Lifted Up by Angels by Lurlene McDaniel

Ethan nor Charity seemed to want to tell her. It maddened her, but she swore she wouldn’t pry. If Ethan trusted her, he would tell her. She would wait. If it took all summer, she would wait for him to open his heart totally and tell her the secrets of his soul.

E IGHT

    L eah’s weekdays fell into a routine. She worked hard alongside Kathy, she returned to her apartment and crashed. She lived for the weekends. Leah had lived in Nappanee over a month when Ethan brought Charity to Leah’s apartment. He promptly left so that the girls could visit with one another. “Leah, this is lovely!” Charity exclaimed as she walked from room to room. “So fancy.”
    “I’m glad you like it.”
    Leah had seen Charity’s room, one she shared with Rebekah. It looked plain, almost austere, with no rugs or curtains. It contained only a double bed and a dresser. The bed was covered with a handmade quilt, a gift from Oma, Charityhad explained. Perched on the bed was Rose, Rebekah’s Amish doll, dressed in Amish clothing. The dresser held a hurricane lamp and a pitcher and basin used for washing up. There were no pictures or mirrors on the walls. The closet held six solid-colored cotton dresses for each of them. Wall hooks held long aprons and extra caps. Charity had explained that her winter dresses were packed away in a trunk, along with her winter cape. A single cross-stitch sampler of Scripture verse lay on a wooden rocker by the window.
    Seeing Charity next to Leah’s TV set, stereo, modern appliances and fixtures caused the gap between their lifestyles to stand out more than ever for Leah. By now, Leah was so used to Ethan’s dressing English-style—for he never came to see her unless he was wearing his modern clothes—that Charity looked oddly archaic. “Sit. Have a soda,” Leah said.
    Charity perched on the couch and picked up the small pillow she had embroidered and given to Leah the Christmas before. “You have kept this?”
    “It’s one of my favorite presents.” Leah took the pillow and ran her fingers over the finelystitched letters of her name. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to Rebekah’s chicken.”
    Charity laughed. “Leah, you are so funny.”
    “Do you want to watch TV or something?” Leah wasn’t sure how eager Charity was to sample the world. She didn’t want to offer her something she didn’t feel comfortable doing.
    “I do not think so,” Charity said, eyeing the TV’s blank screen. “I thought it would be fun to bake bread and cookies. You told me you wanted to do this sometime.”
    “This could turn into a real adventure.”
    Charity took inventory of Leah’s staples and made a list, and together they went to the grocery store. With Charity in her car, her prayer cap tied securely under her chin so that the wind wouldn’t blow it off, Leah was again struck by their differences. She couldn’t imagine not being able to drive, to go wherever she pleased, whenever she wanted.
    They bought supplies, returned to the apartment and went right to work. First they started the bread. “Because it must rise,” Charity explained. Leah watched Charity sprinkle yeast into warm water, and after measuring out a few cups of flour, she eventually ended up with asoft mound of dough. Once it had risen to twice its size, Charity placed the lump on a floured countertop and began to knead it. Watching Charity’s quick, sure motions made Leah feel like a klutz. “Now you try it.” Charity turned the project over to Leah.
    Leah jabbed at the lump. “It feels icky.”
    “You must work harder. It is dough, not glass.”
    Leah pounded the lump, and flour puffed into her face and hair. Charity burst into laughter. “You look like a snowman.”
    Leah giggled too. She folded the dough over and threw herself into kneading it. As she worked on the bread dough, Charity started making chocolate chip cookies. “Can I ask you something?” Leah said. “I know it’s none of my business, but do you like