‘What did Sister Mary say?’ Amos asked carefully. Mary was the schoolteacher. She was also one of Pastor’s wives.
Abigail winced. ‘She told Israel to stop lying. Then she put him in the corner and after school, she whipped him with a switch.’ Her eyes got big. ‘She made him cut it himself and everything. But he didn’t cry. Not at all. Even though she made his legs bleed.’
Amos felt sick. He’d been raised by a grandfather who hadn’t believed in sparing the rod, but not to the point of blood. He hadn’t realized that Eden had tortured children for telling the truth. They’d been told that Israel had been punished for stealing from one of the other children. They’d always been told that the children were punished for disobedience. Another lie. ‘What do you think about phones?’
She looked troubled. ‘I don’t know. Are they real?’
She was questioning, which made him feel better. ‘Yes, they are. I used one every day before I came to Eden. It’s how you talk to someone when they’re far away.’ He looked around the McDonald’s, where at least four people had phones just like the ones he’d seen Pastor and DJ using. ‘Those are phones. Those people are talking to other people who aren’t here.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Like imaginary friends?’
He laughed because she was clearly unconvinced. ‘Other people who aren’t here in this restaurant, but they’re real people, not imaginary. I’ll find a phone and show you.’ He needed to locate Mercy.
And if you can’t? What then? Will you contact the police? He’d have to, but he also had to think about Abigail. Maybe I could write a letter. An anonymous letter. He was probably being paranoid, but thirty years in Eden had left him distrustful of the law. ‘Sit right here and I’ll be back.’
He opened the door on their side of the restaurant and looked both ways but saw no pay phone. He hurried to the door on the other side and repeated his search, but found nothing. There was a gas station across the street, but he couldn’t see a phone booth over there, either.
He stopped by the counter, trying not to be distracted by the fancy cash registers and what had turned out to be credit card machines. People used credit cards at McDonald’s? That was . . . Wow. Just, wow. And the cashier didn’t handle the credit cards. The customers stuck their own cards into the machine. He’d been so focused on the machine when he’d first approached the counter that he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to order.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to the young girl at the register. ‘Where is your pay phone?’
She stared at him. ‘Our what?’
‘Your pay phone,’ he repeated.
She shrugged. ‘We don’t have one.’
‘Where can I find one?’
She smirked. ‘In the Smithsonian?’
He frowned, biting back a cutting remark of his own. It was amazing how quickly the calm in his heart had been replaced with an acerbic attitude. This was one of the reasons he’d gone to Eden. People were kinder there. Unless they were a Founding Elder, of course. Or one of their wives. Or the healer. All of them could apparently do what they pleased.
Which was not the fault of this young person, so he reined in his temper. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
He returned to their table, sliding into the booth with a sigh. ‘I think we need to go somewhere else to find a phone, Abi-girl.’
‘Um, excuse me.’ Amos looked up to find an older woman standing next to their table. She looked to be about sixty but wore the uniform of a McDonald’s employee.
Which boggled his mind. Senior citizens, working at McDonald’s? The average employee age used to be sixteen and a half. Amos had been the ‘old man’ at nineteen.
‘Yes?’ Amos said, remembering his manners. ‘Can I help you?’
She smiled at him, then at Abigail. ‘I overheard your question and I want to apologize for the rudeness of my co-worker.’ She shook her head. ‘Teenagers these days. I’m Edie. Do you need a phone?’
Amos couldn’t hide his relief. ‘Yes, ma’am. And a phone book.’
Her expression cycled from puzzled, to understanding, and back to kind. She was studying their clothing now. Both he and Abigail wore plain clothing. Homespun fabrics. No frills. Abigail’s old-fashioned dress was standard for Eden but very out of place here, and Amos’s full beard stood out among the mostly clean-shaven men around him. Abigail’s pigtails were mussed from sleeping in the truck, but still neat enough to give her a Little House on the Prairie look.
‘Are you Amish?’ Edie asked.
Amos wasn’t sure how to respond. It took his brain a few seconds to find ‘Amish’ in his memory. But then he nodded. It was an easier explanation than that he’d been living in a cultish commune for thirty years. ‘Kind of, yes. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a city.’
‘Ah. Well. Give me a second.’
Edie disappeared from view and Abigail turned to him, eyes wide once again. He hoped she didn’t pull an eye muscle, because wide-eyed had become her permanent expression.
‘What’s Amish, Papa?’ she whispered.
‘They live in small communities like Eden,’ he whispered back. ‘They don’t drive cars, just horses, and they farm the land.’
‘Like us,’ she said. ‘Okay.’
Edie was back, smiling big, holding two coffees stacked in one hand and a little brightly colored box in the other. ‘Here you go!’ she said cheerfully. She pulled up a chair. ‘Can I join you? It’s time for my break. If you want, I can help you find what you need.’
Amos started to rise, but she waved him back down. ‘You’re fine.’ She sat at the end of the table and gave him one of the cups of coffee. ‘On the house,’ she said, then opened the box.
Abigail was watching Edie’s every move. ‘What is that?’
‘Ma’am,’ Amos corrected. ‘What is that, ma’am?’
Abigail flashed him an embarrassed glance. ‘Sorry, Papa. What is that, ma’am?’
‘Happy Meal toys for you.’ Edie emptied the toys on the table and Abigail’s delighted, if a little confused, smile brought back memories of all the excited kids begging their parents for a Happy Meal toy when he’d worked the counter.
Abigail looked to him for permission. ‘May I, Papa?’
‘Yes, you may. But what do you say first?’
Color flooded Abigail’s cheeks. ‘Thank you, Sister Edie.’
Edie looked taken aback. ‘Miss Edie is fine, sweetheart.’ She showed Abigail how to open the plastic packaging, then gently flattened the Happy Meal box. ‘And here are some pictures for you to color.’ From her shirt pocket she pulled five crayons, gently used. ‘I have grandchildren,’ she explained.