When Strawberries Bloom (3 page)

T
HE SUMMER FLEW BY
, like a train going so fast you had to turn your head to be sure and see the engine at all. Lizzie continued working part-time as a
maud
, but only part-time because she also needed to prepare for the upcoming school year.

Weekends in Allen County with her friends were still the highlight of her life, marred only by her growing obsession with Amos. He had become the center of her weekends—his attention, or lack of it, was now her main reason for going to Allen County. Of course, she didn’t want to miss being with her Uncle Marvin, who was Dat’s brother but almost the same age as Lizzie, and the mysterious Stephen, who was her friend, but who had also told her once that she was pretty but never mentioned it again.

Sometimes Lizzie thought it was easier to think about Amos and Ruthie than it was to figure out what Stephen really thought about her. In fact, Lizzie had begun to think that if it wasn’t for Amos, she would have genuine fun with lots of other guys every weekend. But because she was never quite certain whether Amos liked her or Ruthie, she could think of nothing else.

On the surface, Lizzie remained good friends with Ruthie. No one but Mandy knew about the cold, hard jealousy that so often consumed Lizzie. She wondered how long God would have patience with her awful feelings of jealousy. Every Sunday night when she came home, she asked Jesus to forgive her and wipe away her sins and make her as clean and brand new as tablet paper with no marks on it.

Sometimes the whole sinning and forgiving thing was hard to figure out. How could Jesus keep forgiving her if he knew she’d just get jealous again the next weekend? Maybe he recognized that she was still young. She was pretty sure about one thing, though. After she became a member of the Amish church and gave her life to God really seriously, she either had to be dating Amos or quit going to Allen County on the weekend if she wanted to have any peace at all.

On Sunday night she was so positive that Amos would ask her for a date that her heart beat so rapidly and loudly she was sure he could hear it. After the singing and while she waited on her driver, he sat in the yard beside her, just sat there, talking about lots of different subjects. His teeth shone white in the dark, his head outlined against the starlight, and Lizzie was so nervous, just waiting to hear him ask her for a real date the following weekend. But he didn’t. Lizzie was mad all week just thinking about it.

Finally, Mam had had quite enough of Lizzie’s crabbiness, her pouting and short answers, her eyebrows raised in anxiety, her obviously being in the center of a great personal crisis of some sort.

“Lizzie, I do wish you wouldn’t be so grouchy all the time. The twins are almost afraid of you,” she said after Lizzie had shouted at the two girls to leave her alone. The twins stood against the sofa, tears in their eyes.

Lizzie didn’t say anything. She just gazed miserably out the kitchen window. Mam sighed and went to the kitchen to make some lunch.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

“What?” Lizzie asked.

“I’m out of butter.”

“Do you want Mandy and me to drive Billy to Bittle’s?”

“It’s late!”

“Not that late. We can.”

So Lizzie found Mandy, and together they led Billy from his stall and hitched him to the cart. It felt good to brush his coat and his oatmeal-colored mane and tail and to throw the harness across his round, sturdy little back.

As they rounded the corner and headed out the lane in the buggy, Lizzie held tight to the reins so the buggy wheels wouldn’t slide. Billy always wanted to run, and to run fast, every time they hitched him to the cart, although he was much easier to control now than when he was a very young pony.

Mandy sat beside Lizzie, happy and talkative, content to let Lizzie drive as she talked about one subject after another, without too much comment from Lizzie. But as they turned onto the main road, Mandy glanced over at Lizzie.

“What a crab you are this week!” she suddenly said.

“Oh, be quiet. Can’t I be a crab all by myself without you noticing every little thing about me?”

“It’s Amos, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“Mm-hmm. Oh, yes, it is, Lizzie. You know it is. What happened now?”

“Nothing!”

Mandy just shook her head. Billy trotted rapidly down the road, and the sisters waved at a lady mowing her lawn. It was one of those perfect summer evenings, not too hot or humid, not too windy, just perfect to be driving down the road with Billy. Lizzie wished she could tell Mandy the whole miserable story, but so far, she was too proud to admit even to herself that Amos was her problem. So they silently drove on through the little village situated on the side of a long, winding hill, with Billy lunging into his collar steadily until they reached the top.

Lizzie had to hold him back as they started down the opposite side. Billy loved running downhill at what was clearly an unsafe speed. Even as Lizzie firmly held Billy back, the buggy slid to the left as they pulled into the gravel parking lot of Bittle’s Store.

Bittle’s was a tiny store situated on the edge of a dairy farm. They sold milk, butter, cheese, and ice cream, among other things. It was a fairly new building, clean and shining on the inside, and the girls always loved driving Billy there because they could each buy a huge ice cream cone after they had made their purchases.

Lizzie tied Billy to the adjacent hitching rack. She quickly grabbed a pound of butter before she met Mandy at the ice cream counter where she was already deliberating over the ice cream flavors. Finally, Mandy chose mint chocolate chip while Lizzie decided on butter pecan.

“Let’s sit here at the picnic table,” Lizzie said as they left the store. “I always have a problem driving and eating my ice cream at the same time.”

“I’ll hold your ice cream for you,” Mandy offered.

“No, let’s stay here and eat it,” Lizzie said. She threw down the bag containing the butter on the picnic table before sitting down on one of the benches. A young man drove up to the store, got out of his car, and nodded at them before disappearing through the doors.

“He looks like Amos,” Lizzie said.

“Everybody looks like Amos to you,” Mandy said, taking her napkin and wiping her mouth.

Lizzie didn’t answer. She just gazed across the rolling farmland, watching the black and white Holsteins grazing as she steadily ate her ice cream.

After awhile, Lizzie said dully, “I wish I was still 15 like you!”

“I’m 15, almost 16.”

“So? You’re still not 17 like I am.”

Mandy bit off a huge chunk of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Lizzie watched her with narrowed eyes.

“Doesn’t that hurt your teeth?”

“Nah. So what’s wrong with being 16?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. I mean, I have fun most times but … Mandy, why do you think a guy acts like he likes you and you’re really, really, really good friends, but he never asks you for a real date? You know, a date where I can go tell all my friends that I have a date?”

“I don’t know, Lizzie. How can you expect me to know if I’m only 15. Almost 16.”

Lizzie nodded. She wished that she could ask Mandy about Stephen, too. But what could she say? Amos’ interest in Ruthie really upset her, but Stephen bothered her almost as much. He told her he was pretty, but then went back to acting like they were just friends.

Lizzie wasn’t sure what she’d do if Stephen asked her on a date. Amos was one thing. He was handsome and fun and interesting, but was he really her friend, she couldn’t help but wonder. Stephen was, even if he was too quiet and a little mysterious. What if he decided he didn’t like her as much as she was starting to like him? Or what if he wanted to get married? That had happened to Emma. Lizzie wanted to get married sometime. Probably. But not yet.

Lizzie sighed. Customers drove up to the porch or drove away, some of them with ice cream cones and others with dishes piled high with the cold, creamy confection. Some carried gallons of milk or chocolate milk or bags containing ice cream or cheese and butter.

Lizzie thought that milking cows wouldn’t be nearly so bad if you could operate a farm on this level. She could have fun milking a hundred cows a day in a fancy milking parlor and running a beautiful new store like this one with electricity and huge coolers with shiny new tile on the floor. Then Dat could hire men to do the milking, and all Lizzie would have to do would be to comb her hair nicely and look neat and pretty, smiling at customers all day while she rang up sales on the up-to-date electronic cash register.

When they had finished their ice cream, Lizzie and Mandy climbed back into the buggy and headed towards home. Lizzie was glad she had eaten her ice cream on the porch of the store. Billy was in one of his running frenzies, as they called it, and it took all of Lizzie’s strength to hold him to a trot.

He bent his head so he could hold the bit better, his ears turned forward, his mane thick and heavy, bouncing solidly along the nape of his neck. His muscular little haunches flapped rhythmically with every clacking step. He had never been shod, which meant he ran on the hard, unrelenting macadam with no iron shoes tacked to his hard little hooves. He never slipped or fell, being as surefooted a pony as Dat had ever seen.

Once, when Lizzie’s family was attending a church service 13 miles away from their home, Dat had allowed Lizzie and Mandy to drive Billy. Little Billy moved in line with a row of other horses and buggies, running steadily up hill and down, his legs taking two steps to the larger horses’ one. Dat would tell this story to anyone who would listen, how his little feet went “Blip-blip-blip,” and how he kept up perfectly, arriving at church services without being winded.

“He wasn’t even blowing. He could have run 10 more miles,” Dat would say, waving his hands for emphasis.

Lizzie always felt like crying when Dat told that story, her love of this plucky little pony stirring up an emotion that choked her and melted into tears. He was the best, the strongest, the sweetest pony they had ever owned, and Lizzie hoped with all her heart he would live forever.

They moved down the hill through the village at an alarming pace, Lizzie hanging on to the reins with all her strength. They hit the concrete bridge, bouncing off the seat as they flew across the creek.

Mandy burst out laughing, and Lizzie joined in.

“Don’t make me laugh, Mandy!” she gasped. “I can’t hold him!” But the harder they tried to hold back their laughter, the more helpless they became, until Lizzie actually was struck by a panicky feeling that Billy was running away.

“Stop it, Mandy!” she shouted.

“Wheeee!” was Mandy’s response, which caused Lizzie to fall into helpless giggles again.

As Billy broke into a gallop going up the opposite hill, the sisters became serious as Lizzie wrapped the reins around her hands and pulled with all her strength. He slowed, but none too obediently, Lizzie thought, sensing through the reins that he would break into another gallop the second she let up on them.

Mandy reached over and slapped her hand down on Lizzie’s arm. “Good driver!” she said, grinning.

Lizzie grinned back. She was overcome with a feeling of love for Mandy. Dear skinny, green-eyed Mandy. The love of her life, besides Mam, Dat, Emma, and Jason. She loved Susan and KatieAnn too, of course, but not like Mandy. There was just something about having a sister close to your own age that was unlike any other blessing in life.

When Lizzie said something funny, she knew instinctively that Mandy would find it hilarious. She always did. And when Mandy was joking or in a silly mood, no one caught on faster than Lizzie.

The evening sun shed its warm golden light all around them and around the surrounding woods, fields, and houses. Even the telephone poles etched against the evening sky looked pretty as they wound their way home.

Lizzie momentarily forgot her troubled feelings about weekends, Amos and Ruthie, and running around in general as she laughed happily with Mandy, skidding the pony cart wheels as they turned in on the country road that took them home.

The following Sunday evening, not very long after Lizzie arrived at the supper crowd, Rebecca, Stephen’s sister, came running toward her.

“Come here, Lizzie!”

“You’ll never guess what?”

“What? What? Don’t keep me guessing!”

Lizzie’s eyes shone in anticipation, her heart beating, her thoughts going instantly to Amos. Maybe … just maybe …

“Amos asked Ruthie for a date this weekend!” Rebecca said. “It’s her first one!”

Lizzie felt as if Rebecca had hit her in the stomach with a boxing glove. All the air surrounding her lungs pushed up against her throat, constricting it in an awful choking sensation. She leaned back, reaching for the support of the chair behind her, feeling as if the whole floor was somehow going completely crooked. She hadn’t expected this kind of news to hurt this much.

“Lizzie, aren’t you happy for them? You look as if you’d seen a ghost!” Rebecca burst out.

“Oh! Oh, no … No, of course I’m happy for Ruthie! It’s just such a total shock! I mean … I mean … I didn’t know Amos liked her,” she ended lamely.

“They liked each other since they went to vocational class together,” Rebecca said, absolutely beaming. “It’s so-o cute!”

“Oh, yes! Of course, I think so, too,” Lizzie said. She felt as dishonest and untruthful as she had ever been in her whole life. Only her pride kept her standing there, knuckles white against the dark wood of the chair, a false smile pasted on her face.

The rest of the evening at the supper passed as if in a haze for Lizzie as she kept trying desperately to control her emotions. When Amos appeared in the kitchen door looking more handsome than ever in a sky-blue shirt, his black vest and pants setting off his very dark hair and skin, Lizzie almost burst into tears of frustration.

She slowly put down her plate and calmly walked to the bathroom where she sat down on the side of the bathtub, held her head in her hands, and cried great tears of annoyance and bitter disappointment. Why? How could he act as if he liked her one weekend and the very next Sunday have a date with Ruthie? She sat up and sniffed, grabbing a tissue from the box on the sink and honking into it loudly. She dabbed viciously at her eyes, going to the mirror to see the damage her tears had done.