A Stranger's Wish (6 page)

She put me on hold forever, but she ultimately delivered.

“I think you are referring to Mr. Everett Geohagan. He came in this afternoon and is now in coronary care. He is doing as well as can be expected.”

“Which means?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” she said. “Probably it means he’s still alive.”

“How about visitors?”

“Are you family?”

“A close friend,” I said, hoping God wouldn’t think I was stretching the truth too far.

“Only family,” she pronounced with great authority, and I thought she sounded happy to make me sad. But she wasn’t as unfeeling as I thought, because she added, “Why don’t you call back tomorrow? Call the floor itself.” And she gave me the number. “They’ll give you a more thorough report, and they’ll tell you if you qualify as a visitor.”

“Thanks,” I said, but she was already gone.

I punched the off button, lay the phone down, and wandered to the window. My stomach growled, and I realized that because of the bustle of moving, lunch had been only a package of peanut butter crackers and a Coke. No wonder I was hungry.

From my window I saw Todd pull into the drive in his silver-gray Lexus. Discreet but powerful, like Todd himself. Why the man chose to date me was a great mystery, as I am neither discreet nor powerful.

I hurried down to meet him and waved to Mary and Ruth, who were working in the kitchen as I went through the great room. I was more than happy to put thoughts of the key and the old man away for a while.

“Had enough yet, Kristie? Ready to leave here?” Todd greeted me as he leaned against his perfectly polished car.

“What?” I looked at him in surprise.

His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your cheek?”

“Nothing much. A dog bite. I’m fine.”

“A dog bite? That sounds serious.” He studied the bandage as if he could see through it to the damage beneath.

“I’m fine. And it’s not really a bite.”

“Who did it? That mangy German shepherd?”

“Hawk is not mangy,” I said defensively. “And it was my fault.”

“Oh, sure. ‘Come on, Hawk, bite!’ Is that what you said? You could sue, you know.”

“Todd! Never!”

He shook his head. “I do not understand you. I don’t know why you’re so in love with this smelly place and everything about it. I truly don’t.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. His nose was wrinkled in distaste, his nostrils pinched. I had to admit that the barn was a bit ripe in the shimmering heat, but I wasn’t about to let him know I thought so. It sat, timeworn but sturdy, across the drive from where Todd was parked. Its large door was open, and out of its recesses tumbled a trio of calico kittens. They chased each other past Hawk, who lay sleeping in the sun once more.

In the fenced area beside the barn, two great farm horses stood sleepily nose to tail, each one’s tail swishing flies for the other. One of the beasts shied suddenly and kicked a left rear hoof, sending a red hen squawking in panic.

“You’d think, Todd, that after living all thirty years of your life in Lancaster County, you’d be used to the barn smell by now.”

“Not in the summer,” he said. “In fact, I consider car air-conditioning the greatest invention since the wheel. I can close everything out.”

I took a deep breath. “But everything includes the good things too, like honeysuckle. Besides, manure means growth.”

Todd frowned. “When I think of manure—which isn’t often if I can help it—I think of many words, and growth isn’t one of them. Offensive is, or disease laden, or repugnant. I can’t imagine anything worse than dealing with tons of the stuff each year as these farmers do.”

“You can’t have milk without manure,” I said. “Same critter gives both.”

“Don’t remind me.” He shuddered. “I’ll have to start eating my cereal dry if I think about it too much.”

I leaned against the car beside him, looking at the farm. “It’s all so beautiful.”

Todd followed my gaze without comprehension. “I wish you’d listen to me,” he said again. “You won’t like it here.”

Suddenly overcome with the sheer magic of the farm and my future as part of it, I hugged myself and began to sing, “Old MacDonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-oh.”

“Kristie!”

I stopped abruptly, trying to look contrite but probably failing completely. I didn’t look at my vocalizing as the terrible and embarrassing habit Todd did.

“When will you learn that you can’t go around bursting into song every time you feel like it?” He looked around self-consciously and then sighed in relief when he saw that we were alone. “People will think you’re strange.”

I took a deep breath, forgot contrite, and looked him in the eye. “You don’t like my yellow car. You don’t like my farm. You don’t like my painting. And you don’t like my singing. Is there anything about me you do like?”

“Come on, Kristie. That’s unfair. You know I care for you very much.”

I nodded. “So you keep saying. Though how you can like me when you don’t like anything about me, I don’t understand. Why, I bet you think this outfit is gaudy.”

Without answering, Todd pushed himself away from the car and went to the trunk. I made a face at his back, but I had to agree with him; it was gaudy. That’s why I liked it.

I remained where I was, staring dreamily at the large two-story farm house. It was painted the traditional white with dark green trim, and an open porch ran across the front. The far end of the porch was hung with the sturdy green-gray leaves of a very healthy wisteria, which must be lovely in June when it bloomed. A neatly mowed lawn shaded by a great maple wrapped itself around the house.

I smiled hopefully at Todd, wanting him to share my pleasure in the beauty of the scene bathed in the golden light of an evening near summer’s end.

Instead, as he straightened from inspecting the contents of his trunk, he said, “You know, it still isn’t too late to change your mind.”

I bent quickly to pet one of the calico kittens and hide my irritation. “Todd, let it go, will you?”

Even after two years we are like two people on opposite sides of a window. We see each other, we admire each other, but somehow we can’t touch.

Todd nodded, resigned. “Just remember, when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be there to help you find another apartment. But since you insist on staying for the moment, I have a gift for you to make things more bearable.”

He walked back to me, took me by the arm, and led me around the car so I could see into the trunk. There sat a box with a flat screen TV pictured on it, a big red ribbon tied around it.

“Todd! What in the world?”

“My peace offering,” he said. “I’ve behaved like a boor about your move, and I’m sorry because it’s made you unhappy with me. Please accept this with my apologies.” He grinned. “Now you’ll be able to fill your evenings and keep an eye on our favorite local pol, Hurlbert.”

I pointed to the TV, appalled. “You can’t do this.”

Ignoring me, he bent, picked the box up, and started up the walk to the house. “I’ll just take it up to your room.”

“Don’t, Todd,” I said grabbing his arm. “Don’t.”

But he ignored me, knocking on the door with the TV itself. Mary let him in and watched blank faced as Todd went across the living room and upstairs without so much as a hello. I heard him trip on the last step and waited apprehensively for the crash that by some miracle never came.

How terribly rude he must seem to her,
I thought as I waited, embarrassed and uncomfortable. I knew that Todd didn’t mean to give offense—he wasn’t that kind of man—but that didn’t change the fact that he had. He returned smiling happily, unaware of my distress, flicking a little wave at Mary and Ruth.

I got into the car quickly, and when we pulled out of the drive, I said sharply, “Whatever possessed you to bring me a TV?”

Todd looked at me in surprise. “I know you were uncertain about bringing one with you for fear of offending the Zooks, but I saw a TV through Jake’s window earlier today, so I figured it was okay. I got you that one on sale. It’s little and won’t take up much space. It gets a great picture.” He grinned at me. “I know because I tried it out this afternoon.”

“You can’t go buying me TVs!” Aside from the embarrassment, the momentary size of the gift felt uncomfortably binding. I much preferred a bouquet of cut flowers. When the flowers died, so did my need to feel grateful. “Besides, with Jake it’s different. Surely you can see that.”

Todd turned onto Route 340, heading toward Lancaster. “What’s different?” he asked.

“Jake can have a TV because it’s a settled issue between him and his parents.” My voice was loud, even to my own ears. I tried to calm myself. “I’ve never even discussed it with them.”

“You mean you need their permission to have a TV in your own rooms even though you aren’t Amish and even though their son has one and even though you’re paying rent?”

I nodded.

“But you have rights here too,” he objected.

“It’s not a matter of rights. It’s a matter of courtesy and respect.”

We came on a buggy moving turtle slow in the buggy lane, which was essentially a broad, macadamized shoulder. We zipped past, and I wondered as always what it felt like to have the air currents from powerful cars, trucks, and tourist buses buffet you as you inched along in such a flimsy contraption. You had to be brave or incredibly foolhardy to be on the road in those things.

Most roads in the area didn’t have buggy lanes, and cars pulled out to pass whenever there was a break in oncoming traffic. I liked the way the tires sang different tunes as they crossed and recrossed the worn patches down the center of each side of these roads, shallow gullies worn in the macadam by the hooves of numberless horses.

“And it’s a matter of grace,” I continued as we turned right at the light in Smoketown to avoid Lancaster City and the bypass with its heavy traffic.

“What’s a matter of grace?” Todd asked. “I thought we were talking about a TV.”

“We are. It’s grace that lets John and Mary suffer Jake’s TV in their house. It goes against their standards, but their love for him lets them accept it.”

“You mean you think they’ll let Jake have one and not you?”

“No.”

Todd frowned. “You aren’t making sense, Kristie.”

“I know.” I searched for words to adequately describe what I saw as John and Mary’s great dilemma. “The Zooks live by a highly codified theological and legal system.”

“I know,” Todd said stiffly. “As you pointed out, I’ve lived in Lancaster all my life.”

“Then you admit they need a powerful reason to break it or bend it. And Jake’s physical condition is that reason.”

“So he can have a TV?”

“Right.”

“And you can’t.”

“Not without asking. After all, it’s their home. I’m the outsider. I’m certain they won’t force their system on me; they’ve been nothing but kindness itself. But they should be allowed to be gracious to their guest instead of being forced to live with another breach in their code.”

“First a trickle, then the world rushes in like a flood,” said Todd sarcastically. “One TV, two TVs, then live burlesque on the front porch.”

“Todd!”

“Don’t worry about their legal system, Kristie. Like any legal system ever devised, it’s full of holes.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.” I sounded as huffy and ill-tempered and sarcastic as he.

“Well, it’s true. There are so many inconsistencies. Electricity from public utilities is sinful, but water-generated or battery-generated electricity isn’t. Driving a car is sinful, but riding in one isn’t. Owning a vacuum cleaner is wrong, but using one for the woman you clean for isn’t. Hypocrisy.”

“Inconsistency, yes, but not willful hypocrisy.” I was furious at Todd’s unfeeling generalizations. “You’re forgetting that the Zooks are only people trying to accommodate a family tragedy to a very rigid and inflexible way of life.”

“Well, if it’s such a ridiculous way of life, why are you defending it?” Todd was almost shouting.

“I’m not defending the system! I’m defending the Zooks!”

“Why?” he roared.

“Because I like them!”

Silence reverberated like thunder through the car as we struggled for control.

I glared out the front window. A pair of open buggies came racing down the road toward us, each driven by a young Amishman of about sixteen, each boy wearing a bright blue scarf tied cowboy fashion about his neck. Even as I fumed at Todd, I wondered how they kept their hats on at such a reckless speed and where they had gotten their worldly scarves.

He cleared his throat as a prelude to speaking, and I looked away, out the side window.

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat again. “I don’t really feel that strongly about the Amish. In fact, though I think they’re wrong, I actually admire their courage and tenacity. My real worry is you.”

“Me?” Startled, I turned to him.

“You’re taking this Amish stuff too seriously.”

I looked at his profile, strong and sharp against the western light. “I told you I’m fine.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s just—” He stopped, frowned, and tried again. “I’m afraid of losing you.” He looked at me, emotion naked on his face. He reached out to me.

I was moved and automatically extended my hand to take his. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

A tension within him resolved, and he relaxed. “I promise not to raise my voice again,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll be good no matter how much I might disagree with you or how silly I think your point of view might be.”

“Silly?” I pulled my hand away, and my frail calm fled. “Silly?” A switch flicked on in my head. “That’s the trouble with you! I couldn’t put my finger on it before, but now I know. You think I’m silly! You condescend to me, just like my parents and sister. Because I sometimes disagree with you, you think my opinions are foolish! Because I like to paint and buy yellow cars and live on a farm, you think I’m an idiot!”

Todd blinked at my attack and shook his head like a punch-drunk fighter. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?” he said. “I never called you an idiot or anything close to it.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Oh, not in those words, but you did.”