Fueled by excitement and chocolate, the noise level was beginning to rise. Soon the singing would start. It would be hard to have a deep conversation.
“Just…life in general.” I toyed with a candied walnut on the plate. But then out of nowhere I voiced what was somersaulting around in my head. “Sometimes it seems that something out there is calling to me. Like maybe I have missed doing something I am supposed to take care of. And then I come to an event like this, and that feeling grows so strong, it’s nearly overwhelming.”
I shut my mouth. I hadn’t wanted to say all of that aloud, especially not at that moment. Yet it had spilled out of me anyway.
Pained uncertainty flickered across Rachel’s eyes. “Something out where is calling to you?”
I shook my head. “We don’t need to talk about this now. I don’t know why I said anything.”
Rachel stared at me, unwilling to drop it. “What is calling to you?”
I squeezed her hand. “Forget I said anything.” Which was a dumb suggestion. She wasn’t going to forget.
Besides, she knew me better than anyone. Better than Jake. Maybe even better than Daadi and Mammi.
She also knew the timetable for when the next membership classes were to begin—and that I wasn’t sure yet if I was going to sign up for them. Membership preceded marriage. That’s how it had always been, which meant if I didn’t attend the next set of classes and take my vows of baptism and membership in the spring, I would not be able to marry her in the fall.
“Is this about God? About your faith?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not. I know what I believe. My faith is solid.”
She nodded, quiet for a moment. “But this is about joining the church.” Her voice sounded sad, and for good reason. We both knew that if my faith was solid and yet I was still reluctant to join the church, then my hesitation was about things other than theology. Things like living the Amish lifestyle. Things like being married to her.
“It’s about a lot of stuff,” I finally replied, though that wasn’t the whole truth. It was about the church. But it was also about me. And the world outside. And her, too, which I realized at that moment I didn’t want to add to the equation.
“Stuff,” she echoed. “You mean things? Like the watch your father gave you? Your driver’s license?”
My face grew warm. She was latching onto the few vestiges of the outside world I had yet to dispose of, but they had nothing to do with this. These days, except when I went out to visit my dad, the watch and the license remained tucked away in a drawer.
“No, it’s not about things. It’s about all of this,” I said, gesturing toward the people and activities that surrounded us on every side. “It’s about figuring out where I belong.”
Understanding seemed to bloom in her eyes. “Ty, this is where you belong,” she said emphatically. “With me. Everyone here loves you. I love you. This is your home.”
“I’m not like Tobias.” I looked at the happy new groom across the barn from us. He seemed a perfect fit in every way.
Rachel squeezed my hand. “Only Tobias is Tobias. You’re you. And whatever it is you think is out there calling to you, don’t you think you would have found it already? You’ve been outside, Tyler, more than most. You’ve seen the Englisch world every single time you’ve visited your dad.”
“I know, but—”
“And every time you have visited your dad, you’ve always been ready to come home after just a few days. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
Her last comment took me by surprise. The world outside Lancaster County was a lot bigger than just California, where my father now lived. “This isn’t about him,” I muttered, releasing her hand.
Rachel’s gaze wouldn’t let me go. “How do you know it’s not?”
I thought again of our schoolyard friendship so many years ago and how, not long after we’d made our peace on the swings, Rachel had responded when she learned my father was in the military. She’d been shocked, but not because of what my dad did for a living and how it conflicted with the Amish stance of nonresistance. She was upset because he’d handed me off to be raised by others once my mother was gone.
“What difference does it make what his job is? He’s your dad. And he just gave you away.”
Now, as she sat here next to me in a crisp, newly sewn dress, one strand of hair falling loose from the bun under her kapp, it was clear to me what her long-standing opinion of my father had led her to conclude, given my restless state. And she couldn’t have been more wrong.
She glanced around and then leaned close as she whispered, “You know what I think, Tyler?”
I swallowed hard, wishing we’d never started this conversation in the first place.