Free The Fiddler by Beverly Lewis Page A

south on Cattail Road, taking the back road leading to the most peaceful blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town she’d ever encountered.
    Amelia enjoyed seeing the hitching posts and white silos, and the horse and buggies, too. “So this is Hickory Hollow,” she said and parked her car behind Michael’s in the paved driveway that led to a beautiful old farmhouse. Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Landis, the mailbox read.
    She remembered what Michael had told her about this special parking arrangement with his Mennonite relatives. Where he hides his car.
    Turning off the ignition, she spotted a stout woman with cherry-red cheeks—certainly Michael’s aunt—waving from the front porch, her hair in a severe bun as she called a warm greeting.
    Amelia waved back and when Michael came over to her car, she asked, “Is this your private parking spot?”
    “I guess you could say that. I’ve been using it for years now, since near the start of my Rumschpringe.” He gave her a quick glance. “You know about Rumschpringe, right? It’s the stage of Amish life when young people sixteen and up are permitted to ‘run around.’ Some of us try on the world for size.”
    “So, do your parents even know you own a car?”
    “Oh, they know.” He nodded as they began to walk toward the road. “Not that they’re any too pleased about it.”
    “Well then, why do you hide it?” she asked, matching his stride.
    “Most young men who have cars keep them away from their parents’ property out of respect.” Michael removed his straw hat and held it in one hand. “Of course, most youth never stray as far as that.”
    “Like you have?”
    “Well, owning a car is a big deal, and I don’t much care to flaunt it. I don’t want to trample on the Old Ways. I’m not doing this out of rebellion, though it might look like that to the People.”
    She grasped some of what he said, but the idea of allowing young people to experiment with the outside world after being sheltered so long seemed risky.
    “Let’s head to Nate Kurtz’s dairy farm,” he said, changing the subject.
    “How far away?”
    “Less than a mile.” His voice suddenly sounded thinner. “Oh, and while we drove here, I was thinkin’ it might be best if you don’t go with me when I talk to my Daed.”
    “I didn’t expect to,” she said, looking ahead, enjoying the landscape. “Do whatever works for you.”
    “Denki—thanks.” Michael glanced at her a second time, then looked away.
    “What about your Wise Woman . . . any chance I might have time to meet her?”
    “I’ll see to it.” He gave a nervous chortle. “I might actually need to talk to her myself.”
    Amelia wondered if he might need the comfort that only the Wise Woman could offer. Someone who is Amish.
    “Should we make an appointment with her?”
    He smiled, yet she’d been serious. “No need for that, really,” he said.
    “Okay.” Amelia swung her arms and took a deep breath—the air was fresher here, she realized. And it felt good to let her hair blow free, away from her face. The farmland was a lovely departure from big-city living.
    “Nate milks forty head of cattle, twice a day,” he said. “I’ve worked for him part-time since I was thirteen.”
    She recalled the first time she had milked a cow by hand, with her dear grandmother’s help. It had been one of the happiest days of her life.
    Why did God take Grammy so soon? Amelia recalled how stunned and helpless she had felt when news came of the massive stroke that had so suddenly claimed her dear grandmother’s life. Her grandfather’s death had come years later, but he let it be known that his sweetheart’s passing had all but broken his heart.
    Walking this farm country made Amelia feel closer to her grandparents. So many cherished memories! She soaked in the serenity as they passed thousands of rows of corn in a landscape dotted with farms and adorable barefoot children dressed like mirror images of their parents. She was surprised by the