Trading Secrets (4 page)

“Uh, yeah,” I confess. “I haven't eaten since breakfast.” I feel like I'm sweating, and I'm not sure if it's due to nerves or this warm house, but there's no way I'm taking off my jacket.

“Come,” Mrs. Miller commands. I follow her into a no-frills kitchen where she quickly rounds up some sugar cookies and a tall glass of what looks like whole milk. Even though I normally avoid sugary carbs and prefer almond milk to cow's milk, I'm so hungry that I accept her offering. I'm just finishing up when Ruth returns with her black stockings, black shoes, and even her little white
kapp
in place.

“Ready to go?” she asks hopefully.

“Yes.” I set my empty glass in the big white sink, then turn to Mrs. Miller. “Thank you,” I tell her. “That was delicious.”

This almost seems to evoke a smile to her thin lips, but she says nothing. As I follow Ruth out the back door, I know that Zach's mom is uneasy about my presence in their home. Perhaps it's because I'm English. Or perhaps it's because she's worried I might be a bad influence on her son. Or perhaps it's because she suspects I am not a boy—although I sure hope not!

“How long have you been friends with Zach?” Ruth asks as we walk past the barn.

“We were both eleven,” I tell her. “Probably about your age.”

“I'm only ten,” she confesses. “Does your daed really fly in
an airplane?” she asks quietly, almost as if this is a forbidden subject. “Up in the sky?” She points to the clear blue overhead.

“Yes,” I tell her. “He does.”

She looks both impressed and concerned. “Do you worry he will fall down out of the sky?”

I shrug one shoulder. “Yeah. Sometimes I do.”

She makes a shudder. “That must be scary.”

“Yeah . . . but he's a very good pilot,” I say. “He's very careful and very safe.”

“Oh . . . that's good.”

“There is our garden.” Ruth points to a fenced-off section of land. “Katy and Sarah are working in it now.” She calls out a greeting and two girls hurry over to the fence, staring curiously at me. They say something to each other and burst into giggles.

“I know that Zach has four sisters,” I say to Ruth, still using my guy voice.

“
Ja
. Hannah is the oldest,” Ruth holds up a finger. “She's nineteen. She married Josiah last year. Then there is Katy. She's the bigger girl in the garden. Katy is fourteen and she is almost done with school. Sarah, the other girl in the garden, is thirteen, and she is too bossy.” Ruth holds up a fourth finger. “And I'm the youngest of the girls.”

“But you have two younger brothers, right?”

“
Ja
. Jeremiah and Samuel—they are seven and four. Samuel was down for a nap, and Jeremiah is at Dawdi and Mammi's house today.”

“Dawdi and Mammi?” The words are familiar, from Zach's letters, but it's a little foggy. “Is that your grandparents?”

“Ja.”
Ruth points to what looks like another farm in the distance. “That's their house over there.”

“It must be nice having your grandparents so close by.”

“Where are your dawdi and mammi?” she asks.

“Far away,” I say slowly.

“That's too bad.” Ruth points in the other direction. “That is where Zach and Daed are working. See the horses pulling the plow? Daed's planting corn in that field today.”

“Yes,” I say nervously. “I do see them.” I stop walking and look at Ruth. “I can get there by myself just fine. Go ahead and go back to your house if you want. I'll be okay on my own.”

She looks uncertain, then nods a bit reluctantly. “
Ja
, you are right. Mamm needs my help fixing supper. I better go back.”

“Thank you for helping me find them,” I say in my deep voice.

She smiles up at me. “You are very welcome, Micah.” Then, giggling with her hands cupped over her mouth, she turns away and runs back toward her house.

I take my time as I head toward the field where the horses and plow are slowly moving along. As badly as I want to see Zach, I'm not eager to get over there right now. Not with Zach's father there to watch. I have to tell Zach the truth when no one else is around. It seems the kindest way to handle this. But right now my stomach is tied in knots.

Feeling like a convicted man on his way to the gallows, I slowly plod toward them, hoping that Zach will spot me and come this way to meet me. As I get closer, I can see that although they are dressed similarly in dark pants with suspenders, blue shirts, and straw hats, it's easy to tell them apart. Zach's father has a brown beard—one of those funny beards that circle the chin like fringe. But it's Zach who's got my full attention. Taller than his father, I'm guessing he's more than six foot. And the closer I get to them, the clearer it becomes that Zach is not a wimpy Amish boy. Not at all.

Zach's eyes light up when he sees me, and a handsome smile transforms his tanned face. “
Micah?
” he calls out, waving eagerly. “Is that you?”

I wave back—smiling nervously and hoping that I don't blow my cover too quickly. At least not while his father is looking on. And he definitely is.

Zach races to me, and before I can say a word, he throws his arms around me, gathering me into a bear hug, and then, almost as if embarrassed, he releases me and steps back. “I'm sorry,” he mumbles. “But it feels like my long-lost brother has arrived.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say, and my voice cracks like an adolescent boy's.

He chuckles like this is funny and playfully punches me in the arm.

“You do seem like my long-lost brother,” I say in a gruff voice. I'm trying to take everything in. Seeing his dark brown eyes and the way his dark brown hair curls around his ears, I think we really could be brothers. Well, not brothers, but related.

His dad comes over and firmly shakes my hand, but as he releases it he looks at me with a skeptical expression. “You have come to work?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I want to help with the planting.”

“Then come along.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and turns back toward the plow. “Watch and learn how it's done.”

“I'm so glad you're here,” Zach says happily as we follow his father. I imitate both of them, stepping carefully over the freshly plowed and planted rows. “I can hardly believe it.”

I can hardly believe it either. I feel so nervous that I'm
worried I'm going to say or do the wrong thing and expose myself. I know I can't keep up this charade for long. Not around Zach anyway. Somehow I feel certain he'll be the first one to figure me out. I just don't want it to happen in front of his dad. Fortunately, his dad seems to be all work as he explains how to lead the team, how they're harrowing the soil, and how the single horse seeder plants the corn. Most of this information is lost on me, partly because I'm so nervous and partly because I'm not a farmer.

“Are you familiar with horses?” Zach asks with a creased brow.

“I took riding lessons when I was twelve. Remember, I wrote to you about getting thrown from a horse?”

He smiles. “
Ja
. I do remember that.”

“And I'm sure I wrote to you about working at a veterinary clinic last summer.” Okay, I don't think I ever told him that the vet was actually my uncle. Somehow it felt more impressive to act like it was a real job, not something my dad set up with his brother to give me some work experience. And then, considering how I had an aversion to things like blood and bodily fluids, there really wasn't much to write about since I tried to avoid the actual veterinary work. The truth is, last summer wasn't one of my proudest moments.

After listening to some tips, I'm up in front and actually leading the team of horses. Because of the diminishing sunlight at this time of day, Zach's father is concerned that the rows aren't straight enough. It's my job to keep the big animals headed in the right direction as he guides the machine behind them, and Zach follows with the contraption behind the third horse.

What I'm doing doesn't seem like terribly difficult work,
although I suspect they're going easy on me because it's my first day. But I can imagine that work like this might get old day after day. I doubt that I'd be much good as a full-time farmer. But it's quiet work. Steady work. The jangling sounds of the harnesses, the gentle huffing of the hardworking horses, and the birds chattering in the trees along the fence line are all strangely soothing. As the sun dips into the rose-colored horizon, turning the tops of the trees golden yellow, I inhale the sweet fragrance of all the lush growing things around me, and I suddenly feel as if I've been charmed by the countryside. Maybe I'd make a good farmer after all.

“Quitting time,” Mr. Miller calls out as we reach the end of the row. “Zach, you and Micah see to the horses.” He hands me the reins. “I'm going to check on Molly, and then we better get in to supper.”

“
Ja
, Daed. We'll be right along.” Zach winks at me as he starts to do something to one of the horses' harnesses. “We've got to release the horses from the equipment,” he explains as his dad walks away. “We leave the seeder and harrow out here to pick up again tomorrow. But we'll take the horses back to the pasture by the barn to eat and rest.”

“Oh, yeah.” I nod in appreciation for his instruction. Then I attempt to follow his lead by undoing the harness on the other horse, but when I botch it up, Zach comes over to help, but first he places the bulky harness pieces over my shoulder. “Hold on to this horse.” He hands me the reins to the horse that's been released from its harness.

“Takes time to learn these things,” Zach says as he works on the next horse. “But you're a smart fellow, you'll learn fast.”

I bite into my lip as I watch his hands expertly manipulating
the leather straps and buckles. Suddenly my throat feels like sandpaper and my stomach is tying itself into tight little knots. How on earth am I supposed to break my news to him? Do I just blurt it out and get it over with? Or do I wait for the perfect moment? And even if I do manage to tell Zach the truth—how is he going to take it?

M
olly is our brood mare,” Zach tells me as we lead the horses toward the barn. “She's due to drop a foal any day now.”

“That sounds exciting,” I mutter in a low voice. Grateful for the dusky light in case Zach decides to take a closer look at me, I'm racking my brain for a graceful segue that will transition us from pregnant horses to the fact that I'm not a guy.

“Exciting?” Zach laughs. “You get to fly around in airplanes with your daed and you think a foaling is exciting?”

“Well, it's different, anyway.” The barn is getting closer and I know I need to just do this. “Hey, Zach,” I begin slowly.

“Zach and Micah,” a girl's voice calls out from the shadows near the barn. “Mamm told us to help with the horses so you boys can go wash up for supper.”

“Thanks, Sarah.” Zach hands over the reins.

“We just checked on Molly. No sign of the foal yet.” The taller girl gazes shyly at me. “We haven't met your friend.”

Zach introduces me to Katy and Sarah, and they both treat me like I'm a boy, getting all nervous and tongue-tied,
which makes this whole thing all the more humiliating. Why on earth did I do this? As I notice the darkening sky, I realize I have an even bigger problem. What will I do if Zach's parents get angry about my deception and throw me out? It's a long walk back to town—and in the dark?

“Zach,” I begin again as we're walking toward the house. “I need to—”

“Zach attack!”
Two young boys burst out the back door and hurl themselves toward Zach, acting like he's their personal playground. The smaller one grabs onto Zach's leg, riding his foot like it's part of a carousel. The other boy latches on to Zach's arm, waiting for Zach to lift him up into the air. Zach doesn't seem to mind a bit.

“These are my brothers. The little guy is Samuel.” He lifts his arm so that the older brother is nearly eye level with me. “And this is Jeremiah.” Zach turns to grin at me. “And this is my pen pal Micah,” he tells the boys. “He's come to help with planting.”

I give the boys a forced smile as we reach the back porch. The boys continue to clamor around us, delighted to see their big brother and enjoying their horseplay. They're obviously not going away. So much for talking to Zach in private.

“Here's where we wash up.” Zach rolls up his sleeves and begins running water into a laundry sink. Following his lead, I push up my sleeves and watch as he scrubs his muscular arms clear up to the elbows. Then he steps back and hands me a gray bar of soap. I rub it into my hands without managing to create any lather, but since my hands weren't nearly as dirty as his, it probably doesn't matter. The soap smells faintly of animals, and I suspect it's homemade. As I'm drying my hands on a rough towel, Zach hangs his straw hat on a peg
near the back door. “Mamm's killed the fatted calf for you,” he tells me as he reaches for the door.

“What?” I'm sure I must look horrified. Not so much about the fatted calf joke as the idea that they will probably expect me to remove my hat.

Zach laughs. “Not for real. But she did bake a nice big ham. Do you like ham?”

I say a gruff “Yeah,” but I see his eyes fixed on my ball cap—he's probably wondering why I don't remove it, but I pretend to be oblivious. Maybe he'll assume that all English boys have bad manners. I just hope that no hair is sticking out. Hoping to conceal any curves, I decide to leave on my jean jacket as well. They'll probably think I'm dressed to make a run for it. Maybe I am.

“Hurry up, Zach.” Samuel tugs his hands, pulling him into the kitchen. “We're hungry.”

“The girls aren't even back from the barn yet,” Zach tells him.

“
Ja
, we are,” Sarah announces as she and Katy enter the back porch.

“Come on,” Mrs. Miller calls out. “Time to eat, everyone.”

Going into the bright light of the kitchen, I wonder if my hat is still fully concealing my long hair. Feeling slightly sick to my stomach and worried that everyone can see right through my thin disguise, I tug the brim down lower on my brow. I wish I could pull off a vanishing act, but everyone seems to be taking their places at the long wooden table in the center of the large kitchen.

“Boys on this side.” Jeremiah gives my sleeve a tug toward him. “Girls over there.”

Soon I'm sitting on the boys' bench with Jeremiah and
Samuel on one side of me and Zach on the other. Across from us sit the three girls. My hands are shaking slightly, and I feel beads of sweat on my forehead. Even though I felt hungry earlier, the idea of sharing a meal with these people—who I am deceiving—makes me feel sick to my stomach. Why did I do this? Why didn't I just make a run for it after I saw Zach? Why am I still here?

“We'll pray,” Mr. Miller says quietly, and everyone bows their heads.

I do likewise, waiting for someone to ask a blessing, but when no one says a word, I wonder if I misunderstood. I peek up with one eye to see that their heads are still bowed. Even young Samuel's. So I close my eyes and continue to wait. Hopefully they don't have some tradition where they expect a guest to pray, although it's not a bad idea, really. I silently pray, desperately begging God to get me out of this mess as quickly and smoothly as possible. But while my head is still bowed, it's almost as if I can hear God chuckling. Kind of like my dad would be doing. Then I sense God asking me, “Who got you into this mess?”

“Amen,” Mr. Miller proclaims with quiet authority. The table comes to life as everyone starts passing bowls and dishing out food and eating. Although it's busy, it's not noisy or out of control. Impressive considering the ages of the dinner guests. Conversation seems intentionally limited. Perhaps there's a rule against talking too much at the table. I wish I'd taken more time to research the Amish—beyond watching reality shows with Lizzie. I feel like a visitor to a foreign country, but at least we can speak the same language. Or nearly. Occasionally they use words I don't understand.

The meal is simple but hearty. Despite my frazzled nerves, I manage to clean my plate, conveying my compliments to the cook.

“Do all English wear hats at the table?” Mrs. Miller asks me with a puzzled expression.

My hand goes up to my head as my cheeks begin to flush. “No—no,” I stammer. “Please excuse my bad manners. I, uh, I forgot.”

“It's not too late.” With a twinkle in his eye, Jeremiah reaches for my head.

“No!” I declare loudly, making him jerk his hand back with a stunned expression. “Sorry,” I tell him. “But I need to keep it on.”

He gives me a curious look and the table gets even more quiet. I want to excuse myself—and find a hole to crawl into—but everyone remains at the table. Perhaps they're waiting to be dismissed, or for dessert.

“I will read from God's Word now.” Mr. Miller reaches to a nearby shelf, taking down a big black Bible, and after opening it up in the middle, he begins to read. I suspect that he's reading from Proverbs. Ironically, it's about the importance of honesty, and I can't help but feel the words of warning are aimed directly at me. Does Zach's dad know that I'm an imposter? That I'm deceiving them and I'm really a girl? Is this his way of exposing me? Finally, he closes the book, and everyone continues sitting there in silence as if they are absorbing the message.

I feel as if there's a spotlight shining on me—as if they can all see that I'm a fraud. Finally, I can endure it no longer. I feel like a liar and a hypocrite and a despicable excuse for a guest. Struggling to get myself off the bench without knocking
Zach and his little brothers over, I noisily stumble to my feet. Everyone stares at me with startled curiosity.

“I'm sorry!” I blurt out. “I hope you don't all hate me for this. But I have to confess something to you.” I reach up and jerk off the ball cap, making my hair, which is still loosely pinned, fall free. “I am not a boy. I am a girl.”

Zach's sisters all gasp, and Mrs. Miller's hand flies over her mouth.

“What is going on here?” demands Mr. Miller. Suddenly Zach's agitated parents are conversing with each other in a different language that sounds a little like German. It seems like they're arguing.

“You're
not
Micah!” Zach glares at me with shocked eyes.

“I
am
Micah,” I declare.

“You're not Micah Knight,” he insists. “You're not the boy I've been writing letters to for all these years—you're not my pen pal.”

“I
am
Micah Knight,” I tell him. “I really am. My dad is really a pilot and I live in Cleveland and my mom died when I was—”

“You are a liar!” He jumps to his feet and stands in front of me, glaring into my face with hatred in his dark eyes.

“I know,” I confess. “And I'm sorry. I wanted to—”

“Get out of my house!” Zach points to the back door with flushed cheeks.

“Zach!” Mr. Miller shakes a finger at his son. “This is
our
house, son.”

“
Ja
,” he spits back. “It is our house and this—
this girl
—is not welcome here!” Turning his back on me, Zach storms out of the room, and I'm left standing there with his family still staring at me as if I'm a monster. Maybe I am.

Despite my resolve not to cry, I can feel the tears welling up. I hate that I can't control it, but it's too late. Tears of shame and disappointment run freely down my cheeks. “I—I'll go,” I sob. “But first I want you all to know that I really am sorry. I never meant for it to be like this. I never set out to trick Zach. My name really is Micah, and I know it's a boy's name, but it's what my mother wanted to name me. When I got that first letter from Zach in fifth grade, I didn't think it mattered that I was a girl. Over all these years I've thought of Zach as my friend. I just wanted to meet him, that's all.” I choke back another sob. “I'm really, really sorry.”

No one says a word as I clumsily dash for the back door. I want to escape this hot, stuffy kitchen and all those curious eyes. As I run outside, I don't even care that I'll be walking in the dark countryside or that town is two hours away. I walk quickly down the driveway, welcoming the cool night air onto my flushed face. Hopefully when I get to town, I'll find a place to spend the night. I'm so tired, I don't even care if it's a fleabag hotel. Or maybe I'll just curl up under a tree somewhere along the way.

“Wait, Micah!” It's a female voice calling. When I turn to look, I can see by the light coming from the house that it's the older sister, Katy. “Mamm says you left your bag,” she tells me when she reaches me. “Please, come back and get it.”

“Oh yeah . . . I forgot.” I let out a sigh, turning around. So much for a smooth, fast getaway.

“Where will you go tonight?” she asks as we walk back to the house.

“To town.”

“On foot? That takes a couple of hours. And it's so dark out.” She points to the black sky. “No moon tonight.”

“I know. It's okay. I don't mind walking in the dark.”

“It's not good for a—a girl—to be alone out in the night.”

“Unless that particular girl can pass for a boy,” I say with irritation. Really, what made me decide to try to pull off this stupid stunt?

“Why don't you just spend the night with us?” she suggests.

“I'm sure your parents don't want me in their home,” I say sadly. “They must think I'm awful. They looked so shocked.”

“
Ja
, they were shocked, all right. But they know you are an English girl.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, they think that English girls probably do things like this all the time.”

I consider how I've already given English girls a bad name. “Most English girls don't go around impersonating boys. It was just so I could meet Zach.”

“
Ja
. . . and now you have met him.” Pausing by the back porch, she slowly shakes her head as if she thinks I'm hopeless.

“Yeah.” I just stand there looking at the light coming through the kitchen window. I don't think I can force myself to go back inside.

“Come inside,” she urges. “You can stay the night. In the morning things will look better.”

“They won't look better as far as Zach is concerned,” I say stubbornly. “He's so furious at me, I'm sure he'll never speak to me again.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, Zach. He will get over it. He's not one to hold a grudge. Come on, Micah, it's getting late. We should get to bed.”

I shake my head no. “I can't stay in your home—not after what Zach said.”

“He just talked like that because he was embarrassed.” She starts to giggle now. “It is funny if you think about it. All these years Zach thought he had an English boy friend and it was really an English
girlfriend
.” She laughs harder now. “Mamm was against it from the start. She always said no good would come of writing letters to an English boy.”

“I shouldn't have come here,” I say glumly. “I should've told Zach the truth a long time ago.”

“Why didn't you?” She peers curiously at me in the dim light.

“Because I valued his friendship. Even more as we got older. By the time my conscience started to bother me, I knew enough about the Amish to understand that boys and girls don't mix. I knew my confession would've ended our friendship.”

“You were right about that. It looks as if that's what happened tonight.”

“Did you get her?” Sarah calls out as she comes out into the yard.

“
Ja
,” Katy calls back. “I told her she should stay overnight.”

“
Ja
,” Sarah agrees as she joins us. “You can have Hannah's bed.”