An Unexpected Match Page 3

  “It’s our first class,” she confided to him. “I’m Amy and this is my friend Rachel. We’re nervous, Rachel and me. What about you?”

  Wet Guy gave a half smile that quirked one side of his mouth. “I’m Rob and it’s my first class too. At least first class live. I’ve done some work online.”

  Rachel wanted to say, “Me too,” but she was too shy. Englisch men always scared her—which she knew was ridiculous—and this one was big and strong, overwhelming. And handsome.

  “I’m jealous.” Amy grinned, looking anything but jealous. “I always wanted to study online, but I couldn’t.”

  “I couldn’t do anything else,” Rob said. “No other options.”

  Why no options? Rachel knew why for her, but why for him?

  “So where are you from that you had no options?” Amy asked him, her manner friendly and slightly flirtatious.

  “I’m local,” he said. “You?”

  “I lived in the northwestern part of the state, an hour from Erie.”

  He nodded like he knew exactly where she was referring to. “It gets cold up that way.”

  “In my little town, winter freezes were the least of it.” Amy’s voice became as chill as the winters. Then she beamed, the sun after the blizzard. “But I’m not there. I’m here!” As she turned to face front, she looked at Rachel. “And I’m never going back.”

  As Rachel tried to think of a response, the professor cleared her throat.

  “Welcome, everyone. I’m Dr. Selma Dyson.” She didn’t speak loudly but everyone immediately quieted. “I don’t have many requirements of you as a class, but I have two absolutes. No cell phones for any purpose. This is my class and I expect you to give me your attention, not some friend or, worse yet, some game. Turn them all off. Now.”

  After the general gasp of dismay, everyone pulled out phones and began turning them off. Rachel watched Amy punch commands into her pink flowered phone. Rachel didn’t pull hers out. It only had Max’s number in it, and she wouldn’t call.

  “And my second requirement—” Dr. Dyson continued, “—a paper every Monday. At least a thousand words.” She rolled her eyes at the mutters. “This is a comp class.”

  “How many pages is that?” asked a boy in the front row.

  “Four.”

  “Four!”

  “Four. And I take off for grammar and spelling. This is not your comfy high school anymore, people. I have one goal for this class, and that’s to make you think for yourselves. I want to read what you think, what you feel, what you believe, not what someone taught you or, worse yet, what someone else wrote on the internet. This class is all about you learning to be a thinker.”

  Yes! Excitement bubbled through Rachel. That was exactly what she wanted. To think and to be challenged to think.

  “Now,” Dr. Dyson said, “let’s talk about what makes good writing.”

  Rachel typed away on her AlphaSmart, completely engaged.

  The time fled by. In what seemed like only minutes, Dr. Dyson was wrapping up the evening with, “The oldest maxim of all is to write what you know. Write what you feel passionate about. So your first assignment is to write about something you find interesting. Could be yourselves. Why are you here? Sure, you want an education—or your parents want one for you—but why Wexford? Or maybe you’d rather write about a topic that excites you. Or a subject you’ve been thinking about. This paper is your choice.”

  “What if you don’t like my choice?” muttered someone. Rachel didn’t see who.

  Dr. Dyson heard. “I’ll like it as long as you write about what you think, not just the facts. The why. Why do you love sports? Why do you hate politics? This paper is all about you. No research needed.” She grinned. “At least this week. I’m making it easy for you, people. Write an autobiography if you want. Just no ‘I was born on—’ beginnings, please. Be a little creative.” She closed her notes and then looked up. “Oh, and no fancy fonts to take up lots of space. Calibri or Times New Roman, size twelve. No exceptions.”

  Half-formed thoughts raced through Rachel’s mind. Could she put into words why she was here? She couldn’t wait to try, and she had the whole weekend to do so.

  Chapter 4

  Maxine Englerth sat in her favorite recliner in the living room and checked the clock. Almost time to go get Rachel. The evening had passed without a come-get-me phone call, and Max felt a zing of satisfaction.

  Earlier in the evening when she’d watched Rachel walk into the building at Wexford and disappear behind the tinted glass, all her doubts about her complicity in Rachel’s actions gnawed at her.

  She’d sighed and waited the allotted minutes to see if Rachel would come back out. She wouldn’t blame the girl if she changed her mind. The potential consequences of what the two of them were doing were immense, more so for Rachel than for her. All she’d lose would be the respect of the Amish community. Rachel would lose everything.

  Max had put her hand over her suddenly pounding heart as she stared through the rain streaked windshield. Was she wrecking Rachel’s life? If she were caught, there was nothing but shunning in her future.

  Am I doing the right thing, Buddy?

  As always when she talked to her late husband, she heard no answer.

  Throughout her marriage, Max asked Buddy what he thought about all kinds of situations. She didn’t always follow his advice or agree with his thoughts, but he was her sounding board, the one who helped her reach a decision. She ached for him now.

  He was one year gone, the victim of a rampant cancer that took him much too young. Most of the time she felt like half a person, especially when she wanted to talk with him. He had been so practical, so principled that she always trusted what he said.

  Buddy, tell me I’m not making a terrible mistake. That she’s not making a terrible mistake.

  Instead of an answer she had rain pounding on the car’s roof on a gloomy Friday evening. She blinked back tears of uncertainty and loneliness.

  Why’d you leave me, Bud? Some days she got so mad at him for going. She was only fifty-four. He could have at least waited until she was eighty-four. Or better yet ninety-four.

  She wanted to tell God she was mad at Him too, but she didn’t have the courage. Not that He didn’t know exactly what she was thinking even if she didn’t say it.

  A man with the side of his car seriously messed up pulled up beside her. He climbed out, clothes wrinkled as only rain can wrinkle, expression as dark as the stormy sky. Another member of the Bad Day Club, poor guy.

  Max stared at his retreating back as he jogged through the rain. Once upon a time Buddy had jogged like that, easily, without thought. She wanted to remember that Buddy, not the one who could barely walk, not the one who was stooped with pain.

  The anniversary of his death had been last week. People said the second year was worse than the first. Did that mean the hollowness inside would get hollower? How could it?

  With a sigh she started the car. Rachel had been inside longer than the fifteen minutes they’d agreed on. She turned toward home.

  Do you mind me letting Rachel drive your car, Bud? She made a sad smile. Of course he didn’t. He had no use for it anymore. She frowned as a stray and totally frivolous thought flashed across her mind. How did people get around in heaven? Did they sort of float? Or did they walk like down here?

  I’m going to give the Honda to her, you know. Why have two cars in the garage when there’s only one driver?

  Of course there would still be two cars in the garage. Rachel couldn’t take hers home with her. But the papers would read it belonged to Rachel Miller Beiler, not Bernard Thomas Englerth.

  The family’s involvement with Rachel had started so simply about twenty years ago. Her brother Jonah, two years older than Rachel, had come first, a little towhead with a Dutch boy haircut and straw hat almost as big as he was.

  “I heard a boy laugh,” he said as he stood at the edge of the stand of trees that separated Max and Buddy’s new hou
se from the Millers’ farm.

  “You did.” Max had been enchanted by the little boy. She called over her shoulder to her son, “Ryan, come meet your new friend.”

  Ryan had come rushing around the corner of the house in his T-shirt and shorts to meet the Amish boy in his broadcloth shirt and broadfall trousers. They became fast friends and appreciated each other even today, though their paths had diverged as their cultures intervened.

  Now Jonah was married and a father several times over with his own business, a nursery and garden center. Ryan was in graduate school finishing up his PhD in Materials Science at Lehigh University in Bethlehem. At least he lived in state even if he was rarely able to come home. Jonah lived down the street.

  Rachel had eventually trailed Jonah to the house, a little sweetheart in her apron and dress with hair knotted at the nape of her neck. Though Ashley was a year older than Rachel, the two girls enjoyed each other as much as Ryan and Jonah. The girls grew apart when Ashley discovered boys and makeup.

  For several years Max didn’t see much of Rachel. Then one night she appeared on their doorstep, a beautiful girl of seventeen or eighteen, wearing her heart-shaped kapp and dark dress, her feet in flip-flops in spite of the cool March air.

  “I have a question, Mrs. Englerth.” Rachel swallowed, obviously nervous.

  “Rachel! How wonderful to see you! Come on in. Buddy, look who’s here.”

  Buddy glanced up from the Final Four long enough to smile at Rachel. “We’ve missed you.”

  Rachel flushed and Max couldn’t tell if it was from pleasure at the comment or embarrassment that he noticed her.

  Max smiled at her husband as she said to Rachel, “We won’t hear from him again this evening. Come on. Let’s you and me go into the kitchen and you can tell me all that’s happening over at the farm.”

  Max loved having a young person to talk with. The house had become so quiet, too quiet, with both kids off at college. She bustled around the kitchen getting glasses of sweet tea and slices of apple crumb pie.

  She set Rachel’s pie and tea before her as the girl sat at the table. “I know it’s not as good as your mom’s, but I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Where’s mine?” Buddy called from the living room.

  “How does he do that?” Max asked Rachel. “He’s deaf to everything but the game and still hears me cut pie?”

  “Maybe he smells it?” Rachel suggested.

  “Bingo! That’s it.” Max took a piece and a glass of tea to her husband and then returned to the kitchen to sit with Rachel.

  The girl had waited for Max before she ate and now took a bite. She was still nervous and her smile was tight when she said, “Um, good.”

  Max smiled back. “That’s a compliment since I’ve had your mom’s. Tell me how each of your brothers and sisters are doing.”

  Rachel talked and Max listened. The pie disappeared and so did Rachel’s tension as she spoke about her four brothers and two sisters.

  When Max heard about Levi, six, offering up three of the family’s chickens as sacrifices because of a sermon on Sunday, she decided it was time to get to the point.

  “So, Rachel, what can I do for you? What’s this question you want to ask? I’ll do my best to answer it.”

  Rachel studied the flowers on her pie plate with great interest. Then she straightened her shoulders as if grasping courage. “May I come and use your computer sometimes?”

  Max blinked her surprise. She had been expecting to be asked to drive someone in the family somewhere—shopping perhaps, or to the doctor or chiropractor. “Oh, my dear, of course!”

  Rachel glowed with pleasure.

  Max studied her visitor. Was using the computer Rachel’s running-around rebellion? She was of the age for her rumspringa. “I remember Ashley taught you to play some computer games when you were young. We have some fun new games she and Ryan loaded for Buddy and me before they went back to school.”

  Rachel nodded. “That’s nice. Is there a time that’s best for me to come over?”

  Max thought. “It’ll have to be at night because Buddy works and I’m in and out with various projects and meetings. I’m home most nights, just never Thursday. It’s our small group from church.”

  “Evenings are good. I have to work too.”

  Max thought of the PC that was so old both kids refused to take it to college. It was in the extra bedroom and would be perfect for Rachel. “You can start tonight if you’d like.”

  Rachel’s eyes sparkled. “Could I?”

  “Come on. I’ll get you set up.”

  It took Max a couple of months to realize Rachel wasn’t playing games or looking for funny movies on YouTube. She was reading. Frequently she’d leave the house with a thoughtful look or faraway expression as if she was thinking about something. When Max checked the history of Rachel’s web investigations, she found blogs and e-zines that covered a variety of topics from women’s issues to history to writing to science. The only things missing were fashion and celebrity gossip. And games.

  The girl wanted to learn, which shouldn’t have surprised Max. It had always been clear that Rachel was smart as a whip. Apparently she was chaffing under the limited education her people espoused. As Max pondered that realization, an idea took root in her imagination.

  “I think Rachel is a very intelligent girl,” she told Buddy.

  “You’re just realizing that?”

  She waved that comment aside. “She ponders things.”

  “She does. I’ve always felt sorry for an Amish man or woman with a questing mind.”

  Max was delighted Buddy agreed with her perception of things. She determined to take what she saw as the logical next step.

  One evening as Rachel prepared to leave after spending almost four hours on the computer, Max said “Have you ever thought about having a real purpose to all your reading and learning?”

  Rachel looked at her in question.

  “How about going for your high school diploma? You could get your GED by studying online.”

  Rachel looked out across the woods toward her family farm. “I’ve thought about doing that.”

  Max was encouraged by the comment. “I think you should do it. You’re a very smart girl.”

  “Two problems,” she said. “One, I have to wait until I’m eighteen, but that’s only a couple more months.”

  “Why eighteen?”

  “Younger you need a letter from a school authority saying you left school but need the diploma equivalent because of work or higher education or the Army or something.” She gave a rueful smile. “Who would I ask? I don’t think anyone on our school board will write me such a letter.”

  Max thought of the little one-room schoolhouse a mile down the road and the Amish men who formed its board. Fine men all, but there was that cultural divide.

  “The other problem,” Rachel continued, “is that I’d have to go to a testing center.”

  “You can’t take it online?” Obviously Rachel had looked up the information.

  “No. You have to go to an official GED testing center. The closest is Reading.”

  Max had been thinking Philadelphia with the fifty-mile drive through dense traffic and then the chaos of the city, but Reading was only about twenty miles. Not bad at all. She looked at Rachel. Unless you drove a buggy.

  “What if I drove you?” Max said.

  Rachel’s face lit up. She took a deep breath as if she were about to admit to something that had been a deep and closely guarded secret previously. “I’ve got the money saved from work to pay for it.”

  Max hugged the girl. “Then you go for it.”

  Rachel didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no, something Max considered encouraging. Three months later, just past her eighteenth birthday, Rachel told Max she’d signed up to do the deed.

  When Max told Buddy what Rachel was doing and her part in it, he raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not interfering where you shouldn’t?”

  Max fr
owned. “I thought you agreed with me.”

  “I did?” Buddy scratched his head. “When?”

  “You said you felt sorry for an Amish man or woman with a questing mind.”

  “And you translated that into my saying it was a good idea she get her GED?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Maxie, don’t you think that’s stretching my comment a bit?”

  “It’s only high school, Buddy.”

  He shook his head. “It’s way more than their culture would encourage.”

  “But she’s so smart! And she’s working cleaning houses.” Not that there was anything wrong with cleaning houses, but the thought of this superintelligent girl settling for less than she could be, saddened Max terribly. “God doesn’t give brilliance to many. It shouldn’t be squandered.”

  “Babe, she’s not your daughter.” Buddy’s voice was gentle as he pointed out the obvious.

  “I know.” She felt her confidence that she was doing an all right thing momentarily slip, but then she pictured Rachel’s radiant face as she talked about something she had learned on the computer or in a book she got from the library.

  “I used to think we’d never get our Ashley through school. Remember, Buddy? For her, life meant fun. But Rachel—” She grabbed her husband’s hand as if touching him would transfer her confidence to him. “She yearns to learn, Bud. She’s an intellectual in a community that sees education as a seat of pride. How does someone like her survive when she can’t learn? When she can’t explore new ideas?”

  “Maybe you’re opening a door to nothing but grief for her, Maxie. I know you want to help. I know you’ve always had a soft spot for Rachel. But are you doing her any favors?”

  Now as she sat in her lonely living room and waited for it to be time to go get Rachel, Max still didn’t have a definitive answer to Buddy’s question. All she knew was that Rachel kept taking one step, then another, then another, and she couldn’t do anything but help.

  I hope you’re not too upset with me, Buddy. Please don’t be upset. But what else can I do?

  Chapter 5