An Unexpected Match Page 11

  “Rusty! You bad horse. Move!” She pushed again.

  He lifted one leg, the one not on the rein, and set it carefully down again.

  “Not that leg! This one!” She slapped him lightly. He leaned down and butted her in a gentle movement.

  Knowing he’d play the rein game indefinitely, she walked away and put her supplies in the buggy. When she came back, the rein was free and he was twitching his ears, impatient to get going.

  Poor Rusty. He didn’t get out much over the summer. People were constantly picking her up for events, so he spent his days lazing in the barn. He loved when school started because it meant exercise every day.

  At school, Rachel climbed from the buggy and unlocked the padlock on the chain-link fence that circled the property. She pushed the gate wide. She drove behind the building where she unhooked Rusty and tucked him into a stall in the small shed. There was a second stall for her buggy where it was well protected in case of the rain.

  She walked around to the front of the white school building and unlocked the door as the first students walked up the lane. She hated that the building had to be locked and circled by a fence, but since the Nickel Mines tragedy, it would be foolish to risk another crazy man. She’d close the gate of the fence and lock it after all the children were present.

  Some of her students rode their scooters to school, flags waving high to warn motorists. Several others wore bright green safety vests so they were visible on the narrow winding roads they walked. All carried lunches, most tucked into brightly colored Igloos.

  The new little ones looked uncertain as older brothers and sisters or cousins led them into the room.

  “Good morning,” she said to each one.

  “Good morning, Rachel,” Little Jonah said when it was his turn, just like all the other students. She grinned at him and he grinned back.

  Some of the little ones forgot the English only rule and greeted her with, “Guten morgen.”

  “Good morning,” she said again with a smile.

  They all realized their mistake immediately. “Good morning,” they said, the D on “good” sounding more like a T.

  The day went quickly, and Rachel was smiling as she drove Rusty home. She did love teaching. The entire week sped by, though every morning when she harnessed Rusty, she thought how simple it would be to get in her car, turn the key, and drive.

  Finally Friday night came and Rachel drove herself to Wexford.

  “I feel like it’s been forever.” Amy hugged her. “I would have called, but I ended up working extra hours, covering for someone on vacation.”

  Rachel hadn’t expected a call and so never missed it. “Not a problem. School started this week, so I’ve been busy.”

  “How come you can teach if you don’t have your degree yet?”

  Amy was too sharp by half. “My school board has given their approval.” Which they’d rescind if they knew she was going for a degree.

  She’d read recently about the Colossus of Rhodes standing astride the ancient harbor entrance. She felt like a modern version standing astride two worlds. To teach in one, she’d need a degree. To teach in the other, she’d better not have one.

  Rob slid into a seat beside her and gave one of her curls a tug, something no one had ever done before. It felt personal, intimate, and as she smiled shyly at him, she was afraid she liked it too much.

  Class sped by as always. They got back their papers on their latest assignment, an essay about what they believed. Rachel was pleased she got another A. She also had a note from Dr. Dyson scribbled across the top: “See me before you leave.”

  As class drew to a close, Dr. Dyson took a minute to study everyone. “No groans, please, but it’s time for that old chestnut, the person who has affected you deeply. I want you to write an analysis of why he or she has influenced you, not a list of this person’s accomplishments. I want your personal story with them. What did they do or say that made some change in your life, good or bad. Where were you when you met them, when they said something that touched you? What were you and this person doing? Why were you with this person? Personal. Emotional.”

  Rachel frowned. Who would she write about? Datt who was so committed to both God and the Gmay and taught his children to be as committed? Max who helped her reach beyond? But could she write about either without giving away her background?

  After class she turned to Amy and Rob. “Dr. Dyson wants to see me.”

  “What’s wrong? What did you do?” Amy asked, all concern.

  “I have no idea.”

  “We’ll wait down in the lobby,” Rob said, then winked. “You might need our sympathy.”

  “Ha!” Amy snorted. “I doubt it. But we will wait.”

  Dr. Dyson took a seat in the first row and patted the one next to her for Rachel. With a dry throat Rachel sat. Never in her life had she been reprimanded by a teacher. What had she done wrong that Dr. Dyson needed to speak to her?

  “So what’s a nice Amish girl like you doing in my class?”

  Rachel was speechless for a few seconds while Dr. Dyson waited. Finally she managed, “How did you know?”

  “I come from an extremely conservative Mennonite background. I recognize in you and your writing many of the same things that drove me into the broader world.”

  Rachel stared at Dr. Dyson. Never would she have imagined that this gifted woman grew up wearing Plain clothes and living under rules as binding as the Ordnung.

  “Has it been worth it?” she finally blurted. That one question covered all the uncertainties, doubts, and fears that plagued her.

  “Leaving, you mean?” Dr. Dyson patted Rachel’s clenched hands. “For me, yes. It’s been hard. I’ve hurt people I love, and I deeply regret that. But I don’t regret one bit becoming who God made me to be.”

  “I love my People,” Rachel whispered. “And I love learning. I love this class. I don’t know how to—” She couldn’t finish and gestured with her hands, spreading them wide in a gesture of loss.

  “I remember being just where you are, Rachel. I remember how hard it was, being forced to choose.”

  Rachel felt tears gather. Someone understood. Max sympathized, but she didn’t understand. Dr. Dyson understood.

  “I know being here is a gigantic risk.” Dr. Dyson gestured to the classroom. “If you need someone to talk to any time, I’m here.” She stood. “I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to work so hard to write around your heritage. Feel free to write the word Amish and all the other words necessary to express yourself.” She smiled. “You are a very gifted writer, a true thinker. I suspect you’re a closet academic.”

  Rachel felt herself flush with pleasure and the realization that Dr. Dyson was right. She was a closet academic. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Dyson grew serious. “A double life isn’t healthy, Rachel. You will need to choose.”

  Hearing the obvious stated aloud twisted her insides. “I love the Plain life.”

  “But you love learning and crave knowledge.”

  Rachel nodded helplessly.

  “Pray for guidance, Rachel. Ask God to give you wisdom. Ask Him to make your paths clear. Ask Him to lead you and instruct you as David asked.” She gave Rachel’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He led me. He’ll lead you.”

  Rachel walked from the room lost in thought. Gott had led Dr. Dyson. He would lead her, Dr. Dyson said. She should ask Him to do so.

  That was an interesting thought. In her experience prayers were prescriptive. Certain prayers were read at certain occasions. Silent prayer at meals and other times was, for her, usually the Lord’s Prayer.

  Dr. Dyson suggested she pray for God’s guidance. Maybe she should look up the verses on God’s leading and pray them. It wouldn’t feel as presumptive as praying spontaneously like Rob, but it would still be personal.

  Amy and Rob were waiting in the lobby.

  “Everything okay?” Amy asked.

  Rachel smiled. “She complimented me on my writi
ng.” That was both true and safe to say.

  “I knew it.” Rob reached for her backpack dangling from her fingers and threw it over his shoulder.

  Amy made a face as she followed them to the door. “Whenever the teacher—that would be my mom or dad—wanted to talk to me, it was always because I was in trouble.”

  The three of them walked out together, went to their separate cars, and caravanned to the Star. Rachel had an egg salad on wheat toast. It was good but not as good as her mother’s.

  As the evening wore on, Amy became quieter and quieter. She stared at her plate and dipped her last fry in her ketchup several times without eating it.

  “What’s wrong, Amy?” Rachel asked.

  “She must be feeling sick,” Rob teased. “She’s being quiet.”

  Amy looked up with a weak smile. “Good one.”

  “Tell us.” Rachel leaned toward her friend. “We’ll help if we can.” She glanced at Rob, suddenly aware she’d spoken for him. She flushed. “At least I will.”

  Amy took a big breath. “It’s a big favor.”

  “So ask,” Rob said, and Rachel nodded. After all, they were BFFs and that second F meant forever.

  “Anything but money,” Rob said, then smiled. “That’s another joke in case you didn’t recognize it. You need money?”

  “No money, but thanks.” Amy began shredding her napkin.

  Rachel and Rob waited.

  “Okay, here goes. Will you help me move some of my things tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Rachel ran through her plans for the day. Yes, she would help. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do another time.

  “I know it’s last minute and all, but…” Her voice trailed off.

  “That’s it?” Rob asked.

  Amy nodded. “I know it’s asking a lot…”

  “No, it’s not.” He grinned at her. “How much stuff do you have?”

  “Bedroom stuff. A chair or two. A desk. Maybe some clothes.”

  “Piano? I draw the line at pianos.”

  Amy managed a grin. “No piano.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The stuff is at my family’s house near Erie. It’s going to be a five to six hour drive each way.”

  Rob glanced at Rachel and she shrugged. “Okay with me,” she said. “I don’t have anything planned.” Except the produce stand, and Levi could cover that. He’d be happy to since it meant some money in his pocket.

  Chapter 17

  When Rob pulled into the lot at his apartment complex, a car sat in his parking spot. Granted, no one had painted Lanier between the lines, but it was right in front of his door and clearly his.

  Which neighbor had company with bad manners? Mr. Harding, the septuagenarian, to his right? Not likely. The man might stay up half the night watching TV, but neither he nor his friends went out after dark. The Palmiaris on the left? Could be, but—he glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. Late for a work night, especially since Rocco Palmiari left for work at five in the morning.

  He glanced at the visitor parking spots clearly marked with a large sign that proclaimed their purpose. Someone couldn’t read. He pulled into visitors’ parking.

  As he walked toward his unit, the driver’s door on the misparked car opened, and a tall man stepped out.

  “Took you long enough” the man said. “I thought class ended at eight.”

  “Win.” Rob hoped he didn’t sound as unenthusiastic at the sight of his brother as he felt.

  “I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour.”

  How did a grown man manage to sound as petulant as a teenage girl whose father won’t give her more money for clothes?

  “Had I known you were here…” Had he known, he probably would still have milked every possible moment with Rachel and Amy. “I’ve got to walk Charlie. You want to walk with me?”

  Win shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Rob opened the apartment door and a desperate dog charged out, heading for the bushes that edged the parking lot.

  “Poor dog,” Win said. “How long’s he been inside?”

  “Too long, poor guy.”

  The brothers began walking around the complex, Charlie snuffling every stray scent as he accompanied them. For no discernible reason except impulse, the dog would break into a run and dash the length of the lot and back.

  “Charlie’s working out well?” Win asked.

  Charlie took that moment to rush up to them, tongue lolling with joy. Rob rubbed the dog’s head. “He’s great.”

  Charlie turned to Win for another rub, and Win complied. “I’d like a dog. They’re such great animals.”

  “So get one.”

  “Like Mom’d let me. ‘They shed, Winston. They smell. They bark. They upset my allergies.’ ”

  “They do all that and more,” Rob agreed.

  “But they’re fun.” Win bent down and let Charlie give him a sloppy, slurpy kiss that made Rob want to wipe his dry face in empathy.

  The brothers watched Charlie tear off across the open green space behind the complex, long legs stretching as he ran.

  Win swiped a hand through his hair which, Rob noted, needed a cut. “Did you ever happen to notice how Mom’s allergies only kick in when the issue is something she doesn’t like or want to deal with?”

  Rob made a noncommittal humming sound. If he wouldn’t discuss his father with his mother, he certainly wouldn’t discuss his mother with his brother.

  After several moments of silence broken only by the brothers’ footfalls and Charlie’s panting after one of his sprints, Win asked, “So how’s class?”

  “Good. Very good actually. Great professor.”

  “Comp class, right? Do you have to write a lot?”

  “A lot more than I’d like, but I think I finally figured out what she wants.” Rob smiled to himself as he thought of Rachel explaining what Dr. Dyson expected, her lovely face so serious as she talked.

  “You doing all right in it? I mean, I always hated having to write something, but I bet you’re good at it.”

  Rob contemplated his brother. This interest in what he was doing and how well was both spooky and out of character. “Let’s just say I’m okay.”

  They continued in silence. Rob knew he should try harder with his brother but every discussion followed the same pattern. Win complained about living with Mom and Rob told him to move out and Win said he didn’t have the money and Rob told him to get a job.

  “So do you think the Eagles stand a chance this year?” Win asked apropos of nothing.

  Rob looked at his brother. “You really want to talk about the Eagles?”

  Win shrugged. “They’re as good a topic as anything.”

  “You drove over here and waited till ten o’clock at night for me to come home, and you want to talk football?”

  “Why not? Isn’t that what brothers do?”

  Not these brothers. “Why are you really here, Win? This attempt at pleasant conversation is scaring me.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Win.” Rob laid a hand on his brother’s arm, and they halted. “Why are you here? Is something wrong with Mom?”

  “Can’t I visit my brother if I feel like it?”

  “Sure, if you ever visited him.”

  Rob could almost feel Win trying to get up the courage to say what was on his mind.

  “Lend me a few thousand?”

  Rob blinked. “No.” No thought necessary.

  “I’ve got to get out of the house. I’ve got to get away from her.”

  Rob stared at his brother. He did sound desperate. “No.”

  “Then let me live with you. You’ve got two bedrooms.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Rob.”

  “Do you have a job, Win? Any kind of a job? An income? Are you even looking?” Rob knew his brother hadn’t been looking. Mom delighted in keeping Rob up-to-date during her daily phone calls.

  “He lies around all day and sleeps,” she’d sa
id today, disbelief in her voice. “Then he watches TV all night. It drives me nuts.”

  “So get rid of the TV,” he told her. He knew he didn’t sound sympathetic, but it was the same old, same old.

  “How will I watch my shows if I do that?”

  “Put the TV in your bedroom.”

  “We have three TVs.”

  “Sell two.”

  “To who?”

  “Go on Craig’s List.”

  “And have strangers in my house? No thank you. With my luck they’ll rob me blind or maybe murder me.”

  “Come on, Mom. Don’t you think you’re getting just a bit carried away? Besides Win is there to protect you.”

  “Fat lot of good he’d be. He’d probably be asleep.”

  “Then I could come over when a buyer came.”

  “You’ll be at work or class.”

  “Set a time when I’m free, Mom. We could make it work.”

  “Speaking of work, Win isn’t and he’s not looking.”

  Feeling as if he was batting his head against a brick wall just for the fun of it, Rob said, “Have you ever thought about not feeding him or doing his laundry or providing him a room rent free?”

  “Of course I’ve thought about it, but he’s my baby.”

  “Mom, he’s a grown man, and I’ve got to go.” The headache was a piercing dagger behind his left eye.

  “But what am I to do with him?” she asked as he hung up. Hadn’t he already given her the answer?

  Now he asked, “A job, Win? Income?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  The thing that frightened Rob was the fear that Win really, truly didn’t see a connection between work and life.

  “How would you pay your rent if you lived here? Your part of the utilities? Your part of the food?”

  “You’ve got to pay those things anyway. My being here won’t make that much of a difference.”

  Rob ground his teeth. “Of course it will. Aside from the increase in costs, it won’t be my home anymore. It’d be ours, and I wouldn’t have my privacy. And that privacy is very important to me.”

  “You’ll never know I’m there.”

  “Win, you’re up all night watching TV, and you sleep all day. I work regular hours. I don’t want a TV blaring all night and you snoring all day.”