A Stranger's Wish by Gayle Roper

front window. A pair of open buggies came racing down the road toward us, each driven by a young Amishman of about sixteen, each boy wearing a bright blue scarf tied cowboy fashion about his neck. Even as I fumed at Todd, I wondered how they kept their hats on at such a reckless speed and where they had gotten their worldly scarves.
    He cleared his throat as a prelude to speaking, and I looked away, out the side window.
    “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat again. “I don’t really feel that strongly about the Amish. In fact, though I think they’re wrong, I actually admire their courage and tenacity. My real worry is you.”
    “Me?” Startled, I turned to him.
    “You’re taking this Amish stuff too seriously.”
    I looked at his profile, strong and sharp against the western light. “I told you I’m fine.”
    He nodded. “I know. It’s just—” He stopped, frowned, and tried again. “I’m afraid of losing you.” He looked at me, emotion naked on his face. He reached out to me.
    I was moved and automatically extended my hand to take his. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
    A tension within him resolved, and he relaxed. “I promise not to raise my voice again,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll be good no matter how much I might disagree with you or how silly I think your point of view might be.”
    “Silly?” I pulled my hand away, and my frail calm fled. “Silly?” A switch flicked on in my head. “That’s the trouble with you! I couldn’t put my finger on it before, but now I know. You think I’m silly! You condescend to me, just like my parents and sister. Because I sometimes disagree with you, you think my opinions are foolish! Because I like to paint and buy yellow cars and live on a farm, you think I’m an idiot!”
    Todd blinked at my attack and shook his head like a punch-drunk fighter. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?” he said. “I never called you an idiot or anything close to it.”
    “Yes. Yes, you did.” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Oh, not in those words, but you did.”
    “Come on, Kristie, don’t be silly!”
    “Aha!” With that final word, I fell silent, and we drove around Lancaster in brooding silence.
    Well, we’ve finally touched.

5
     
     
    W hen we arrived at Alexander Bailey’s, my favorite restaurant, Todd and I both behaved as if nothing had happened. With no difficulty whatsoever, we slid the glass barrier back between us as we ate a delicious meal of Caesar salad, steak au poivre , and baked Alaska.
    Truth to tell, I was appalled about my behavior in the car. I never yelled at people. I considered it undignified and the mark of a thoroughly undisciplined person. I grew up with three people who automatically expressed themselves at full volume, and in reaction I kept my own volume control firmly in the low digits. I might jump to conclusions, the mark of an imaginative, creative person. I might burst into song at the least suggestion, the sign of a culturally literate person. I might like flashy things like yellow cars and beautiful swirls of color, the mark of an artiste . But yell in public? No, no, a thousand times no.
    My supervisor during my student-teaching days had recommended strongly that I not even consider teaching high school.
    “You’re too gentle and soft spoken,” she said. “Too sweet and kind. They’d eat you alive.”
    I spent a long time trying to decide if she was really telling me I was wishy-washy and spineless before I decided she just meant I was quiet. Introspective. Deep. At least, I hoped that was what she meant.
    All through dinner Todd and I stayed safely on the surface in our conversation. He told me about a case he was working on, a nasty divorce where the parents were using their kids as pawns and both sets of grandparents were also seeking custody.
    “All the grandparents agree that the parents are unfit. Their own kids! Of course, that’s all they agree on.”
    I told him about my