Plain Jayne (44 page)

Sara woke up at her usual time, five a.m. I came to that realization shortly after deciding that my apartment hadn't been broken into, and the person making a loud breakfast for herself in my kitchen had in fact been invited.

I tried the traditional techniques; burying my head in my pillow, pulling the covers over my head. What no one ever tells you is that doing either of those things makes the air too warm to breathe.

Finally I swung my feet around to the floor, threw on my college sweats, and walked down the hall to the kitchen.

“Good morning!” Sara greeted me with a bright smile and a hug. “I woke up this morning when the sun streamed through the window over there. You get such very good light in here! I thought about staying in bed—I slept so well! But I decided to get up and make us some breakfast.”

My brain really only caught the last bits of her speech. “Us?”

“I made pancakes and eggs, and I found some bacon in your freezer, so I scrambled it with the eggs and put cheese on top, hope you like that, I couldn't remember. Do you have potatoes? It's so nice to have potatoes around. Potatoes and onions. You never know when you'll need a good onion, and they go with every meal. Potatoes too—”

I held up a hand. “We'll shop for groceries later. Can breakfast wait until I've showered?”

Sara nodded.

“Okay. I'll be back.” I turned and all but stumbled into the bathroom. I considered it a success to get into the shower without finding that I'd brought a sock in with me. Afterward I felt better, the sleep cleared from my eyes and some of the mental cobwebs cleared out of the way. I dusted on a bit of light makeup and went back to my room to dress, knowing all the while that Sara might find fault with my ensemble.

To my surprise, she didn't say a word about my clothes as she served our respective breakfasts onto two plates. Instead, she asked when we were leaving for work.

“We?” I asked, my fork hovering halfway between my mouth and the plate.

Sara nodded. “I thought I'd go with you this morning and then come home at lunch.”

My first thought was, “I'd lose my parking spot.” This was Portland, by the way. I had never parked illegally until I moved here. But my second thought was that it wasn't fair to leave her alone in my apartment all day. There wasn't a farm to run; she would be bored to tears. I could get her a visitor pass, especially considering that her family was the focus of the piece I'd be writing.

“If I bring you this morning, you'll need to bring a book or something to keep you busy.” There was a computer bay, but throwing Sara into the internet would be like chucking her into the deep end of the swimming pool without arm floaties.

She nodded. “I'll just sit. I'll take my sketchbook. I can watch people and get ideas.”

“Yeah, maybe I'll take you to the ad department for that. They're usually a little snappier than reporting and editorial.”

“Can you take me shopping soon? I would like to buy some of my own clothes.”

“What's wrong with my jeans?” I said, rolling my eyes before I smiled. “Sure. I'll see when Gemma's available. Or Kim—she can be good at finding sales.”

“I like sales.”

I knew Levi would have to figure into all of this at some point.

Which meant I would have to call him.

I mulled that over as Sara showered and readied herself for her first day as an English girl.

S
ara and I ran into Kim inside the foyer of the
Oregonian
offices. Of all mornings.

“Jayne! You're back. Who's this?”

Thinking I could be saved by brevity, I smiled and kept it short. “This is Sara. She's my new roommate.”

“Sara?” Kim looked at me, looked at Sara, and then looked back at me. “The Amish girl?”

I could see Sara wilt. “Look, she left and she moved in with me. She's hanging out with me this morning until lunch.”

“It's ‘take your Amish roommate to work' day? Wish I'd gotten the memo.” She touched Sara's shoulder. “Sorry, great line, couldn't resist. Want to grab lunch with us? We'll make Gemma take us out.”

I was going to protest, but Sara's face had taken on an almost unearthly glow of joy. “Lunch sounds good,” I said. “But right now I need to get her a visitor's pass—”

“Wait.” Kim held out her hand. “This isn't Levi's sister, is it?”

“Um, yeah, it is. So, we'll see you at lunch—”

“Any changes on that front?”

“Have a good morning!” I all but yanked Sara's arm as I tried to make a break for it.

“She asks a lot of questions, doesn't she,” Sara said as we'd turned a corner and I'd determined a safety level that allowed us to walk at a normal pace.

“Occupational hazard.”

Once Sara was processed and armed with a badge, I set her up on a couch not far from my cubicle. I left her with written instructions on how to find me, my phone extension, and an assortment of dollar bills if she wanted something from the vending machine.

At my desk I plugged my camera's memory card into the USB reader and took a look at the images I'd gathered. The buggy, the barn, the stone path up to the door of the farmhouse. My pictures were fairly straightforward. Then others began to load, and I realized they were Martha's.

Martha. Where was she in all of this? A mixture of guilt and grief clutched at my heart. Her daughter had left, and she used me to accomplish that. Martha had taken me into her home, treated me like family, and this is what had happened. I couldn't help but feel it was my fault.

Had Levi communicated back to Martha that Sara was safe, dry, and had a roof over her head? The thought worried me so much I picked up the phone to ask.

“Jayne? Is Sara okay?” Levi asked as soon as he answered.

“She is. She's at work with me. I was just wondering—did you tell your mom? Does she know Sara's with me?”

“I told her Sara is safe, but I didn't say where. I wouldn't put it past Elam and Amos—or my father—to try to bring her home.”

“Drive all the way up in the buggy?”

“No, they'd take a taxi.”

“Oh. But they're pacifists. The worst they would do is spend the night on the landing.”

“You don't think that would be a little traumatic for Sara?”

“She's stronger than you realize. Your mother needs to know where her daughter is.”

“Jayne, you don't understand—”

“I have a pretty good hunch that mothers, no matter where they live or what they believe, generally want to know where their children are, even if it's just a general idea. Your mother's been very kind to me. It's the least I can do.”

He sighed. “It's your call. It's your apartment. Don't underestimate the mail brigade, though.”

“The male brigade? Are we talking about your brothers again?”

“Mail, as in the post. Rebecca wrote me letter after letter telling me how Mom cried herself to sleep every night and how much my siblings missed me. I asked my grandma once. It wasn't
that
bad. Does anyone at the house have your mailing address?”

“Sara did. It's probably written down somewhere in her room.”

“Mom will find it.”

“I'm not afraid of Amish mail.”

“Sara's doing okay with everything?”

“Honestly?” I looked all around, making sure she hadn't snuck up on me. “I don't think it's all sunk in yet. She's running on a lot of adrenaline. How was it for you when you first left?”

He exhaled. “It got harder as I realized what I'd done, but I didn't go back.”

I sat up, feeling particularly mature. “How are things on the job front? You are looking, aren't you?”

“I have a couple interviews in Portland next week. Another in Seattle.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I could hear a smile in his voice. I missed his smile, the way it made me feel like melted chocolate on the inside. Before I could think too much about missing him, I mentioned work to be attended to and hung up.

At least I was telling the truth—I had a lot of work to do. But before I got to it, I had to talk to Martha. I dialed and listened to the line ring. And ring. And ring. And ring. And that was okay. I didn't expect differently.

After what seemed like half an hour, a voice answered. “Who is this?”

The voice was young and male. Amos or Elam? “This is Jayne. I need to speak with your mother.”

“Do you know where Sara is?”

“I need to talk to your mother.”

“Do you?”

“Who is this, Amos or Elam?”

A pause. “Elam.”

“Elam, please go get your mother.” He sighed, and there was silence. I had the distinct impression that the receiver was dangling over the ground as he went to fetch his mom.

Moments later I heard commotion and voices. Then, “Jayne? Is that you?” Martha's voice held a note of panic that broke my heart.

“It's okay. Sara's in Portland with me.”

“Oh, I'm so glad. Oh, goodness. Why did you take her? Her baptism is in three days!”

“I didn't take her, Martha. She left. She climbed into my car when no one was looking. I didn't discover her until I was home.”

“She is in your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“She's safe?”

“Yes, she is.”

“She doesn't want to come back?”

I didn't know what to say. “Not…right now.”

“Sara is stubborn. She's a lot like her brother.”

And we both knew how
that
turned out. Levi wasn't about to go back, marry a nice Amish girl, and grow a moustache-less beard.

“Will you…watch over her?”

I nodded, not that she could see. “I will.”

“Could you write to me about her?”

“Of course.”

“Don't send it here—send it to my mother.”

“Do you think Gideon will ever—”

“No.”

“I'll take care of her,” I said.

I could hear the tears in Martha's voice. “Thank you.”

I worked straight until lunch without thinking twice about it or taking a coffee break. If Brian's wife hadn't sent him to work with curry-smelling leftovers, I might not have noticed the time.

I gathered my things in a rush and hurried down the hall to find Sara, half expecting her to be holding court with Kim and Gemma.

Instead, I found her chatting with a heavyset, African-American man who looked an awful lot like my boss.

“Jayne!” Sol said when he saw me. “I was just talking to your new roommate here. Young Amish woman leaves home to pursue an education and career—story there?”

“Right now, she's my roommate, not a source.”

Sol scowled. “You know, Jayne, I've heard rumors about reporters who listen to their editors.”

“I think it's a good idea,” Sara piped up.

I turned to her in surprise. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged. “Maybe having an article about me would help my chances at design school.”

Sol lifted a dark eyebrow. “Kid's got a point.”

“We'll talk about it.”

Sara crossed her arms. “I'm an adult. It's my decision. Besides, you've already written stories about my family. Why would this be different?”

“Uh, let's see, I changed all the names? Hey, if we're going to get lunch, we need to leave now.”

“What about your friend Kim? And Gemma?”

So much for keeping a low profile. “I'll call them, we'll eat, I'll drop you back at the house.”

Sol reached for Sara's hand. “I'm sure we'll talk later.”

I rolled my eyes as we walked away. “Seriously. He may be an editor now, but the man's a diehard reporter at heart.”

At Gemma's family's restaurant, DiGrassi & Elle, Gemma's father kept bringing us plate after plate of lunch specials until he came and found there was no room left on the table. Without room, he simply scraped the contents of the serving plate he was carrying onto our respective dishes. After that, Gemma waved a white flag—possibly her napkin—and the barrage of food ceased.