My Amish Boyfriend Page 6

  “Want me to do that for you?” I ask, thinking he’ll probably turn me down.

  He frowns at me, looking me up and down as if sizing me up. “You think you are strong enough to cut this grass?”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to appear confident and at the same time wondering why on earth I’m doing this. “Why not?”

  He looks on the verge of amusement as he takes his hands off of the handle, pausing to rub his sore arm again. “Ja,” he says slowly. “You go ahead. Work is good for you.”

  Slightly surprised but not willing to back down now that he’s agreed, I nod. “I don’t mind a little work,” I tell him.

  “Remember, child, half done is far from done.”

  I want to ask him what that’s supposed to mean, but he turns and walks away. Now it’s just me and the mower. I give it a tentative push and discover it does not roll easily. I lean into it, pushing with all my upper body strength. As a result, I make it all the way to the edge of the grass. I look back to see a long strip, about a foot wide, of neatly cut grass. However, I still have about a thousand more strips to go. At this rate I’ll still be out here pushing this thing well into the night. Maybe that’s what my grandfather meant about a half done job. He’s certain that I’ll never finish it.

  I’ll admit it looks impossible. Still, I refuse to give up. I want to prove to Gramps that I can do this, that I don’t give up that easily. I tell myself that I’m climbing a mountain and that I’ll be a bigger, stronger, better person when I make it to the peak. I can do this!

  After more than an hour, I am dismayed to see that I’ve barely made a dent on the lawn. Not only that, but this pathetic mower seems like it’s getting more stubborn. It’s almost like it’s gone on strike, refusing to move at all. I’m really, really tempted to give up, but then I imagine Gramps’s face scowling down at me with smug disapproval.

  I take in a deep breath and really lean into it now. With my arms extended, I’m leaning so far forward that I’m nearly at a forty-five degree angle. My toes dig into the rubber soles of my flip-flops as I put all my weight into it.

  “Easy there,” someone calls out from behind me.

  In the same instant the mower jerks, and I fall flat on my face into the freshly cut grass. I want to cry. Instead, I sit back on my knees and glare at the straw hat–wearing figure rushing toward me. At first I assume it’s Gramps, but as the person gets closer, I realize it’s actually a young man.

  A concerned pair of brown eyes gazes down at me. “Are you all right?” he asks as he extends a hand, firmly helping me to my feet.

  I nod, brushing grass clippings from my sweaty tank top as I try to slip my foot back into one of my flip-flops. “Thanks,” I mumble as I shove my other foot into the other one.

  “That looked unsafe,” he tells me sternly.

  “Falling on my face?” Placing my hands on my hips, I study his squared chin and nice straight nose. Despite his funny shirt and strange pants complete with suspenders, plus a hat that looks identical to Gramps’s, it is obvious that this guy is extremely good looking.

  He grins, exposing a nice set of white teeth. “No, I mean the way you were handling that push mower. It looked dangerous.” Now he seems to be checking me out from head to toe as he reaches over to pluck some grass from my hair. “You must be one of the Englishers visiting at Jacob’s.”

  “Huh?” I continue to brush grass clippings from my shirt and shorts, suddenly concerned with my appearance.

  “I heard the Hershbergers’ daughter and granddaughter are visiting.” He points to my clothes. “I figure you’re the granddaughter.”

  I stand up straighter, push my hair away from my face, and smile. “Yeah. I’m Shannon McNamara.” I stick out my hand in a silly formal way.

  “I’m Ezra Troyer,” he tells me as he takes my hand, shaking it as if this is totally normal. “My friends call me Ezra.”

  “Ezra?” I try to decide if he’s being funny.

  He nods. “Ja. You can call me Ezra too.”

  In this very instant, what previously felt like a strange and alien world—Amishland—is transformed into an enchanted and lovely and wonderful place. It’s as if the sunshine is cleaner and brighter and the birds are singing in perfect harmony. My life has gone from drab to fab.

  7

  Here’s your problem right here,” Ezra explains as he kneels down, using a stick to dislodge some impacted grass cuttings from the mower.

  “Oh.” I nod. “No wonder it wasn’t working.”

  “The reason the grass jammed like that is because these blades are too dull to cut properly.” He stands up. “Come with me, English girl.”

  Gladly, I think as I follow him. Anywhere.

  “I came over here to return a tool my daed borrowed from Jacob,” he explains as he leads us toward the barn. “I wondered if I’d get to see you.”

  I snicker. “Not only did you get to see me, you got to see me do a belly flop.”

  He laughs. “That was something to see. Good thing you didn’t get hurt. I was afraid you were going to land on the mower. Even with dull blades, that could’ve hurt a lot.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  He turns to gaze down at me. “And it would be a shame to mess up that face.”

  I feel my heart fluttering and don’t quite know how to respond. “So do you live around here?” I ask, feeling like I’m walking in a dream.

  He nods his head to the right. “See that barn over there?”

  I peer in that direction. “Yeah.”

  “That’s my family’s farm.”

  “It looks nice.”

  He laughs. “It looks just like every other farm around here.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m from the city,” I explain. “The countryside looks nice to me.”

  He looks into my eyes again. “Really? Do you think this is better than living in a city?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. I mean, it’s so different, and I just got here yesterday. The truth is, I think I’m having culture shock.”

  “Culture shock?”

  “It’s something people get when they visit a different country. Kind of like everything is backwards and upside down.”

  “Ja. I know. We are like a different country to the Englishers.” He turns and enters the barn now.

  As I follow him into the shadowy interior, I wonder about the tone of his voice. “Don’t you like it here?” I ask him.

  He glances around the barn as if to see if anyone is in here, then, seemingly satisfied that we’re alone, he shakes his head.

  “Really?” I stare at him. “You don’t like being Amish?”

  Now he looks uncertain. “Sometimes I like it good enough, and I like farming all right. But sometimes I think I’d like to see the rest of the world. I wonder what’s out there.”

  “Oh.” My eyes have adjusted to the dimness in here, and I look up at him, trying to figure him out. “Have you ever been away from here?” I ask quietly.

  He shakes his head. “Not beyond Hochstetler.”

  I try not to act shocked. “Well, I haven’t seen too much beyond Indianapolis.”

  “Indianapolis?” His eyes brighten. “Where they have that big car race?”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, they have the Indy 500 there.”

  “Have you seen it?”

  I slowly nod. “My dad took me once when I was a little kid . . . before he died.”

  His eyes grow dark. “Your daed’s passed on?”

  “Yeah. I was about eight when he died.”

  He sighs, but without saying anything else, he turns his attention back to the lawn mower, lifting it up onto a big wooden workbench. He takes down a couple of big metal tools that are hanging on a board behind the bench and goes to work on the mower blades. First he cleans them off, then he starts to rub a long piece of metal over the blades. “See how the metal on the blade is starting to shine there?” He moves his head so that I can see the edge of the blade. Our heads are so c
lose that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. And it feels good!

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “That means it’s getting sharper,” he says. “But I have to do all of them, on all sides. I’ll make this mower so sharp that it can whack off a finger or toe.” He pauses to look down at my feet. “You need to wear shoes to use this now.”

  “Okay.”

  I watch as he finishes sharpening the blades and oils them all, wiping the drips with an old rag. Now he sets the mower on the ground and gives it a push, and I see the blades whirling around freely.

  “Wow,” I say, impressed. “That looks like it could chop off a toe.”

  “Let’s go see how it works,” he tells me as he starts wheeling it out.

  Back on the lawn, Ezra takes a trial run. “Cuts the grass like a hot knife through butter,” he tells me. Then he frowns at my feet. “You need to put on your shoes before you try it out.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.”

  “You go get your shoes while I do another row.”

  I hurry into the house in time to discover Mammi and Mom on their way to the bathroom. “I called for you,” my mom says weakly, “but you didn’t come, Shannon.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I was mowing the lawn for your dad and—”

  “Oh? You’re helping Daed?” Mom shuffles her feet along, leaning on Mammi. “Well, I needed you to help me.”

  “Do you want me to take—”

  “I’ve got her,” Mammi assures me.

  “Okay.” I turn from them and hurry to my room, fumbling through my bags and stuff until I finally locate my sneakers, which I hurry to put on and tie. I go back outside and discover that Ezra has done several rows.

  “Looks like it’s working great,” I tell him as I go over.

  “Wanna give it a try?”

  “Sure.” He hands it over to me. I give a tentative push and am shocked to see that it works fine. Sure, it takes a little energy to push it, but nothing like before. I pause to look at Ezra. “Thank you so much,” I tell him. “It really works!”

  He grins. “Take good care of your tools, and your tools will take good care of you.”

  I’m sure I must look starry-eyed and smitten as I continue gazing up at him. “That’s very wise,” I say.

  “I can’t take the credit. It’s what my daed says.”

  “Well, thank you for helping me. I really appreciate it.”

  He removes his straw hat now, running his fingers through his curly golden hair so that it sticks out all over—but not in an unattractive way. “I like you, Shannon,” he says. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

  I try not to look shocked. “I’d like to get to know you better too,” I say.

  “How about if I come by later on, after my work is done. After supper?”

  “Sure,” I say eagerly. “I’d like that.”

  “We can take a walk,” he says.

  “Great,” I agree. “That sounds good.”

  “See ya then,” he tells me as he starts to leave.

  “See ya!” I call out happily, watching him as he strides away. If anyone would’ve told me yesterday that I would fall in love with an Amish boy today, I would’ve told them they were certifiably nuts. But as I watch him hopping over a fence and cutting through a pasture, I know that my heart is going with him.

  Don’t be a total idiot, the realist side of me warns as Ezra slowly fades out of sight. But my dreamy optimist side is not listening. I return to cutting the grass, easily pushing the mower down one row after the next. I am still amazed at how nicely it works since Ezra stepped in. Almost like magic.

  I’ve just finished up when Mammi comes out and announces that it’s time to eat. “Come in for the midday meal,” she tells me.

  I look at my hands. “I better wash first,” I say.

  “Ja, but hurry. Jacob is hungry. I already took Anna her dinner.”

  I jog up to the house, rush into the bathroom, pump out the water, and hurriedly wash my hands. I’m tempted to check out my image in the little shaving mirror, which I suspect belongs to my grandfather, but don’t want to waste the time.

  They are already bowing their heads when I slide onto the bench. I bow my head too, waiting until they say, “Amen,” and echoing them. I’m surprised to see that Mammi has made macaroni and cheese, biscuits, and green beans with bacon. For lunch, this seems like a feast. When I mention this, my grandfather only grunts, but Mammi smiles. “We eat hearty because we work hearty.” She glances out the window. “And you have been working too, Shannon.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know that mowing grass was such hard work,” I admit, glancing at my grandfather, who seems intent on his food. “But it’s fun too.”

  He looks up at me with a surprised expression.

  “Good girl,” Mammi tells me. “It is good you enjoy hard work.”

  It feels good to have her appreciation, but it would be even better if Gramps would give me a kind word. However, it does not seem to be in the works for today.

  “Ezra Troyer came by,” I say to both of them. Mammi simply nods, but Gramps looks curious. “He returned one of your tools,” I say to my grandfather.

  “Ja, I saw that.”

  “And he helped me fix the mower,” I continue.

  “The mower?” His scowl returns. “What is wrong with the mower?”

  “The grass was stuck all over it and the blades needed to be sharpened.”

  “The blades were sharp,” he tells me.

  I consider debating this but know it will only cause more problems. “He seems like a nice guy,” I say absently. “So helpful.”

  “Ja, Ezra is a good boy.” Mammi nods as she reaches for a biscuit. “His father Silas is a good man. The apple will not roll far away from the tree.”

  “But it will roll,” my grandfather says in a somber voice.

  While this is the most conversation I’ve been part of at my grandparents’ table, it comes quickly to an end, and before long it’s time to clean up. Remembering that Mom is due for a pill, I excuse myself to check on her.

  “It’s about time,” she tells me when I open the door. “Where have you been all day?”

  “Cutting the grass,” I say. “Remember?”

  “Did you cut the whole hayfield?”

  “No.” I remove her dishes, which still have a fair amount of food left on them. “You didn’t eat all your lunch,” I tell her. “You know what that means?”

  “Shannon,” she says with irritation, “you didn’t see how much food Mamm brought me. It looked like enough for three people.”

  “So you ate enough?” I ask.

  “More than enough.” She gives me a weary smile. “And now I would very much like a pill, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “You really need it?” Looking at her, I’m thinking she looks better than usual. Is it possible that this fresh country air and good food are improving her health?

  “Of course I need it,” she snaps.

  “You know what the doctor said, Mom. You’re only supposed to take them as needed. The more you take them, the less effective they’ll be.”

  “I’m telling you, I need a pill, Shannon. Are you going to get it for me, or do I have to stumble over there and dig it out for myself?”

  “I’m getting it,” I assure her. As I dig through my things, trying to locate my purse, I comment on the size of the room. “I’ve seen bigger closets,” I say as I shake out a pill. “And this room doesn’t even have a closet.”

  “Mamm said you might be welcome to stay at my brother’s house. They have more room.”

  “Would we both go there?”

  Mom frowns. “I don’t know. I’ve never really gotten along that well with Ben’s wife, Katrina. If I’m going to be beholden to anyone in this settlement, I’d rather it be my own parents.”

  “Oh.” I hand her the pill and the last dregs of her tea.

  “But you could go over there if you want.” She takes
the pill, swallowing it with the tea. “Ben’s daughter is about your age.”

  “And leave you here on your own?”

  “I wouldn’t be on my own, Shannon. Mamm is here. She’ll take care of me.”

  I frown. “You wouldn’t even miss me?”

  She makes a sad smile. “Of course I would. But I feel guilty making you sleep on the floor.”

  “It is a little hard.”

  “Why don’t you ask Mamm to walk you over to Ben’s house so you can talk to Katrina and Ben about it?”

  “Right now?”

  “Why not?”

  I’m thinking about my “date” with Ezra tonight. He’s coming here to meet me. No way do I want to risk not being here. “Maybe I should wait until tomorrow,” I say. “Mammi and I could go over there in the morning.”

  “You don’t mind sleeping on the floor again?”

  I consider this, then shrug. Maybe I’ll be sleeping out on that freshly mowed grass tonight. Not that I plan to tell her this.

  “Well, I suppose it makes sense to wait until tomorrow,” she admits. “Gives you more time to spend with your grandparents. How is it going with them, anyway? You helped Daed mow the lawn?”

  “I mowed it all myself,” I tell her. “Well, mostly.” I explain about how Ezra came over to help. “He was returning a tool, but he knew just what to do to make the mower work.”

  “What’s his last name?” Mom asks sleepily.

  “Troyer,” I tell her. “Ezra Troyer.”

  Her eyes pop open. “Silas Troyer’s son?”

  “Yeah, I think Mammi said his dad’s name is Silas. Why?”

  She waves her hand. “Nothing.”

  “What?” I demand. I can tell by her eyes there’s more story here, and I want to hear it. “Who is Silas?”

  “Just an old friend.”

  “Just a friend? Or something more?”

  “Oh, I probably thought of him as a beau.”