lady scanned the room and all the people heading for the bus. “Looks like it might be crowded. Maybe we can sit together.”
Annie nodded. “My name’s Annie.”
The lady held out her hand. “Mine’s Delores.”
She took the woman’s warm, wrinkled hand in hers. A common gesture, but the Amish handshake was a single, firm pump.
“Do you have friends in Harrisonburg?”
Not wanting to share her story, Annie nodded. “Do you?”
“My grandchildren, whom I miss terribly.”
“It must be hard to be away from them.”
“Yes, yes it is.” A grim shadow fell over Delores’s face as she turned her head forward to follow the line to the garage.
Annie thought about how hard it must be not to have all the generations of family together. As much as her grandparents were difficult to be around at times, she couldn’t imagine them not being next door. And she still dearly missed her mamm’s mamm as well. She didn’t live far, but it was far enough that it took all day to get there, eat a meal, and come home again.
By the time they got on the bus, few seats were left. They took the last two that were together and settled in and talked for a short while before Delores fell asleep.
Annie couldn’t. There was too much to see. The acres of crops soon turned to pasture, and then houses were everywhere, one on top of another, with small yards crowded together as far as she could see. She’d always figured they must be very compatible. How else could they live that close together? Drops of rain hit the window and bounced off the leaves of a row of maple trees they drove by. The moisture would keep the foliage green a bit longer before autumn would alter its many colors in the valley.
Annie tried to enjoy the ride and not think about what her family was doing. She was homesick from the minute she stepped onto the bus. She knew thinking of home wouldn’t help, but when she shut her eyes, its images flooded her heart.
They’d been fishing all morning, and not a single fish dangled from the string. Annie yanked in her line and threw the pole on the grass behind her. She felt regret when John laid his rod on the bank beside him and waved her over. “Dig, right here.” He pointed to a muddy spot next to the water.
Annie squinted up at him.
“It’s just like making a mud pie.”
The dirt became soft, and she scooped out a large handful. He touched her nose and stuck a finger in the middle of the pile. Out popped a pink worm, fat and lively as it made its way out of the brown earth in her palm.
John took her pole and then the worm, which he stuck on the hook and then set in front of her. “Now give it a good spit.”
Annie caught his eye to confirm his request. He nodded. She swished the saliva around in her cheeks and puckered, then forced the liquid from her mouth. She missed and frowned at John.
He chuckled. “Try again, and aim.”
She did and hit the worm.
“There, now you’ll catch a fish.”
She tossed her line right after he did. “You think so?”
“Maybe even Charlie.”
“Really?”
Charlie had been caught a handful of times but always returned to the pond. When John had said Charlie was as old as the hills, Annie had looked at the valley and then the rolling mounds and wondered how old that was.
She did catch a fish that day, and she spit on her hook every time she went fishing afterwards.
The cry of a toddler drew her back to the present. The woman with the young child had no rest. The little one was in charge of when he ate, got his toy, and left his seat to explore. Annie had never seen such a small person with so much control over someone older.
The couple she’d noticed earlier ended up together on the bus and found their place toward the back. At first Annie was merely uncomfortable by their show such affection, then her worry grew as she watched the boy’s anger when the girl tried to stop. After witnessing the display, she appreciated John and the respect expected in
Annie nodded. “My name’s Annie.”
The lady held out her hand. “Mine’s Delores.”
She took the woman’s warm, wrinkled hand in hers. A common gesture, but the Amish handshake was a single, firm pump.
“Do you have friends in Harrisonburg?”
Not wanting to share her story, Annie nodded. “Do you?”
“My grandchildren, whom I miss terribly.”
“It must be hard to be away from them.”
“Yes, yes it is.” A grim shadow fell over Delores’s face as she turned her head forward to follow the line to the garage.
Annie thought about how hard it must be not to have all the generations of family together. As much as her grandparents were difficult to be around at times, she couldn’t imagine them not being next door. And she still dearly missed her mamm’s mamm as well. She didn’t live far, but it was far enough that it took all day to get there, eat a meal, and come home again.
By the time they got on the bus, few seats were left. They took the last two that were together and settled in and talked for a short while before Delores fell asleep.
Annie couldn’t. There was too much to see. The acres of crops soon turned to pasture, and then houses were everywhere, one on top of another, with small yards crowded together as far as she could see. She’d always figured they must be very compatible. How else could they live that close together? Drops of rain hit the window and bounced off the leaves of a row of maple trees they drove by. The moisture would keep the foliage green a bit longer before autumn would alter its many colors in the valley.
Annie tried to enjoy the ride and not think about what her family was doing. She was homesick from the minute she stepped onto the bus. She knew thinking of home wouldn’t help, but when she shut her eyes, its images flooded her heart.
They’d been fishing all morning, and not a single fish dangled from the string. Annie yanked in her line and threw the pole on the grass behind her. She felt regret when John laid his rod on the bank beside him and waved her over. “Dig, right here.” He pointed to a muddy spot next to the water.
Annie squinted up at him.
“It’s just like making a mud pie.”
The dirt became soft, and she scooped out a large handful. He touched her nose and stuck a finger in the middle of the pile. Out popped a pink worm, fat and lively as it made its way out of the brown earth in her palm.
John took her pole and then the worm, which he stuck on the hook and then set in front of her. “Now give it a good spit.”
Annie caught his eye to confirm his request. He nodded. She swished the saliva around in her cheeks and puckered, then forced the liquid from her mouth. She missed and frowned at John.
He chuckled. “Try again, and aim.”
She did and hit the worm.
“There, now you’ll catch a fish.”
She tossed her line right after he did. “You think so?”
“Maybe even Charlie.”
“Really?”
Charlie had been caught a handful of times but always returned to the pond. When John had said Charlie was as old as the hills, Annie had looked at the valley and then the rolling mounds and wondered how old that was.
She did catch a fish that day, and she spit on her hook every time she went fishing afterwards.
The cry of a toddler drew her back to the present. The woman with the young child had no rest. The little one was in charge of when he ate, got his toy, and left his seat to explore. Annie had never seen such a small person with so much control over someone older.
The couple she’d noticed earlier ended up together on the bus and found their place toward the back. At first Annie was merely uncomfortable by their show such affection, then her worry grew as she watched the boy’s anger when the girl tried to stop. After witnessing the display, she appreciated John and the respect expected in
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