Plain Protector. Alison Stone

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       ONE

      Sarah Gardner never thought a master’s degree in social work would mean she’d be sweeping the floor of the basement meeting room of the Apple Creek Community Church on a Sunday evening. No, she had thought she’d have her own office in a hospital or a private clinic, a family and maybe even a child by now.

      But when Sarah was a promising young college student, she couldn’t imagine the things her life would be lacking at the ripe old age of thirty. No decent job, no car, no close friends. All in an effort to maintain a low profile for fear her ex-boyfriend would find her.

      Yes, her life was a mess because she’d chosen the wrong guy to date. She swept a little more vigorously than necessary, sending a cloud of dust into the air, making her cough.

      A loud slam made Sarah jump. She spun around to find Mary Ruth Beiler with her hand on the closet door and an apologetic look on her face. Sometimes Sarah envied the young Amish girl who seemed to have her entire life mapped out for her in the insular Amish community of Apple Creek, New York. Mary Ruth’s options had been pruned to the point that she didn’t have much room to make bad choices.

      But not having choices didn’t mean freedom.

      Sarah knew as much.

      “Sarah,” Mary Ruth said in a soft voice, “I put the folding chairs in the closet. Is there anything else you need help with before I go?”

      “I think we’re set.” Sarah wanted to make a few notes from the group meeting tonight before her thoughts slipped away, much like the wisps of dreams from her childhood that vanished when she opened her eyes after a fitful night’s sleep.

      Sarah had set up a group meeting for primarily Amish youth, whose parents would rather they be attending the Sunday evening singings. But holding the meeting the same night as the bimonthly Sunday singings gave the teens an excuse to leave home without explaining where they were heading. They came to discuss the dangers of drinking and drugs—for some a reality, for others merely a temptation—and other worldly concerns. Sarah suspected some of their parents knew where their sons and daughters were really going and only pretended their offspring were enjoying the singings with hopes that soon they would be back within the fold. Other parents flat out forbade their children from associating with this Englischer who was surely giving them worldly ideas.

      But if these same Amish parents knew the trouble their precious children were flirting with, they might remember Sarah in their prayers instead of regarding the outsider with a sideways glance and a cold shoulder.

      Lord knew she could use their prayers.

      “Yes, we’re all set,” Sarah said. “Thank you for your help.” She dug into her jeans’ pocket and handed the girl payment, payment she could ill afford if she had to remain holed up in Apple Creek much longer like she was some criminal on the run and not the victim that she was. The pastor of the church paid her a modest stipend to work with the youth in the community.

      Having sweet Mary Ruth as an assistant was a bridge, however precarious, to the Amish youth, many of whom needed Sarah’s services, but, like their parents, were leery of outsiders. Some kids had found their way to drugs and alcohol—just like the youth she used to work with back in Buffalo—and their peers knew it. Mary Ruth made the first few introductions. From there, word spread. The rumor mill among the teens in Amish country was no less efficient than their texting counterparts in the outside world.

      Now, every two weeks, Mary Ruth helped Sarah set up the room and serve as a friendly face to newcomers and repeat visitors alike. The gatherings usually only had four or five members, but even if she only touched one person’s life, it would be worth the effort.

      Most Sundays, Mary Ruth then ran off to the Sunday singings. But not this week. This week she had stayed, a part of the group but separate. She seemed intrigued by the choices some of her peers had made, or choices they were courting.

      Sarah hoped the youth kept her number one rule: what was said in this room, stayed in this room. She trusted Mary Ruth, but each newcomer was a risk. Despite their age difference, Sarah considered Mary Ruth a friend.

      Perhaps her only friend in Apple Creek.

      “Do you need my help at all during the week?” Mary Ruth lingered at the stairway leading to the exit.

      “Yes, if you’d like. I was going to make a few home visits to young, single mothers in town who might be in need of services.” The women weren’t Amish and often needed help understanding what services were available to them and their babies until they got back on their feet.

      “These new mothers really need you, don’t they?” Mary Ruth asked, as if she were just now coming to appreciate Sarah’s work in the community.

      “Some of them don’t have anyone else.”

      “It’s sad. Their future is uncertain.” Mary Ruth played with the folds in her long dress, its hem brushing the tops of her black boots.

      The irony that Sarah’s future was probably the most precarious of them all was not lost on her, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

      “I admire the work you do. Sometimes I wish Amish women could be independent like you.”

      Independent. Sarah outwardly appeared independent, but on the inside she was a trembling mess. “How old are you, Mary Ruth?”

      “Eighteen?” Her answer sounded more like a question.

      “Ah, you have your whole life in front of you.”

      “A life that has already been planned out.” There was a faraway quality to her voice. “Most of my friends are hoping to get married soon.”

      “And you?”

      Mary Ruth hitched a shoulder and her cheeks turned pink. The Amish didn’t talk much about dating and courtship, at least not to her. Some successfully hid their wedding plans until the church published their engagement announcement only weeks before their actual wedding.

      Sarah did know that Mary Ruth had been spending time with a young Amish man, Ruben Zook, who lived next door to the cottage Sarah rented. But she didn’t dare inquire about Mary Ruth’s plans, respecting the Amish ways.

      Sarah waved her hand. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

      “Guten nacht,” Mary Ruth said, in a singsong voice as she climbed the stairs, her mood seeming to lift. She very rarely spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to Sarah, except for when she said good-night. Sarah was still smiling when the outside door opened with a creak and then slammed shut.

      Unease whispered at the back of Sarah’s neck as a pronounced silence settled across the room. Her plan to sit at her desk in her tiny basement office and make notes no longer seemed like a smart idea. It had been a habit during her years of working in Buffalo. Make notes immediately so that one patient СКАЧАТЬ