The English girl had a liveliness about her that was like the push of wind just before a summer storm arrived. And even though I hated the idea of it, I had to admit, at least to myself, that she had wakened something deep inside me. I shook the prickling sensation away, not enjoying the feeling at all.
When the house came into sight, I could see that even though the grass was soaked from the rain, Peter was already mowing the side yard. That left the front yard for me, and all because church was being held at our place on Sunday and the entire farm had to be in perfect condition for the occasion.
I glanced around in irritation, wondering what kind of mischief the little boys were getting into. One of them could have started on the yard, but as usual, they had run off when a job needed to be done.
I should talk to Mother about it but knew that I wouldn’t. It wasn’t that long ago that I, too, was sneaking off with my friends to listen to an old radio in the woods behind the house or to have a puff off a cigarette that one of the drivers had sold to us for an exaggeratedly high price. I remembered those days all too well and understood my brothers’ need to occasionally escape farm duties and commit acts of rebellion. It was just a part of growing up.
I sighed before sprinting over the spongy grass to the equipment shed. I wanted to get the mowing over quickly so I’d have time to get myself cleaned up for the company. I knew that some of the girls had crushes on me—at least that’s what my sisters said—but this particular female was in a totally different league. For the first time in my life, I wanted to make a good impression on a girl.
Then again, what was I thinking? Even if she did find me attractive, what good would it do? Father and Mother would never allow me to court an English girl, and I felt the heat spread from my face down my neck for even considering it. What kind of trouble was I inviting into my life by even allowing such thoughts into my head?
Ever since I turned eighteen back in April, Mother had been hounding me incessantly about every available Amish girl in the community. She had informed me which girls were from the best families, which ones were the most robust, and on and on. The talk had been annoying the tar out of me.
The funny thing was, up until the moment I’d laid eyes on the pretty outsider, I had begun to come to terms with my inevitable destiny. I would pick a girl, start the courting process and eventually settle down in marriage with her. And I was almost looking forward to the idea of courting. The thought of finally being allowed to be around a female other than my sisters was beginning to appeal to me. But, when I hung out with the guys, talking about the prospects, I just wasn’t able to get excited about any of the girls the way my friends did. There were a couple of them I thought had sweet dispositions and attractive faces, but now they just paled in comparison to the lively English girl.
The main problem was that no one in the community had struck my fancy yet. They were all boring. And they acted so shy around me, never speaking up the way my new neighbor did in her kitchen. At first, her question, and in front of her father and brothers, had stopped my heart, but then I realized with a quick scan of my eyes that her family didn’t take her forwardness as wrong behavior. If one of my sisters had spoken so directly to a boy in my father’s presence, he would have immediately taken her aside and chastised her for openly flirting.
As I unscrewed the cap on the gas tank of the mower, my mind raced. Even though I tried to block the curiosity from spilling over, I started to wonder about the girl. How old was she? What did she like to do?
Did she have a boyfriend?
The last question made me pause, and suddenly I felt unreasonably jealous—a foreign emotion to me. Why should I be jealous when I only just met the girl, and she was English besides? I knew the English kids began courting really young. I reckoned she was probably around sixteen, which was just old enough to begin courting in the community. But for an English girl, she might already have had several boyfriends.
That was a troubling thought.
“What did you think of our new neighbors?” Jacob asked quietly enough but still busting into my thoughts as he managed to sneak up on me. He stopped for a moment, his bright brown eyes waiting, with the harness over his shoulder.
I shrugged, not wanting him to know about my infatuation with an outsider. “They seem like nice people.”
“I noticed the way you looked at that girl. I admit she was pretty, but don’t be developing any ideas, Noah. It’ll only get you into a whole heap of trouble with Father and Mother—and the church,” he said sternly.
“Why did Father even invite them over for dinner if the elders are so adamant about us not interacting with the English, especially the ones our age? It makes no sense,” I retorted, irritated that my almost-twenty-year-old brother was already giving me a rough time about the girl, and I’d only just met her. Why did everything have to be so difficult?
“Mr. Cameron is a doctor and he’s going to be working at the hospital in town. Father feels that he’s an important English man to know. But, and let me stress this to you, little brother, that doesn’t include his wild daughter.” With that, Jacob headed for the barn.
“Where are you going?” I asked, cross that he would threaten me and then walk away like that. Maybe the English kids had the right of it. Perhaps I should just beat the tar out of him for being so condescending to me. I was confident I could whip him in a fair fight.
“I’m going to pick up Katie. She’s coming for dinner, too.” He answered without turning to me and then disappeared into the barn.
Pity quickly replaced anger. Katie was Jacob’s betrothed. They were marrying in November, and ever since he began courting her, he had completely changed. He’d become one of them—the strict “follow the rules of our church’s Ordnung and never have any fun” adults in the community. The transformation had happened almost overnight once Father and Mother had agreed to the courtship. Jacob began spending every Sunday evening at Katie’s house, arriving home after midnight with a goofy smile on his face. It was astonishing what a little bit of kissing could do to a fellow’s brain. It was like a disease or something, and once a man caught it, he was doomed to never have any fun again.
And although it seemed like a distant memory now, it was only a couple of years ago that Jacob had insisted, in secret, of course, that he’d leave the Amish and go English when he reached eighteen. Unlike me, he hadn’t taken to the farmwork as readily, and with his sharp mind, he’d been all too interested in the many gadgets that the outsiders had in abundance.
I was never tempted by such things. They were just…things, and confusing at that. But Jacob had been different. From the time he was small, his mind had been overactive. Unable to fight his urges, he had filled his curiosity in many ways; by studying the engine in the driver’s truck or playing with the computers and games that were on display at the local stores—all to our parents’ chagrin.
Believing that he was a brother lost to me, I was surprised when he did a full turnaround after choosing to court Katie. Now everything had changed—Jacob was one of the most dedicated young Amish men in the community
The same fate would catch me someday, too. It was inevitable. I’d watched all the older boys go through the same process, and many of them had been so adamant about leaving the community and going English. ’Course, they never did. It was easy to talk about it—and maybe even yearn for it—but to actually do it was a whole ’nother story. Surviving in the outside world was not an easy thing, especially for someone who’d been raised Amish. But it seemed that all desires to go outside the community and experience the English lifestyle were extinguished
