The Amish Seamstress by Mindy Starns Clark

grin.
    I’d half intended it as a joke, but he was only half kidding in return. It was clear he looked forward to dating while away at college, dating girls who weren’t me.
    I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him, No! Don’t go out with anyone else! You should be mine and mine alone! But of course I didn’t. Instead, thankful that the darkness hid my sorrow, I said, “We should head back.”
    He pulled out his phone and clicked on his flashlight app. As he aimed it at the ground in front of us, we walked back along the fence line and then down the highway, going single file in the darkness. I was relieved he left me to my own thoughts.
    When we reached the house, we went in for him to tell my parents goodbye, and then I walked him to his car. After this, I knew I wouldn’t see him until Thanksgiving break. That was much too far from now.
    He gave me a half hug, really hardly one at all, and said he’d write. I told him I’d write him back. Then he paused for just a moment as if he had more to say. Instead, he climbed into the car and started the engine.
    As Zed backed around, I stepped on our lawn and watched. Behind me, the screen door banged and footsteps fell on the porch. I waved as he drove past. He grinned and waved in return, but for once his smile didn’t warm my heart. Instead, it practically broke it.
    As I headed up to the porch, I made out two figures along the rail. My mamm and daed . My mother reached me first and put her arms aroundme—a rare move for her, indeed. Daed joined us, standing on my other side, and together the three of us watched until the red taillights of Zed’s car disappeared around the hairpin curve.
    They were being so kind that I had to wonder if the two of them had picked up on the shift in my feelings for Zed. Did they know I loved him this way? I doubted it. After all, considering the history here, that would be a very big deal indeed. Thinking of that long-ago conversation when they shared their concerns about my relationship with Zed, I knew one thing had changed and one had not: We were certainly old enough now to embark on a romance, but I was still Amish and he was still Mennonite. As far as I could see, that issue was never going to go away.
    â€œIt’s been a long day,” I said softly. “I’m going up to bed.”
    They nodded in unison, pulling away from me and letting me go into the house first.
    I headed straight upstairs, undressed, and crawled under the covers as quickly as I could, willing the tears not to come. But of course they did. I cried again for Mammi Nettie. And for Phyllis.
    But mostly I cried for myself. Because I was pretty sure I’d just said goodbye, forever, to the only man I would ever love.

F OUR
    I never returned to the care center as my teacher Patricia had requested, though I did call and leave her a message, saying I appreciated all she’d taught me, but I really was withdrawing from the course just as I had told her I would the day Phyllis died.
    After that, as the heat of August turned into a long Indian summer, I focused almost solely on my sewing and handwork. All through September a numbing loneliness was my constant companion as I holed up in my little room and hid from the world. Daily, I prayed that God would help me hold my feelings for Zed Bayer in check until the time was right. It turned out that was easier said than done.
    Zed and I corresponded on a regular basis, and though I lived for every new letter that came, I also wondered if, in a way, such constant communications were only making things worse. His letters were serious and funny, wise and wacky all at the same time. They were my lifeline, and I found them both entertaining and encouraging. On the other hand, each new note from him served as a reminder of all we shared, how much I loved him, and how very far away he was.
    At least we could connect on our joint project, the research and preparation for