Background
Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis are on their way to the FanStory Writers' Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey, when Hargis's Suburban breaks down right in the middle of Amish country. They lea
|
So far, Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis are en route to Atlantic City to the FanStory Writers' Convention. Hargis's car breaks down in the heart of Amish country and with no way to call for help, they are guests there until the doctor and sheriff can return. Miraculously, they manage to get two messages out. One to Gretchen's husband and the other to Rachelle's cousin, Tova. No they wait for Tova to arrive.
************************************************************************************************
I probably shouldn't have left Rachelle there with Helene. They both seem to be very strong personalities, but I did what I thought needed to be done. I took their attention off of the problem and then retreated.
The hot springs simmer in the early afternoon sun. I sit down and kick off my flip flops, then stick my legs into the water. I look around at the sky and the tall grasses of the field. It's beautiful here, like a painting that someone would hang in their office. But it isn't home. I miss home. I miss having to shake the sheets free of sand before climbing into bed, and seeing the ocean waves crest as I hit the top of the hill leaving my neighborhood.
I rest for a few minutes then get up and head back to the house.
I'm about to come around when I hear voices, low and intimate, but not a good intimate. There is a tension that you could cut with a knife. I recognize Helene's voice, then after a second I realize she's talking to Ezra.
"I like them. That doesn't mean I want that life again."
"They teach our daughter their ways. Now they will take Rebekah with them."
"It is her choice, Ezra. You had this opportunity as well. We can not keep her if she wants to go. We must trust that she will make the right choice."
He sighs in exasperation. "These English, they are loud and ill mannered. She will be blinded by the lies the world offers."
Helene chuckles dryly. "I was English, or have you forgotten? Did I lie to you? Did I try to get you to leave your ways? No. I gave up everything for you. We must put this in God's hands. Rebekah is a good girl. She deserves the chance to see what she will be giving up, no matter what her decision is."
Ezra comes storming past me as he rounds the barn. He locks eyes with me and I give him a coward's smile.
"Morning," I say, then look past him for Helene. She must have gone back to the house, so I turn and watch his retreating back as he walks away.
I think about how dismissive he is of Rachelle and me. I can understand his fear but I don't like his judgement. I'm not a confrontational person by nature. Most of the time I let a lot slide. Either the person who has offended me is of little importance to me, or they're an idiot and I don't have time to waste on stupid people. But from what I can tell, Erza isn't an idiot.
"Hey, Ezra, got a second? Well, actually, this might take more than a second. Rachelle's cousin is on her way to bring us another car. That's the good news ... for you."
He nods and looks away.
"I'm not a bad person. Rachelle isn't a bad person. We are English. In your eyes, that is a bad thing apparently. But to me, it just means we're different. I'm no better than you, and you're no better than me."
He starts to walk off, but my little soliloquy has just begun. "I'm a mother. I have four kids. They don't go around singing Amazing Grace, heck, they haven't been to church in years, but they are good people. I am a good person. Rachelle teaches children music. She listens to children, hears what they are saying and loves every minute she spends with them. If Rebekah decides to go with us, you can rest assured that she will have two mothers who will look out for her and keep her safe."
He nods again, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "Very well," he says.
I start to go but think about what I overheard. "By the way. Helene would go to the moon to live with you, if you asked her to. She has no regrets about choosing this life. She loves you."
This time I don't wait for an answer. I walk away and head to the house. Dust is swirling down the driveway. I squint, thinking either a buggy is coming down the lane at break neck speed or it's a car.
Wait, it's a car plus one!
"Rachelle," I scream. "She's here!"
By the time I make it to the front of the barn, I see Rachelle, Helene, Hannah and the boys all out in the yard. The closer the cars get, chickens start squawking and running around like its feeding time.
I feel like I'm gonna start crying. I'm getting out of here. Thank God, soon I'll be able to take a hot shower, watch television, charge my phone. Soon, I'll be heading back to the twenty-first century and I can't wait.
The cars come to a stop and a middle aged woman steps out. She looks like she's dressed for a sophisticated event not an Amish farm in the middle of nowhere. She lowers her over sized shades and looks at Rachelle. "Oy vay, Rachelle you look mashugana."
Immediately, Rachelle runs over to hug her. "Tova, you're an angel."
I turn to find Ezra standing at the edge of the barn, a small smile on his normally stoic face. He looks happy, for this first time since we've been here. Ezra looks as happy as I feel. I can't resist smiling brightly at him and giving him a thumbs up.
Then as Tova and Rachelle are embracing and talking in Yiddish/English, I watch as the occupant of the other car gets out. She has tight curls that are the color of Old English furniture oil. She looks from them to me, smiling like she's watching an episode of "The Waltons".
Why is my gut sending me signals that all is not well?
Author Notes
I stand by my statement about not engaging with idiots or people who don't matter to me. You can have your opinion, I won't make you defend it and you can bet if it's different than mine, I'll be okay with that. I have no idea if an Amish man would even listen to a woman who is English. This is what I'm calling artistic license. Hope you enjoyed this.
|
|
