Adoring Addie (12 page)

“Jah,” I answered, alarmed. “Do your parents know where you are?”

She shook her head.

“We should tell them.”

“Will you call?”

I nodded.

“I guess I'll go,” Phillip said.

“It seems that would be best.” I met his eyes for a brief moment. “Good night.”

He said the same and started toward his horse and buggy. Although I was unsettled by Hannah's bizarre arrival, relief washed over me to finally have Phillip on his way.

“I'll be home later,” Timothy called from his open window. I didn't bother to respond, which didn't matter to him. He turned his Bronco around and buzzed back up the lane.

I suggested Hannah sit on the back stoop, and then I turned toward the barn, to where our phone was, to leave a message for Aenti Pauline. I supposed, once she figured out Hannah wasn't coming home, she might check her machine.

As I spoke on the phone I heard the clippity-clop of Phillip's horse's hooves fade off down the lane. When I finished, I stepped out of the barn and squinted in the dim light toward the creek.

An owl hooted, and then another flash of lightning struck. I counted to ten before the thunder crashed. I took a step in the opposite direction of the house. I couldn't leave Hannah, not in the state she was in, but I longed to see Jonathan. It had been forty-eight hours since we'd spoken. It felt like forty-eight days.

I heard the hoot again. Perhaps he was headed home too and simply wanted to let me know. My heart jumped at the rustling in the brush past the willow. Up popped Jonathan's head.

I shook mine. I didn't want Hannah to see him. He nodded and blew me a kiss.

“Come back tomorrow night,” I whispered, not sure whether he'd be able to make out my instruction in the dim light. He disappeared again, and by the movement of the brush on my side of the trail, I knew he'd headed back down to the creek.

Another flash of lightning . . . and then more thunder, but this time I counted to twelve. He would be fine going home.

I turned back toward my cousin, aching for Jonathan's embrace, for the brush of his lips against my skin. But even
more for how it felt to be heard by him. I had so much I wanted to say.

Hannah leaned her head against my shoulder. We'd scooted back under the porch roof, side by side, the sky now pitch-black, the rain falling around us. A shroud of clouds covered the moon.

“What's going on?” I asked.

She hiccuped. “My Mamm and I had an argument.”

“About?”

“She doesn't want me to go out anymore. She says that's why I'm so tired and lazy. But I'm so tired because I hate being at home. I'm fine when I'm out with friends.”

Hannah's parents were far more lenient than mine were with me. Not more than mine were with my Bruders though.

“She wants me to join one of those youth groups that just sings and plays volleyball.” There were groups of Youngie like that who didn't do any of the usual Rumschpringe activities. The parents decided what was allowed and somehow they made the kids stick to it.

Hannah continued. “My Mamm thinks Molly is a bad influence.” She hiccuped again. “We fought about it tonight, and I stormed off, then called Timothy to come get me.”

I pulled her closer, knowing there was no reason for me to speak now. We sat in silence for a minute as the freshness of the rain swirled around us. Then she said, “I don't want your Mamm to know I'm here. Not until tomorrow morning.”

“She's probably already gone to bed.”

“Could you check?”

“Jah.” I stood. “I'll be right back. Stay here.”

The kitchen was dark when I stepped inside. Relieved, I was starting back out when Mutter asked, “Is he still here?”

I twirled around, seeing now that she was still sitting at the table. “Who?”

“Phillip.” She laughed. “Who do you think?”

“No,” I answered.

“Oh.” She pushed herself up to a standing position. “I thought maybe you were going to go back out to spend more time with him.”

I shook my head. “I forgot to make sure the chicken coop is secure.” That was true.

“I was waiting up to tell you how pleased I am,” she said. “Your Daed too. A son is a son until he takes a wife, but a daughter is a daughter for life. You're the only one we have. Who you marry means so much to us, far more than who the boys choose. Phillip will stand by you through the years as you care for us.” She put her hand on her hip. “I know you had that . . . episode earlier in the week. But we knew you'd get over it and see things our way. It shows us how much you care—how much you honor us.”

I bristled. Caring about them was one thing. Marrying Phillip was entirely another. “Mutter,” I said, my voice as calm as I could keep it. “I don't love Phillip.”

Even in the darkness I could make out a look of surprise on her face. “How could you not love him? He's all any girl could want.”

I shook my head. Speaking the truth to Phillip had given me confidence. It was time for me to be honest with my parents too. “Not me. He doesn't make my heart stop—or do anything at all except make me feel hollow, as if I'm not even myself around him.”

“Oh, Addie,” she said. “It works differently for different people. Those feelings will come in time, to be sure. It's fate for the two of you to be together.”

“No it's not. If I was going to feel that way about Phillip Eicher, I would have by now.”

She slumped forward, grabbing the chair.

I paused, a feeling of regret coming over me. What had I just said to my Mutter? What if it caused her to have some sort of an attack?

She began waving her hand at me, and I stepped to her side and took her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Help me to the stairs,” she said.

I did, without saying a word.

When we reached the staircase, she said, “I'm okay now. Go take care of the chickens.”

I watched her taking the stairs one at a time. Halfway up, she turned and said quietly, “Don't tell your father. It will break his heart. And I'm guessing you'll change your mind anyway. Who would pick Jonathan Mosier over Phillip Eicher?”

She waited for me to answer, but when I didn't she added, “Only a fool.”

Shaken, I slipped back to the kitchen. I didn't want to hurt my parents, but I wasn't going to change my mind. Daed would find out sooner or later. I stepped out the back door. “Come on,” I whispered to Hannah. “Follow me.”

I led the way to the coop through the rain, easing up the latch and then directing Hannah to go in first. The hens had all settled down for the night, but a few squawked from their roosts at the far end as we stepped across the cedar shavings that I'd spread the week before. The half-grown chicks we were raising to sell as fryers huddled together as we approached. I wiped my hands, wet from the rain, on my apron and then turned on the battery-operated heat lamp, even though it was already humid and stuffy in the coop,
to give us some light. Several of the chicks awoke. I picked up one and sat down on the shavings, feeling the warmth of the creature in my hands as I drew it closer. Hannah did the same.

“There's something I've been wanting to ask you,” I said.

She kissed the top of the chick's head and then looked up at me, her brown eyes heavy. “Jah?”

“Are you interested in Jonathan Mosier?”

She smiled a little. “Who wants to know?”

Not sure if she was teasing or not, I decided to be straightforward. “I do.”

“Why?”

I narrowed my eyes and smiled a little. “Why do you think?”

She smiled. “I'm not interested in him. But what about Phillip?”

“Ach, Phillip, Phillip, Phillip. That's all I hear. What a great catch he is. What a good husband he will—”

Hannah took over. “How handsome he is. How buff—”

“Hannah!”

“It's true.” A sassy expression settled on her face.

“Perhaps you would like to court him.”

She shook her head. “But I know who would.”

I leaned toward her. “Who?”

“Molly.”

I leaned back. “That's perfect!” She'd make him notice her. “If you're not interested in Jonathan, then who do you want to court, Hannah?”

“That's part of my issue with Mamm.” She stroked the chick's head as she looked up at me. “I like Mervin.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised.

My cousin continued. “But my Mamm says there's no way she'll allow me to go out with a Mosier. That's why she
wants me to go to the youth group. She says I'm not to go to the parties anymore.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“Your parents will never let you court Jonathan either, you know.”

I sat up straighter. “Aenti Nell thinks maybe they will.” But she'd also instructed me not to talk to Phillip or my parents about how I really felt—and I'd just done both. Ignoring my fear that I'd blown it, I continued. “Aenti said Jonathan and I should talk to my Onkel Bob, that maybe he can help us straighten everyone out.”

“Good luck.” Hannah hiccuped and then closed her eyes, leaning her head against the worn plank of wood behind her, her shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” I inched toward her, the cedar chips bumpy under my dress.

She shook her head. “I feel so sad. . . . Unless I'm riding my horse or out with friends.” She opened her eyes. “I don't mean to say I feel bad being with you.”

“Don't worry,” I said. “I understand.”

“I'm tired of being bossed around,” she said. “And the thing is, my Mamm and Dat wouldn't come up with this plan to confine me on their own. It's Mammi Gladys who's behind it. It's like she's so miserable she wants everyone else to be too.” Her eyes watered. “This is our Rumschpringe. After we join the church and marry, we'll have to obey all the rules. But we're supposed to have some freedom now, right?”

I swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

“Sure, we have freedom, as long as we don't court any Mosiers. Or go anywhere they'll be.” She stood and put the chick back with the others.

I didn't want to leave the coop, the one place I felt we
could talk, but Hannah seemed to be exhausted. She needed to get to bed.

“Let's go,” I said, running my fingers down the back of the chick's head. We needed to get as much sleep as possible. Aenti Pauline was apt to be in our kitchen tomorrow morning soon after I was, if not before.

Aenti Pauline didn't beat me to the kitchen—she didn't show up until after breakfast. Mutter and Aenti Nell had both stayed at the table to quiz Hannah after Daed and the boys had all gone out to the field. And I was relieved that my cousin's presence took Mutter's attention off me.

Aenti Pauline didn't knock, but she didn't exactly march right in either. She looked a little tentative as she opened the door, squinted as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and then said, “Hannah, are you all right, then?”

I felt sorry for my Aenti.

“Jah,” Hannah said. “I just needed some time.”

“Are you ready to come home?”

Surprised she didn't simply order Hannah to go with her, I glanced at my cousin's face.

She appeared relieved. “Could I stay another day? I got up early and helped Addie with the chores. I'm feeling better.”

Aenti Pauline turned to Mutter. “Is that all right with you?”

“Goodness, Pauline,” Mutter answered. “Just tell her to go home with you.”

“Then you mind if she stays?”

“Of course not.” Mutter exhaled. “Just don't let her decide.”
My Mutter had a covert way of criticizing other people's parenting. I think it made her feel better about her own.

Aenti Pauline turned back to Hannah. “Laurel and Cap are much stricter than your Dat and I, at least with Addie.” I wasn't the only one aware of my Mutter's hypocrisy.

“I know,” Hannah answered. “But it helps to be with my cousin.”

Aenti Pauline turned toward Mutter, who shrugged and then said, “Addie, start weeding the garden, and take Hannah with you.”

A few minutes later, the hoe looped through my arm so it wouldn't fall to the muddy ground, I swatted at a fly buzzing around my face and then wiped my forehead with my apron. The rain from last night had given way to another day of humidity.

“I should have gotten a glass of water,” Hannah said.

I pointed to the hose.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Go back into the kitchen, then.”

“No, I don't want to get in the middle of the Schwesters.” She took a deep breath.

We worked for an hour—me at twice Hannah's pace—and then decided to take a break. The Schwesters had had enough time to talk. We leaned the hoes against the garden fence and headed to the back porch, kicking our shoes off and then entering the kitchen. It was empty, but I heard voices in the sewing room. I stopped at the door. Aenti Nell and Aenti Pauline were talking, but Mutter wasn't in sight.

“Where did she go?” I wondered if Aenti Pauline had upset her.

“Who?” Nell asked.

“Mutter.”

“Oh, I think to rest,” Aenti Pauline answered.

“She must be upstairs,” Aenti Nell added.

“Did you all talk things through?”

Aenti Pauline gave me a puzzled look.

“About Hannah staying.”

“Jah . . .” Aenti Pauline glanced at Aenti Nell and shrugged. “There wasn't much to talk about. . . .”

“When did Mutter leave?” It wasn't like her not to be with me, or Nell, during the day. If for some reason Nell was gone, Mutter would sometimes sit in a chair while I weeded the garden to keep from being alone.

“Oh, a while ago.” Aenti Nell's gaze drifted into the kitchen. “Before we came in here.”

“I'll check on her,” I said. I hoped I didn't appear alarmed, but I feared she might have fallen or that perhaps she was sick. I hurried up the stairs. She wasn't in her room or in the little boys', which I didn't expect because she hadn't done any cleaning in there in years. Next I checked the bathroom. She wasn't there either.

I heard a bump above. The ladder to the attic was in Timothy and Danny's room, so I pursed my lips and headed down the hall, opening their door. Danny's side of the room was tidy, but a tumble of blankets covered Timothy's bed, and heaps of clothes, both Englisch and Amish, were scattered around his floor.

The ceiling of the room appeared as always—the ladder in place. I heard another bump then and my mother's voice calling out my name.

“Mutter!” I reached up to the rope dangling from the ceiling and yanked. The ladder popped down, followed by a wave of heat, and then my mother's face appeared.

“What took you so long?”

“I had no idea you were up here.”

“Someone raised the ladder on me.”

Timothy probably returned to get something. “He must have thought it had been left down by accident.” I started up toward her. “Can you get down on your own?”

She shook her head.

“Okay . . .” Why, with a bad knee, had she ventured up? “What were you doing?” I asked as I reached the top, overcome with worry.

“Pauline mentioned something this morning. I wanted to look for it.”

I sighed. She was forever misplacing things. Bills. Paperwork. Books. Mementos. Doilies. Handwork. “Let's get you down from here.” I coached her then, step by step, and held on to her thick waist to steady her. By the time we reached the bottom, she was shaking and collapsed on Danny's bed with a bounce.

I hurried to the bathroom to get her a glass of water and brought it back for her, waiting for her to catch her breath. I'd felt responsible for her for years. Never had I neglected her so.

After she drank the water, a sip at a time, I helped her up and then down the hall to her room. After she collapsed on her own bed, she lifted her head. “I think you just need some time away from Phillip. To clear your mind.”

I didn't answer her, not wanting to upset her, and hurried back down the stairs to talk with Hannah. When I reached the kitchen I was surprised to find her sitting at the table with Timothy. Both had empty glasses in front of them.

I filled a glass with water and sat down too.

“I'm going to go home,” Hannah whispered, nodding toward the sewing room, indicating Aenti Pauline was still talking with Aenti Nell. “Timothy said there's a party tonight.
I'll have a better chance of going being at my house than staying at yours.” She smiled.

“You said your Mamm didn't want you to go.” I held the cool glass against my face. The summer parties seemed to be heating up—here it was only midweek.

“I think she'll change her mind. Or I'll ask to stay at Molly's tonight.”

Before I could respond, she hurried up to my room to collect her things.

“I'm going too,” Timothy said. “And I promise I won't drink. Want to go? Phillip won't be there.” He smirked.

I didn't dare ask if Jonathan would.

I'd been a good girl all through what should have been my Rumschpringe, not going behind my parents' backs, not going to parties, not running around in any way. It wasn't that I thought going to one party would make me a bad girl, it was just that it went against what I'd been raised to do.

“Jah,” I answered my brother. Armed with my growing confidence, I decided it was worth the risk. By this evening, it would be seventy-two hours since I'd seen Jonathan. Going to the party was my best chance to spend some time with him.

I scrubbed out the stainless steel kitchen sink, working wide circles with the cleanser and the sponge, as I waited for Timothy. Mutter and Daed had headed to bed soon after Billy and Joe-Joe had settled down, as was their usual routine, and Aenti Nell had soon followed to her room. Timothy had told me after dinner we'd leave for the party as soon as everyone had gone to bed, but then his cell phone rang. He'd said he'd be right back, hurried out to his Bronco, sped down the lane—and hadn't returned.

I turned on the faucet and began rinsing the sink, splashing water up on the sides. I'd accepted it wasn't meant for me to go to the party after all, when I heard Timothy's Bronco coming back up the lane. I stopped the water and dried my hands quickly, leaving the towel on the counter in my hurry to get out the back door. I dashed toward the car, holding on to the top of my Kapp, hoping to stop him before he got to the house and drew more attention to us.

Waving, I sprinted around to the passenger side as he braked.

“Thought I'd forgotten you, jah?” He began cranking the wheel to turn around before I had the door closed.

As I clicked my seatbelt, I noticed his wasn't on. “Fasten up,” I said.

He grunted.

“Timothy.”

“Stop bossing me around.”

“Let me out, then.”

“All right, all right,” he said, grabbing the belt as he drove. Too many Amish youth were badly injured in car accidents because they didn't wear safety belts. The car drifted, the fastener clicked, and he planted his hands back on the wheel.

I let out my breath, slowly, and we rode in silence until the stop sign at the end of our lane.

That's when I heard the beer bottles clink behind the driver's seat.

I craned my neck.

“I only had one,” he said, turning right.

“There are four empty bottles.”

“George had three.”

I eyed him for a moment but couldn't tell if he was being
truthful or not. “If you can afford beer, why can't you afford to pay me back?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For the mantel you destroyed.”

He smirked and said, “I forgot all about that.”

“Obviously.” I wasn't about to tell him Jonathan had returned the money. If by some chance Timothy did pay me, I'd tell him then. “Where is George?” I asked.

“At the party already. With Sadie.”

“And where is it?”

“Down by the Susquehanna.” He braked for a curve.

I relaxed a little.

But the next one he accelerated for. “Timothy!” I squealed. He laughed as the Bronco veered onto the shoulder and then straightened out again.

“There could have been a buggy on the curve!”

“There wasn't,” he answered.

We were on a straight stretch now, buzzing along. “How many beers did you really have?”

“Maybe more than one. I lost track.” He shot me a grin as he crossed the center line into the other lane, which was clear, to pass a buggy.

I turned to see if it was anyone I recognized but couldn't make out the man's face.

I shifted in my seat toward Timothy. “We need to go back to the house.”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

“You're not fine.”

He ignored me.

“Turn around,” I said.

He ignored me again.

“Stop!” I commanded.

He continued to ignore me until I yelled, “Now!”

He slammed on the brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the road, the beer bottles clattering in the back again.

“Now go back to the house.”

“Fat chance,” he said. “You can walk back if you need to run home to Mamm.”

“You said you wouldn't drink.”

He shrugged. I weighed my options—it took me half a second. “Okay.” I opened the door handle. “I'll walk.”

“Don't get hit by some crazy Amish kid,” he said as I climbed out.

“You're an idiot.” I slammed the door.

He sneered and then accelerated, making me jump back onto the narrow shoulder.

The moon rose over the hill behind me, and I began walking back the way we'd come, chastising myself for having believed Timothy in the first place.

He was the least trustworthy person I knew.

I looked across the plowed field, squinting in the dim light. The farmhouse in the distance was Old Man Mosier's. Getting there by the road would be a long, long walk. I stumbled over a rock, catching myself before I fell. To cross the plowed field, as much as I wanted to, would be quite the ordeal. Besides, what would I find when I got there? Jonathan gone to the party? That would only add insult to injury. I was so close to where Jonathan was living—but he was most likely not there.

I began humming as I walked, a nonsense tune that I sometimes sang to Joe-Joe at bedtime. In the distance, car lights came toward me. I stepped beyond the shoulder to the edge of the field, well out of the way. The car zoomed by too fast. I didn't recognize the Englisch man driving.

A pickup passed a few minutes later with a dog in the back. It barked and lunged as the vehicle zoomed by. I stayed on the side of the field, my shoes filling with dirt from the tilled soil.

When I reached the crossroads, I turned to the left. A few minutes later, I could heard the clippity-clop of a horse's hooves and then the whir of wheels on the pavement, but a turn in the road prevented me from seeing the buggy.

I could make out the faint sound of singing. “‘When through the woods, and forest glades I wander, And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees. When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur . . .'”

The voice sounded familiar—or was I just hoping beyond hope it would be Jonathan?

It wasn't until the chorus that I recognized the song as “How Great Thou Art,” an Englisch hymn Aenti Nell sometimes sang. She told me it was from singings she attended as a girl. Certain it was a song Jonathan would sing, I began jogging.