The Fiddler (27 page)

A
s they walked up the moonlit driveway, Amelia thanked Michael for inviting her to Hickory Hollow. “And for the buggy ride, too,” she said. “It was like something straight out of the history books. Do you take the horse and carriage out much?”

“It’s been months, really. I prefer goin’ faster than ten miles an hour.”

She laughed. “Well, if you did this for me tonight, I enjoyed it.” She smiled at him. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

He admitted to also having driven the carriage to Elizabeth’s parents’ earlier today. “But you’re welcome . . . anytime.”

She wondered if he’d mentioned his niece so she wouldn’t think he was singling her out. And it crossed her mind to ask how the visit with his brother and family had gone, but it really wasn’t her business. Helping rescue Elizabeth was all she could do. Now it was up to Elizabeth to decide which life she favored. She’d lived on the outside long enough to make that choice for herself.

“Meetin’ you has been mighty nice, Amelia,” Michael said when they stopped halfway up the driveway, just behind her car.

“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, too . . . and your family and friends.” She smiled, recalling the many things she’d learned in just a short time. And the secrets she had promised to keep. “I’m glad you talked me into making this little detour.”

“Well, you got me thinking about things I’d swept under the rug,” he said. “And for that I’m truly thankful.” His eyes continued to rest on her as if he wanted to say more, and Amelia had the distinct impression Michael was about to say something that suggested he had the beginnings of feelings for her. But for some reason he pulled back. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d seemed to nearly reach for her hand while riding in the buggy. For a moment there, she hoped he might.

“I wish I could have stuck to my original plan . . . to go English.” He stopped, still looking intently at her. “But with everything that’s happened lately, that just isn’t possible . . . at least right now.”

She didn’t want him to feel he had to say this for her benefit, yet she sensed he wished he could spend more time with her . . . and even regretted that he couldn’t.

Michael glanced up at the house, then quickly at her. “Ach, it’d be a wonder if we aren’t bein’ observed.”

“Yes, we should probably call it a night.” She turned reluctantly, then waved to him, her fiddle case in hand. “Thanks again . . . or should I say ‘Denki’?”

“I hope things work out for you, Amelia—whatever you decide about your career.”

They moved slowly toward the house, Amelia willing her feet to keep going forward. “I appreciate that,” she said over her shoulder. “And I hope the best for you, too.”

“Good-bye, Amelia.
Da Herr sei mit du—
God be with you.”

She wanted to say it back. Something . . . anything. But she didn’t trust herself. And, besides, what Michael had said about their possibly being watched was unnerving.

She went around the side of the house to the back porch. Pausing there, she waited until Michael’s footsteps faded and the horse and carriage moved up the road. The
clip-clop-clip
of the horse’s hooves had already become such a welcome and familiar sound. One she would miss.

Inside, Amelia stood near the window as a wave of immense sadness washed over her.
Just like that . . . he’s gone,
she thought suddenly. Yet there was nothing she could do to alter things. She’d encountered someone interesting but from a completely different culture.
It’s been a lovely moment in time . . . nothing more,
she told herself.

Sighing, she crept through the gas-lit kitchen to the staircase.

Joanna stood at the top of the stairs, a small lantern held high. “I left the gas lamp burnin’ for ya.”

“Thanks for lighting the way,” she said, not wanting to linger in the hallway near Joanna’s parents’ room.

“Goodness, are you all right?” asked Joanna, studying her. “You look a bit flushed.”

“Must be your lantern. I feel fine.”

“ ’Tis
gut,
then.”

She followed Joanna to her room, where the blue notebook lay open on the bed. Several pillows were bunched together at the head. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your writing.”

“I wanted to wait up for you. Besides, it’s not
that
late.”

Amelia sat on the bed, eyeing the notebook. “What’s this story about?”

“A love story,” Joanna said, her eyes sparkling. Then before Amelia could respond to that, she quickly said, “Michael’s awful nice, ain’t?”

Amelia smiled, her eyes starting to water.
What’s wrong with me?
“Very nice.” She blinked hard. “I must be tired.”

Joanna watched her closely. “He’s a wonderful friend to many, which is where all
gut
relationships begin, Mamma says.”

“Well, we’re as different as a fiddle tune and the Brahms concerto.” She wanted to immediately dispel any romantic notions.

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean to say—” Joanna gave her an almost teasing look. “But people are people, no matter what.”

Amelia laughed. “What do you mean by that?”

“I was just thinkin’.” Joanna looked away. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t say.”

“Michael and I are friends . . . it’s okay.”

Nodding slowly, Joanna asked, “What if he wasn’t Amish—or if you weren’t English? What might happen then?”

Amelia laughed softly. “That’s purely hypothetical. And I’ve only known him for, what, a few days?”

Joanna smiled sweetly. “You can know a lot after only a couple hours ridin’ in a buggy.”

So she
was
watching!

Amelia welcomed the evening air coming through the open window from where she sat. She was surprised that Joanna would be so direct. Then again, hadn’t Amelia walked in with a red face that almost
demanded
a gentle interrogation? “I know you’ll never breathe a word of this, so I’ll just say that I found Michael to be thoughtful, kind, and fun-loving. Things you already know.” She paused, measuring her words. “He’s also very insightful and honest.”

Joanna’s mischievous twinkle returned. “So I take it you’re not attracted to him in the least?”

“I didn’t say that.” Amelia caught herself, noting the speed of her reply. Her cheeks felt warm again, and Joanna was looking at her with that playful expression.

So what
was
she saying? Amelia felt foolish talking about something that could never be. “I’m not putting you off, Joanna.”

“All right, then . . . I’ll assume that you must be befuddled.”

Joanna could be just plain disarming. “Sure, let’s go with that. Actually,
ferhoodled
might be even better,” Amelia said.

They shared a good laugh, and Amelia hoped Joanna would broach a new topic. Talking about Michael made her head hurt.

“I hope I don’t embarrass you further, but I’m goin’ to miss talking to you when you go,” Joanna said, sighing softly. “Would ya mind too awful much exchanging addresses?”

Amelia was delighted. “You don’t have email, do you?”

“No, I prefer writing by hand.” Joanna reached for her notebook and tore out a page, then folded it in half and tore again. She jotted down her mailing address, and Amelia did the same. “This way I can keep you informed ’bout Elizabeth, if you’d like.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“And Michael, too.” Joanna grinned.

Amelia kept a poker face, even though she was curious to know what his future held. “I would enjoy hearing about
you
most of all, Joanna. Maybe you can tell me how things progress with your beau.”

Joanna nodded, eyes sparkling at the prospect, and reached for her hand. “It’s my truest joy to count you as a friend, even though we’re different as a tulip and a petunia.”

Amelia laughed. “I’m so glad we met.”

“Oh, and I am, too!” Joanna offered her a place to stay anytime she was in Lancaster County. “I’d just love to have you come an’ visit again.”

Amelia thanked her and promised to keep in touch. Then they said good-night.

Joanna slipped downstairs to turn off the gas lamp, then returned to “outen the lantern” before slipping into bed. Amelia did the same across the hall, musing fondly about her new friend.
So sweet . . .

She rolled to face the window and looked out at the clear moon, thinking back on her first-ever buggy ride. Hopefully, Michael didn’t think her in a hurry to say good-bye.
Quite the contrary.
She had curbed her true emotions, like a violinist playing without a stitch of integrity.

Closing her eyes, Amelia sighed deeply.
Tomorrow I must leave all of this happiness behind. . . .

But it was Joanna’s question that lingered as she slipped into sleep:
“What if he wasn’t Amish—or if you weren’t English?”

M
ornin’, Rebecca. Would ya like a slice of cold watermelon?” Lillianne asked her longtime friend and neighbor when she showed up at the back door midmorning on Monday washday.

“Sounds delicious.”

Lillianne took a plate from the cupboard and cut a thick slice from the watermelon, already halved thanks to Paul, who’d helped her earlier while inside resting his wounded ankle. “I see ya got your washin’ all hung out.”

Rebecca Lapp nodded as she took a seat on the bench by the table, clearly not interested in talking about washing and who’d gotten theirs out first. “Maybe ya know ’bout the fiddler in our midst. Rhoda Kurtz has her stayin’ over yonder, jah?”

“Amelia’s her name,” Lillianne said right quick, still standing.

“Sounds as fancy as it gets.”

Lillianne nodded, guessing what was coming. “But she’s gone, is what I’ve heard.”

“Prob’ly a
gut
thing, too, from what’s goin’ round,” Rebecca added.

“Oh?”

“Seems one of the Harvest Road preachers is put out, what with her stirrin’ up musical cravings in the youth.”

“Well, there’s two sides to ev’ry story, remember.”

“You can say that again.”

Lillianne wondered if Rebecca might bring up her own daughter, Katie’s, love for guitar playing.

“Guess that preacher and his wife have been puttin’ out fires ’bout last night’s hoedown.” Rebecca forked a piece of watermelon. “Kinda makes my heart sad.” She looked up at Lillianne. “Besides all that, do ya think the Englischer had herself a nice time here?”

“Well, I think so, but Joanna would know better, really.”

Shrugging, Rebecca smiled. “Hard to know what goes through young folks’ minds anymore.”

So true of our Elizabeth . . .
But Lillianne didn’t mention her, lest they get to fretting over that, too. And from the looks of it, Lillianne felt sure her friend and neighbor might need a respite from gossip. “You just enjoy your treat there, all right?”

“Well, won’t ya come over here and sit for a spell?”

“Happy to.” She looked out the window and saw Elizabeth feeding the chickens, still dressed English. But instead of saying anything, Lillianne decided the poor thing had been through enough. It was just wonderful-good to know her granddaughter hadn’t made any noises about returning to Harrisburg. There’d be plenty of time to wash up the pretty fiddler’s clothes she had borrowed and send them back to her. According to Michael, Joanna had asked for Amelia’s mailing address.
Of all things.

Maybe soon, Elizabeth would realize her place was here with the People. Oh, Lillianne wouldn’t dream of giving up hope for that!

What was I thinking?
Michael mused about Amelia while he worked alongside his two older brothers and father in the harness shop that morning.
It would’ve been pointless.
Still, he deliberated whether he should have revealed his attraction to her.

She has a boyfriend, after all.
Despite that, he wished he could go after her, give her an excuse to visit longer. But his father’s injury—and Elizabeth’s return home—all pulled him back. Daed was in need of all kinds of help now. So much that Michael wondered how he’d even keep up with his draftsman work. He knew he was mighty tied to the People, and he tried not to resent it.