A Forbidden Rumspringa Read online

  “It is.” Although Isaac often wondered what it would be like to live in a city and be free to do what he wanted without everyone finding out.

  “Why did you all want to start a new community?” Darren held up his hands. “I’m sorry—stop me if I’m being too nosy.” He glanced at his wife and smiled ruefully. “She could be here a while.”

  “I don’t mind.” Isaac could imagine how Father would grumble after the English left if he’d been asked these questions. “Our bishop felt our old settlement had become too modern and worldly. Sixteen families followed him here. Two more came after, and another last year.”

  “Too modern?” Darren laughed. “Really?”

  Isaac chuckled, nudging up his hat to scratch his forehead. “I know it must seem crazy to the English.”

  “I’m sorry—I don’t mean any offense.”

  “Don’t worry.” Isaac glanced behind and lowered his voice. “It seemed pretty crazy to me at first. There were already a lot of rules in Ohio, and here we have even more. I don’t think an English person would last long in Zebulon.”

  Darren tilted his head, still smiling easily. “So Michelle and I are what you’d call English, right? Why English and not American? Or Canadian as the case may be.”

  “I asked once when I was a boy, and Father said it’s just our way. He says that a lot.”

  “I bet.” Darren took another swig of water. “So it wasn’t strict enough before for your old man and the other people who moved here?”

  Isaac stared at a drop of water on Darren’s lower lip. “Uh…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and refocused. “Yeah. They thought the Amish where we lived had become too lax. There were rubber-covered rims on buggies instead of steel, and some families even had telephones. Not inside the house, of course—but in little shacks at the end of their driveways. There was indoor plumbing, and…”

  Darren waited, his eyebrows raised.

  “And young people were running too wild.” Ruining it for all of us. “Here in Zebulon we follow the ways of the Swartzentruber Amish.”

  “Swartz…Swartzentruber? What does that mean?”

  “It’s a name. After they separated from the bigger Amish community in Ohio the bishops were called Swartzentruber. It stuck, I guess.”

  Darren crossed his tan arms, the plastic bottle dangling from his fingers. “Well, you learn something new every day. I thought all the Amish were the same.”

  “It’s all right, most English people think that. But there are Old Order, New Order, Swartzentruber, Beachy.” Isaac smiled. “Of course we all think our Ordnung is the right one. Our rules, I mean.” He shouldn’t be speaking so frankly with a tourist, but something about Darren loosened Isaac’s tongue. “And I guess we think you’re all the same too.”

  Darren’s teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Fair enough.” He called to his wife. “Sweetheart, we shouldn’t keep these folks too much longer. It’s almost suppertime.”

  “Just another minute,” she answered.

  “Don’t worry.” Isaac reassured him. She can take as long as she wants if she buys something.

  “All right, where were we?” Darren stroked his beard. “When did all this happen? The Swartzenhubers first going out on their own, I mean.”

  Isaac was struck with the bizarre thought of what Darren’s short beard would feel like against his own cheek. He stared at his dirty feet and didn’t correct Darren’s mispronunciation. “Oh, a long time ago. A hundred years or so, I reckon. There are Swartzentrubers all over the place now. Some here in Minnesota, down in Fillmore County. We’re a little different up here in certain ways. Most settlements are. We all like to do things our own way.”

  “Do you mind telling me how you’re different?”

  Isaac hooked his thumbs under his galluses. “One thing is that we wear two of these. Some Swartzentrubers only use one.”

  “Suspenders? Why not two?”

  “They say it’s too vain.” Isaac shrugged. “But I think they’re great for holding up your pants. Bishop Yoder agreed, fortunately.” He watched as Darren stroked his chin. “Is that itchy?”

  Darren’s brow creased. “Is what itchy?”

  Isaac fiddled with the brim of his hat before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Having a beard all over your face like that. Not just on the bottom.”

  “Oh, that.” Darren shrugged. “It can get a little hot in the summer, but no, it’s not itchy. Amish men don’t have full beards?”

  “Honey?” The woman’s voice rang out. “Which one do you think would go better in Mom’s apartment? Come and look.”

  Darren smiled. “Excuse me—duty calls.”

  Isaac watched him trot over to where his wife examined the quilts. With their bright colors and intricate patterns, Isaac didn’t understand how the quilts weren’t too worldly. But they sold for a pretty penny to the English, and he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

  With everyone’s attention on the quilts, Isaac drifted closer to the SUV. With a quick glance to be sure Mother wasn’t watching, he stood as near as he dared to catch a glimpse in the mirror on the side. Although he’d grown up with a mirror in the bathroom, in Zebulon Bishop Yoder had declared them to be the devil’s plaything—dark instruments that encouraged vanity and pride. Isaac had rarely seen his reflection since he was eleven.

  Heart racing, he ducked his head. Beneath the straw hat, his short sandy hair swept over his forehead in the style of most Amish men, but his hair didn’t have to cover his ears and he wore no beard since he hadn’t been baptized yet. It was so hot in the summers that Isaac kept his hair as short as he dared.

  His light yellow-brown eyes had long lashes, and as he peered closer he could see faint freckles brushed across the bridge of his nose and over the tops of his cheeks. He was tanned from the summer sun, and he looked sturdy and strong. Handsome even.

  Not as handsome as David Lantz.

  Shame flushed him, and he almost tripped over his own feet as he put a respectable distance between himself and the English car. He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from. It was wrong to have any pride in his own appearance, and to even notice David’s was just…

  The word English kids used to call him when he went to town in Red Hills popped into his head. Yes, it was weird to think of David that way. In two days he’d start work with him, and here he was having crazy notions.

  Isaac gave his head a shake. What was wrong with him? It was such nonsense to be alternately admiring and frightened. David Lantz was joining the church. He was an honorable and good man. Hard working and decent. What was there to fear?

  “Isaac!” Mother’s voice rang out.

  He hurried over to help carry the three quilts Michelle had picked. With the shadow of winter looming around the corner, it was a good thing to make any extra money they could from tourists now. Isaac wished they could sell the quilts in Warren, but the Ordnung forbade it, even though people were allowed to go to market in many other Amish communities. In Zebulon, Bishop Yoder was determined to keep them away from the unclean world.

  Plus it was twenty miles there and back, which would take hours and was a hard journey for Roy, the Saddlebred who pulled the family buggy. Warren wasn’t even a big town at all, but Isaac longed to return there. It had been more than three years now since he’d been away from the farms of Zebulon for even a day.

  Darren pulled money from his wallet and peeled off the bills, giving them to Isaac. Then he extended his hand again. “It was a real pleasure to meet you, Isaac.”

  Isaac shook his hand. “Hope we’ll see you again sometime.”

  “I hope so. One more question: why don’t Amish men have mustaches?”

  Isaac was very aware of Mother hovering some feet behind, but he saw no reason not to answer. “Too militaristic. It goes back a long way—to Germany.”

  Michelle hooked her hand through her husband’s arm. “Isn’t that interesting? I’m so glad we stopped. Hey, can I take a picture?” She reached into
her purse.

  Isaac raised his hand. “No. I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to pose for photographs.” At Darren’s inquisitive expression he added, “They’re graven images. It’s against the rules. But again, it depends on the settlement. Some Amish will pose.” But Father had always told them to say no, and even though he was in the fields, Mother was hovering.

  Michelle smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. So your name’s Byler, right? We’ll be sure to mention your gorgeous quilts on Trip Advisor.”

  Isaac had no idea what she meant, but smiled and nodded, waving as they left. It had been a dry summer, and even now into late September the heat lingered. A cloud of dust rose in Darren and Michelle’s wake, and when it settled, the SUV was gone. Isaac listened to its faint rumble until there were only the cicadas singing, and Ephraim shouting for him to get back to the barn.

  Heaving a sigh, Isaac flipped onto his other side, poking Nathan harder than he should with his elbow. Of course Nathan was so thin and gangly these days as he sprouted up that Isaac thought it probably hurt his elbow more than it affected Nathan. His brown hair sticking up, Nathan snorted and muttered, swiping a hand over his pimply face.

  Of course he started snoring again within a minute. How Ephraim and Joseph could be fast asleep in their bed with Nathan making so much noise, Isaac had no idea. Nathan had slept quietly for years, but the last few months had been a different tale. It was as if one of the freight trains that rumbled by east of Zebulon had detoured through their bedroom.

  Dawn was still hours away. He wished he could light the lamp and finish whittling the horse he was making Joseph for his eighth birthday, but he wanted it to be a surprise. The glow could wake his brothers—even if they were apparently deaf to Nathan’s snoring.

  Isaac closed his eyes and told himself sternly to ignore the noise. He needed to find peace in the spirit of brotherhood and cast aside his anger. Surely sleep would follow. He breathed deeply and counted out the seconds of his exhale. Beside him, Nathan snorted and rolled over.

  For a moment there was only blissful silence.

  Followed by a familiar roar that grew to a fevered pitch before receding again. Over and over, until Isaac jerked back the quilt and fled. After closing the door gently behind him, he tip-toed downstairs. He might as well visit the outhouse since he was awake.

  Although the days had been hot, Isaac shivered as he ventured behind the house, the ground surprisingly cold beneath his bare feet. With only a crescent moon lighting his way, he paused, debating whether to return for the lantern. But it wasn’t as though he hadn’t traveled this route a thousand and one times. He hurried into the trees.

  Inside the outhouse he gathered up his nightshirt, wincing at the chill of the wooden seat. He shuddered to think of how frigid it would be before long. At least the seat was smooth and polished with so much use. At Noah Miller’s new farm, Isaac thought he would get splinters in his rear end. With all the work the community put into raising the Miller’s barn, some care could have been spared for the rest of the buildings.

  Once he finished his business, Isaac wandered into the trees, in no rush to return to Nathan’s cacophony. To make it worse, tomorrow was Sunday—and it was a church day. He knew it was awfully sinful, but Isaac couldn’t help but look forward to the Sundays when they didn’t have church. He’d heard that Christians in the English world had church every Sunday, so he should be grateful he only had to withstand the services every other week.

  Yet the idea of sitting on a hard bench crammed into the Hooley’s house while Bishop Yoder and the preachers droned on inspired little gratitude in him. He wasn’t sure when it would be his family’s turn to host church services at their house again, but he hoped it wasn’t for some time.

  And of course Sunday night after church was set aside for the singings, and Isaac could already imagine Mary Lantz’s eager gaze and sweet smile. She was a nice girl, and would make a fine wife. Yet Isaac felt only a puzzling sense of emptiness when he tried to imagine a future with David Lantz’s sister.

  At the thought of David, heat arced through him. In the shadows of the leafy trees, at least no one would see him go red right to the tips of his ears. Beginning Monday he would see David Lantz every day. He would spend hours with him—and with those light blue eyes that shone with something Isaac couldn’t identify. Something that made him feel guilty just to see it.

  Yet Isaac could think of no time over the years when David Lantz had broken the Ordnung. He’d barely known David in Red Hills, and after the terrible thing that drove them to create Zebulon, to Isaac’s knowledge David had lived as he should. If he hadn’t, the whispers would have certainly reached Isaac’s ears. Keeping a secret in Zebulon wasn’t easy.

  Although it had been odd to them all that David had waited to join the church. Perhaps one of the girls had finally caught his eye at the singings. Isaac swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. Isaac had expected David to court Katie Miller or Rebecca Yoder or Sarah Raber long ago. Yet he’d hardly dated any of them. Surely that would change in the weeks to come.

  Isaac leaned back against the trunk of an Ironwood. The bark was rough through his nightshirt, but he didn’t mind. Since it was a Saturday he’d had a bath that evening, and he slipped his hand under his collar to rub at his pleasantly tight skin.

  The memory of the frolic at the Kauffmans’ farm unfolded in his mind. Barn raisings were Isaac’s favorite kind of frolic, when the community came together to help with a task. He wasn’t keen on slaughtering hogs at the Rabers’ or harvesting corn at the Ottos’, but barn raisings were fun. At the Kauffmans’ that spring day he’d found himself up near the roof of the barn’s frame, hammering nails next to David Lantz.

  It was cool and cloudy, but sweat prickled down Isaac’s spine. He straddled a thick joist near David, each of them working silently on the frame, although Isaac gnawed his lip to keep from rambling nonsense. Why he was nervous he had no idea. It was probably the distance to the ground below.

  He glanced up beneath the brim of his straw hat. A few feet away on the other side of a post, David’s head was bowed as he hammered, his hat covering his thick dark hair and the brim obscuring his face as he bent to his work.

  Isaac’s gaze roamed. The black material of David’s pants stretched over his powerful thighs, and his forearms were muscular where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his gray shirt. Dark hair sprinkled his arms, and Isaac was gripped with the bizarre urge to sweep his hand over David’s bare skin. His breath stuttered.

  In an instant David’s head was up, his light blue eyes fixed on Isaac. He was clean shaven since he wasn’t following church yet, and his lips were full, and—

  “I was just—” Isaac waved his arm, tearing his gaze away from David’s mouth. His stomach dropped as he veered dangerously off balance, still holding the hammer and nails. He yelped, but then David had him, clutching Isaac’s shoulder with one hand and his knee with the other. Nerves jumping, Isaac tried to smile. The calluses on David’s fingers pressed against the base of his neck.

  Isaac managed to croak out a word. “Thanks.”

  David didn’t let go. “Keep the nails in your pocket and pull out one at a time. That way you can drop it if you need to and it’s not likely to hit anyone down below.”

  “Right. Good idea.” He nodded vigorously. David still held him and Isaac felt as though his shoulder and knee were ablaze even though it didn’t hurt at all. “How did you do that so fast?” He nodded to David’s hammer neatly hooked onto the waist of his pants, where it had been in his hand only moments ago.

  David’s lips lifted into a smile and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Practice. Sure you’re okay?” He rubbed Isaac’s knee.

  Sticky desire spread through Isaac, and he prayed he wouldn’t humiliate himself by tenting his pants. Lord, what was wrong with him? He breathed deeply, tearing his gaze away from those pale eyes as he shifted back on the joist and out of David’s grasp. “I’m fine!” He laughed like a br
aying donkey. After a few long breaths, he glanced back up.

  David still watched him, but now there was something new in his gaze—a strange and wonderful shine that made Isaac feel unbearably hot all over. He couldn’t look away, and the moment stretched out, silence between them, and the sounds of work and men all around fading into the damp spring air.

  Isaac licked his dry lips, and David jerked his head down again, his face hidden and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He plucked his hammer from his pants, and didn’t say another word as he went back to work.

  Isaac realized he was clenching the nails in his left hand so tightly they’d almost cut into his palm. His fingers trembled as he tucked all but one into his pocket.

  Isaac shifted uncomfortably against the tree, and his palm stole down to rub against his hardening cock just once through his nightshirt before he tore it away. This was why he tried to avoid David Lantz. There was sin threatening to bloom in Isaac’s soul, and he had to tamp it down. Had to extinguish that spark before it caught and blazed out of control.

  In the distance, a train whistle pierced the stillness. Although he could barely see anything beyond the trees, Isaac closed his eyes and imagined the endless line of cars barreling along the track, carrying unknown cargo to places far from Zebulon. Perhaps the train would tunnel through mountains and arrive at the ocean’s edge, passing towns and even cities on its journey.

  As he imagined being atop that carefree train, his body hummed as if he were, as though he could feel the power of the locomotive shuddering through him. Images of the thundering metal and distant lands merged with David Lantz’s blue eyes and single dimple. Isaac couldn’t fight the desperate, terrifying excitement building in him. He hiked his nightshirt to his waist.

  Pulling his foreskin back, Isaac roughly touched his cock, his lips pressed together to silence his moans. Even away from the house amid the trees in the dead of night, he had to be careful. No one could know his secret.

  The cool night air whispered across Isaac’s bare skin. He shivered, but his excitement grew at the wickedness of being half naked right out in the open, touching himself as he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t far from the outhouse, and if anyone else used it they’d undoubtedly discover him.