Trading Secrets (15 page)

Katy tells me good-bye, then hurries over to get into the buggy, which is all ready to go. I watch as Rachel goes over to where Zach is seated in the driver's seat. She climbs up to say something to him, getting very close as if she's whispering in his ear. Then, laughing, she hops down and waves goodbye to all of them—as if she is the mother of this tribe. I'm sure Zach's mother couldn't be more pleased.

Seeing that Zach's dad is already out in the field, I jog over to join him. I'm not sure if it's because this is my last day here, or because he's figured out that I'm actually a fairly hard worker, or because we expect to get this field wrapped up by this afternoon, but he seems genuinely happy to see me. He grunts out curt commands, and because I know what he wants and expects, I go right to work.

Even though I'm really eager to go home, I can't help but appreciate being out here like this. The air is so fresh, the sky is so pretty, the birds are singing, green things are growing . . . what's not to like? Admittedly, a part of me is still attracted to an agricultural way of life. Perhaps an agricultural life with a few “modern” comforts. Although I can imagine that if you grew up in this Amish community and it was all
you knew, it would be okay. Especially if you were partnered with someone you truly loved. I'm not sure that I'd want to have quite so many children, though. And when I consider how hard Zach's mom works and how exhausted she seems at times—at least she did before Rachel the Amish Superwoman showed up, anyway—I feel quite certain this lifestyle is not for wimps.

W
hen Zach gets back from delivering his siblings to school, I join him and we go back to seeding again. But when it's time to break for lunch, Zach informs his dad that we will continue to work. “I asked Rachel to send Samuel out with our lunch,” Zach explains. “We'll take a quick break, then get back to work. I want to finish this field before it's time for Micah to go home.”

Zach's dad looks up at the sky, which is starting to fill with clouds. “
Ja
, that is a good plan. I think we will have rain tonight. I'd like to have the corn seeded in by then.”

“
Ja
, me too,” Zach tells him.

Zach and I continue working quietly together, going up and down the field. By now I'm pretty good at managing the horse, and I know the proper speed to go and how to make myself useful when it's time to reload the seeder. I've even learned how to make adjustments to the harness and yoke when necessary. I feel like I've become an old pro in just a few days. However, I realize that if I had to do all this on my own, it would quickly turn into a big fat mess. Zach's dad has
already returned from his midday meal and is getting the team ready to work the field adjacent from ours when I realize how hungry I am, probably because I rushed through breakfast. I'm about to ask Zach if it's time to take a break when I see Rachel traipsing toward us with a basket in her arms.

“Good afternoon,” she calls out cheerfully. “Your dinner has arrived.”

I stop the horse, and since Zach is occupied with the seeder, I hurry over to meet Rachel at the fence. “Thanks,” I say, reaching for the basket.

She pulls it away from me in a possessive way. “I can handle this,” she quietly informs me with her eyes locked on Zach. She is obviously on a mission.

“Okay.” I hold up my hands and step away.
Whatever.

“Come on, Zach,” she calls out playfully. “Time to take a dinner break. I've got your favorite.”

“My favorite what?” He frowns as he slowly walks over.

“Fried chicken!” she exclaims. “I made it just for you.”

“Mmm.” He looks at her with interest as he brushes off his hands on the sides of his trousers. “Sounds good. I'm hungry too.”

“Come on over here,” she instructs, heading for a tree on the fence line where she tosses out a well worn quilt and kneels down with the basket. “We're going to have a spring picnic.”

I realize I'm not exactly unwelcome here, but I know that if Rachel could have her way, I would be uninvited. Just the same, I'm starving and not going to be easily dismissed. I follow Zach's lead and climb over the fence. Dusting off my grimy hands on the back of my jeans, I stand looking over Rachel as she arranges her “spring picnic.” I have to admit it looks delicious.

The three of us are soon seated around the quilt as Rachel distributes the feast, but as I'm munching on my chicken drumstick, I can't help but notice how close she's sitting next to Zach. With her full periwinkle skirt gracefully arrayed around her, I can see no part of the quilt between them. The way she leans in to him as she talks, smiling into his face as if they have a well-established and intimate relationship, makes me uncomfortable. I'm not sure if it's because I expect the Amish to be more reserved or because I'm feeling jealous again. But it's kind of like being the third person on a romantic date.

Zach, who is thoroughly enjoying our picnic, tells Rachel about a blackbird that was diving down at us earlier, probably a mama bird protecting a nest, and Rachel laughs as if that's the wittiest thing she's ever heard, even reaching over to slap his knee in a very familiar way. Obviously the girl is in love with him. But does he return her feelings? I'm just not sure. Really, it's none of my business. I am only hours away from being outta here—for good. Keeping this in mind, I focus on the food, biding my time.

“I have a serious question for you, Zach.” Rachel leans over, putting her hand on his shoulder in a confidential way. “Now that you know your English pen pal is a girl, do you plan to keep on writing?”

Zach's brow creases. “I . . . uh, I don't know.”

Rachel looks shocked by this. To be honest, I am too. “Oh, Zach. You know you cannot keep writing to Micah. Not with everyone knowing she's a girl now. It was bad enough that you wrote to an English boy. But an
English girl
?” She shakes her head in a disapproving way that reminds me of his mother. “That would be against the Ordnung.”

Zach tosses me an uncomfortable glance but says nothing.

“It's okay,” I assure him. “I totally understand if you can't write to me anymore.” I shrug as if it's no big deal—although I feel a deep pang of hurt inside of me. “I knew it would have to come to an end. I get it.”

He scowls down at his food, and I can tell this conversation is making him uncomfortable. It's not like I brought this up, though. I hurry to eat the last of my potato salad, which tasted creamy and delicious before but now seems hard to swallow.

Rachel seems to be the only one still enjoying our merry little picnic. She happily fills in the silence by chatting about some kind of sing-along that will be held for the young people on Sunday night. “I don't have a way to get there,” she says sadly. “My cousin Jacob is busy that night. He plans to use his buggy to visit Lydia again. I think they are very close to marrying.” She giggles. “Can you imagine that, Zach? Jacob and Lydia married? She only turned sixteen last month . . . Six months younger than me.” She sighs as if sixteen is the borderline of spinsterhood. “It seems like we were all just in school together, doesn't it?” She begins to bring up things that happened during their school days.

As she reminisces over their childhood days spent in a one-room school, I hurry to eat our dessert. As much as I want to excuse myself from this picnic, I can't resist a freshly made sugar cookie that's nearly as big as a plate. As I'm munching, I try to wrap my head around the fact that it's been nearly four years since Zach was in school. Even though I know it's an Amish fact of life in this settlement, it's still mind-boggling to think these kids are only fourteen when they finish their schooling. Although, to be fair, they seem fairly well educated. I read somewhere that an Amish education
to grade eight is nearly equivalent to an English education to grade twelve, but I don't know how they'd prove it since I doubt the Amish take equivalency tests.

“Oh, Zach,” Rachel gushes. “I just thought of what you told me on your last day of school. Do you remember what you said? It was so sweet!”

As I stand up, I shove the last chunk of cookie into my mouth. “Excuse me,” I say while still chewing. “I'm going to—uh—to pay a visit to the outhouse.” Without looking at either of them, I hurry toward the barn. I don't really need a bathroom break right at the moment, but I just couldn't take another minute of Rachel's chatter. As the outhouse comes into sight, I really have no desire to go inside, yet I realize this might be my last chance for a bathroom break before it's time to leave.

I glance longingly toward the house with fond thoughts about indoor plumbing, but the idea of a run-in with Zach's mom stops me cold. Holding my breath, I gingerly open the door to the outhouse that's between the barn and the house. I know the boys use this facility a lot, and I must admit it's been a relief not to have them lined up to use the one upstairs every morning. As I enter the semi-dark stall, I prepare myself for the worst, but to my relief, it's not quite as disgusting as I'd imagined. Still, the air is less than fresh, and I try not to touch anything as I do what I must do quickly. Remembering how Jeremiah mentioned finding a snake in there just yesterday, I hurry to zip up and get out as fast as possible. I blast out of the small structure and plow right into Zach's dad, knocking something out of his hands.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I apologize as I stoop to pick up what
looks like a broken piece of harness, sheepishly handing it back to him. “I was in a hurry.”

At first he appears seriously aggravated, but then he looks at me, points at the outhouse behind me, says something in Pennsylvania Dutch, and breaks into a grin as if amused. Maybe he thinks it's funny that I was using the “boys' room.” He begins to laugh, removing his straw hat, and he slaps it against his thigh as he throws back his head to laugh even harder.

I don't know what to say, but his laughter is contagious, and although I know I'm the brunt of his joke, I find that I'm chuckling too.

Sobering up, he slowly shakes his head as he fiddles with the leather strap in his weathered hands. “You are a good girl, Micah,” he says unexpectedly. “Thank you for your help with the planting. You're a hard worker.”

I blink in surprise. “Thank
you
,” I blurt. “I mean, you're welcome.”

It's getting close to 3:00 by the time Zach and I finish planting the last row of corn. I hold up my phone, urgently pointing out the time as I remind Zach that we need to meet my dad on the road in just a few minutes.

“You get your stuff,” he calls out to me. “I'll take care of the horse.”

I jog back to the house and gather my backpack, which I stashed on the back porch earlier. Thankful to avoid seeing either Rachel or Zach's mom, I duck around to the woodshed to catch the two female kittens and load them into the cat carrier. I'm pleasantly surprised to see that there's an old
gray towel as well as a small baggie of dry cat food already in there. I'll have to write Katy a thank-you letter when I get home. Maybe I can send her pictures of the kittens as they get older.

“I'll take good care of your children,” I promise Rosie, feeling a bit guilty for catnapping her babies. Still, I know Katy couldn't keep them anyway. With my full load, I head over to the barn where Zach is just emerging.

“Ready to go?” I hoist a strap from my pack over a shoulder and glance toward the road in case my dad's already there.

“Ja
.”
He looks all around, taking in the house, the barn, and the fields, and finally gives me a firm nod. “I'm ready.”

“We better get moving.”

“Let me carry that for you.” He reaches for the cat carrier, and as our hands brush, he flashes me a brilliant smile. “Can you believe we're actually doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Going flying,” he says quietly, glancing over his shoulder as if he thinks someone might be listening to us.

As we walk down the driveway, I feel certain that we're being watched. I don't look back, but I can envision Zach's mom and Rachel frowning with disapproval from the kitchen window. I don't want to imagine what they might be saying. Perhaps they're speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Does anyone know that you're going in the car with Dad and me?” I ask a bit nervously.

“I didn't tell anyone exactly what I was doing,” he confesses. “Just that I wanted to be sure you got safely on your way today. Mamm thought I was taking you to town in the buggy, and I didn't tell her differently.”

“Will they think it's odd that we left on foot?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Will it matter if they see you getting in a car?” I quicken my pace, hoping we can put some distance between us and the farm before my dad shows up.

“I don't know,” he admits.

“Are you worried about that?”

“No,” he answers in a firm tone.

“Good.” I walk even faster. “Because my dad should be here any minute.”

By the time we reach the road, I'm starting to feel like a refugee or a runaway or maybe even a kidnapper, but I can't deny that it's rather exciting. And I'm so thankful to think that I'm really going home. I think I was on the verge of getting seriously homesick.

“I don't know what kind of car my dad will be driving,” I tell Zach as we walk quickly down the road. “But I gave him directions, and he'll be looking for us.”

A horse-drawn buggy approaches, and from about twenty feet away the driver tips his head at Zach, calling out a greeting as he gives us both a long, curious stare. Zach just waves and smiles as our paths cross, acting as if it's completely normal for him to be lugging a cat carrier down a country road, walking alongside an English girl who's dressed like a man. I can't help but admire his poise.

“Are you worried at all?” I ask him after the buggy is past. “I mean, that your friends and family and neighbors will talk?”

He chuckles. “They are
already
talking, Micah.”

“Oh, yeah . . . gossiping probably.”

“They don't call it gossip,” he explains. “Not when they remind each other to
pray
for the people they're talking about. Somehow that makes it okay to spread stories that
sometimes grow with the telling—if you promise to uphold them in prayer.”