Background
Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis are on the way to the FanStory convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey, when Hargis's 2005 Suburban breaks down. They are taken in by an extended Amish family. Thu
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So far, Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis have broken down in the heart of Amish country. Relying on the kindness of strangers has had its perks, but there is a convention to get to and another century to return to.
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Okay, I'll be the first to admit it. I would rather run naked dipped in honey through a bee hive than wear the clothes of the Amish. Sounds a tad dramatic and snotty and I guess it is, but the feeling remains. I was never one of those girls who would dress up like the slutty nurse at Halloween or wear a ton of makeup and low cut clothing to go out to a bar. It just wasn't me. The only pretending I do is on paper. Having said that, I feel like I'm the odd ball here in jean shorts and a t-shirt with some obscure bike company logo, and my trusty worn out flip-flops.
Ezra won't so much as look at me. I get the feeling he thinks I'm a bad influence. He's probably right. I do have a potty mouth. My oldest daughter's first few words were, mama, da-da, brodder (brother) and shit. And, she said it with just the right inflection in her voice that everyone knew she had learned it from me. (I'm happy to report she has since cleaned up her act.)
I've been pretty good with the four letter bombs for the most part, but slipped up occasionally here and there. Helene has rolled with it, Hannah has giggled, but Ezra, he grimaces.
I don't usually like pancakes, but with home-churned butter and a dollop of apple butter, I eat up. Rachelle is picking at her berries and I slide my plate towards her. "Are you sure you don't want a bite?"
"No thank you. I still have the image of that snake in my head."
"Squeamish of a little blood? You wouldn't make it where I work. I've had people show me more injuries, broken bones, blisters, abscesses. I've been told about diarrhea, constipation, bloating gas. The dental things, okay, those get to me. But, I just nod. It's not like I can say, "Gross. Stop showing me that." No, I have to just say, "wow, that must have hurt. Hope you heal up soon." I stop as I see a new shade of green color her face.
Hannah, who up until now has been paying attention to every word I have been saying, suddenly jumps out of her seat and races for the door.
"It's the Yoders!" she says, full of childish excitement. "They've got Barney and Klem with them!"
While Hannah tells the tale of the morning, not to mention the numerous humiliating moments for Rachelle and me. I mean that little girl didn't miss a thing. She even blurted out about Rachelle's face plant and the corncob curlers. Who knows what else she might have divulged had Helene not interrupted.
It doesn't take long for the Yoders to notice us. To them, we are a circus act. They stare in disbelief. I nudge Rachelle. "Should we curtsy? I'm not used to this much attention. Help me out here."
Rachelle steps forward. "Hello, I'm Rachelle."
They introduce themselves and after a few minutes I don't feel so conspicuous. While the older Yoder girls head in to the kitchen with Helene and Rebekah, Hannah hands little metal pails to both Rachelle and I.
"Follow me," she says, then starts talking to the littlest Yoder in a low tone. With the occasional look over their shoulders, followed by some giggles, I get the feeling that they are talking about us.
"I think they're talking shit about us," I whisper.
"Stop it. They are sweet little girls. Besides the Amish don't do things like that." Rachelle assures me.
"Every kid does that. Trust me. I've been around hundreds of kids. They all laugh at adults."
"You, my friend, are acting paranoid," she says, swinging her empty pail.
"They're probably making fun of my outfit," I mutter.
Rachelle laughs and points. "I think we have stumbled on the mother-load."
I look around, checking for bears. "Just know this. Little kids are vipers. They look all sweet and innocent, but most are serial killers at heart." I'm joking, of course, I love kids, but I don't trust them as far as I can throw them.
Rachelle seems to be eating more than she's dropping in the pale, but I say nothing. She's going to pay for this indulgence in a little while because blueberries, when eaten in abundance, pillage the digestive tract. Hello corncobs.
"We need a plan B. I don't think Old Reliable is gonna get us there, even if they mange to fix it."
"I know, I know. My text went through to Chuck, finally, but he can't get anyone to cover his shift. So, he can't come help us."
"If I can use your phone, I might be able to call my cousin and get her to come pick us up. Do you have enough juice left in yours?"
I nod and pull my phone from my back pocket. "Hey, just don't talk long and use all the power. It's my only connection to the outside world. Oh, and don't tell her about the snakes. I'm betting that would be a deal breaker."
"S-s-s-s-s-s-so true," she says, a big grin plastered on her face.
Had I not been knee deep in chiggers, I might have thought it was funny. "S-s-s-s-so unfunny," I say, with the appropriate amount of vinegar in my voice. "Hurry up and make the call, Amish Allen." She might be assimilating but this southern girl is dying to get out of here.
Author Notes
No children, Amish or otherwise, were ever in danger. I really do suffer from the phobia of not having a charged phone. And the blueberry part, is very true, so you're welcome. Check out Rachelle Allen's post.
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