Plain Jayne (40 page)

“I think I should watch a bit longer,” I said, not that she was listening. She'd already sprung from her seat and waited expectantly for me to replace her.

I sat. “Which direction do I turn this?” I asked, touching the wheel on the right.

“That's the balance wheel. You always turn it toward you.”

“Toward me. Okay.”

“Do you want to practice the treadle?”

“Sure.” I pedaled a few times. Sara knelt, adjusted my feet, and had me do it again. “That's good. Now try it with fabric.”

I tried a line of stitches. To my surprise, they didn't veer off and begin a trip to Jersey. “That's not bad.”

Ida nodded. “You have good quilting hands.”

I studied my hands. I hadn't thought of them that way before.

Sara began to rattle about the finer points of basting, reversing, and tension, and I just barely kept up. When she was talking about sewing and fabric, she came alive. I got the feeling she could talk for a week about hems.

If she stayed, those skills would translate into sewing for her family, likely with a quilting business on the side. Would that be enough for her?

I thought about Levi. Keeping his family's accounts wouldn't have been enough for him, and running the woodshop clearly wasn't either. Was I kidding myself to believe he would be happy there forever?

Sara, Martha, and Ida continued to quilt long after I begged off with sore calves. The sky was clear outside, and I resolved to take a walk around the farm to stretch the rest of my muscles. I stopped still when a familiar green pickup pulled into the drive. I saw the truck slow suddenly, as if the driver braked hard in surprise.

I couldn't move as Levi climbed from the cab. He looked to Ida's car, parked next to mine in the driveway. “You're back.”

I nodded.

“My grandma's here?”

I nodded again.

“I'm looking for my dad.”

“Oh.”

He didn't ask why I was there.

Not that it mattered much to him.

I watched as he walked toward the barn. When he was sufficiently away, I took an alternate route to the same location. Every one of my reporter's instincts urged me to move faster, to think harder, to remember all of the details.

When it began to rain, I didn't care. There was a back entrance to the barn that would allow me to listen to any words spoken. Granted, the gas-powered generators were loud, but people had to shout over them anyway. The shouting I could hear. And knowing Levi and Gideon, the likelihood of shouting was present.

I don't know what farm equipment was in use, but some of it quieted.

“Do you have a minute, Dad?”

I didn't need to be in the room to see Gideon's scowl. I positioned myself just outside the back door.

“Don't call me ‘Dad.' You are not my son.”

“Did you know I left my job in the city to work in town, to be near my family?”

“You don't have a family.”

“I'm sorry I had to leave. I'm sorry I couldn't be the son you wanted me to be.” I could hear the rising tension in Levi's voice.

“Don't upset him, please,” said Amos' voice. “His health—”

“My health is
gut
,” Gideon snapped.

“I was never baptized, Dad. You don't have to shun me.”

“I had a son. I had a son and he turned his back on his family and his God.”

“God is still with me.”

“Are you baptized?”

“Yes.”

“Into an Anabaptist church?”

“No.”

“Then I fear for your soul.”

There was a pause. “You won't change your mind, will you.”

“No.”

“I love you, Dad.”

Gideon grunted. There was quiet, and then I heard Gideon's voice telling Amos and Elam to get back to work.

I moved from my hiding place to see Levi walk back to his truck, his gaze steady ahead. I knew in an instant that he'd expected for the conversation to go the way it had, and yet he'd done it anyway.

The truck engine started up. I could see the women watching from inside the house.

I fought the urge to run up to Levi to comfort him, to talk to him. He didn't want to talk to me.

He didn't look at me as he got back into his truck and started the ignition. I watched as the tires moved against the gravel drive and he drove away. Out of my life, and as far as I could tell, out of his family's lives.

I turned to go back to the house. My eyes caught Ida's as I neared the door. Her old eyes regarded me with an expression I hadn't seen before.

She met me at the door. “I need my sewing box. Would you mind helping me carry it from my car? My back ain't what it used to be.”

I agreed, following her back out.

“He's in love with you, isn't he.” She made the statement mere moments after the front door closed.

“We were together for a little while. He broke it off.” I knew any attempt to hedge on the truth with Ida would be pointless.

“Do you still love him?”

“He left.”

“He still loves you.”

I shook my head. Ida opened her car door and pointed at the box. I leaned in and pulled it out, noticing that only a person with significant movement loss would have difficulty carrying it.

“He looks at you with love in his eyes. There is hurt, too, but Levi has never been good at hiding his thoughts from his face. Even as a boy. I knew he would leave. If only he could have been Mennonite, his family might have forgiven him. But once he grew his wings, he couldn't help flying far.” She patted my cheek. “I don't know what happened between you. He loves you, though, Jayne. Don't worry.”

She turned and walked back to the house with impressive speed. I followed her with the sewing box. All I could think of was the raw memory of Levi leaving my apartment and not coming back.

S
amuel, Leah, and Elizabeth returned home from school that afternoon, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. Ida, Martha, and Sara were all still in the throes of a large mending session, so Martha asked me if I'd mind helping the children.

“Your mom told me I'm helping you with your homework,” I announced, trying to sound energized and pro-education.

They nodded.

“Where do you normally study?”

“The kitchen table,” Leah answered.

“Okay.” I clapped my hands together. “Do you eat a snack while you do homework?”

Three shaking heads.

“Okay. What kind of homework do you have?”

They each pulled their books out of their knapsacks. I picked one up.

The textbook would have looked at home in Punky Brewster's book bag. I flipped to the copyright page and checked the publication date—1979.

The map in the social studies book showed the USSR covering half the world in bright red. Germany remained divided.

I forced a smile. “Let's get started.”

I made a point of flipping through whatever books weren't in use as the children studied. “Do you ever study science?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Samuel shook his head. “We learn reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic.”

Which would explain my having to introduce Sara to the world of spores and molds several weeks before.

I wanted to talk to Levi. I wanted him to explain to me why the eight years of education these children were afforded were so poor.

He must have worked hard to get to where he was if his schooling was the same. I rubbed my forehead. I knew from some of my reading that it wasn't always like this, that some Amish children attended public school or studied under trained teachers.

I answered their questions about math figures as best I could. When they came to a point when they understood the material, such as it was, and the questions ceased for the foreseeable future, I wandered back to the sewing group and my own quilt strips.

“Did Sara tell you she's getting baptized next week?” Martha asked.

I nearly impaled my finger on one of the straight pins. “Really?” My head whipped around to where Sara sat. “That's…exciting.”

Ida's eyes watched my every move. I could feel her gaze.

“Sara, tell Jayne about the baptism service,” Martha said, encouraging Sara with a nod.

Sara cleared her throat. “It's part of the church service. Before the baptism, the bishop will ask applicants to leave the service, and then he asks if we're sure we want to be baptized. It's kind of silly, since we've all taken a class about it.”

“We'll be asked a few questions before we return to the hymns and the sermon. Afterward, the bishop will have us go to the front. He'll remind us we're making a promise to God. Then he and the deacon—Mary Lapp's John—will take the bucket and cup. John pours water over the bishop's hands and then onto our heads three times in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” She shrugged. “And then we're told to rise and such, and Mary, being the deacon's wife and all, will give me and the other girls the Holy Kiss.”

“Of brotherhood,” Martha added.

“Of brotherhood,” Sara finished. “But shouldn't it be sisterhood?”

“It's family,” Ida said, “whichever way you look at it.”

I tried not to look confused. When we'd spoken over the breakfast dishes, Sara hadn't said a word.

“Don't baptisms usually precede weddings?” I asked, fishing.

“Often,” Martha said, not looking up from her sewing. “But not always.”

I smiled at Sara. “I'm glad for you.” If that was the path she had truly chosen for herself, I really did wish her all the best.

The rest of the day was a blur. After helping the children with their homework, I finished sewing the front of my quilt together.

I should have felt better about it than I did. As a first quilt, it wasn't the shoddiest specimen.

But something wasn't right. It wasn't Amish enough.

My thoughts traveled back to Levi. I thought briefly of giving Shane a call, but I thought better of it. Shane and I were over, and I was okay with that. Levi and I on the other hand—we were over, but I
wasn't
okay with that.

Not that it mattered anymore. I tried to think of something else. I couldn't think of anything else. I tried harder.

At some point while trying harder, I fell asleep.

And dreamed about Levi.