So far, Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis are on an ill fated trip to Atlantic City for the annual FanStory Writers Convention. When the vehicle they are traveling in breaks down, they find themselves at the mercy of their rescuers ... who just happen to be Amish.

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We wait out the storm, with Rachelle holding her fancy shoes under the spigot while trying to get the mud off of them. The house is quiet, almost eerily so, the only noise is the drumming rain on the roof. Rachelle it seems is oblivious to it as she hums a show tune while she sets about her task. Now, I'm not a real big Broadway show gal, but I recognize this one. If They could See Me Now. I try not to smile at the irony of her tune selection. Because if they could see her now, they would not believe their eyes.

Helene checks the window and nods. "It has passed. Now would be a good time to take them to the hot springs, Rebekah," she says softly to the red haired girl closest to her.

The girl nods and motions for us to follow her to the door. Rachelle shakes the excess water off of her ruined shoes and carries them to the door. The light that floods into the house when Rebekah opens the door, lets me see the beauty of the room for the first time. There are so many handmade things, and I feel my artist senses tingling as I want to stay now and explore them, but I can't abandon Rachelle. The whole horror movie thing is still gnawing away at my brain.

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Rebekah is a soft spoken girl, with beautiful red hair and a contagious smile. She keeps stealing glances at Rachelle and I'm guessing she is just happy having another ginger around.

"So, Rebekah, what do y'all do for fun around here?" I ask.

"We have socials here sometimes. Families from neighboring farms come for meals. We go to the markets on Saturdays."

"That actually sounds nice," I say. I'm not being my usual sarcastic self, because I don't like doing much socializing myself. I'm a homebody. This trip was way out of my comfort zone.

Finally, Rebekah points to the spring. "Here we are."

Rachelle, in her mess of an outfit and bare feet, hustles towards it. "A hot bath. Who's joining me?"

"No thanks," I say after bending down and checking the water temp. "A tad too hot for my taste."

Rebekah turns away for Rachelle to start stripping down. I follow suite. "Don't be shy," I call out over my shoulder.

"I just did a face plant and ended up with my dress over my head in the mud, if there is anything these people haven't see, it's a miracle."

Rebekah grins and looks over at me as we turn just in time to see her jump right in fully clothed.

I walk around, looking at the picturesque countryside. The rolling hills, studded with the occasional tree, and the sky that seems somehow bigger and more dramatic than what I have over me back home on the Outer Banks.

Rachelle and Rebekah are talking, about what I have no idea, so I just soak up the atmosphere for a little while longer. After several minutes, Rebekah starts back for the house, leaving Rachelle and I alone.

"Hey, can you pass me those curlers," Rachelle says, after dunking under the water.

I stare down at the bundle Rachelle brought. All I see are exotic looking underwear and several broken corn cobs. "These?" I say, as I reach down and carefully pick one up. "Please tell me you don't mean these."

"Just give them to me. Necessity is the mother of invention." Rachelle starts wrapping her hair around them and somehow they stay put. Probably caught on those dried up holes where the kernels were. "You can head back. I'm almost done here."

"You don't need me to be a look out for the local perverts?"

"I hardly think there are any perverts within a hundred miles," she laughs.

"I'll bet you're wrong." I tease, but it seems likely she's right in this instance. "Okay, I'm going to see if Helene needs any help with dinner."

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Helene is chopping what looks to be pork on the counter, while Rebekah is mixing some dry ingredients beside her. I'm pretty bad in the kitchen, I'll be the first to admit, but what sort of guest would I be if I didn't offer to help. "Can I help y'all in any way?"

While I'm silently praying the answer is no, Helene shakes her head. "But, thank you for the offer. You are our guest. If you need to rest before our meal, please feel free."

"I'm good. Hey, I have a question for you. Do y'all really recycle corncobs and use them as curlers?"

Helene presses her lips together. "Curlers? Um, no. They are used much like your, um, bath tissue."

"Come again."

"We use them as a means to clean ourselves after we ," Helene pauses mid-sentence, waiting for me to get up to speed.

What a time not to have use of my phone. YouTube would love this. Rachelle walking in with an Amish dress, and Amish toilet paper in her hair.

"Just making sure I heard right." I glance at Helene. She seems a little bit different than the others. Not as Amish, maybe. She's nice and all of that, but definitely more worldly. "So, Helene, did you grow up around here? Neighboring farm?"

She lifts her eyes to look at me. "I see I still have a bit of English in me. You are very perceptive. I was born in the English world. But when I met Ezra, well, I decide to give that world up."

I nod. "I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. When I met my husband, I gave the city life up and moved to the beach. Hard adjustment. I think I cried almost every day that first winter. Cold, broke and bored are not a good combination. But, I ended up starting to paint then. Found shells on the beach and painted them. They started to sell."

"Yes, change can sometimes bring out strength that we never knew we had," she says, then abruptly returns to the meal preparation.

I wonder if I struck a nerve, but before I can ask, the door opens and Ezra calls for Helene and Rebekah to come outside.

I follow them and take a handful of seed from the bucket one of the boys is holding. I watch how they toss it out and am amazed as chickens seem to come from every direction.

Everyone stops as Rachelle appears. I know better than to make eye contact with anyone. But, I wonder who will address the elephant in room.