caught Rose’s eyes regarding me during dinner, and then when she came out on the porch afterward. That was something a girl shouldn’t do, unless she was already officially courting, and even then she’d be modest about it. But Rose didn’t know any better. And even though I wanted nothing more than to gaze back into her clear blue eyes, Mother was watching me, so I controlled myself and avoided looking at her altogether.
And even though the morning light had made me realize how foolish I’d been for even considering that I could become involved with a girl from the outside world, I still wanted to be Rose’s friend. The only way that could happen was if I made her understand the way things were with my folks so she didn’t get me into trouble with her outgoing ways. The last thing I needed was for Father and Mother to think I liked her. And unless I was reading Rose all wrong, she definitely seemed interested in me. But then again, maybe that was just her normal behavior, being an English girl and all.
Hearing the roar of a diesel engine signaled that our driver had arrived with the work truck. The sound sent a pounding sense of anticipation through me. But I was careful not to let it show, continuing to sit at the table, waiting for Father and Jacob to finish eating.
The touch of the cool morning air invigorated my senses as I stepped out the door. I lifted my eyes to the overcast sky, taking note of the slices in the clouds where the sun sprayed through, convinced that the day would clear up to be a fine one. Stepping lightly over the gravel, I was filled with a sense of excitement that felt downright good.
It was almost seven o’clock when we climbed into Mr. Denton’s faded blue pickup truck. He was about as old looking as the truck was, but I liked him a lot. He was a nice man, playing country music on the radio while we were driving to work sites. Father hated the music but really couldn’t say much about it since the man was dependable.
I squeezed into the little backseat of the extended cab, next to Matthew Weaver, who was seventeen and worked on the crew with us. Matt was a good buddy of mine, but I knew that I couldn’t tell him about my attraction to the English girl. He wasn’t bright enough to keep his mouth shut about it, and if any of the adults found out, they’d tell my folks for sure.
I could already picture myself standing alone in front of the entire church congregation, repenting my sins the way poor Jacob had to do a few years back when he shot those paintballs at the Troyers’ buggy. It was all in fun. Jacob didn’t mean anything by it, and Elijah had shot at Jacob first. But the Troyer boys seemed to always get out of punishment. It was beneficial when your grandfather was the bishop.
Matt’s suntanned, freckled face grinned broadly at me, and he asked how my weekend was as Jacob squeezed in on my other side. The expression on his chubby baby face indicated something was up, and I answered suspiciously. “Fine… Why?”
Rolling his eyes, he snickered. “I heard you had the new English family over for dinner and that the girl is very pretty. At least that’s what Katie told Ella. And she wasn’t happy to hear it neither.”
Amazing how fast news traveled in the community, even without home telephones and computers. Twisting around, I checked to see how close Father was to the truck when he’d said it. Only Matthew Weaver could get away with saying something like that about a girl. He was such a clown that no one paid him much attention—up until now anyway.
Directing a threatening look at him, I hissed, “Shut up about it, all right?” The last thing I needed was his lack of common sense getting Father onto me.
After a few seconds of shock, he recovered from my anger and replied in a dejected voice, “Sure…whatever.”
The two-minute drive over to Rose’s house was free of conversation, with only the drone of country music playing softly against the rumbling of the truck’s engine. Pulling in, I was glad to see that the creek was moving high and swift through the culvert under the driveway, but above it was dry and relatively clear. Only the mud clumps were any indication that water had flooded over the previous day.
The ryder truck was already backed up to the house, and I immediately spotted Sam and Justin carrying a mattress in through the side door. My eyes searched for Rose, but she was nowhere in sight.
“Work quickly, boys, so we aren’t too late arriving at the Schrocks’ place,” Dad ordered, stepping out of the truck.
“We’re really going to help the English unload their belongings?” Matthew asked in cheerful amazement.
“Yes, Matthew, try to calm yourself—you don’t want to scare them with your enthusiasm,” I mumbled, shooting him a disapproving glance.
This time he came close to my ear and whispered, “Do you think they have a game system?”
Ever since we had worked on that English house last year where Matthew had had the chance to sneak in a video game with the teenage boy who lived there, he’d been obsessed with getting another chance to play. I playfully cuffed him on the head, moaning to myself as we climbed into the yellow trailer.
Mr. Cameron was inside, surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes. When he saw us, he stopped and said with obvious relief, “Oh, good, I’m glad you were able to make it. There’s quite a lot to unload here.”
“It shouldn’t take too long with all of us chipping in,” I said after quickly introducing Matthew to Sam and Justin, who’d just entered the shaded compartment. I picked up the closest manageable box and headed eagerly for the house.
Sam caught my arm and pointed to the large black R written on the side, saying, “That goes to Rose’s room, up the stairs, second door on the right. Just leave it outside her door in the hallway.” Then he went back into the trailer.
Funny how that worked out. I smiled crookedly walking up the stairs to the second floor. When I got to the door, I stopped, hesitating. I’d never been in a girl’s room before. Well, besides my sisters’—and that certainly didn’t count. The eagerness I felt earlier suddenly turned to apprehension as I peeked in through the crack where the door was ajar.
After a quick check over my shoulder to see that the stairway was still clear, I rapped softly on the door. I waited a few breaths, but nothing happened. The upstairs was dead silent; the only sounds reaching my ears were those of the others bringing in the boxes below. Impatience gripped me, stealing my sound mind, and I carefully pushed the door open wider.
My heart thumped faster in my chest when I saw her lying there, asleep on the wooden floor. She was curled up in a ball, with a pillow under her head. She had no blankets or cushioning, and she was wearing the same clothes she had worn to dinner the night before. Her hair was spread out around her in a wild halo like what I imagined an angel would look like.
Seeing her on the cold, hard floor, I felt my nervousness quickly disappear. A punch of anger flared within me. A girl shouldn’t have to sleep in this condition, I thought with indignation. My mother could have invited her to spend the night in our guest room—on a soft, comfortable mattress—until her family got her own bed set up.
Rose especially needed the help since she didn’t have a mother of her own to show her how to set up a new household. And as I gazed down at the sleeping angel, the fact that she didn’t have a mother opened my heart even more to her.
If my own mother had understood what Rose’s sleeping arrangements were going to be, she would have been more charitable—I was sure of it. But the abruptness of the dinner invitation the night before had her in a fluster and I couldn’t blame her for the lack of hospitality that she normally showed to
