Page 73 of Outsider

“Sixteen going on twenty and looking for trouble.”

“Some of us more than others.” Adam gives me a pointed look. “Do you remember what Mervin Hershberger did?”

“After one drink of whiskey, he took off his clothes and dove off the bridge into the creek.”

“Right about the time his mamm and datt happened by in the buggy.”

Remembering, I nearly choke on my whiskey. “I’ll never forget the look on his face.”

“I’ll never forget the look on his parents’ faces.”

“We didn’t see him again until school started.”

All three of us are laughing now. At the time, what Adam and I did that day seemed forbidden and sinful. Looking back, I realize that while what we did was outside of Amish norms, we were good kids, set on breaking the rules. At the time it seemed momentous, but only because we’d led such protected lives.

Gina caps the bottle and raises her glass. “To good memories and good friends.”

“And breaking the rules,” Adam puts in.

Our glasses clink together and we drink.

He leans back in the chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. “My parents were sad for you when you left, Katie.”

I shoot him a smile. “Even though I could play ice hockey better than you.”

“You always liked to win,” he says, chuckling.

“That’s the Kate we know and love,” Gina murmurs, and then gives me her full attention. “Do you ever miss being Amish?”

I think about the question for the moment. “I did for a long time after I left. I was confused and afraid I’d made a mistake. I missed my family. The sense of community. I missed spending time out of doors. On the farm.” I shrug. “But I was young and looking ahead, too. The longer I was gone, the easier it got, and the more certain I became that I did the right thing.”

I feel Adam’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. I’m not sure I want to know that he still disapproves of my decision to leave the fold. A lot of the Amish disapproved. Early on, it hurt, but I got used to it. To this day I still hear the occasional comment. It rolls off me, for the most part. But there are times when an Amish person I respect denigrates the decision I made and the things I’ve done with my life, and the young Amish girl who still resides inside me flinches.

“Mer sott em sei eegne net verlosse; Gott verlosst die seine nicht,” I say. “I heard that a lot when I came back.”

“What does it mean?” Gina asks.

Adam replies. “One should not abandon one’s own; God does not abandon His own.”

“That’s harsh,” Gina tells him. “Talk about a guilt trip.”

“It is the Amish way.” Adam looks at me. “I never held it against you, Katie. It didn’t matter that you could play hockey better than me.”

The sound of snow tapping against the window fills the silence that follows. Gina finishes her whiskey. I try not to notice when she pours another.

“Did you get your problems back in Columbus straightened out?” Adam asks her.

“It’s sort of a work in progress,” she tells him.

“And your shoulder?”

“Thanks to you and Joe, I could probably beat you in an arm wrestling contest.” She looks at Adam and a smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “If you hadn’t stopped to help, if you hadn’t brought me here, I would have died.”

“God always has a plan for us, Gina. For me. For you. For all of us. It wasn’t your time and so He sent us to find you.”

Smiling, she reaches across the table, rests her hand on his forearm and squeezes. “You opened your home to a stranger. You didn’t know what kind of person I was. I didn’t exactly make a good impression. You did it anyway.”

He looks away, not quite comfortable with her gratitude or her touch, and eases his arm away from her. “Helping those in need is the Amish way.”