I was walking along the shoulder of Dogleg Road, a quiet stretch of barely-there asphalt that cut through corn and soybean fields and crossed over a tributary of Painters Creek. I was lost in the maze of my thoughts when the clip-clop of shod hooves alerted me to the approach of a buggy. I didn’t want to see anyone, especially if they were Amish. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to anyone. I kept walking, head down, hoping they didn’t stop.
“Where you headed?”
Jonas Bowman pulled up alongside me and slowed his horse to keep pace. He held the leather lines in both hands and leaned forward slightly so that he could see my face. He was smiling. Happy to see me, I realized, and I wondered what it was like to feel something so honest and simple.
I hadn’t seen him in a while. I didn’t play baseball anymore. He was eighteen now and spent most of his time working at the cabinet shop with his datt. I missed him, but it was a small misery compared to everything else. I missed a lot of things, but then that was what life had become for fourteen-year-old me.
“Nowhere,” I told him.
“Why didn’t you stay for the singing?”
A “singing” was where Amish teens got together, usually after worship, sang the “fast” tunes, and socialized. The girls sat on one side of the table, the boys on the other, and they took turns announcing the songs.
“I’ve had enough singing for one day,” I told him.
We didn’t speak for a minute or two, but the buggy kept pace. I didn’t make eye contact, but I managed a couple of covert glances. He seemed older. More self-assured. His voice was deeper, too. All of it unsettled me in a way I didn’t like or understand.
“Haven’t seen you around much,” he said.
“I’ve been busy.” It was a lie. I was no busier now than those innocent days when we used to meet at old man Delaney’s field and play our hearts out on that baseball diamond.
“Do you want a ride home?” he asked. “I can drive you.”
“No.” It wasn’t true. I wanted to get into that buggy. I wanted to sit next to him and talk about something that wasn’t important, but seemed like it. I wanted to laugh the way we used to. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t do any of those things, and my own foolishness exasperated me because I couldn’t seem to be nice to the one person I actually liked.
Abruptly, he sped ahead a few feet and turned the horse, causing me to stop. I set my hand on the horse’s neck and looked at Jonas over my shoulder to see him climbing down from the buggy.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting you to stop and talk to me,” he drawled.
I rolled my eyes, looked away. “Maybe I don’t have anything to say.”
“Now there’s a tall tale. Used to be you’d talk my ear off.”
The sun beat down. I could feel a trickle of sweat between my shoulder blades. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his hat, but they were dark and watchful. Wondering what was wrong with me?
After a moment, he motioned toward the clouds roiling above the treetops to the west. “You’re going to get rained on.”
I didn’t bother looking. I didn’t care one way or another if I got rained on. I didn’t even care if I got struck by lightning.
His brows pulled together, like a kid trying to figure out an arithmetic problem. “We’re going to play baseball tomorrow afternoon at the diamond out to old man Delaney’s. You want to come?”
My heart quickened at the prospect. It seemed like years since I’d played. Oh, how I missed those days.…
“I can’t,” I told him.
“Why not?”
A dozen phony reasons scrolled through my brain. “I’ve got to help Mamm.”
Puzzlement played at his expression as he reached beneath his hat and scratched his head. He was so much taller than me that I had to look up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, so different from my own. Looking at him used to be easy. Now, his gaze was harder. Not unkind, but somehow more discerning. When he looked at me, it was with the eyes of a man, not the boy he’d been. What did he see when he looked at me?
“You used to be a pretty good hitter,” he said easily.
I steeled myself against the rush of pleasure. I had been a good hitter. Fast, too. Why couldn’t I just say yes and go?
“You still got the baseball I gave you?” he asked.
“I threw it in the trash.” That was a lie, too, but I let it stand.
He looked away, rubbed sweat off the back of his neck. “You afraid of getting beat or what?”
The old competitive spirit jumped in my chest. In that moment, I remembered the tink! of the ball against the bat. The solid impact running up my arms. The way the ground blurred beneath me when I ran the bases. The exhilaration of knowing no one could throw far enough or run fast enough to get me out.
“Never had you pegged as a coward, Katie Burkholder.” He pointed at me. “I reckon we’ll find someone else.”
“Baseball’s for little kids, anyway.”
He stood a couple of feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. He was frowning because I’d insulted him. I couldn’t seem to stop. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I be nice?
“I’ll let you get back to your walk.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned away.
Feeling like a heel, I watched him walk away, a small part of me hoping he would look back. That he would turn around, beg me to play, and this time I would agree. Of course, he didn’t, and I could feel something unwieldy build in my chest. Something I didn’t understand and didn’t want to unleash. I stood there, unmoving, watched him put his foot on the buggy step to climb inside.
“I might be able to make it,” I blurted.
“Don’t put yourself out,” he said without looking at me. “You weren’t that good, anyway.”
I felt the insult like a knife sinking into my back and going deep. Tears burned my eyes, but I willed them away. Chest tight, hands clenched, I crossed to him.
“I said I’d play,” I snapped.
I expected him to laugh, the way he used to. But when he turned, he looked at me the way he’d looked at those English boys the day they’d stolen our baseball diamond. With dislike. Disapproval. Worst of all, he looked at me as if I were a stranger. The pain was so intense I couldn’t catch my breath.
A hundred words bombarded my brain. I’m sorry. I want to play. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want everything to be like it was before Daniel Lapp ruined my life.
I don’t remember crossing to him. The world around me blurred. I couldn’t feel my feet or hear the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes. The sun faded to gray. The next thing I knew my arms were around his neck. Somewhere in the backwaters of my mind, I heard someone crying. Shock rattled me when I realized the sobs were coming from me.
Vaguely, I was aware of Jonas stumbling backward. His hands flying up as if to shield himself. His back hit the side of the buggy, ending his retreat. I bumped against him and the contact was electric. He said something, but I didn’t hear the words. I was crying openly now. Pain pouring out.
“You’re not making any sense,” he said.
I didn’t know the first thing about kissing, but I set my mouth against his. My forehead bumped the brim of his hat and knocked it to the ground. He didn’t seem to notice. For a second, I thought he would push me away. I wished he would because I knew I shouldn’t be doing what I was doing.