Background
Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis are carpooling to the Annual FanStory convention in Atlantic City. Gretchen's 200r Suburban, "Old Reliable", breaks down right in the middle of Amish country. They
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So, as we ended the last chapter, Rachelle and I are now in separate buggies, with strangers we don't know. She seems pretty cool with it. Me, not so much. This little detour is putting a crimp in our well laid plans to get to the FanStory Convention in Atlantic City.
I'll be the first to admit, I am not a farm girl. I'm not rural in any way, shape or form. And by the looks of it, I doubt Rachelle has ever milked a cow or goat, even in her dreams. The difference is, she is a people person. I am not. Add one extra person to the mix and I clam up quicker than a politician before a Senate commission.
The little girl sitting next to me, keeps stealing glances at me. She seems very interested in my ratty flip flops and giggles as I wave my toes freely for her entertainment. She looks to the west, (who am I kidding, I have no idea which way we are going, but I don't want to come off as an idiot), when thunder rumbles again.
"I like storms," I whisper. "Do you?"
She shakes her head. "But they are necessary. Without the rain, crops would die and wells would dry up."
I nod. This kid is a barrel of laughs, I gotta say. If she starts talking about global warming, I swear I'll leap to my death from this fast moving buggy. Two miles per hour at top speed ought to do it.
Helene looks back at me, a gentle smile plays upon her features. "I love storms, as well."
"I live by the ocean. Have you ever been?"
She nods, to my surprise. "When I was very young. My parents took my brother and me. I remember getting knocked over by the waves. They can be quite powerful, as I recall."
I didn't know Amish people took vacations. Who looks after their livestock? Maybe it's a community thing. I don't know a damn thing about these people, other than their wardrobe is about as thrilling as mine.
More drops are falling from the heavy gray clouds that are moving over top of us at an alarming speed. I still don't see a house in sight. "Not to be a buzz kill, but do these things ever get struck by lightning?"
Ezra and Helene exchange looks. Helene shakes her head. "Our house is just over this hill. We should reach it before the storm hits."
I nudge Hannah. "Did you know if your hair sticks up like static electricity, it means your about to be struck by lightning?"
Hannah's hand reaches up and touches her cap. I realize this wasn't the best information to give out.
"Well, if you see my hair standing on end, you might want to scootch over." I stop talking, because I'm rambling. And, there is nothing worse than rambling about things that no one wants to hear.
Helene points. "There. That is where we live."
In the middle of a beautiful patch of green is a plain, unadorned house. Another house stands off to the side. A few trees are scattered across the yard, but not much else. It's very peaceful looking. Very secluded. The closer we get, the darker the sky gets and the more active my anxiety is. Just down the hill is a huge barn. It's the kind that I've seen in calendars. A giant window with hay bales visible, on the second floor. A few cows meander around the grounds, then I see about five or six goats. The air is thick with animal scents. That is the nicest way I know how to describe the smell. I don't do well with unpleasant odors. Bad smells can trigger a migraine in me. I open my mouth to breathe, hoping I can't taste it in the air.
"Hannah, help her down," Helene says as she steps down from the buggy. She doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get inside before the rain starts really coming down.
Hannah jumps down and holds out her hand. It is calloused, which surprises me. She isn't afraid of hard work, apparently. I stifle my smile as I think about the younger people I'm used to and their soft hands and manicured nails. "Thank you," I say, trying to hide the fact that I'm stiff and my hips hurt. I grab my backpack and look around. Maybe this won't be so bad. I heave my backpack over one shoulder and jump as a loud clap of thunder sounds. Then the heavens just open right up and sheets of rain pour down.
Rachelle is still chatting away as she starts to exit her buggy. I see her wave off the offered helping hands, put one hand on the edge of the buggy, one hand on her leopard hat, lift her leg and then she does the biggest face plant I've ever seen. Face first right in the mud.
It's wrong to laugh and I know it, especially since i know i look like a drowned rat. But tell me you have not watched those video compilations of people falling and not laughed. I look down, I bite the inside of my lip, I do everything I can not to laugh, and I'm succeeding ... until I make eye contact with Rachelle. Then all bets are off. I'm trying to ask her if she's hurt but she's laughing like a maniac, and then I am, too.
The girl, Rebekah, starts to laugh as she reaches to help her up.
"Are you hurt?" I call out. I let go a sigh of relief as she shakes her head no.
"Nothing hurt except my dignity," she says. Her hat has rolled away and I wince as the horse leans down and starts munching on it.
I hate to say it, but I'm grateful for Rachelle's little misstep. Laughing has eased my edginess and I look at Ezra, who for the first time since I've seen him, has a smirk on his face. Helene has graciously covered her mouth with her hand while Hannah giggles.
"Rachelle, you sure know how to make an entrance."
"Glad you enjoyed it," she calls back, as she stands up, brushing dirt and mud away, in vain.
"You've got issues," I tease.
It is at that exact moment, when the comedy of the scene has lulled me into a false sense of security, that I see something or someone coming out of the barn.
A man with a scythe.
Me, a southern senior turning and running for the main road.
I make it fifty feet, maybe, before my lungs burn and my feet are slipping in the mud. It is then that I realize I will not be played by Kathy Bates.
I will be played by some unknown and killed off very early in the movie.
