looking out the back window. But then he ducked. “There’s Mom!” His voice was louder now.
“What’s she doing?” Ella spun around.
“Getting in her car. On the other side of the street.”
“She’s not going over to the group?”
“Nope.” Zed turned back around and slumped down.
“She’s such a case.” Ella turned back around.
“Maybe she did earlier,” I said, surprised I was defending Marta.
Ella shook her head. “We just learned about social misfits in school.” She groaned. “I think Mom’s one.”
“No, she’s not,” I countered. “She’s great with her clients.”
“That’s it,” Ella said. “That’s the only time she’s normal. And now that’s all messed up too.”
I tapped the steering wheel with my thumbs. I remember being embarrassed by Dad in high school. Not only of his old-fashioned clothes, but of what he said, even if it was perfectly normal, even if it was pithy and insightful. Being embarrassed by parents was part of growing up.
I changed lanes and turned onto Walnut Street to head back out to the country. But Ella was right. Marta was a misfit. If I were James, I would be sympathetic and wonder what had made her that way. But I wasn’t James.
My cell, which rested in the cup holder of my rental, began to vibrate. Ella picked it up. “Ooh,” she said. “A text from—” she grinned at me. “Sean.”
“Don’t open it.” I smiled back and held out my hand for the phone. I would read it while Zed and I waited.
Fifteen minutes later I realized we were close to the Kemp and Gundy farm. “Are we almost there?”
Ella nodded.
“Is it down a lane?”
“How did you know?”
Most of the houses were within a few yards of the road. Very few were down a lane.
“Does it have a balcony?”
She nodded again and turned toward me.
“I saw a house after your mom and I visited Hannah Kemp that—” That what? “Creeped me out,” I said.
“It’s not creepy,” Ella said. “Not at all. I’ve always really liked it.”
She was right. The house hadn’t been creepy. That was how I’d felt. “Won’t your Aunt Klara think it odd if you just show up?” I asked. “Won’t she ask how you got here?”
Ella shook her head. “She’ll think Mom dropped me off. She used to do that sometimes so I could see Mammi while Mom visited a patient.”
We drove in silence for a minute except for Zed tapping the window. Then Ella said, “Turn at the next right and then stop.”
She didn’t give me enough warning, and I had to turn sharply into the lane. I slammed on the brakes when I saw the house again. A door, flanked by windows, in the middle of the second floor led to the balcony that spanned the front of the house. A wrought iron railing, covered with vines, surrounded the balcony. Some people claim to have infant memories, but I thought them ridiculous. Besides, I’d been born in Montgomery County. I’d most likely never been to Lancaster County before in my life until I arrived four days ago. Even if I had, no newborn would remember a house. Maybe a scent or being frightened, but a house was too big for an infant to even see.
“You should drive down the road a little. I’ll text you and then you can meet back here.”
I nodded. I wasn’t used to being bossed around by a fifteen-year-old, but I wasn’t going to argue with anything she said. As I stared at the house, I felt isolated, rejected, damaged—and cold. I wanted to speed back to Marta’s, pack my things, and flee.
I gripped the steering wheel as I watched Ella hurry up the lane in the late afternoon light. She wore a green print dress and a black sweater. She practically skipped along. She had a confidence I envied. Ahead, I noticed a smaller house, a daadi haus, behind the main one. Clothes were on the line. I was learning that Monday wasn’t the only wash day for the Amish. Just like for the rest of us, it could be a daily chore.
In my long moment of angst I forgot Zed was with me, but then he scrambled out of the back and into the coveted shotgun seat. “There’s a turnout up the road a ways, by some willows.”
I was happy to back out of the lane, away from the house. For now.
In no time I parked under the trees, digging my camera out of my bag. I liked the way the light wafted through the budding branches, the