Little Amish Lizzie Read online

  There was a counter with a cash register and different little racks of snacks. Candy, crackers, and potato chips were all piled neatly in sections. Across from the snacks was a big red cooler with the words “Coca-Cola” written in big white letters slanted at an angle. Lizzie could never quite figure that out. Why would you write that so crooked? If you really wanted to know what it said, you had to hold your head crooked, too. The big red cooler was filled with chunks of ice and deep black water that was so cold it hurt your hand if you touched it. Bottles of Coca-Cola, 7-Up, and orange and grape soda floated around in the ice-cold water. But Emma and Lizzie were very seldom allowed to have soda. It was always a special treat when Dat smiled, his eyes twinkled, and he fished in the cold water for their favorite orange flavor.

  Today Dat was very busy. He sat behind the counter of his big green sewing machine that sewed the shiny black harnesses. The motor out behind the shop made a steady sound—flub, flub, flub—providing the power to run the big heavy needle up and down. The floor was strewn with bits and pieces of leather and string. Usually the shop was swept clean, but if Dat was really busy, as he was today, it looked a mess.

  Emma and Lizzie stepped close and touched his arm. His face broke into a happy grin. He stopped the machine, swiveled on his stool, and said, “There are my girls! All done with the dishes already?”

  Lizzie hopped up and down. “Can I help, too, Dat?”

  Dat got out his shiny black and brown pipe. He scooped up a pipeful of tobacco and tamped it down with his thumb. He put the pipe in his mouth, struck a match on the seat of his stool, and put it to the tobacco. As he inhaled through the pipe, the tobacco became a red fuzzy glow. Lizzie loved to watch Dat do this, and loved the smell of the pipe smoke.

  After he had blown out the smoke, he looked at Lizzie, but he was not smiling. She just knew what he was going to say, and her heart sank.

  “Lizzie, dear, I’m just afraid you’re too small. When you’re as old as Emma, I’ll let you help, okay? You can get the broom and sweep the shop if you want to help me.”

  Lizzie looked at the floor and kicked a piece of leather. She clenched her hands hard behind her back so she wouldn’t cry. The lump in her throat felt as big and scratchy as a walnut, but she blinked, swallowed hard, and whispered, “Okay.”

  Dat squeezed her shoulder with his hand and said, “That’s my girl, Lizzie. You just have to grow a bit taller and be a bit older.”

  “Yeah, Lizzie, I’ll be in first grade next year, you know. I am the oldest, so why don’t you go get the broom and start sweeping?”

  Lizzie’s head flew up as a hot anger gripped her whole being. “Just shut up, Emma! You think you are always better and bigger than I am. I can run faster than you, anyway!” Lizzie clenched her fists as she hurled the biggest insult.

  Dat’s hand came down firmly on Lizzie’s shoulder, and Lizzie knew she had gone too far.

  The little bell above the door tinkled merrily as the first customer of the day entered the shop. It was a big Mennonite man whom Dat was well acquainted with.

  Forgetting the girls’ unhappiness, Dat’s hand fell away from Lizzie’s shoulder, and he straightened up, putting his pipe back in his mouth. After exhaling, his face broke into a big smile. “Well, Paul, what brings you here this morning? I haven’t seen you in a long time!”

  The big Mennonite man looked closely at Dat’s pipe and stated loudly, “Melvin, when are you going to give up that bad habit?”

  Dat took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at it sheepishly. “Oh, I don’t know, Paul. I …”

  “Well, you know they’re finding out more and more that smoking causes cancer of the lungs. And lung cancer is a big killer in the United States. Every time you suck on that stem you’re making your lungs as black as coal. And if you ever could see the lungs of a cadaver that smoked, you would throw that pipe as far as you could and never touch it again.

  “Besides, it’s wrong in the sight of God, too, which is a lot worse!”

  Dat grinned self-consciously.

  “Yes, Paul, of course I think you’re right. But once you’ve been smoking tobacco as long as I have, you would understand how hard it is to quit.”

  “It’s the devil, Melvin. You’re just not being careful enough of the devil,” Paul boomed.

  Lizzie felt her face turn white. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. She threw a terrified glance at Emma, who was calmly watching the exchange between the two men while she picked up pieces of leather. Didn’t Emma hear what that Mennonite man said? This was the most terrible thing Lizzie had ever heard.

  Without thinking, she turned, twisted the doorknob blindly, and slipped through the door. She ran desperately, on shaking legs, across the gravel drive and up the sidewalk, and hurled her little body on the glider which stood on the porch.

  Her mind raced and her heart beat so rapidly, she wondered if fear ever made someone die.

  How could her beloved Dat’s lungs be completely black? She pictured her Dat, cold and quite dead, and a doctor opening his chest and and finding his lungs as black as coal. She shivered. She drew up her knees, pulled down her skirt, and buried her face in her dress.

  Terror pounded in her chest and threatened to choke her. And then yet … oh, how unthinkable—that man said that the devil had got her Dat. Well, not really got him, but the same as that. What did he mean by saying it wasn’t right in the sight of God? Did he mean God did not like it when Dat lit his pipe? Or was the devil so close to Dat that God couldn’t see him clearly?

  Oh, this was awful. Why was she even in the shop? Why did that Paul have to say those things? She was much too scared to cry. Her mouth was as dry as sandpaper, and her breath came in short, hot gasps. Maybe if she wouldn’t have called Emma names, Paul would have driven past the harness shop and never came in the door. She was pretty sure it wasn’t God who made her tell Emma to shut up, so that left only the devil. She was so scared of the devil, she could never think of him. She had already found that if you started to think of him, and you thought of cupcakes or pancakes or anything good, it would go away. So she sat on the glider and thought of pancakes. A big stack of at least four fluffy golden brown pancakes, with a dot of butter and piles of syrup running down the sides.

  The harness shop, Paul the Mennonite man, Dat and his pipe, and Emma learning to put flaxseed into cruppers while Lizzie had to sweep, all faded away and seemed quite unimportant.

  But probably there were guardian angels at work, so one very sensitive little Lizzie could remain a child who was only five years old.

  And she never told a single soul.

  chapter 3

  Playing House

  Emma and Lizzie sat at their little play table, holding their dolls. Emma’s doll was named Mary, but Lizzie thought that was a very plain name for a doll, so she named her doll Reneé because it sounded so English.

  Lizzie thought it made her doll seem a bit classy to be called Reneé. She didn’t really want to be English herself, but she loved to watch English people talk and listen to their slang, admiring their clothes and flashes of jewelry.

  Mam loved all her English neighbors, and they often took her grocery shopping, or just sat in the kitchen drinking coffee.

  This afternoon Lizzie plopped Reneé on her lap and said, “Reneé, why are you spilling all your food?”

  Emma looked up from feeding Mary with a little play spoon. She giggled and told Lizzie if Reneé was a real baby she couldn’t plop her down so hard.

  Lizzie giggled back. They crunched their soda crackers and soaked them with milk, feeding their babies and talking their little mother language.

  It was a drizzly, wet day outside. But inside their little playhouse everything was cozy. The playhouse itself was actually an old building close to the house. It was not really a shed, because it had tiny little creaky stairs that went up to a second story.

  Lizzie would have loved to have a little bedroom upstairs and actually use the creaky old stairs, but D
at closed the opening at the top because too many bumblebees had nests up there. If Lizzie climbed up the stairs she could hear the low buzzing, and she was dreadfully afraid of all those bumblebees.

  Downstairs the floor was made of wide wooden planks with knotholes in them. Sometimes when Lizzie swept the floor, she would try and sweep all the dirt down through one knothole. Emma would fuss and scold, but Lizzie thought it was fun, going ’round and ’round the knothole with her broom.

  The girls had a play table with three little wooden chairs, a little wooden cupboard filled with dishes, some brightly colored rugs Mam had given them, and a little bed for their dolls. They still needed curtains for their windows, but Mam just didn’t have time to make them.

  Lizzie loved the playhouse. Today the rain made a soft, pattery sound on the metal roof, and Emma was so nice to her; she even gave Lizzie one of Mary’s toys to keep.

  They decided together that Lizzie would be English and would come to visit Emma, who would be Amish.

  “I could actually dress up in English clothes,” Lizzie said.

  “We don’t have any, Lizzie. Besides, Mam would never let you. That would be stupid,” Emma said.

  Lizzie thought awhile. She could wear her nightie and put her hair in a ponytail. But Emma would think that was stupid, too, so she didn’t say anything.

  She looked down at her plain brown dress and her bare feet peeping out underneath. She could at least wear shoes if she was going to be English.

  “I know what, Emma! I can use my doll’s beads for a necklace. I’m going to.” Lizzie ran to her doll purse and found a string of beads. She let it slide over her head and patted them on her chest. They looked bright yellow and glittered against her plain brown dress, and suddenly Lizzie felt so English. Now she needed shoes—wouldn’t it feel really neat to have high heels?

  “Emma, you know what?” Lizzie sighed.

  “What?”

  “Why won’t Mam buy us those glittery pink and purple play shoes in a package? It would be alright to wear them if we stayed in the playhouse and no one would see us, wouldn’t it?” asked Lizzie.

  Emma, who was always the practical one, put her hands on her hips and faced Lizzie squarely, saying, “Yes, but Lizzie, you know she would if we weren’t Amish. We aren’t allowed to have fancy shoes and suppose she would buy them and later we just kept wearing shoes like that when we’re big? Then we wouldn’t even really be Amish right, and that would break Mam and Dat’s heart.”

  Lizzie flicked back a stray strand of hair and told Emma, “They could get used to it.”

  Emma scolded, “Now Lizzie, just forget about those shoes. You know you’re not allowed to have them, so just forget it. You’re so … oh, whatever. C’mon, let’s play.”

  Lizzie sat up. “Okay. I’ll be the English lady, but I have to get shoes. I’ll be back,” she said as she dashed out the door and raced through the raindrops to the kitchen door. It slammed behind her as she stood scraping her bare feet on the rug.

  She heard Mam laugh and talk in English. Lizzie peeped around the cupboard and saw Mrs. Bixler, the lady who owned the little grocery store, sitting at the kitchen table with some homemade cinnamon rolls on a plate beside her.

  She was a tall, good-looking woman in her early forties. Her hair was cut short and shone under the gas light, and her earrings sparkled every time she turned her head. She had on a dark green skirt with a crisp white blouse and her shoes were the greatest wonder of all. They were white and had high heels. Oh, how Lizzie would have loved to try walking in those wonderful shoes!

  Mam caught sight of Lizzie at the same moment Mrs. Bixler did.

  “Why, Lizzie, there you are!” Mrs. Bixler boomed. “How’s my little girl? You come here and give me a nice hug.”

  Lizzie just stood on the rug and gazed at her shyly.

  Mrs. Bixler opened her arms and Lizzie walked slowly to her. She was soon enveloped in a big warm hug, and the ruffles on her white blouse tickled Lizzie’s nose. She felt embarrassed, but Mrs. Bixler smelled so wonderful, and Lizzie wondered if it was perfume or talcum powder like Mam used.

  Mrs. Bixler held Lizzie at arm’s length and exclaimed, “My gosh, Lizzie, you are really growing. And where did you find those pretty yellow beads?”

  Lizzie’s face turned pink and her cheeks felt hot, but she bravely shrugged her shoulders and said in perfect English, “In my doll purse.”

  Mam beamed to hear Lizzie speak in good English. Amish children learned to speak Pennsylvania Dutch first, but by age six or seven, most of them could speak reasonably well in English. They usually mastered both languages at a young age, although Dutch was naturally easier.

  Mam smiled at Lizzie and asked, “Are you still playing in the playhouse?”

  Lizzie clasped her hands behind her back, smiled, and said, “Yes.”

  Mrs. Bixler clapped her hands. “Good job, Lizzie! You can speak English well!”

  She turned to Mam and said, “My stars! Before you know it Lizzie will be a grown young lady. Speaking English already! Goodness!”

  Mam smiled at Mrs. Bixler and replied. “Yes, I know. Emma is going to school this fall—or she should go, although I’m not sure if we will send her. She won’t be six till November, and we’re just not sure yet.”

  Lizzie was safely out of Mrs. Bixler’s grasp now, so she backed quietly away and walked slowly toward the laundry room, where her shoes were kept.

  She heard Mam say, “Lizzie, I’ll bring Mandy out to you when she wakes from her nap.”

  “Okay, we’re in the playhouse,” Lizzie answered as she splashed back through the rain to Emma.

  Emma looked up when Lizzie entered. “Where were you so long, Lizzie? We have to start playing ’cause you know how it goes when Mandy wakes up. Then we have to play with her, too, and she never wants to be my child.”

  “She’s still sleeping. Mam will bring her out when she wakes up. Hey, you know who was there? Mrs. Bixler. She’s so pretty and looks so nice and smells so good, and she gave me a hug. And, Emma, you should just see her shoes. They’re white and have high heels and are all shiny white.”

  Emma just snorted.

  Lizzie said, “Well, you just don’t know how pretty those shoes were. And you know what, Emma? She says, ‘Oh, my stars!’ That sounds so … I don’t know—so much like an English lady. When I come visit you I can say that, ’cause I’ll be English.”

  Lizzie stood straight and tall and said, “My stars!” as clearly as she could.

  Emma looked at Lizzie and frowned. “Lizzie, I mean it. You are so different. You know you are not allowed to say that. It sounds so … I don’t know. First you want English shoes and now you say that. I’m going to tell Mam if you don’t stop acting so English.”

  Lizzie said, “Emma, I am not English for real. I don’t even know what you mean.”

  “Oh, well, forget it. You go outside now and knock, then I’ll open the door, okay?”

  Lizzie was sitting on the floor, looking at the soles of her shoes. She was concentrating so hard, she didn’t hear Emma.

  “Lizzie!” Emma exclaimed loudly.

  “What?”

  “C’mon. What are you doing?”

  Lizzie jumped up. “I know just what. I need two blocks of wood to tie onto my shoes and I’ll have high heels. I’m going to the woodshed to see if I can find some to make me some high-heeled shoes.” With that she dashed out into the rain.

  Emma sat down dejectedly. Why did Lizzie have to be so different? A lot of things she thought of just didn’t make sense to Emma. What did she get out of saying that, and why in the world did she have to be so desperate to wear high heels that she would go get blocks of wood?

  So Emma waited, and finally got a coloring book and crayons from the cupboard. She found a really nice picture of a squirrel in a tree and selected a green crayon. She became so engrossed in her coloring, she forgot all about Lizzie, so the knock on the door came as a bit of a surprise. Oh yes, that’s Lizzie, s
he thought as she got up to open the door.

  “Hello!” Lizzie boomed very loudly. “How are you, Emma?”

  Lizzie was way too tall. Emma’s gaze traveled from Lizzie’s beaming face to her shoes. Sure enough, she had a block of wood tied securely with baler twine over the top of her foot.

  Emma immediately played along, extending her hand and saying, “Why, come just in, Mrs. Bixler! I’m just fine. And where did you get your new high-heeled shoes?”

  Lizzie held her head up high, and in a genuine English lady imitation, she said, “Oh, I just buyed them at the store!”

  They both collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. When Lizzie hit the floor, her high heels fell apart, which had them laughing much more.

  Emma sputtered, “L-L-Lizzie—your shoes!”

  Lizzie gasped, “Well, they did feel like high heels a little bit. Now if you would just let me say, ‘Oh, my stars!’”

  Emma’s laughter disappeared and she looked squarely at Lizzie, her smile completely gone.

  “You just have to say that, Lizzie. Go ask Mam if you may. Go on. See what she says. Or go sit in a corner and keep saying it—see how good it feels.”

  Lizzie pondered this for a while. She picked up the blocks of wood and twine, trying to reattach them to her shoes.

  She looked at Emma. “There’s hardly any use, is there? These aren’t really high heels, and I’m not really English. But we had fun, didn’t we, Emma?”

  Emma smiled and put her hand in Lizzie’s. “C’mon, you silly little girl. Let’s go see if Mam has any cinnamon rolls left. Maybe Mandy’s awake, too.”

  Lizzie squeezed Emma’s hand and loved her so much she thought her heart would burst. Dear, bossy big sister Emma.

  chapter 4

  Marvin and Elsie

  Emma and Lizzie were on their way to Grandpa Glicks’ farm. They walked carefully on the gravel path beside the road, pulling their little red express wagon.