Part 15 (2/2)

At the stoplight in downtown Quarryville, Rose noticed a handful of tourists strolling across the walkway in front of the wagon. Suddenly one of the young men focused his attention on her, his camera pointing. ”Ach, no!” She turned her face as she'd always been taught to do.

Nick called to him. ”You there - keep on walkin'!”

But the fellow ignored him and came closer to Rose. In fact, he walked right up to the wagon, repeatedly snapping pictures. ”Never been this close to real Amish before,” he said. ”My friends back home won't believe it!”

Nick stood and leaned over the side of the wagon. ”I said to keep walkin', ya hear?”

The light turned green, and except for the one with the camera, the tourists scampered across the street. As Nick signaled for the horse to move forward, the man ran around to the back of the wagon. With a gleeful look in his eyes, he grabbed hold of the side and leaped in.

”Better hang on,” Nick hollered. ”There's a steep hill comin' up.”

”Take me to your leader,” the tourist said, laughing. ”The bishop, right?”

”Nick ... let him out,” Rose pleaded.

”I'll show him!”

”No, Nick. Please!” She glanced back to see the young man sitting in the wagon box, hanging on to the sides. ”Turn the other cheek, Nick ... like we've been taught.”

But Nick urged the horse to a gallop.

”Whoa ... okay, okay!” the tourist called.

Rose could stand it no longer. She called for the horse to halt, but with Nick's hands at the reins, Pepper just kept charging forward.

”Let the man get out, Nick. I beg you!”

Finally, when Rose was certain Nick was too stubborn to budge, he halted the horse a good half mile away from the intersection. Without saying a word, he hopped down from the wagon and ran around to confront the tourist. ”Hand over the camera,” he demanded as the man climbed out of the wagon. ” 'Make not a graven image,' the Good Book says.”

The man stared at him, openmouthed, not comprehending whatsoever.

Rose turned away, unable to watch. But she heard the camera hit the pavement, followed by what was probably Nick's boot smas.h.i.+ng it. ”There, that'll teach ya,” he said harshly.

”Hey! You stupid - ” A string of curses followed.

Rose spun around, embarra.s.sed, as she watched the tourist flail his arms and shout at Nick.

”You little creep - you owe me a new one!”

Nick stepped closer, as if daring the man. But the tourist stumbled back up the road. ”I thought you Amish were pacifists,” he yelled over his shoulder.

”C'mon, Nick - let's get goin'!” she called, hoping he might get back into the wagon and they'd be on their way. The altercation had made her head throb even more than her wounded knee.

Then, lo and behold, she saw Silas Good's father, Reuben, getting out of his parked buggy behind them. He spoke sternly to Nick. ”I want a word with ya, young man!”

Nick quickly pushed his ponytail under his straw hat.

Reuben Good stood near his horse, waiting for Nick to walk to him. ”The bishop won't be taking too kindly to any of this.”

”Well, he ain't here, now, is he?” Nick said.

Rose held her breath, stunned he'd talk up so to Reuben.

”I'll remind ya to respect your elders,” Reuben said. ”And to remember to do unto others as you'd have them do to you.”

Even though he'd just demonstrated his rebellious side for all the world to see, Rose felt horrible for Nick. In a way, he'd only done what he had to protect her, however misguided his actions.

Just then Reuben raised his eyes and spotted her sitting there in the wagon.

Ach, no! Now Rose wished for sure she'd chosen to lie down in the back of the wagon instead of perch high in the seat. Would've been far better to look half dead this minute!

It was all Hen could do to carry on a merely casual conversation with her grandmother and mother while Mattie Sue played with blocks in the corner of the kitchen.

Mammi Sylvia didn't come right out and ask what had brought Hen here today, but her puzzled expression indicated she sensed something was up. She talked of the approaching work frolic this Sat.u.r.day, when even a few of the men were planning to help make many quarts of applesauce. ”Aunt Malinda's coming,” Mammi said. ”She'll be so happy to see ya ... if you happen to stop by.”

Mom didn't say much, and Hen heard her groan several times. She wished something could be done for the pain. But even the specialists her mother had seen following the accident had been at a loss for ideas when medications turned out to have too many unwanted side effects. Poor, dear Mom ...

Mammi Sylvia showed Hen the pretty red and navy blue quilted potholder and a cross-st.i.tch sampler her mother was working on, ”just since you were here last.”

Mattie Sue looked up from stacking blocks and came running over to see, as well. Hen tested the waters. ”Look, honey, you can learn to do this, too,” she said, glancing at her daughter's little hair bun and Kapp. So far, neither Mammi Sylvia nor Mom had remarked about Mattie Sue's Amish attire, nor Hen's own upswept hair.

It must pain them to see me like this, knowing I'm not really Plain, she thought. Might be confusing, too.

Hen told Mattie Sue about the starter patch she had begun when she was only six. ”How would you like to learn to quilt like Grandma Emma someday?”

Mattie Sue grinned and nodded her head. ”Maybe I could put a kitty on it.”

Hen looked at her mother. ”Can you tell she has kittens on the brain?”

”Well, there are worse things,” Mammi Sylvia said, smiling.

Mattie's eyes brightened, and Hen could tell she was on the verge of asking if she might bring one of the barn kittens into the house.

Hen made eye contact and shook her head quickly. Surprisingly, Mattie Sue dropped the idea and returned to her building blocks. Meanwhile, Mom mentioned offhand that she'd kept some of Hen's dresses. ”And your old ap.r.o.ns, too ... if ever you'd like to have them.”

Would she ever! She might have to pin the waist a bit looser, but if all went well, she could simply wear those, as well as use them to make a pattern for sewing more. ”That's good to know,” she said, trying not to let her excitement show.

Mom glanced her way, tears springing up in her eyes. ”I saved them, as well as your woolen shawl and your best black leather shoes. Still have many of your hope chest items, too.”

”How thoughtful of you.” Hen went to her and kissed her cheek. ”I'm really grateful.”

Mammi Sylvia looked like she might drop her false teeth. And right about that time, Dawdi Jeremiah wandered over from next door, asking when the noon meal would be served. ”Same time as always,” Mammi Sylvia informed him comically. She glanced at Mom, and the two women exchanged knowing smiles.

Her grandfather pulled up a chair and sat next to Hen. ”Fancy seein' you here again ... and lookin' mighty nice, too.”

Mighty Plain, he means.

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