Running Around (and Such) (26 page)

Lizzie was plain-down proud of her shoes. Mam had been a real dear and agreed that she could have them when Lizzie found them at the shoe store in town. The heels were not as high as English women wore, and they tied over the top of her feet with black shoelaces, which made Mam feel comfortable about Lizzie having them. Dat frowned when she showed them to him, but he frowned a lot since the girls were running around.

He was just on edge about his daughters joining the youth at suppers and singings and doing things with their friends on weekends. Dat had been raised quite conservatively as far as clothes and certain social events were concerned. In fact, his dad, Doddy Glick, didn’t like to see the young people wear anything fancy. Emma and Lizzie thought that Dat was too much like his father.

Dat objected to the way Lizzie combed her hair, he sighed if her dress was too short, and he made her change stockings if he thought they were too transparent. She felt rebellious sometimes, but when Mam agreed with Dat, there was nothing to do but surrender to Dat’s wishes, go back upstairs and redo her hair, change stockings, or try to fix whatever his gripe was at the moment.

A lot of their girlfriends’ parents had the same concerns, so they soon decided that Mam and Dat were as fair as most other Amish parents. Emma said they were concerned that if their children didn’t keep the
Ordnung
and rules, who would continue to build the church? Lizzie understood that, she really did, but she battled constantly for her own way. She didn’t dwell on these tensions all the time; she just liked to look nice. She imagined copying all kinds of fancy things she saw other people doing, even when she was a little girl.

One summer, Mam and the children decided to take the train to Ohio to visit Doddy and Mommy Miller, Mam’s parents. Lizzie was all excited because, as she explained to Emma, “When you ride on a train, you can see all the English people and their fancy shoes, and the big tall buildings in the cities that the train passes through.”

“Lizzie,” Emma said, quite seriously.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be quite so wild in your mind. Why do you have to look at all the fancy shoes, anyway?” Emma asked her.

“Oh, they just look pretty. Especially the white ones with high heels. If I’d be English, that is exactly what I would wear. They make a nice clicking noise, too,” Lizzie said.

Emma said nothing, so Lizzie folded her hands in her lap and thought Emma agreed with her. She looked down at her own navy-colored sneakers that had a white sole on them, and thought she had nice shoes for an Amish girl. She was happy with her new lavender-colored dress with a black apron. She liked being Amish—she just liked to watch fancy ladies with high heels. Emma didn’t seem to understand that.

All these years later, her high heels helped tremendously to make her feel more accepted by the young people. They bolstered her self-esteem. Still, this is not going to be easy, she thought, as Emma began introducing Lizzie to the girls her age.

There was a thin, dark-haired girl named Barbara, almost exactly Lizzie’s age, who was dating a young man from Lamton County. She also met Mary, who had a round face, narrow, almond-shaped eyes, and very black hair. She was quite talkative and accentuated her sentences with lots of eyebrow-lifting and hand motions. She and Barbara were quite warm, so Lizzie soon felt a bit more at ease, although she still depended on her high heels for self-assurance.

When it was time to eat supper, Lizzie’s heart did an absolute flip-flop. She was almost overwhelmed with a sickening sensation in her stomach as she thought about filing into that kitchen full of boys and parents. Barbara and Mary didn’t seem to mind at all. Lizzie sincerely hoped they didn’t notice the color draining from her face.

When she passed the little kitchen mirror, she made a desperate attempt to check herself, hoping she didn’t appear nearly as agitated as she felt.

Her covering was straight—a nice covering and it fit well, thanks to Emma. Her hair was still combed neatly, although not as fancy as she would have liked, thanks to Dat. She had successfully hidden her pimples with Clearasil. She was biting her lips. Have to stop that; looks too nervous, she reminded herself.

She stepped off to the side and lifted the top of her blue cape, checking the pin in front to make sure it was straight. She couldn’t see her black apron or shoes in the mirror, but she felt quite confident that her shoes looked snappy. She wondered if boys noticed shoes.

Now there was nothing to do but face the whole kitchen full of people. Lizzie was aware of a line of young men heaping their plates with mounds of food. A few of them cast cautious glances her way. Emma and her friend Sara had already filled their plates and were talking and laughing with the long line of boys.

Surprisingly, Lizzie wasn’t hungry or even very interested in what was in the large roasters and stainless steel pots and pans on the long table. She just knew that she made it through the line, filled her plate without spilling it, and ate as if she was in a trance.

Running around and going to a strange community, meeting new girls and feeling so afraid was not one bit fun, she decided. Next to her, Barbara and Mary started laughing and giggling together, then suddenly, without asking Lizzie to join them, got up and dashed into the kettle house.

She sat alone, her empty plate in her lap, not knowing which would be the least conspicuous—to remain there saying nothing or to get up and hurry out to the washhouse after Barbara and Mary. Just when she felt like a true misfit, a young man tripped over her foot.

“Whoa there! Sorry!” he said, turning to look at Lizzie as she quickly pulled both feet back under her chair where they probably should have been in the first place.

“That’s okay,” Lizzie mumbled.

He took his plate to the table, then turned and came back to sit beside her. Lizzie didn’t know if she should be pleased or embarrassed, but his friendly smile put her at ease.

“So…you’re Emma’s little sister?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Sixteen years old already?”

“My first weekend.”

She dared to look at him. His eyes were as dark as Mary’s, his skin even darker than hers. A shock of jet-black hair made him look mysterious, Lizzie thought.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lizzie. But I wish I was called Elizabeth, because that’s my real name,” Lizzie said hurriedly.

“Nothing wrong with ‘Lizzie.’”

“It’s not very classy.”

He laughed unexpectedly, showing a row of very straight white teeth. “What would be classier?”

“Liz. Or Elizabeth.”

“Well, Liz, Elizabeth, Lizzie, whatever. Do you play Ping-Pong?”

“Ping-Pong? I used to, but since we moved, we have no place to put the table, so I’m sure I’m quite rusty.”

“Come on. There’s a bunch playing in the basement.”

Lizzie loved Ping-Pong. She was still amazed that years earlier Mam had actually gotten them a Ping-Pong table for their basement. This was not at all like Mam.

One day when Mam was reading the newspaper, she suddenly said, “Girls, listen to this: ‘Ping-Pong table. In very good condition. One hundred dollars or best offer.’”

Lizzie had looked up. “What’s a Ping-Pong table?”

“Surely you know, Lizzie.”

“No.”

“Well, it’s high time you girls learned. I’ll call this number and offer them $75.”

“Aren’t you going to ask Dat?” asked Emma, looking up from her crocheting.

“Oh, he won’t mind. He loves to play Ping-Pong.” And with that, Mam was off, hurrying down the driveway and across the street to the neighbors’ phone.

“Boy!” Emma said, dryly.

“I’ll say,” Lizzie agreed.

“She really must want that Ping-Pong table.” Emma resumed her crocheting, her needle flashing in the glow of the gas lamp.

In no time at all, Mam hurried back up the steps and into the kitchen, waving the paper with the telephone number on it. “We got it! They’ll deliver it this evening! Net, paddles, and all! This will be a big surprise for Dat!”

When Dat came home for supper, Mam was flushed and beaming. She could never keep a secret very long, so before the girls had a chance to say anything, Mam blurted out, “Melvin, guess what?”

Dat was washing up in the bathroom, but he peeped above the blue towel he was using to dry his face and said, “Now what?”

“We’re getting a Ping-Pong table tonight!”

“Hah-ah!” Dat said, in disbelief.

“Oh, yes! They’re delivering it from close to Marion for $75. It was advertised in the local paper for a hundred!”

Mam turned to the table with a steaming bowl of chicken stew and dumplings, while Emma poured water into the plastic drinking glasses.

“Wonder if it’s any good?” Dat asked.

“We’ll see. I’ll beat you good and proper, Melvin!” Mam said, her eyes twinkling.

“If I remember right, Annie, I skunked you last time we played!” Dat told her, laughing.

‘
Skunked?
’
Lizzie thought. This had to be some childish game they were all worked up about. Dat and Mam sure were acting dumb about it. ‘Skunked’?

“What do you mean, ‘skunked’?” she burst out.

“Oh, that’s a term you use when one person has 11 points and the other has only one or two,” Mam said.

“So … Dat was a lot better than you, right?” Lizzie asked.

“Oh, that just happened once or so. He didn’t beat me like that all the time,” Mam assured her.

Here in the middle of the youth in this basement, Lizzie was transported to that earlier evening. They had all sat down for supper then, and put patties down or folded their hands on their laps as they bowed their heads in silent prayer. Lizzie was so busy thinking about Ping-Pong, she didn’t remember to give thanks. When Dat lifted his head she said quickly, “Is it hard to learn?”

“I’m afraid you forgot to say your prayer, Lizzie,” Dat said soberly.

“She always forgets. She told me once,” Emma sniffed.

“Emma, I do not!”

After dinner, they hadn’t yet finished with the dishes when a pickup truck drove up the driveway and stopped. A dark green table with white lines around its edges and another white line straight up the middle stood propped on the back of the truck.

“It’s here!” Lizzie yelled.

Dat and Mam bustled out the door, down the steps, and helped unload the huge table. After Dat wrote a check and thanked the English man who brought the table, he showed the girls how to hold the paddle properly. It was not at all as Lizzie had imagined. You had to hold the round, rubbery part in, and the wooden handle out.

Lizzie and Mandy tried to bat the little white plastic ball back and forth, but they hardly ever got it right. Usually the ball didn’t go close to where they wanted it to be, and they bent over laughing again and again. They thought they would never learn.

But when Dat and Mam started to play, Lizzie couldn’t believe it. They hit the ball back and forth, almost faster than her eyes could follow. It flew low over the net, always hitting the table before Dat or Mam slammed it straight back. Lizzie wasn’t surprised that Dat could do this. He was a man and good at lots of physical things. But Mam! Lizzie was astounded. Mam’s eyes sparkled, her arms flew fast, and her hand gripped the Ping-Pong paddle until her knuckles turned white. She pinched her mouth with determination, sort of like when she was upset. She moved faster than Lizzie had ever seen her, with her feet almost dancing to keep up with Dat’s furious pace.

Just when Lizzie was positive she could no longer take the suspense, Mam yelled, “Melvin!”

Dat yelled, too, and slapped his knee in triumph. He had hit the ball to the very corner of Mam’s side of the table. The ball had gone down over, but first it touched the table lightly, meaning it was Dat’s point. If the ball had cleared the table, it would have been Mam’s point.

Dat certainly did not skunk Mam that game, because Mam won, 21 points to Dat’s 18. Mam’s cheeks were red, and she was laughing as she ran over to open a window, saying it was much too warm in the basement. Jason clapped his hands and squealed with excitement as he grabbed Mam’s paddle and ran off with it. She caught him, pretending to smack his little pants’ seat with it.

They played three games before Mam gasped and said that was it, she was too tired for one more game. Dat had laughed, begging her to play one more, but she said it was high time to put Jason to bed.

Lizzie hadn’t played Ping-Pong regularly, so her confidence was a little shaky as she followed the guy down the steps. She smiled, remembering how happy Dat and Mam had looked that evening when they played together. Maybe someday someone would look at her that way.

In the basement, gas lanterns glowed bright and a woodstove in the corner warmed the room. At card tables groups of boys and girls played games, and a lively game of Ping-Pong was underway in one corner. Instead of only two players, there were four, which caused a lot more excitement, frustration, and yelling. When one young man became agitated, he stomped his foot and threw his paddle across the table.

Lizzie turned to look at her newfound friend and found him looking at her, laughing. His smile was so infectious, Lizzie laughed back quite unashamedly until she realized she didn’t even know his name.

“You didn’t tell me your name or who you are,” she said, wondering if that was too bold.

“Didn’t I? Guess I forgot or just took for granted you’d know. I’m Mary’s brother, Amos.”

Instantly, Lizzie saw that he and Mary both had striking dark skin and eyes. When the Ping-Pong game was over, Amos asked her to be his partner and play against Marvin and a girl Lizzie didn’t know.

Lizzie hung back, her heart banging against her ribs, not sure she could play well enough to be in a game with four people. She glanced at Amos who gave her a reassuring smile.

“I…I’m not very good,” she said.

“Sure you are,” Marvin said loudly. “You used to be when you lived in Jefferson County.”

Lizzie’s face colored and she shot him a “Be quiet” look. He didn’t have to say that so loudly in front of everyone in the whole basement.

Marvin’s eyebrows spiked, and he said, “What?”