turned the engine off. He stared out the front window at the old magnolia trees and the wide sweep of grass in front of the big old house. “And what he said about exploiting you and the Mountain Amish . . . I would never hurt your people or you. The university’s press will not . . .”
She leaned over and pressed warm fingers against his lips, stilling his words. “Jude, do you think that I do not trust you? Because I do, we all do back home. I believe in what you write. I know your fater doesn’t understand your work, but I’ve tried—all summer. And now I’m here with you.”
She moved to draw her hand away and he caught her wrist, thumbing over the steady pulse point, then closing his eyes against the wash of emotion her simple words evoked. She believes in what I write . . . He opened his eyes to find a soft smile on the pink wash of her lips and had to mentally shake himself for a moment. Then he let go of her hand and reached over to undo her seat belt.
“Do you want to walk with me?” he asked. “There are paths behind some of the outbuildings, and there’s a flower garden.”
She nodded, reaching for the door handle, but he knew she wanted to say more. However, unlike many women he’d been around, she didn’t pressure him. He caught her hand as they walked over the roots of the trees, passing a few tourists on their way to the large front porch of the hall.
“What is this place?” Mary asked after a few moments of silence.
“An old plantation. It still has one of its slave quarters intact. People come and see how it was to live here before the Civil War.”
“Ach . . .” She didn’t go on and he wondered how much history she knew. After an eighth-grade education, all that was required for the Amisch , there wasn’t a lot of room for facts and rhetorical discussion. But he knew she liked to read.
“Do you want a tour?” he asked, even though he longed to skip the business. He wanted the coolness of the shadowed paths, a place he’d often gone to think.
“Nee , though I must say that many Amisch aided in the Underground Railroad in Pennsylvania.”
He stopped and looked down at her in surprise and she laughed.
“ Jah , I know some history, Jude, and besides, the Amisch have mostly always opposed slavery because of the persecution they themselves suffered before coming to Penn’s Woods.”
“I didn’t know.” He resumed walking and she shrugged.
“Maybe there’s a lot more to know about everyone.”
Her words echoed in his mind as they turned down a bank to the head of one of the interwoven trails. There was something secret and sensual about the filtered sunlight and densely tangled undergrowth of the path that had appealed to him for years. He remembered being in high school and bringing a girl to the place for a walk, fantasizing the whole time that she’d kiss him so that he wouldn’t have to risk trying it first with her . What was her name anyway?
“What are you thinking about?” His wife’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts and he felt himself flush.
“Nothing.”
She raised a delicate brow at him in question and he had to laugh. “All right, but no getting angry with me if I tell you.”
“I will not get angry,” she promised with a knowing nod.
“All right—a girl. I was thinking about a girl I brought here once in high school.”
“ Ach . . . I’m angry.” She sounded so surprised that they both laughed together.
“Don’t be, sweetheart. I can’t even remember her name, and even if I did . . . well, it wasn’t that successful a walk back then.”
He watched her reach to brush her delicate fingertips across the soft petals of a stray flower and had the sudden desire for her to touch him with the same intimacy. He pushed the thought away, but she caught his short blue shirtsleeve.
“What do you mean by ‘not that successful’?” Her tone rang with genuine curiosity and he shook his head.
“Look, I wanted her to kiss me because—I
She leaned over and pressed warm fingers against his lips, stilling his words. “Jude, do you think that I do not trust you? Because I do, we all do back home. I believe in what you write. I know your fater doesn’t understand your work, but I’ve tried—all summer. And now I’m here with you.”
She moved to draw her hand away and he caught her wrist, thumbing over the steady pulse point, then closing his eyes against the wash of emotion her simple words evoked. She believes in what I write . . . He opened his eyes to find a soft smile on the pink wash of her lips and had to mentally shake himself for a moment. Then he let go of her hand and reached over to undo her seat belt.
“Do you want to walk with me?” he asked. “There are paths behind some of the outbuildings, and there’s a flower garden.”
She nodded, reaching for the door handle, but he knew she wanted to say more. However, unlike many women he’d been around, she didn’t pressure him. He caught her hand as they walked over the roots of the trees, passing a few tourists on their way to the large front porch of the hall.
“What is this place?” Mary asked after a few moments of silence.
“An old plantation. It still has one of its slave quarters intact. People come and see how it was to live here before the Civil War.”
“Ach . . .” She didn’t go on and he wondered how much history she knew. After an eighth-grade education, all that was required for the Amisch , there wasn’t a lot of room for facts and rhetorical discussion. But he knew she liked to read.
“Do you want a tour?” he asked, even though he longed to skip the business. He wanted the coolness of the shadowed paths, a place he’d often gone to think.
“Nee , though I must say that many Amisch aided in the Underground Railroad in Pennsylvania.”
He stopped and looked down at her in surprise and she laughed.
“ Jah , I know some history, Jude, and besides, the Amisch have mostly always opposed slavery because of the persecution they themselves suffered before coming to Penn’s Woods.”
“I didn’t know.” He resumed walking and she shrugged.
“Maybe there’s a lot more to know about everyone.”
Her words echoed in his mind as they turned down a bank to the head of one of the interwoven trails. There was something secret and sensual about the filtered sunlight and densely tangled undergrowth of the path that had appealed to him for years. He remembered being in high school and bringing a girl to the place for a walk, fantasizing the whole time that she’d kiss him so that he wouldn’t have to risk trying it first with her . What was her name anyway?
“What are you thinking about?” His wife’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts and he felt himself flush.
“Nothing.”
She raised a delicate brow at him in question and he had to laugh. “All right, but no getting angry with me if I tell you.”
“I will not get angry,” she promised with a knowing nod.
“All right—a girl. I was thinking about a girl I brought here once in high school.”
“ Ach . . . I’m angry.” She sounded so surprised that they both laughed together.
“Don’t be, sweetheart. I can’t even remember her name, and even if I did . . . well, it wasn’t that successful a walk back then.”
He watched her reach to brush her delicate fingertips across the soft petals of a stray flower and had the sudden desire for her to touch him with the same intimacy. He pushed the thought away, but she caught his short blue shirtsleeve.
“What do you mean by ‘not that successful’?” Her tone rang with genuine curiosity and he shook his head.
“Look, I wanted her to kiss me because—I
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