Katie's Choice(13)
And Noni. The old woman had spunk. She hadn’t said two words since John Paul had led her into the room, but Zane could tell. She had that feisty look that made him imagine she would clonk Abram on the head with her cane if he messed up the reading. They had only introduced her as Noni. He had no idea if she was Ruth’s mother or Abram’s, and the fact that he couldn’t tell by the family’s treatment of her was proof positive that the Amish had communal living down better than the hippies.
Zane smiled and made another mental note to find out whose mother Noni really was. Just so he’d know. Staying with the Amish in Oklahoma might not be as exciting as the war-torn Middle East, but he couldn’t say it was going to be boring. Not in the least.
Thankfully Abram didn’t read too many verses, and soon he was closing the book on a chorus of “aemens.” Though early, the Fishers who didn’t live in the house packed up and left, while the ones who were staying tidied up and prepared to go to bed.
Zane said good night to everyone, and he and John Paul climbed the stairs.
“Bathroom’s down that way. Best brush your teeth and ready for bed. Sunrise comes mighty early.”
“Sunrise?”
John Paul smiled at him.
Zane laughed. He was joking of course. Who got up at sunrise? At least one of the Fishers had a sense of humor.
Zane grabbed his toothbrush and a pair of pajama pants and headed down the hall where John Paul had directed.
To call it a bathroom was beyond generous. The room was barely big enough for a person to stand, much less bathe. It had a tiny sink, mirror, and tub. But there was hot and cold running water, so he shouldn’t complain.
“Three months, Carson,” he muttered under his breath. Three more months, and he would be back in Chicago, then out into the field—on the border where he wouldn’t know where he would spend the night, much less have water that came out of pipes. And he would have Monica to come home to. He could manage three months of Amish living. No sweat.
He slipped on the drawstring pants, grabbed up his T-shirt and jeans, and headed out the door, whistling under his breath as he made his way down the hall.
John Paul grabbed his arm and dragged him into the room, quickly closing the door behind them.
“Uh . . .” He nodded toward Zane’s bare chest, his gaze lingering on the jagged scar on Zane’s shoulder. It wouldn’t be long before the questions came. “It’s probably not a good idea to go around like, uh . . . that.”
Zane glanced down and back up. “Sorry. I’m not used to . . .”
John Paul nodded, letting him off the hook of finishing that statement. There was a lot he wasn’t used to. Being in an Amish farmhouse topped the list quite nicely. He also wasn’t used to conservative ways, people offended by the sight of a man’s naked chest, and a host of other things he was certain to encounter over the next three months.
He was chagrined at his lack of research. He wouldn’t have dared enter a third world country without detailed knowledge of the culture. A man could get killed or worse for nothing more than shaking hands with the wrong person. He should have asked for a couple of more days to research his target, but he’d been too caught up in the excitement of going back to work to care one way or the other.
And if he decided to be honest with himself, he hadn’t taken the job all that seriously. It was only the Amish. Yet the people were becoming real to him now, caring souls who had taken him in and who wanted to teach him about their culture. He had shown them nothing but disrespect by not caring to learn any of their culture before arriving. Something he needed to correct ASAP.