The Englisher by Beverly Lewis

dear.’’
    ‘‘Hey, did you find my birth certificate yet?’’
    ‘‘Still looking,’’ she replied.
    ‘‘I needed it weeks ago . . . will you put it at the top of your to-do list, please?’’
    She agreed to.
    ‘‘Good-bye. I’ll call you next week,’’ he said and hung up.
    Serial killers dumping bodies in Amish farmland? Give me a break!
    Louisa recalled instantly what it was that had first forged her friendship with Courtney back in middle school. This girl had magnetic draw. She wore a perpetual winning smile, and she could put a person at ease, make them laugh . . . even disarm them, if necessary. And she was doing it now, mingling, along with Louisa, meeting one cousin or friend of Annie’s after another.
    Louisa figured the boys were somewhat leery, having met one too many fancy girls clothed by the preacher’s daughter. For this she was relieved, glad Courtney would have no interaction with Sam. I’m off the hook, she thought. But she wondered how it would go if she didn’t end up riding home with Annie. Even so, she wouldn’t worry away the night.
    Courtney will only be here for another day or so. . . .
    Some time later, two boys were brave enough to walk over and talk to Courtney, one blushing perfect circles of red on each cheek.
    But when someone started playing a guitar, the talkative guy, one Annie quickly informed her was a cousin ‘‘once removed,’’ asked Courtney if she wanted to join several other couples in the square. Courtney flashed a look that said, ‘‘What’re we waiting for?’’ and followed willingly. Surprised, Louisa would’ve lost her socks, that is, if she weren’t wearing heavy black hose.
    Just then Louisa saw Sam making his way through the crowd toward her. She willed herself to breathe, more than happy to see Courtney so well occupied.
    ‘‘Hullo, Louisa . . . you’re way over here? And why’s that?’’ he asked, smiling down at her.
    She looked for Annie, who had suddenly disappeared. ‘‘I, well . . . Annie and I brought along a guest.’’
    ‘‘The made-up girl?’’ asked Sam, his eyes still on her. ‘‘Not from round here, that’s certain.’’
    Louisa shook her head. ‘‘You’re right about that.’’
    Sam did not turn to look at the couples, nor did he show any more interest in asking about Courtney. He leaned near and whispered, ‘‘Would ya like to square dance with me?’’
    Pausing, she wondered if this was such a good idea. Why did I show up here? She felt almost shy as he stood beside her, the sleeve of his white dress shirt brushing against her arm.
    Would Sam be this interesting if he were dressed like any modern guy? she wondered.
    Even so, she did not step away from him, wondering what to do with her feelings.
    Then, when the music stopped and more couples joined in, the blond teenage boy caller hoisted himself onto a square bale of hay and announced, ‘‘Stir the Bucket,’’ which brought a big round of applause and a few hoots from the boys.
    ‘‘Now’s our turn,’’ Sam said, reaching for her hand. ‘‘All right?’’
    She lifted her hand, surprised how his touch made her blush. Does he notice?
    Her heart complicated things, too, doing a weird sort of beat. I can’t let this happen . Even so, she was walking with him, in step, following.
    What’ll Courtney say if she sees me?
    Just that quickly, Sam let go, and she got in the line with the other girls. She wanted to shield her hand in her dress pocket, wanting to remember the feel of her hand in his at least for the rest of the evening.
    The guitar strumming started again and the caller began the intros with a bit of patter chatter. He called the corner folk to come up to the middle and then back to their places, called ‘‘home.’’
    Someone hollered, ‘‘Swing your own, ’n’ leave mine alone!’’ which was followed by a long string of Dutch and a burst of laughter by the group.
    Yee-haw, thought Louisa, glancing up the line and noticing