Cruising Amish

"We're really going back home tomorrow, aren't we?" Ilse bemoaned as she and Abel sat upon the balcony of their little room. For their last evening on board the ship, the young couple said they wanted to spend it alone.

"We don't have a choice," Abel said. "It's our life, Ilse. Our families are waiting for us. We have obligations."

She nodded sadly. "We won't be able to act the way we are now when we go home," she lamented. "I'm going to have to go back to being the good, quiet little wife."

Abel smiled. "I'm sure I could forgive the occasional indiscretion."

She slipped her arms around him. "It's almost too strange to say it, but I'm going to miss them. Jessica and Mike, I mean."

Abel chuckled. "Me, too." He drew in a heavy breath and let it out. Me, too . . . .

* * * *

Late the following morning, Abel stood before the window in the cabin, clad once more in his conservative, traditional suit. It seemed so much more bland now, given the freedom of dress he and Ilse had enjoyed the previous week. Even in the air conditioned cabin, the straight-legged slacks, simple shirt, suspenders and jacket felt stifling.

"At least we have these wonderful memories to take home with us," Ilse said as she tightened the bow on her dress.

Abel nodded with a sage smile to his wife. "Yes, we do."

Hefting their single bag, Abel left the cabin with his wife dutifully behind him, already falling into the docile role she would play for the rest of her life. As had happened when they first came on board, odd looks were cast their way. While Abel had paid them little heed before, he was now annoyed.

Every step away from the ship felt heavier than the last. Both Abel and his wife looked back in longing, hoping for something magical to happen that would suddenly change their fortunes and whisk them back into a life of hedonism.

"It's too bad we couldn't say good bye to Mike and Jessica," Abel remarked as he looked for a taxi. "They must have gotten off the ship early."

"They don't have any reason to hate going home," Jessica said quietly.

Abel soured. He did not want to go home any more than his wife did, but he was prepared for it. He told himself that their obligations to their community were more important than personal desires. Once home, he reasoned, their heavy hearts would lift back up amid the simple honesty of the Amish way of life.

"Hey, you two!" called a familiar voice as a white sedan pulled to a stop at the curb. "Need a ride?"

Abel chuckled, genuinely glad to see Mike and Jessica. A quick glance to the hopeful face of his wife was all he needed to decide.

"Sure," Abel answered, reaching for the back door. "We don't have to be at the airport until five."

"Airport, huh?" Mike asked, then gave his wife a knowing look. She stared back, impish smile growing across her face.

"Let's make a little stop, then," she said.

Abel and Ilse shrugged. "Um . . . okay."

* * * *

The letter arrived three days later. Hiram Petermann kept it from the others, who had been worrying themselves over the previous days due to the failure of Abel and Ilse to return. But the elder Petermann had not been worried. He had not been surprised. And now, here was the reason.

By the light of a lantern in the window of the house, Hiram unfolded the single page. It had been respectfully rendered in Pennsylvania Deutsch.

"<Dear Father,

By now, of course, you know Ilse and I have not returned from our honeymoon. We simply could not come home, not yet. We will, but I feel I owe it to my wife to allow her to enjoy her own Rumspringa, in a way.

Please do not worry for us. We have met some friends, and will stay with them. Trust in my judgment, Father. We are not abandoning our community, only delaying our return. Without the opportunity to fully satisfy our indulgences, we would not be able to faithfully serve God and our community.

When we do return, it will be with glad hearts.

Your Son,

Abel Petermann.>"

Hiram folded the letter and replaced it within the envelope. Tired eyes looked out upon the darkened countryside in contemplation.

"<Did he say when they will be coming home?>"

Hiram turned to his wife, small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He could not be surprised at his wife's deduction; she was the the craftiest and most observant woman he had ever known. "<No, but they will.>"

His wife cocked her head. Behind closed doors the elder couple were much more casual with one another than they were in public. "<As does the father, so does the son,>" she remarked.

Hiram nodded. "<Indeed, my love. Indeed.>"

-fin-