Lifted Up by Angels (4 page)

“S
imeon! Oh my gosh! Are you hurt?”

He reached for his broad-brimmed straw hat, which had been knocked off. “I am all right,” he told her. But Leah saw that the palms of his hands were scraped and bleeding. His pant leg was torn.

Leah was shaking. “I’ll take you to a doctor.”

“No. I am fine. Please, do not worry about me,” He struggled to his feet shakily, and she reached out to steady him.

“What are you doing out here anyway? And on skates?”

“I deliver small packages from the pharmacy on Saturdays to people who are shut-ins. Ethan brings me into town.”

“Let me take you to get checked over. Please.”

“No, I am fine, really. I have fallen before.” He examined his skates. “I think they are undamaged.” He started to push away from Leah. She caught his elbow.

“No you don’t. In the car.”

“I am fine. I can manage.”

“No way. Where’s Ethan?”

“At the blacksmith’s.”

“Tell me how to get there.”

As she followed Simeon’s directions, Leah fought to calm herself. What if she’d run over Simeon?
That
would certainly ice it with Ethan and his family! She glanced at Ethan’s kid brother. “I didn’t know Amish could own skates,” she said above the drone of engine.

“They are allowed,” Simeon said, poking curiously at the buttons on her dashboard. “Roller skates and ice skates have always been allowed. But these are the best because they are both.”

“You know, maybe you should wear a helmet. Knee pads, elbow and wrist pads might not be a bad idea either,” Leah said. “It’s so much safer.”

“Those things are showy. Not for plain people.”

Leah was amazed by Simeon’s logic, but she didn’t argue with him.

Leah drove to the outskirts of town, turned onto a paved country road and followed it until Simeon pointed to an old barn set back from the road. She turned into a rutted driveway that led to the barn. An unhitched black buggy stood in front. From inside, she heard the sound of metal hitting metal. She saw Ethan holding the rope halter of a large draft horse while a man hammered an iron horseshoe on an anvil. An open furnace glowed red.

Ethan looked shocked as Leah and Simeon entered the barn. “What is wrong, Simeon?”

“We ran into each other,” Leah said. “Literally.”

The blacksmith nodded a greeting but didn’t stop his work. Leah saw that he was Amish by his beard—full on his chin but with no mustache.

Briefly Simeon told Ethan what had happened. “Are you hurt?” Ethan asked his brother.

“No. And I have other errands to run for Mr. Fowler.”

Ethan looked anxious, glancing back to the
blacksmith. “Um—I will be finished here shortly and can give you a ride back into town.”

“I can give him a ride,” Leah said. “Come if you want. I’ll bring you back.”

“I do not want to cause a burden for you.”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

Persuaded, Ethan helped his brother into the backseat and got into the front. Soon they were speeding down the road, radio blaring and wind whipping. Leah cut her eyes to Ethan, saw a look of pure exhilaration on his face and thought,
He likes cars.

When they arrived at Simeon’s place of employment, Ethan held the seat forward as his brother climbed out of the car. “I will return for you at four o’clock in the buggy.”

Simeon thanked Leah, then skated around the side of the building.

“Simeon could have been badly hurt today when he fell,” Leah said, checking traffic in her rearview mirror. “When I asked him about safety gear, he said you Amish consider it fancy. Is that true?”

“Some bishops do not allow their people to use in-line skates at all. We are fortunate that ours is more liberal.”

“Do you skate?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Sure. Maybe we could skate together sometime.”

“I would like that, Leah.”

The way he said her name made goose bumps break out on her arms. What was it about him that affected her so? Why was she attracted to him when they had so little in common? On impulse, she asked, “Would you like to see where I live? My apartment isn’t far from here. What am I saying? Nothing in this town is far from here.”

He laughed. “The town is small, but still too big for many Amish. Too many tourists. They are always following us, taking pictures. It is annoying.”

She knew that the Amish didn’t like having their photographs taken. She wondered if Ethan still kept the one of her she’d given him in December. “I’m a tourist. Do I annoy you?”

“Oh, Leah, I am sorry. Not you. You are not annoying.”

He sounded so stricken that she had to laugh. “I accept your apology.”

“Yes,” he said suddenly. “Yes, I would like to see where you live, very much.”

She drove the couple of miles to her apartment,
unlocked the door and flung it open. “Tada. Home.”

He entered slowly, carrying the two bags of groceries she’d all but forgotten about. Many of her things were still in boxes, but the sofa was uncluttered. “Would you like something to drink?”

He nodded, setting the bags on the countertop that divided the living room from the tiny kitchen. She rummaged to find the soft drinks she’d bought. He asked, “May I look around?”

“Bathroom’s that way, the bedroom beyond it. Excuse the mess.” She put ice into paper cups while he explored. With a start, she remembered that her lingerie was lying all over the floor. And when Ethan returned to the kitchen area, the redness of his face told her he’d seen every filmy, lacy piece of it. She decided not to mention her unmentionables. “So, what do you think?”

“I think you are very fortunate to have such a place for your own.”

“Even though it has electricity?”

“And running water too.”

She smiled and handed him a cup. “I don’t know how you Amish live without such stuff. I don’t think I could.”

“Charity tells me you will come to our barn dance tomorrow night.” He changed the subject.

“Do you mind?”

“I would like it very much.”

The intensity of his gaze again raised goose-flesh along her arms. “Charity says we’ll ride over in your buggy.”

“It is best not to take your car.”

“Because I’m an outsider? That won’t change whether or not I drive, you know.”

“You will meet many tomorrow night who dress as you do, talk as you do, go to English schools and have many English ways. Do not concern yourself with your differences.”

“But these different ones, are they still Amish?”

“Some are from less strict districts of Amish, but yes. The important thing is getting together, having a good time.”

“Will your friend Martha be there?” She hated to ask, but she had to know.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“I don’t want people staring at me all night. They won’t, will they?”

“If they do, it is only because you are so pretty.”

“I’m just me,” she said. “And to be serious, I’m not sure where I fit in in this world of yours.”

“I do not know either. Yet you are here.”

Leah stared into the cola-colored depths of her cup. Since her stay in the hospital, she had become fascinated by the Amish lifestyle. Not that she ever wanted to live without electricity and running water. But there was something appealing about the simplicity of it. “I’m looking into my future and can’t see where I’m going. I graduate next year, and I don’t know if I want to go on to college. My grades are so-so, but I could probably get in if I work hard next year. But that’s the problem. I don’t know what I want.” She turned toward him on the sofa. “You’re lucky in some ways. You know what you want. You know what’s in store for you.”

He studied her intently before saying, “You are wrong, Leah. I do not know what I want.”

She blurted out, “But you’re Amish. You told me you like being Amish.”

“That does not mean that I don’t want to try out English things.”

Her heart began to hammer. “What things?”

“Things that make me hungry for what is not Amish.”

Leah’s chest felt tight. “What does your family think about your trying these things?”

“I have kept them a secret,” he confessed reluctantly.

“But why? Charity told me that parents expect their kids to experiment.”

His cheeks flushed. “I did not want to bring shame upon my father.”

“When we met in December, you hadn’t tried anything English. I remember the video games and the candy bars.” She wanted to add
“and our kiss,”
but lacked the courage. “Why start now?”

“Things have changed since December. Please, I cannot talk about my reasons for deciding not to join in with the others until now.”

Leah didn’t press him. “So what things have you done?”

He reached out and stroked her face with his fingertips. His skin felt rough against her smooth, soft cheek. “I have met you.”

She swallowed hard, feeling as nervous as she had when she was thirteen, the very first time she was about to be kissed. But she wasn’t thirteen.
And she had been kissed many times. She squared her chin, determined to tell him what she was feeling. “I don’t want to be some kind of experiment, Ethan.”

“I do not understand.”

“I don’t want to be some experience you’re dying to have. You know—smoke behind the barn, drink beer, date an English girl.”

Ethan looked shocked. “I am not this way, Leah. Yes, I have tried out some of the things you’ve said. All these things are frowned upon by my family. But I have never been with a girl I did not choose to be with. And since I met you last December, there is no other girl that I want as much as I want you.”

The thudding of her heart made her hands tremble. He was telling her things she wanted to hear, but she wasn’t about to jump in headfirst. She didn’t want to embarrass herself and say or do things that she might regret later. She and Ethan were as different as day and night. Their attraction for one another was real, but she couldn’t hang her heart on an attraction. “This scares me, Ethan.”

“I am scared too. But not enough to go away unless you tell me I must.”

“I—I can’t.” She stared down at her hands.

“Then I would like to see you as much as I can while you are here this summer. Is this all right with you?”

It was more than all right, but the knowledge didn’t make her feel carefree and lighthearted. The knowledge was heavy, weighted with an understanding: Ethan was special. If she gave him her heart, he would treasure it. And if he gave her
his
heart—She cut off her train of thought abruptly. “We have a whole summer,” she said cautiously. “I’ll be with you as much as you want. And when the summer’s over, we’ll decide where we go from here.”

He raised her chin with his finger and peered into her eyes. His gaze pierced, but it held only honesty and trust. “Yes. This is what I want too.” Then he brushed his lips softly over hers.

W
hen Leah returned from taking Ethan back to the blacksmith’s, she busied herself with unpacking her remaining boxes and putting her rooms in order. Still, by Sunday evening, she was a bundle of nerves. She kept remembering their conversation. She kept seeing Ethan’s face and hearing his voice. There had been times in her life when, once a guy showed an interest in her, she would drop him because the thrill had been only in the chase. It wasn’t that way with Ethan. He was special to her in ways she didn’t even understand.

When Leah arrived at the farm, she hugged Rebekah and then climbed into the small, enclosed
black buggy with Charity and Ethan. She was careful not to sit too close to Ethan, careful to talk mostly to Charity while they were in the yard and in sight of Mrs. Longacre. Leah saw concern etched in the woman’s face and figured Tillie Longacre didn’t approve of the attachment of any of her children to Leah.

Ethan clicked with his tongue and slapped the reins against the horse’s rounded rump, and the buggy headed for the gravel road. “The barn dance is at the Yoder farm, a few miles from here,” he explained. “It will not take long to get there.”

Sandwiched between Charity and Ethan, Leah felt like an oddity. They were dressed in Amish style, plainly. She’d chosen a long denim skirt and a solid white T-shirt and had worn only blusher and pale pink lipstick, but, compared to them, she thought she looked overdone. “I’ve never ridden in a buggy before,” she said, making conversation.