s touch.
The cowboy hat falls to the floor, forgotten.
As much as I don’t like Henry, I realize that I love his kisses.
I almost forget my mission, but I can’t seem to pry my hands off his chest to reach back and push the drawer closed. So, instead I lift my foot behind me and move to shut the drawer I’d just been snooping through. But somehow the low heel of my boot gets caught on something. I try to yank it away, but in the process, the force of my propulsion sends both Henry and me onto his bed.
“Ellie,” he groans.
Oh, goodness. Now, what have I done?
At first, I worry that I’ve accidentally kneed him between the legs. Until he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. Then I know it isn’t a groan of pain, but of passion. And goodness gracious, Henry Yoder knows how to kiss!
Can we just stay like this forever?
Apparently not because not a moment later, another voice captures our attention. A feminine voice. Henry’s mother’s voice. Ach .
Jumpin’ Jehosaphat! We’re in trouble.
Eli and Jude choose that moment to appear in the doorway next to Henry’s mamm . All three of them stand gaping at us with bewildered expressions.
Henry and I both bolt upright, consequently banging our foreheads together.
And that’s when I’m struck by the fact that there is no way on earth I will be able to convince Henry Yoder—or anyone else—that I don’t like him.
And if I admit it to myself, I kinda do.
But I’m not about to admit it to myself or anyone else. Ever.