Plain Jayne (4 page)

“That works.” I began to pencil it in.
Levi, woodshop
. “What time?”

“Ten thirty?”

“Ten thirty.” I wrote it in before looking up. “Thanks for your time today.”

He smiled. “You're welcome. I'll walk you out.”

“That's all right. I'm sure I can find my way.”

“I don't know where Spencer is.”

I hoisted my bag over my shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Spencer was indeed lying in wait at the front counter. “Very nice to meet you. Come back again.”

I waved a goodbye.

Levi followed me out the door. “He's stupid but harmless.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“That your bike?”

I allowed myself a smile. “It is.”

“2007 Triumph Bonneville?”

“2008.”

“What's the capacity?”

“About 865 ccs.”

Levi let out a low whistle. “She's pretty.”

I smiled. “I think so.” I reached for my helmet.

“Drive safe.”

“I will,” I said, before turning the ignition switch and revving the motor. When I turned the corner, I noticed Levi still stood near the curb.

I
stopped for lunch, picked up some groceries, and took a long ride through the back roads of Albany before returning to the hotel that afternoon. Once I was settled in there, I checked my messages.

Joely wanted to know if I'd been run over by a horse yet.

Gemma left a voice mail with care instructions for the black skirt.

Kim let me know that Laura emailed the paper, informing them that, in less than twenty-four hours in Miami, she'd managed to wind up in the ER with sunstroke.

Nothing from Shane.

And nothing from Ethel the Mennonite columnist, who had sounded optimistic about finding an Amish host family for me.

I thought about calling Shane but then changed my mind. With me gone, he was probably stationed in front of the TV, and a conversation punctuated with “How could he miss that shot?” wasn't my idea of fun.

Instead, I typed out my notes from my interview with Levi and settled in for an evening watching
Little House on the Prairie
reruns.

I parked my bike in front of Levi's shop at ten thirty the next morning. I entered through the customer service office, a little electronic
ding
signaling my presence. Footsteps sounded down the hall. As they approached, they seemed to slow until the person stepped cautiously around the corner.

“Are you the, um, the reporter?” the man asked, his face turning brick red.

“Yes, I am,” I said slowly, not wanting to scare him.

His head bobbed a couple times. “Okay. Okay, good, that's good. Um, Levi told me if you came that he'd be back in just five, maybe six minutes.”

“Oh. That's fine.”

“I'm Grady,” he said, holding out his hand like a peace offering.

“Nice to meet you, Grady.”

“Did you, um, go to high school in Lincoln City?”

Oh, no. His face did look a little familiar. “Taft?”

A tentative smile touched his lips. “Yeah. Are you Beth's sister?”

I sighed on the inside. More than sixty miles away, and I still couldn't run incognito. “Yes. My older sister.”

“We graduated the same year. I moved here a couple years ago,” he said, giving a sheepish smile. “Too many carpenters in Lincoln City.”

“True, very true.” As in, you could throw a rock in any direction and hit a contractor.

“I was sorry to hear about your dad,” he added. “My mom told me.”

My inward sigh deepened. I hugged my arms to myself. “Thanks,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

Levi chose that moment to step through the shop door. “Good, you're here.” He closed the door behind him. “Hope you haven't been waiting long, Jayne.”

I shook my head. “Grady and I have been catching up.”

“We went to the same high school,” Grady told Levi.

Levi's eyebrows lifted. “Really? In Lincoln City?”

“Her dad was an elder in the church I grew up in.”

Ah. No wonder he knew. “He passed away recently,” I blurted out, wanting to get that in the open before Grady could.

Levi's face softened. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

I hiked my bag higher up my shoulder and nodded.

“I'm ready to go when you are,” he said.

“Go?” I'd anticipated another interview in his office.

“I'm desperate for coffee.”

“There's coffee in the kitchen…” Grady offered.

“Spencer made it.”

Grady winced. “Oh.”

Levi turned back to me. “Are you game? There's a coffee shop within walking distance.”

“Ah…sure. That sounds fine.”

“Excellent.” He brushed off the few remaining wood shavings from his shirt. “If Mrs. Van Gerbig calls, tell her the walnut came in and she'll be very pleased.”

Grady nodded and then Levi and I set off.

“Tell me how you decided to write about the Amish,” Levi said about six steps into our walk. “I gather you're not on assignment.”

“I'm a staff reporter for the
Oregonian
,” I answered, fighting the indignation welling inside me. “But I also write freelance on the side.”

“No offense to your professionalism. I just figured there's no breaking story around here—didn't think a newspaper would pay for you to come down unless someone was dead. You're at the
Oregonian
? I think I've read some of the pieces you've written.”

I must have heard him wrong. “Really?”

“Didn't you write that article on children in foster care?”

Officially impressed. The indignation died down. “Yes, that was me.”

Granted, he very well could have googled my name. Most of my stories live on in online archives.

“I remember reading that story. You made the children and their foster parents seem so…real.”

“They are real.”

“A lot of people don't like to observe the reality. They record the surface and pat themselves on the back. You didn't.” He shot me a look. “A lot of writers do that with the Amish.”

“I noticed that.”

“Will you be different?”

“I'll try. From what I've read, the Amish hold the rest of the world at arm's length. I can only observe so much from the outside.”

“That piece you wrote about the gubernatorial scandal—that wasn't bad either.”

I suppressed a grin. “That was actually a whole series. I was the one who discovered the diverted funds.”

“I'll bet you're popular in Salem.”

“I'm fairly certain there's a picture of me with some darts in the middle. I had good sources, though. Something I need for this story too.”

He seemed to process that thought for the rest of the walk.

The café featured small, uncomfortable-looking booths, cranky baristas, and coffee so strong I felt my tooth enamel cringe.

“Much better,” Levi said after a sip. “Spencer makes the office coffee much too strong.”

“Spencer's is too strong?” Stronger than the cup o' joe eating away at my stomach lining? “Does he brew it to float a horseshoe?”

“Hand planer.”

“Ah.” How appropriate.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

I furrowed my brow. “What question?”

“Why are you interested in the Amish?”

Cute. “Maybe. But yesterday I asked you about your personal involvement with them. I asked first. I win.”

“Touché.” He shrugged. “My best friends growing up were Amish. We played a lot of volleyball, spent all of our time together.”

“Amish kids play volleyball?”

“Like there's no tomorrow. Baseball and soccer too. And they can be very competitive.”

“Huh.” I fished my digital recorder from my bag again. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why an Amish-style carpentry shop? What made you want to start a business?”

“I have an economics degree from the University of Oregon. Worked in corporate land for a few years, made money. At the end of the day, I wanted to be closer to my family.”

“Why?”

“You like the tough questions, don't you? My parents are getting older, and I'm the oldest. I suppose I feel a certain amount of responsibility. I have different…resources, I guess, than they do. As for the shop…well, like I said, I wanted to move closer and I'd always liked working with my hands. There's a market for the Amish woodcraft, as well as a steady supply of labor.”

“How many siblings?”

“A lot.”

“‘A lot' being code for…”

“Seven,” he answered, before downing the last of his coffee. “Okay, your turn. Why the Amish?”

I thought about turning off the recorder but decided against it. I never knew when he might say something interesting.

“Hard to say,” I told him truthfully. “There's something very simple and beautiful about the Amish, yet also very confusing.”

I watched Levi's expression but couldn't read the emotions behind his eyes. “Confusing?” he asked.

“It seems like such a difficult lifestyle. The rest of America is so driven by technology and information that the fact the Amish aren't in school after eighth grade astounds me.”

“Technology and the Amish aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.”

“No?”

He checked his watch. “I know an Amish family in the community outside town. They'll serve lunch soon, and I'm sure we could invite ourselves over.”

“Really?”

“You can observe firsthand.”

“My goal is to spend some time in an Amish household,” I admitted. “In fact, I'm waiting to hear back from one of the columnists I know from the paper. She promised to look into that for me.”

Again, the face I couldn't read. “I may be able to help you with that,” he answered after a moment. “But lunch first. If you walk with me back to the shop, we can take my truck.”

I hesitated. Driving to a place I'd never been with a man I didn't know to a location with spotty cell phone reception did not rank high on the list of good ideas.

“Or you can follow on your bike,” he added. “I have four younger sisters. I wouldn't want any of them riding with strange men.”

That was the thing; Levi wasn't strange. There was something about him that was completely trustworthy.

And I had pepper spray in my bag. Just in case.

I watched the landscape change as we drove by. Once we were out of town, we passed neighborhoods with houses perforated by a dozen wires. Satellite dishes served as lawn ornaments.

I hated small towns.

And I grew up in one, so I was allowed to say so with experience.

After a while, the neighborhoods thinned out and cattle ruled the open spaces. A few sheep.

I remembered my earlier conversation with Joely. “Do Amish kids cow tip?”

Levi laughed, an easy laugh that made me remind myself I had a boyfriend. “None of the kids I knew did—they were busy dating. Can't say about some of the Pennsylvania kids.”

Twenty minutes later occasional clusters of homes came into view. They sat in a small valley, homes surrounded by pastures and farmland. There were no wires, but if I wasn't mistaken, a sprinkling of wind-power generators.

Interesting.

It started to rain as Levi turned the truck down a long gravel road. A large white farmhouse sat at the end, with a barnlike building on either side for moral support. A woman hurriedly removed several pairs of pants from the laundry line as the raindrops grew larger. Levi raised a hand in greeting.

She waved back, yanking the last pair of trousers off and carrying the basket inside. By the time we made it to the covered porch, she was waiting for us at the door.

“Levi!” she said, standing on her tiptoes to cup his face and kiss his cheek. “What are you doing here?”