“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Matthew spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m only thinking of her. What will it do to her to be around all those Englischers? How will people think of her from now on?”

  “And how will they think of you? You don’t have to admit that’s what’s driving you.” Abraham pointed his finger into the air. “I can see it in your eyes. And I recognize it. For a while I saw it in my own reflection. The community…their opinions…it’s a powerful thing, especially when you’ve been raised to conform, to obey, and to stand out only for the gut things, for right actions.”

  “You know what?” Matthew tossed his hammer onto the rough wood of the subfloor. I don’t need your help anymore. And I don’t need your opinions. Get your things, and I’ll drop off money for your work later today. I don’t need this right now.”

  Abraham pushed his hat back on his head. “You remind me of my old dog Gus. He had a crooked back leg. Sometimes I bumped it—not on purpose, of course. But when I did, he snarled at me something fierce. Few times he even bit me. I know he didn’t mean to. That dog used to follow me wherever I went. It’s just that it hurt.”

  He picked up his tool belt and slung it over his shoulder. “I just hope you get it checked out. Took my dog to the vet and there was nothing he could do, but I still felt bad for him.”

  Matthew refused to respond, especially to someone who didn’t even act Amish half the time. He didn’t need Abraham around, not if he was going to talk to him that way.

  He watched his former coworker leave and noticed a sadness on the man’s face. The sadness wasn’t over losing his job—Matthew could tell that. Maybe it was a look of pity more than sadness.

  He feels sorry for me. And somehow even knowing that made him angry. Abraham was one of the most noncommittal Amish men he knew, and yet he dared to pity him.

  Abraham walked out onto the road, but then he paused and turned. “I just have one question to ask you. One question that won’t let go. You don’t have to answer me—I don’t need to know—but maybe it’s something you need to think about.”

  “Ja, and what’s that?” The words shot from Matthew’s mouth.

  “I was just wondering when everyone’s opinion started mattering so much. And when you started thinking you had to be perfect—to make the perfect choice for a bride. It seems to me that you put a lot of pressure on yourself. Pressure that God never intended.”

  Abraham didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he simply slunk away in his casual manner.

  “And when did you decide it didn’t matter?” Matthew whispered under his breath. Yet even as Abraham strode away, his words settled on Matthew like a heavy burden. A weight he couldn’t shake away. Or maybe it was a weight that had been there a long time and was just coming to the surface.

  Matthew turned over in bed. Bright moonlight filtered through the white curtains, but he knew it wasn’t the moonlight that kept him awake. It was Abraham’s words. The answer to Abraham’s question didn’t come immediately, yet as he stayed at work, sliding a new window into its casing, the answer came.

  He’d been only five or six years old the day his dat had been appointed bishop. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Only years later did he understand how God’s call had affected everything in their lives.

  What he did remember was his grandfather’s stern talk. They had just barely left the church service when his grandfather had sat out on the porch and put Matthew on his knee. “Do you understand that your dat is an important man now?”

  Matthew had nodded.

  “That means everyone will be watching him, and they will be guided by him. Everyone will be watching you too.”

  “Why?”

  “You represent your dat and your family. When you look bad, it makes him look bad. And when he looks bad, God looks bad. Understand?”

  Matthew had nodded. He’d understood, maybe too well. Be good and reflect my father well. Be good and reflect God well. He’d done that the best he could, but still he failed.

  What will happen if I don’t reflect Him well? It was a thought Matthew didn’t want to answer. Just as God called his father to be bishop, he’d been called to be the perfect bishop’s son. Isn’t that what his grandfather meant? And if he did, was he right? For the first time in his life, Matthew wasn’t sure.

  Chocolate Whoopie Pies

  1½ cups shortening

  3 cups sugar

  3 egg yolks, beaten

  3 teaspoons vanilla

  1½ cups buttermilk (or sour milk)

  3 teaspoons baking soda

  2 teaspoons salt

  1½ cups hot water

  1½ cups cocoa

  6 cups flour

  Filling

  1½ cups white shortening (not butter flavored)

  5 tablespoons milk

  3 cups powdered sugar

  3 teaspoons vanilla

  3 egg whites, beaten stiff

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream together shortening and sugar. Add egg yolks and vanilla. Stir in buttermilk. Add baking soda, salt, hot water, cocoa, and flour. Beat well. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto greased cookie sheet and bake 12 minutes.

  For the filling, cream shortening and milk. Add powdered sugar and vanilla; mix well. Beat in egg whites until filling is fluffy.

  To assemble pies, spread a heaping spoonful of filling on flat side of half the cookies. Top with remaining cookies. Makes approximately 40 whoopie pies.*

  * Sherry Gore, Simply Delicious Amish Cooking (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013), 174–75.

  Thirty-Two

  Many light things make a heavy bundle.

  AMISH PROVERB

  Alicia was just getting ready to head home after work when she entered the wardrobe room and paused. Someone was in the chair by the sewing machine. Not just someone—Joy. Joy was blinking fast and her lips were compressed, as if there was a tidal wave of emotion building up inside that she was trying to hold in.

  Alicia flipped on a switch, flooding the room with light. Joy covered her face and pulled back as if the white light from the overhead bulb burned her skin. Her fingers shook, and Alicia expected a sound, a cry, to emerge. But none did.

  “Joy, are you okay?” She rushed to her friend and kneeled at her side. When Alicia placed a hand on Joy’s knee, it was moist. Tears. Alicia’s heart cinched down as if the woman’s pain had seeped through her skin. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt in a while—compassion. In LA she hadn’t been shielded from the pain of others, yet she thought they pretty much got what they deserved. Here, with Joy, it was different. Whatever hurt her friend must be serious. And Alicia honestly wished at the moment that she could carry some of Joy’s pain.

  Alicia swallowed down the emotion. “Is it your dad?”

  “No. He’s fine. It’s just…” Joy pulled a handkerchief from her shirt pocket and wiped her face. “It’s just that Matthew and I are no longer courting.”

  “You broke up?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s what I did.”

  “What? You broke things off? But you told me you love him. You told me he’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

  “He is. It’s just…his father is the bishop, and there are standards. It’s the whole community, really. They disapprove of…” Joy paused, as if trying to find the right words. “They disapprove of me.”

  Anger shot down the back of Alicia’s neck and through her arms. She stood, fists at her sides. She wanted to hit someone. She wanted to march over to the bishop’s house and give him and his community a piece of her mind. “Who in the world could disapprove of you?” She spat the words out. “They are fools. They are…”

  She wanted to use stronger language, but she refrained. The old Alicia would have used every curse word she knew. The old Alicia would have marched over there, kicked down their pretty white picket fences, and made a scene.

  You’re not that person anymore. You’re a new creation.

  Ever since she’d prayed the other night and turned everything over to God, she felt a new light and peace deep inside. Yet she was having a hard time changing her old habits.

  Alicia spun around and moved to the window. When she’d parked at the set it had been sunny. Now the rain was falling in big, heavy drops. “I don’t know how anyone can disapprove of you, Joy,” she finally said.

  “It’s hard to explain. Most people would not understand unless they were Amish. I’ve just…well, I tend to push the rules. Their rules anyway. And they’re not all right with that. It’s not just them. It seems these days all the young people are trying to figure out what being Amish really means. Everyone’s weighing what’s important inside and out.”

  “But what does Matthew think? Surely he doesn’t just let people treat you that way. I haven’t talked to him, but I can’t imagine him standing back and letting this happen to you.”

  “It’s our community. It’s how things work.”

  “None of this makes sense. I know plenty of people whose parents despise the person they’re with, and it’s horrible to watch.” Alicia spat. “It makes me think maybe this Christianity thing isn’t worth it—that it’s all full of judgment. Maybe it’s not something I want. I mean, everyone I know who is living without God treats people this way. What’s the difference?”

  Joy’s tears came again. She shook her head, and Alicia could see that the Amish woman was processing her words. Alicia didn’t completely mean what she’d said. She did believe in Christianity because she knew Jesus Christ had transformed her heart. What she didn’t like was how some Christians treated each other. Weren’t the Amish supposed to be full of love and forgiveness, or was that some type of act?

  Alicia cupped her left hand and made a fist, and then she smacked it with her right hand like a boxer prepping for a fight. “Want me to talk to Matthew, knock some sense into him? I totally can.”

  “N-no, don’t do that. I n-never wanted to bring you into this. I-I didn’t want you to see me like this or find out what happened. I was planning on coming to work and acting fine, but after the scenes were done, I just broke down. I’m not sure if I can go home tonight. My sisters are going to be able to see everything all over my face. They know me too well.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Alicia mumbled under her breath. She almost spilled out that she and her sister rarely talked and the only time they connected was near Christmas, when they’d meet up for lunch to exchange expensive gifts—gifts that said more about their own success than it did about their consideration for the other person.

  Instead, Alicia kept her mouth shut because she didn’t want to take the conversation away from Joy, away from what she was experiencing.

  My, aren’t I becoming thoughtful?

  She could almost imagine Rowan’s voice, mocking her for acting like someone she wasn’t, but then she pushed that out of her mind too.

  After a long, intense silence, Alicia moved to the props closet. “It’s raining outside. I’m pretty sure I saw an umbrella in here. When I find it I’ll walk you home. I’ll even sacrifice and stay to eat whatever dessert your mother made, just to get your sisters’ attention off of you.”

  “You will? What an amazing sacrifice.” Even as Joy wilted back against the cushioned chair, a hint of a smile touched her lips. But instead of getting up, she closed her eyes, and a pensive look crossed her face as if she were riding swells of memories.

  Alicia found the umbrella and sat down. Seeing the pain reflected on Joy’s face caused a few of her own memories to resurface.

  “I remember being in Amish country once before. My grandmother—my mother’s mom—came one summer and took me to meet her parents in Pennsylvania. We drove through country roads most of the way, and at times I was certain we’d end up lost. But then a little town would pop up, and my grandma seemed to know just where she was.

  “One day there was this huge mountain range, and at a curve in the road a billboard rose up. Beware Lest You Forget the Lord, it said. Not much farther, I saw a buggy with a bearded man in the seat. I asked my grandma if we’d traveled back in time to the days of Laura Ingalls. She laughed.

  “The man had a straw hat with a brim, like the hats I’ve seen around Pinecraft. He wore suspenders before they were hipster, and a woman wearing a bonnet sat beside him. The more we drove, the more buggies we saw. When we passed one of them, four children looked at me.”

  “Maybe it was me, except I never was in Pennsylvania as a child.” Joy offered a sad smile. “I remember watching cars zoom past as we quietly plodded along.”

  Alicia sighed. “Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d pretend I was one of those children, living in one of those Amish farms we passed—farmhouses made of stone, at least in that place—and with hand pumps out front. I’d pretend I had a mom who was going to make me a big breakfast and a dad who would be up with the dawn to milk the cows. I’d imagine we lived near the creek by the covered bridge and that the next day we’d go and stick our feet in the water as we watched the boys jump off the bridge into the creek. I’d forget for a time that my dad had a new wife and my mom drank too much.”

  “It sounds like you had a nice time with your grandma though.”

  “Yeah, I did. She loved God too, and she liked to talk about Him as she drove.” Alicia chuckled. “Although I didn’t think she knew what she was talking about at the time because she also smoked cigarettes. Even though my mom drank, she never touched a cigarette, and in my childish mind smoking was worse than drinking, so I thought my grandma must not really know what she was talking about.”

  “It’s strange how we try to make sense of the world as kids, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Alicia whispered. “And it’s also strange how God brings everything back full circle. For most of my life I assumed that trip was just a random occurrence. But now I know differently.”

  “What do you mean?” Joy sat erect, intent on Alicia’s every word.

  “Well, look at us. We’re here and you’re now my best friend. I think God was giving me a glimpse of what was to come. How much I’d need you, how much we’d need each other, and how you’d point me to Him.”

  Joy knew Alicia was trying to get her mind off her pain when she insisted the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon was to go to the beach.

  Alicia picked her up, and as they drove, Alicia told stories about some of the most awkward scenes she’d ever filmed. It felt good to laugh, good to get away from the eight square blocks that made up Pinecraft.

  Siesta Key Beach was filled with young people playing volleyball, families romping in the sand, and couples cuddled on beach blankets.

  Alicia wore a modest bathing suit with a cover-up, and her hair was knotted in a bun. She also wore large-rimmed sunglasses, and Joy understood. She wanted to go unnoticed. She wanted to enjoy the day without throngs of people interrupting their fun.

  “Those sunglasses hide your face pretty well,” Joy commented, “but perhaps the best disguise is that you’re hanging out with an Amish woman.”

  Joy looked around at the people watching them. “You know, you’re right, Joy. You’re getting more attention with your dress, kapp, and flip-flops than I’m getting. I should take you with me whenever I travel.” She laughed.

  They found a place near the water and laid out an old quilt Joy brought. The salty scent of the ocean mixed with the aroma of barbecuing hot dogs. The crashing of the waves sounded like a loud roar.

  Alicia kicked off her sandals and sat on the quilt. “Is the water cold here this time of year? I see some kids are swimming, but my guess is that I’ll turn blue if I try.”

  “I’m not sure.” Joy shrugged. “I haven’t gone swimming here before. I know many Amish who have, but I don’t own a suit.” She sadly smiled, remembering how worried she’d been over not being appropriate in a swimsuit, so just not swimming seemed like a better choice. That seemed like such a minor thing now compared to what she’d done.

  “Well, you’ve walked in the water then. Did your feet get cold?”

  The sun was bright overhead, and Joy shielded her face with her hand. “No, I haven’t walked in the water either.”

  Alicia gasped. “Wait, let me get this straight. You’ve lived here for a couple years and you haven’t put your feet into the ocean?”

  “No. I haven’t. I’m content watching everyone.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Alicia stood and reached out her hand. “C’mon.”

  “I’m fine just sitting and watching.” Joy scooted back, out of her friend’s reach. “Please enjoy yourself. I might try to find some shells to take home to my soon-to-be niece, Emma, in a little bit.”

  Alicia pouted. “I’m only going to enjoy myself if you come in the water too.” She reached over and grabbed Joy’s arms and tugged hard. “I’m not going to insist that you swim in your dress if that’s what you’re worried about. I just think you should put your feet into the water.”

  “Fine.” Joy sighed, letting Alicia pull her up. “But only my feet, and only for a few minutes.”

  With her teeth clenched and her hands balled to her sides, Joy stepped into the waves. The water was warm as bathwater. She didn’t expect that. Water had been cold all her life up north—in the creek on their property, from the pump by the garden, and from the small lake only a short buggy ride from their home. That seemed like a different life, the life of slow-plodding horses, of expansive fields, and of sifting through her Aunt Martha’s fabric closet. Some folks called her aunt a hoarder, but Joy appreciated her. Martha didn’t let anything go to waste. She liked to refer to herself as a collector. Oh, what would all my friends up north think of this now, me walking in the ocean in November!

  For a moment, instead of the waves of water, Joy imagined the fields back home, a green sea that rippled with the breeze. She thought of the life she imagined with Matthew up there. The life she could have had. The life that would never be.