Plain Jayne (6 page)

My hands shook with nervous excitement as Levi drove me toward the farmhouse for the second time. I was going behind the closed doors of one of America's most introverted societies.

And I couldn't stop worrying about the fact that Shane hadn't called me back. The concern kept me quiet through most of the drive until Levi commented on it. “You seem distracted,” he said.

Understatement.

I tried to remember if I'd mentioned the presence of Shane to him or not, and then I berated myself for caring.

It's not as though I were
interested
in Levi. I was with Shane, right?

“I tried to call my boyfriend last night,” I said, and found myself watching Levi's reaction.

His grip on the steering wheel shifted. “Unsuccessful?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. It sounded like he was out. At a bar or something…who knows. He said he'd call me back, but he didn't.”

“Does he usually?”

“Usually what?”

“Call you back.”

“I think so. It's not something that's been a problem before.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Six months.”

His grip shifted again. “Is he a social guy?”

“Not really. We are more of a coffeehouse couple, I guess. It's nothing.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“I don't know what to tell you.”

“Oh.”

Yet another change in grip. “I suppose you could call him.”

I scratched my neck. “I suppose.”

“You don't want to?”

“I want him to call me back. I don't want to be the girlfriend who has to call constantly to get her boyfriend to return a call.”

“I don't think two calls equals
constantly
.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It's up to you.”

“Is there much cell service at your parents' place?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

“Serves him right.”

As we pulled into the long drive toward the farmhouse, Levi pointed ahead. “Look.”

I squinted. “What is that?”

“Your welcoming committee.”

As we approached the house, I could see what he'd been pointing at. A
row of children stood like sentries outside, facing us. “Those aren't all your siblings, are they?”

He laughed. “No. Some neighbor kids are mixed in there. They're all going to be very curious about you.”

“Hence the lineup and the stare down?”

“Exactly.”

I smiled at the kids as Levi pulled the truck around to the side. Martha came around to meet us, a cautious smile on her lips.

“Thanks for doing this, Mom,” Levi said after he climbed down from the cab.

“Your father believes this will be a good experience for everybody.”

“Is he home yet?”

“Soon.” She turned to me. “Come along inside, Jayne. I will show you around the house.”

“Go ahead,” Levi said. “I'll put your bike in the shed and bring in your bags.”

“Are you sure you don't need a hand?” I asked.

“If I do I'll find Samuel or Amos. Don't worry. I'll catch up.”

I followed Martha into the house and tried not to pay attention to the small herd of children who followed us.

The farmhouse smelled like baking bread and cedar, with a faint tinge of body odor. Martha led me through the dining room to the kitchen and front rooms, down the hallway to my bedroom.

A brightly patterned Amish quilt covered the bed. There was a small flashlight on the bedside table, and a large armoire rested against the opposite wall. I smiled. “It looks very nice.”

Martha brushed aside the compliment. “The toilet and shower are across the hall.”

I heard Levi's heavy footfalls a second before he came around the corner with my bags.

Martha frowned. “Your father will be home at any moment.”

Levi hoisted the bags over his shoulder. “I'll be gone in seconds.”

“Your father…” my voice trailed off as I followed him.

“Isn't all that happy with me.” He set my bags on the bed. “There, I'm done.” He kissed Martha on the cheek. “I'm out.”

I looked from Levi to Martha, trying to read their faces. “Can I walk out
with you?” I asked, stalling. I wasn't quite ready to be left behind, deposited into another family's personal drama.

If I'd really wanted drama, I would have gone home.

But then, my family's not Amish, and therefore not newsworthy.

“Absolutely,” Levi said, even as he patted heads and said goodbyes to the younger children.

I waited until we were well into the yard. “Why doesn't your mom want you home when your dad gets back?”

Levi reached for his car keys. “I left the community. My father doesn't talk to me.”

“You mean, you're…shunned?”

Levi shrugged. “Not formally. I never joined the church,” he said, sighing. “Come by the shop tomorrow or give me a call. Sorry to dump you here like this, but I really should leave. Don't mention my name to him, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed as he climbed into the truck. “Bye!”

He paused and threw me a smile. “I'll see you later.”

I watched him drive away.

M
artha found me upon my return to the house and finished the tour. Afterward I asked about the possibility of borrowing some clothes. In my jeans and sweater, I felt like a visiting alien.

I also hoped that the children might stare at me less if I looked like them.

Martha considered my idea, eyed me up and down, and called for Sara.

Sara and I are, apparently, about the same size.

She caught the vision, enthusiastically going through her own clothing collection and creating a pile of garments for me to try. She gave me two dresses of varying dark blue, a black apron, long black socks, a white kapp, and a black bonnet for outdoor wear. “If these don't fit,” she said, “I'll make you new ones.”

“I don't know that I'll be here that long…”

“I sew fast.” It wasn't a boast, just a statement.

“Let me try these first,” I said, carrying the pile back to my room.

There were no mirrors inside, but I had a small compact mirror stuffed into one of my bags. When I'd finished dressing, I held my arm as far from my body as I could. The glimpse I caught caused me to physically flinch.

Breathe
, I told myself.
Clothes don't change who you are. While you might appear to the casual passerby to be a cautious, conservative farmwife, you know that underneath you are a liberated, talented, tough biker babe.

I did not recognize the woman in the mirror. I'd known Jayne Tate for a while, and Jayne Tate didn't wear dark dresses—or any dresses at all, for that matter. And yet, when I moved, so did the simply-clad woman.

There was something oddly Marx Brothers about the whole thing.

I found Martha in the kitchen. She didn't say anything about my change of attire. Instead, she handed me a sack of potatoes and a paring knife. “If you would like to help with dinner,” she said, “you may peel these.”

Gideon walked through the door when I was halfway through my first potato.

After my conversation with Levi, I expected Gideon to resemble a haggard, ugly old miser.

He looked more like a moustache-less Santa Claus, his beard to his chest, cheeks rosy from outdoor work. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “You are Jayne?” he asked, his voice tinged with a Germanic accent.

“Yes, I am.” I offered my hand, which he studied for a moment before shaking.

He turned abruptly from me toward Martha. “Is dinner ready? I'm starved.”

“Almost. I'll call the children in—” she started to say, but the sound of children's feet on wood floors drowned her out.

“Grandma!” they cried in unison, joy marking every face.

I peered out the window to see a tiny old woman emerge from a car. A dress like Martha's hung on her thin frame, although the older woman's had a floral print.

Martha removed her kitchen apron and joined her children outside.

“That is Martha's mother, Ida Gingerich,” Gideon said, but he offered no further explanation.

Martha and her children led Ida into the house. “This is my mother, Jayne. She's staying for dinner,” Martha said as she entered. “Mother, this is Jayne Tate. She is our guest for the time being.”

I wanted to ask what Martha's mother was doing with a car, but I refrained. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gingerich.”

“Very nice to meet you, Jayne,” she said, casting a shrewd glance over my person. I got the feeling she knew something I didn't. “Call me Ida.”

Martha and I finished preparing dinner while Ida sat in the kitchen. They spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch, as far as I could tell, and I really didn't mind. Their world made no sense to me, and my brain had had about all it could take. Trying to decipher a conversation might push me over the brink.

Me and the potatoes, we were good.

“Let us give thanks,” Gideon said, his voice soft with a rumble. Nine heads bowed in unison.

I used the moment to stare without being noticed. The men sat on one side of the table, the women on the other. We were surrounded by bowls and platters filled with food, tall glasses of thick, white milk, and a conspicuous lack of fresh vegetables.

After the moment of silence, I watched in fascination as this large family calmly, methodically downed huge quantities of food, with the men serving themselves first. Dinner conversation revolved around household chores and retellings of the workday. Samuel, Leah, and Elizabeth still attended school, while Amos, Elam, and Sara worked.

Gideon discussed with his sons which cattle needed to be moved, when to butcher the pigs, and the fact that some of the fence needed repair. Martha commented to Sara which garments were wearing out beyond use and which could be mended. Sara promised to start work on a new pair of pants for Samuel.

Not what I was doing at seventeen. My teen years consisted less of housework and family than of daydreaming about faraway colleges.

“Tell us about yourself,” Ida said, interrupting my thoughts. “Where are you from?”

I shoved my hair out of my face. “I live in Portland, but I grew up on the coast.”

Squeals of delight erupted around the table. “Where on the coast?” Sara asked.

“Lincoln City.”

Leah leaned forward. “Did you go to the beach every day?”

“No…not every day. The weather's pretty nasty.”

“Jayne, would you like more potatoes?” Martha interrupted.

I declined.

Ida pressed forward. “What is your family like?”

I told them about my married sister, Beth, and her little girl. How my mother still lived in Lincoln City. Alluded to the fact that we didn't talk often. Work, you know.

“Only one sister?” Elizabeth's brow furrowed.

I smiled, realizing how strange that must sound to her. “Only one sister. Sometimes it got lonely.”

I offered to do the dishes after dinner. Nine faces looked at me, aghast, but Gideon said yes.

After I'd finished scrubbing the last baking dish, albeit with Sara and Leah's help, Gideon offered to give me a tour of the farm.

“Whatever I can help with, put me to work,” I said as we stepped out of the house. “Milking, whatever.”

Gideon howled in laughter, but when we got into the stalls I saw why. The milking machinery towered over us both. “Many people think we Amish are against technology,” he said, “and that's not true. We believe in three things.” He held up three fingers. “We believe in serving God by being Plain. We believe in living outside the world. And we believe in hard work. Life should never be too easy for us. Milking equipment—” he gestured at the stainless steel tanks—“makes the milking easy, but it also makes it so we can work at other things even harder. We run the machinery on diesel and wind generators. We do not bring in outside electricity.”

“I stand corrected.”

Gideon led me to the corral next. “Our horses are not for riding, they are for pulling. Sugar and Shoe pull the buggy—”

“Shoe?”

He gave a rueful smile. “Elizabeth named him when she was tiny.”

“Good choice.”

“Balsam pulls the tractor.”

“What do you grow?”

“Mainly sorghum and oats. Maybe next year, though, I will take out the sorghum and put in solar panels.” He shrugged. “Maybe. The families living here in Oregon came because we wanted to follow the old ways
and
use technology. Many groups in Ohio use the technology, but their children run wild and the
Ordnung
became less important. There was too much compromise.”

I tried to look as if I understood.