The New Wild (8 page)

There’s no way I’m ruining Annie’s
perfectly clean dress by putting my disgusting body into it right now. I tiptoe
across the hall, where she’s combing the little girl’s hair and re-plaiting it
in braids. She smiles when she sees me. “Is everything all right? Does it fit?”

“Oh, yes, well, I don’t know
actually
…
Is
there any way I can take a bath? I’m so dirty.”

“Of course! How could I have
forgotten to offer it to you? I’m sorry, at my age, it’s a miracle if everyone
gets fed. Yes, I’ll go heat up some water and bring it right up. We have a
little room yonder we use for baths.”

“Uh, can I get in on that? I
really need some of that action,” Xander says, poking his head in.

“Of course, of course. Jackie, you
can go first. I’ll be right back. Mind the kids.”

We play with them a while, and
their bubbly giggles and sweet, big eyes make me melt. Surprisingly, Xander’s
really good with them. He starts a game of “tickle torture”, and it almost
moves me to tears seeing his enormous hands hold up their tiny arms and make them
howl and shriek with laughter. Xander’s laughing at them, and I start laughing
at him, and then we’re all letting it out in crazy, manic bursts. It feels good
to laugh,
really
laugh. It feels like home.

 When Annie tells me the bath
is ready, I spring to my feet. The bathing room is just big enough for the
metal tub, with a tiny, triangular window that faces the endless fields
outside. The water is steaming, with lavender floating across the top like I’m
in some kind of Amish spa. Tiny beads of oil shine, dotting the surface. I put
one foot in and sigh. I notice a bar of homemade white soap set on top of the
towel and cry tears of joy, sobbing and laughing at the same time. This is
going to be the best bath I’ve ever had.

When I come downstairs, my skin is
rubbed so clean it’s taut, and my hair falls in soft waves. Annie stands at the
kitchen table, cutting some carrots up for what smells like a ridiculously
amazing stew. She looks up and smiles. “
There
you are!” she
marvels. “Now I can see you.”

“Thank you so much, I really
needed that,” I say, my voice thick.

Xander is sitting on the bench,
peeling potatoes. When he sees me, he drops a potato on the floor, flustered.
He recovers pretty quickly, slinking up the stairs. “I’m gonna go hit up that
bath,” he mutters.

Joseph strolls into the kitchen,
humming. “Well, what a pretty thing you are,” he says. “You’ll make plenty of
hearts beat a little quicker this evening.”

“Excuse me?” I say, my cheeks
burning red.

“Well, you just couldn’t have come
on a better night,” Joseph says. “We’re hosting a Singing.”

I sit down
on a simple bench at their long, wooden table. Annie stirs the stew while
Joseph regales me with stories from the Singings of his childhood. From what I
can tell, a Singing is basically a way for teenagers to hook up, only in this
community, hooking up is a preamble to engagement, marriage, and family. Amish
teenagers from all around come, eat, and, yep, sing. If a guy likes a girl, he
asks to drive her home in his buggy, and it’s not long before they’re married
and tilling their own soil with babies in tow.

According to Joseph, back in the
day, apple-cheeked Annie was pretty hard to get. “Remember that first night in
the buggy?” he asks, looking at her. Annie’s face flushes. He turns back to me.
“She wouldn’t hold my hand,” he laughs. “Said it was too cold.”

“It
was
cold!” she objects.

“No, no, sweets. Y
ou
were cold, but it’s all right now, I forgive ya,” he says, smiling. “Been
keepin’ each other warm now for fifty years.”

“Fifty-three,” Annie corrects.

“A long time, anyway,” Joseph
says.

I can hear Xander coming down the
stairs. The dude’s feet cannot be ignored. When he walks in, I bust up laughing
and almost fall off the bench. His suit is too small, which makes both his arms
and legs look almost swollen. His hair, now clean, is much brighter than I
remember—not dusky strawberry-blond, but copper. The best part is his
beard, which he hasn’t been able to shave. Now it’s clean-shaven, and he looks
about ten years younger. His jawline is even wider than I remember.

 “I’m sorry,” I snicker. “You
just look so
…
”

“You look weird, too,” he blurts,
but it’s obvious he’s lying.

“Hey, you two,” Annie interjects. “Calm
down. You both look lovely. If only your manners were as pretty.”

“Sorry,” I mutter guiltily.

“Yeah, my bad,” Xander says.

“Well, you must be starved,” she
says, bringing over two steaming bowls of stew. “Normally, we have a big family
supper, but there’ll be so much food at the Singing, we need to save room.”

My heart skips a beat. Food? Not
just stew, which alone would be amazing, but freaking
party
food?
I doubt the Amish do tempura sushi or buffalo wings, but they’ll probably have
rolls, and salads, and—dare I say it?—doughnuts. I’m salivating.

The stew she hands us is enough to
fill me up. My appetite’s not what it used to be. I can’t believe how good it
is. I’d forgotten what a difference salt and spices make. Since I left Deb’s
house, I’ve only eaten one thing at a time
—
fruit, nuts, some kind of meat if we’re lucky. It’s crazy
to have all these flavors in my mouth at once.

“This is amazing,” I say through a
spoonful. “Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Annie says.
“Just remember to save room.” She looks over at Xander, now on his third
helping of stew.

“Boy, we oughtta get you a trough,”
Joseph says, chuckling.

“Sorry, it’s so delicious I can’t
help myself. I don’t think I ever even had stew this good back when
…
back when I was at home.”

“Well, that’s awful nice, Xander. Have
as much as you like. Us four here have already had our fill,” Annie says.

Eunice and Mario are playing some
old-school version of checkers on the floor in the living room. Evidently,
Eunice is a bit of a spark plug, because every so often, she throws a piece at
him.

“I can’t thank you enough for
letting us stay,” I say.

“You’re welcome to for as long as
you need,” Joseph says, his head tilted to one side.

“Well, thank you. But I think both
of us need to get home. Xander, we should leave tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“I guess so,” he murmurs.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You
guess so? Don’t you want to get home?” I ask.

“This might be the only home in
existence, Jackie.”

Joseph and Annie exchange a look.

I shake my head. “Don’t say that.
Don’t you
dare
say that,” I seethe. “They’re alive Xander—we just
have to get back to them.”

He looks me coldly in the eyes.
“We’re not gonna make it, even if they are,” he says softly. “Don’t you see?
It’s a miracle we’ve made it this far.”

My heart is thudding so hard I
feel like everybody can hear it.

“No,” I insist. “You’re wrong. You
can stay if you want, but you’re wrong. I’m going back.”

At this point, everyone’s frozen,
afraid to do anything to set me off. I have a feeling emotions don’t generally
run too high in this Order.

“Well,” Joseph says, looking out
the kitchen window. “I guess you all can figure this out tomorrow. I’d say it’s
about seven o’clock. We have a Singing to prepare for. Xander, come with me out
to the barn. Jackie, you stay and help Annie with the food.”

I want to shriek and curse and
stomp around, but with even-tempered Annie and Eunice around, I settle for
grumbling under my breath. If stupid Xander wants to stay here and enjoy a
cushy eternity with the nicest people in the world, that’s his business. Come
sickness, come cold, come hunger, come rabid grizzly bears, I don’t care. I
miss Mom. I miss Bernard. And I’m going home.

* * *

The
buggies arrive just after sunset. The inside of the barn is candle-lit, with
benches and hay bales on either side. One long, low table set with Annie’s
freshly made biscuits, churned butter, and a pitcher full of honey sits at the
end opposite the door. When people come in, they do so smiling, with arms full
of pasta salads, veggies, and trays of meat for the table. It’s crazy to see so
many people at once—there must be thirty, all different ages. Most are in
their teen years, but a few are old codgers. There’s even a baby.

Everyone’s super friendly. I eat
feverishly, like it’s the last meal of my life. Let’s face it—it just may
be. Hilariously, Xander’s too full from the stew to partake in the feast, but I
do catch him dipping a cinnamon doughnut into hot cider and closing his eyes
blissfully as he pops it into his mouth.

Then the singing begins. Because
the Amish originally came from Europe, they sing weird German and Swiss songs I
don’t know the words to. The only thing I can say in German is
Kann ich ihr
baby haben
—
Can I have your baby?
—
which Bernard taught me the day a hot German exchange
student showed up at our school. I refrain from breaking that one out in mixed
company. Not exactly the right audience for Bernard’s comedic style.

Their voices are beautiful. Some
low and sonorous, others like the call of a bird, high and unrelenting. I’d
forgotten how amazing music is. It was so pervasive during life back home I
never really learned to appreciate it. Xander tries to sing along with them
even though he doesn’t know the words, but I just sit there, taking it in. The
harmonies swell in the room full of twinkling candles and the smells of foods I
thought I’d never taste again. It’s heaven, and I wish my mom and Bernard were
here to see it. Sarah and May would love it, too.

From across the room, Xander
catches my eyes. In the candlelight, his pupils are big and black, glossy. He
glides up to me and extends a palm my way.

“Jackie, will you dance with me?”
he says, so faintly I can barely make it out.

I look around the room. Nobody’s
dancing. It would be awkward to get up and start now, wouldn’t it? But the
second he asks me, I feel something warm rising in my chest. I’m not positive, but
I think it could be happiness.

I nod, stand up, and take his
hand, which totally engulfs my tiny fingers. He pulls me against him, and we
start to sway to the melody. People are smiling at us. I look up into his eyes
and, for a second, we stare at one another like we’ve known each other for
years. The music stops abruptly, and we’re shaken from our trance. Xander drops
my hands quickly and takes a step back. I can feel the walls around my heart
close in as I sense the moment is over, but then he leans toward me and motions
for the door.

“Can we step outside for a second?
I need to talk to you,” he says. It’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him.

“Okay,” I say, eyeing him warily.

Outside, the air is frigid. My
breath flies into the darkness in white puffs like wood smoke. “What is it,
Xander? I’m freezing out here.”

“I just wanted to be alone with
you for a second. I want to give you something.”

I can’t really see his face in the
dark, but I’m guessing what he wants to give me starts with a “T” and ends with
“ongue.”

“What?” I murmur, rubbing my hands
up and down along my arms to keep warm.

“I found something you might
want,” he says, holding something into the air. It catches the light coming
through the barn door. My compass!

My jaw drops. I reach for it, glinting
in the moonlight. “How long have you had this?” I ask.

“I found it after the rain passed
over.” He opens and closes his mouth. “I wanted to surprise you in private.”

I take it from him, speechless. It
looks the same as it did before, maybe better. He must have polished it with
something.

“I cleaned it and everything.”

“Xander!”

“Sorry,” he says softly.

“What? No! Thank you so much!
Really, this is amazing.” I reply, looking up at him.

“There’s something else I want to
tell you,” he says.

I look into his eyes, clutching
the barn wall with one hand, steadying myself.

“I’ve decided to come with you.”

“You have?” I manage weakly. “Why?”

“Staying here would be easy,
that’s for sure, but it wouldn’t be right. I had a daydream today about my
little sister. She was lost in the Bitterroot Mountains, and my parents
couldn’t find her. I have to get home to them.”

I look at my feet, shifting back
and forth in the cold, wet grass. I’m thrilled he’s coming, but admittedly kind
of hurt I didn’t have anything to do with it. I look into his big, earnest
eyes. He drives me crazy, that’s for sure, but knowing he’ll be there with me
is such a relief I actually utter the word “phew” out loud.

He chuckles. “So, I guess that
means it’s okay if I come?”

“It’s more than okay,” I say. A
wave of relief as strong and overpowering as that afternoon rain washes over me.

* * *

By
morning, a frost has settled over the land. I’m in a spare room on the second
floor, fogging up the window with my breath. Way out in the distance, I can see
trees whose leaves are starting to turn crimson and honey-yellow. Fall is
coming. Which means in a few short months, it’ll be winter, and I’ll officially
be freezing my ass off. How am I going to stay warm enough to get home with all
my toes?

Downstairs, Annie has made a heart-attack
breakfast
—
sizzled eggs and bacon cooked up in the same greasy pot. I’m shoveling
it into my mouth and talking about how happy I am to have my compass again, but
also how annoyed I am that we won’t be able to travel at night. Without a
glow-in-the dark, backlit screen, knowing reading the compass would be pretty
impossible, and being confined to daylight hours is really slowing us down.
Just when I’m about to take another bite, Joseph laughs and pats my back. A bit
of egg drops from my fork to the table, and Eunice giggles.

Joseph poises himself upright,
sucks in a big breath, and sings in a vibrating baritone.

“Follow the drinking gourd

Follow the drinking gourd

For the old man is a-waitin’
for to carry you to freedom

If you follow the drinking
gourd.”

Annie chuckles from the stove.
“Beautiful, Joe. You tell ‘em.”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“You don’t
need
a
compass, sweetie!” Joseph exclaims. “I mean, it’s nice that you have one and
all, but don’t you remember what they did in the Underground Railroad? Those
escaped slaves didn’t need GPS, or compasses, or anything. They only needed
their eyes.”

“Okay dude, I am
really
not
picking up what you’re putting down,” Xander says.

“The
sky
,” Joseph says. He
tears up a piece of bacon and arranges it on his plate in the shape of the big
dipper as he speaks. It looks like a ladle. “They looked to the sky. In the
morning, they saw where the sun rose from, and they knew that was east. In the
evening, they watched where it set and they knew that was west. At night, that
chain of stars—the big dipper, the
grober wagen
—always
points to the North star,” he says, pointing with his knife to the two pieces
on the far end of the ladle cup. “These two are like an arrow pointing north.
You’ll know you’ve found it by the way it twinkles like Annie here’s eyes. Once
you know one direction, you know them all. Remember that.”