My Amish Boyfriend Page 8

  I don’t know where to begin but decide to start with my most pressing question. “You said you have to figure out whether or not you’re happy about being Amish. I guess I’m curious what that means.”

  “It means I have to decide whether or not I am Amish.”

  “I thought you were Amish. I mean, you live here, you dress in Amish clothes, your parents are Amish. Doesn’t that make you Amish?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.”

  “How does it work?”

  “We are brought up in the Amish traditions,” he explains. “We are taught the Amish ways. We go to an Amish school until eighth grade. And—”

  “That’s all? You stop going to school after eighth grade? What happens then?”

  He nods somberly. “Mostly, we work on our parents’ farms. But some men learn a trade.”

  I’m trying to wrap my brain around this. Education ends at eighth grade? How is that even legal? And boys go to work when they are only fifteen? What about child labor laws? Maybe those laws don’t apply here. But how can part of the United States be exempt from the law? Okay, I feel confused. And I can understand why Ezra feels so frustrated.

  9

  The sunset sky is turning the pond all sorts of amazing colors, but my eyes remain fixed on Ezra as I continue to press him with questions.

  “How old are you?” I ask in a flirtatious voice.

  “At least that’s an easy question. I just turned nineteen.”

  “Oh.” I nod, wondering what my mom will think to find out I’ve been off with a nineteen-year-old.

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen . . . last January.”

  He nods. “That’s perfect.”

  “Perfect?”

  He grins. “A man should be older than a woman.”

  I love that he thinks of me as a woman. But I still have a lot of questions. “So, tell me,” I say, “what happens after you finish eighth grade? That would’ve been about four years ago for you, right?”

  “Ja. After our schooling ends, we’re expected to make some very important life decisions.”

  “What kind of life decisions?”

  He pushes his hand through his hair in a frustrated way. “Do you really want to know all this?”

  “Yes. I actually do. If you don’t mind telling me.” I imagine myself reaching for his cheek, running my hand over the slightly bristled surface. But I don’t move a muscle. “It will help me to know you better. To understand you.”

  He sighs. “And after I answer your questions, will you answer mine?”

  “Absolutely. I promise.”

  “All right then. After we finish school, we’re in a time known as rumspringa.”

  “I think I’ve heard of that before.” I don’t admit to having seen some reality TV because I’m afraid it doesn’t portray the Amish as they really are. “But what does it mean?”

  “Rumspringa means running around.”

  “Running around?” I laugh. “So is that what you do? Run around?”

  “Not really. During the week we work hard. Just like the older men. But on the weekends . . . well, there is some running around going on then, for sure.”

  “What kind of running around?”

  “Oh, parties and such.” He gives me a sly look. “There is one tomorrow night, since it’s Saturday. Would you want to go to it with me?”

  “Sure,” I easily agree. “But right now I want to hear more about these life decisions you have to make.”

  “Between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, we are given a lot of freedom. More so than anyone else in the settlement. In some ways, it’s odd, but it’s because our parents want us to fully experience life—both the good and the bad. They hope we will grow weary of the bad and long for the good.” He grins. “That is why I can be out here with you tonight, Shannon. Because I’m still in rumspringa, I’m free to do as I like.”

  “So your parents would be okay with this—us being together?”

  He tilts his head to one side. “Well, they wouldn’t like knowing I’m with an English girl, that’s for sure. But they wouldn’t stop it either.”

  “Really?”

  “They believe that we need this freedom to make our decision.”

  “What decision is that exactly? Whether to be Amish or not?”

  “We have to decide if we are ready to declare our faith and be baptized. Anyway, that is what our parents hope we’ll do. If we make that decision, we spend a year meeting with the bishop and taking classes, and when he says we are ready, we get baptized.” He holds up his hands. “Then we are Amish.”

  “Oh.” I’m trying to grasp this. On one hand, it sounds convoluted. On the other hand, it sounds as if the parents just want their kids to make a confession of faith. Nothing terribly strange about that. “What happens after you are baptized? Any more decisions?”

  “Then we’re expected to choose a wife and get married, and have children, and participate in the community, and go to church, and work and work and work . . . until we die.”

  I frown. “You make it sound rather bleak. Like life’s not much fun for the Amish.”

  “Sometimes that’s what it looks like to me. I read about things the English get to do. Like car racing. Or flying in airplanes. Or traveling around the world. Or I see the kinds of clothes the English wear.” He fingers the thin shoulder strap of my sundress and smiles. “Sometimes I feel like I am missing out.”

  “I get that . . . but I suspect there are English people out there who would gladly trade places with you. Our world isn’t always as fun as it looks.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” His somber expression warms up a little. “And maybe if I married a woman like you”—he runs his fingers through my hair again—“maybe I would not mind being Amish at all.”

  “I think if you’re with the one you love, you can be happy anywhere.” Okay, I’m starting to feel light-headed again.

  “I think you might be right, Shannon. I think I could be happy anywhere with you by my side.” His frown returns. “Except that you aren’t Amish.”

  “My grandparents are.” It’s getting dark now, but I have no desire to leave. I feel like I could stay here—with Ezra—forever. “What if I wanted to become Amish?” I ask tentatively.

  He chuckles. “Then I would say you’re crazy.”

  “Why?” I reach for his hand again, feeling the warmth of it as he clasps it around mine. “You live in a beautiful place. There are a lot of things to love about this lifestyle.”

  “Like what?”

  “You have family all around you.”

  “That can be miserable sometimes.”

  “Maybe . . . but having grown up with only my mom and me for family, it sounds rather sweet to me.”

  “What else is good about being Amish?” His face is closer to mine now. I can tell he wants to kiss me again.

  “The food.” I giggle.

  “Ja, I hear the English food is not very good.” He’s running a finger down my cheek and then on down my neck, giving me shivers that actually make my entire scalp tingle. Who says the Amish don’t have electricity!

  “What is going on here?”

  We both turn to see my grandfather with a lantern in his hand, and I swear, if he had a scythe in the other hand, he would look exactly like the Grim Reaper. Even without the scythe, he is seriously frightening. I cower next to Ezra as if I expect him to protect me.

  “Good evening!” Ezra says nervously.

  “What are you doing here?” The Reaper holds his lantern out toward us, illuminating Ezra’s shocked face.

  “Just talking,” I say, standing and stepping into the light. “Ezra was telling me what it’s like to be Amish.”

  “Ezra can tell you about being Amish in the daylight hours,” my grandfather says sternly. “Right now your mamm and mammi are worried for you, Shannon.”

  Gramps holds out what looks like Ezra’s straw hat. “Go home,” he commands. Ezr
a takes his hat, tosses me an uneasy glance, and takes off running. Now Gramps hands me my sketch pad and shakes his head as he turns around. “Come on,” he calls. “Time for bed.”

  I hurry to catch up with him, thinking maybe it’s time Gramps and I had a little showdown. “I know you don’t like me,” I say when I’m next to him. “But I don’t think it’s—”

  “I never said I do not like you.” He stops walking, holding the lantern up so that he can see my face. Once again, he is scowling.

  “You don’t have to say it,” I tell him. “It’s written all over your face.”

  He looks slightly perplexed now.

  “I’m sure you hate the way I dress and act and talk and everything about me. I’m sure you hate me.”

  “I do not hate you, Shannon.” His expression softens a little. “I am worried about your soul. I do not want to see my granddaughter go to hell.”

  “Go to hell?”

  “Ja. You are not baptized. You will go to hell.”

  “I was baptized,” I tell him. “When I was thirteen I got—”

  “That is not what I mean,” he says sternly. “You English can pretend to be baptized, but it is not real baptism.”

  “It was real to me.”

  He shakes his head as he starts walking again. “You do not know the Ordnung. You were not brought up in the church. You cannot begin to understand what baptism means.” He exhales loudly. “You are not Amish.”

  “Ezra was telling me about what it means to be Amish,” I say quietly but firmly. “What if I wanted to become Amish?”

  He looks at me, and in the lantern light, I can see his features softening a little. For the first time I think I can see some kindness in his eyes. “You want to become Amish?”

  “I don’t know . . . maybe I do.” I shrug. “There are a lot of things I like about the Amish. You live in a beautiful place. You have family nearby. The food is good.”

  “Ja, that is all true. But that is not what being Amish means, Shannon. Being Amish means putting God above all else. It means living a life that is obedient and humble and simple. It is keeping the Ordnung and working hard. You Englishers do not understand how to live like we do.”

  “But I’m here now,” I tell him. “I’ve been trying to work.”

  “Ja, that is true. I like that you help out.” His face actually softens into a smile as we stop in the yard in front of the house. “I like that you did not give up on cutting this grass today.”

  “Really?” I feel my heart unexpectedly warming to him.

  “Ja. You did a good job, Shannon.”

  I cannot describe how happy this makes me.

  He points at my dress. “But your clothing.” His old scowl reappears, even grimmer than usual. “It is an insult to my home. Your mammi does not want to speak to you of it, Shannon, but I will. You are disrespectful in your dress. Disrespectful to me and your mammi. Disrespectful to yourself.”

  I frown at him. “Are you saying I should dress like Mammi?”

  “Ja. While you are under my roof, you should do so out of respect. I should demand you do so. Both you and your mamm. But I know you are English. And your mamm is sick. So I keep my mouth shut.” He shakes his head. “It is not easy to do.”

  Suddenly I get it. I see his frustration. Not only have the English invaded his calm, peaceful, orderly world, but it’s like we’re flaunting our Englishness in his face. “Dawdi.” I say the word slowly, using the name Mom told me to use for him. “I’m sorry that my clothes have offended you.”

  He looks surprised. “Ja? You are?”

  I nod. “But these are the only clothes I have.”

  He rubs his bearded chin in a thoughtful way. “We can give you Amish clothes, Shannon. Would you wear them?”

  “Is it okay if I wear them? I mean, because I’m not really Amish?”

  “Ja. It is all right. It is better than the clothes you brought with you.”

  I think about Ezra now. I remember how he said he might like to be Amish if I were Amish. Maybe it’s time for me to really sample this culture. “Okay,” I say lightly. “I will dress like an Amish girl. At least I’ll try it out.”

  He slowly nods as he turns to go inside the house. “I will tell your mammi about this. She will help you tomorrow.”

  Other than his lantern, the house is dark. “Gute nacht,” he says quietly as he blows out the lantern and heads for his bedroom.

  “Gute nacht,” I echo, standing there in the darkness. What a strange night this has been. I wish my phone worked so that I could call Merenda and tell her all about it. I don’t feel tired, and the idea of sleeping on that hard wooden floor again is not inviting. I remember my resolve to sleep outside tonight. I know the freshly cut lawn will be softer than the floor. However, I’m not sure if my grandfather would approve, and after making such amazing progress with him tonight, I am reluctant to put our relationship at risk. But I can’t think of any reason that it would be wrong.

  I tiptoe into the bedroom, and hearing Mom’s even breathing while she sleeps, I slip into the long white nightgown, which is surprisingly soft and comfortable. I make sure the window is open, gather up my blankets and things, and quietly slip outside. I creep around the side of the house to where our bedroom window is and arrange my funny little bed right next to the window so I can hear Mom if she needs me.

  Once I’m settled in, enjoying the softer surface beneath me and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass, I look up at the stars and feel completely and utterly stunned. The stars are so clear and bright and breathtakingly beautiful—it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I stare and stare, wondering why they are so stunning. Maybe it’s because with no electricity, there are no lights around here to diminish the darkness of the sky and the brightness of the stars. Or maybe it’s because I’m so totally smitten by Ezra, so hopelessly in love, that everything around me looks bigger and brighter and better. Or maybe it’s God’s way of calling out to me—with a sky like this, it just seems like I should be talking to the One who created it.

  I used to pray all the time. I made my first real commitment to God when I was twelve, and for several years I took my faith very seriously. Like I told my grandfather, I got baptized, and I believed in it 100 percent. But over the past year, I’ve felt myself slipping away. Merenda has pointed it out to me a few times. Of course, I always deny it, and I am always promising myself that I’ll get my spiritual life together eventually. Then Mom got sick, and instead of going to God for help, I continued pulling away from him. I feel bad about this now, but I’m not quite sure how to come back.

  Besides, it is easier to think about Ezra right now. Instead of praying to God like I suspect I should, I gaze up at the gorgeous sky and replay everything that happened tonight—every word, every touch, every kiss. I want to press it all into my memory so that I can pull it out at will whenever I want. I have never been in love before. Oh, I’ve had a couple of crushes. I even had a guy I thought was my boyfriend last year—Austin Moore from my youth group. But comparing any of those boys to Ezra is like comparing an anthill to Mount Everest.

  I feel myself slipping off to sleep and hope that my dreams will be filled with images of Ezra. Ezra and me. I wonder, what would it be like to become Amish, and to live here in Amishland and marry Ezra, and be together forever?

  10

  Your aunt Katrina is a good woman,” Mammi tells me as we go outside. Breakfast is over and cleaned up, and it’s time for me to meet my other relatives. “She is diligent in her obedience to the Ordnung.”

  “Oh?” I can tell by Mammi’s flat tone of voice that there is something more going on here. “Do you get along well with her?”

  Mammi gives me a curious glance. “Ja, ja. Certainly I get along. She is my son’s wife.”

  Still, I’m not convinced. I’m getting a strong impression that something is wrong here. “I’m surprised she hasn’t come over to visit my mom,” I say carefully.

  “Oh, well, Katrina is ver
y busy. She is an industrious woman.” Mammi opens a gate by the barn, letting us through. “She encourages Benjamin too. Katrina hopes Benjamin will be the bishop someday. Already he is a minister.”

  “Does that mean he’s in charge of your whole church?”

  “The bishop is the head of the church. Then we have two ministers. One is Joseph Miller and one is your uncle Benjamin.”

  “Did my uncle get trained to be a minister?” I’m curious about this since I know education ends by age fifteen.

  “No. It is not like that,” she tells me as we walk through the grass.

  “So how did he get to be a minister?”

  “Any married man can be chosen to serve.” Mammi gets a thoughtful look, as if she’s wondering whether it’s appropriate to tell me more, but then she continues. “After a communion service, the members gather, and names are whispered to the deacon. Each man whose name is whispered three times or more is written down. If everyone is in harmony, we ask God to choose the right man.”

  I turn to peer at her. “How does God do that?”

  “A Bible verse is written down and placed into a songbook. Then the men all kneel down—the ones being considered—and each one is given a songbook. They all open the songbooks, and the man who has the Bible verse in his songbook is God’s choice.” Mammi smiles happily. “It was such a good day when Benjamin was chosen. I was very happy for him.”

  We’re heading toward the big white house now. “So my uncle Benjamin is an important man?” I say.

  “Ja. But he is a humble, obedient man. A good man.”

  “He seemed very nice when I met him. He was kind to my mom.”

  Mammi stops walking and turns to look in my eyes. “Your aunt Katrina, she is concerned. You and Anna . . . you are not Amish.” Mammi glances over her shoulder. “Do you get my meaning?”

  I nod. “Yes. I think I do. Is she worried we might do something to embarrass her or Uncle Benjamin?”

  “She would not say this, but it is true. And as you know, your mamm is shunned.”

  “Shunned?”

  “Ja. When Anna turned her back on God and left the settlement, she was shunned by the community.”