Chapter Seventeen - GRACIE

Gracie fumed. She couldn’t believe she had actually fallen for that guy. He was pretentious and elitist and felt like his path was the only noble one. Never mind that engineers had invented the machinery they were using to more efficiently distribute the food to those in need. Or that because of an engineer’s unique training, they were able to bring clean water to those who hadn’t had it before. Someone had to invent things like toilets, didn’t they? Gracie doubted Mark would last long in a place where the streets served as their latrines.

Mark hadn’t said another word for the remainder of their time at the food bank—thank goodness.

Gracie didn’t remember falling asleep that night. Unable to subdue the outrage she still felt, she had tossed and turned all night. It hadn’t helped that Mark had sent her several texts. Even though she hadn’t responded to any of them, she had read them. Mark wanted to talk.

Fat chance of that happening.

Although it seemed Gracie had slept at some point, when she awoke, she was still exhausted and thankful they only had one more day left. Today they would travel to Lancaster and a working Amish farm. Tomorrow, they would begin their two-day journey back to Minnesota. Maybe she’d take Cameron up on his offer to sit by him on the bus. He looked like the better option at this point.

Gracie skipped breakfast and ate one of the granola bars she kept in her purse, then slipped down to the bus; however, Mrs. Krump was already there and reminded Gracie they were checking out and staying in a different hotel that evening. Gracie would need her luggage.

So much for stealth.

Gracie ran back up to her room and shoved everything into her suitcase. Stephanie came in right as Gracie was finishing up. Her roommate didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, though, and instead watched Gracie as she attempted to make her last shirt fit into the suitcase. It had all fit before, and she didn’t know why it was having such a problem now.

“You doing okay?” Stephanie finally asked.

Gracie glanced up, surprised. She and Stephanie had talked a little on this trip, but they were far from friends. More like acquaintances out of convenience. Gracie knew as soon as they returned to school, they would go back to how it had been before. They had different friends—that was just how it worked. But right then, Stephanie seemed genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, fine,” Gracie said, now sitting on top of her suitcase, determined to get it to close.

“It’s just that—well, you and Markus may be the most unlikely couple I’ve ever seen, but weirdly enough, you’re also a perfect match.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Stay there, I’ll clip it shut,” Stephanie said, stepping forward and locking the suitcase. “Okay, you’re good to go.” She hesitated, then said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I saw Markus walking out to the bus looking all mopey. He’s seemed different this week—good different. And I’m pretty sure it’s because of you. I hope you guys can work things out.”

Then, without saying anything else, Stephanie grabbed her suitcase that had already been packed, and left the room.

Gracie slumped onto the bed, Stephanie’s words playing on repeat. Yes, maybe Gracie and Mark had the potential to have something good, but that wasn’t enough.

By the time she made it back down to the bus, she was the last one to board. Her gaze immediately landed on Mark, who was looking at her expectantly as she made her way down the aisle. She hesitated. As she approached, she saw he had left the seat next to him open and his duffel bag sat on the floor beneath his feet, as usual.

Gracie took a quick evaluation of the other empty seats. She could purposely sit somewhere else to show Mark how upset she was with him. The seat next to Cameron was filled, but it didn’t have to be him. It could be some other random guy. Gracie thought she’d even prefer to sit with the chaperons over Mark at the moment. She could sit by Molly, the one who had taken her and Mark to the Liberty Bell. She was pretty cool—for an adult, that was.

“This seat is available,” Mark said softly, as if reading her thoughts.

His eyes…they seemed to be begging her to sit next to him.

“Choose a seat, Miss Porter,” Mrs. Krump called from the front.

Gracie’s gaze flitted to the empty seat next to Molly, but Gracie made the mistake of looking at Mark one last time.

Those eyes.

With a silent groan, she gave in and collapsed into the seat next to him.

“I feel like I was rude to you yesterday,” Mark said as they pulled out of the hotel’s parking lot.

Uh, yeah. But Gracie didn’t respond. Instead, she clamped her jaw shut and gazed out the window.

“You know, I don’t know as much about you as I’d like to,” Mark continued. “I don’t know what your favorite food is, if you prefer buttered popcorn or kettle corn. I don’t even know what your aspirations are. What do you want to do after graduation?”

Regardless of what Gracie wanted to do or be, she wanted to say, “an engineer,” just because she knew Mark wouldn’t approve. Was that a bit juvenile? Yeah. But she didn’t care. At this point, he already seemed to have a low opinion of everyone but himself.

Gracie felt Mark poke her leg. “I know you can hear me.”

She sucked in a deep breath, but then a smile tugged at the edges of her lips. She knew if she told Mark the truth, he’d probably have an even lower opinion of her than if she wanted to go into engineering. She continued staring at the passing landscape as she said, “I want to be an artist.”

Silence followed, and she searched the window for Mark’s reflection.

“Oh,” he finally said. That was all. The conversation died, and now Gracie felt worse than she had before.

* * * * *

Gracie had seen pictures of the Amish, so she had a small idea of what she might expect. The fields weren’t green and lush like they would be in the next month or two. The weather was still chilly and the ground hard. The students were told most of the work that went on now had to do with taking care of animals, chopping wood, cooking, cleaning, and that kind of stuff. As they began a tour of the farm, however, what Gracie hadn’t expected to see was how content everyone seemed.

Small children ran around outside, bundled up but laughing as they chased each other. They didn’t have cars or TVs or cell phones…the things that distracted the rest of the world. It was an appealing notion.

Distractions.

That was what Mark had called Gracie.

He seemed to want a simpler life. One where he could help people and not have things like girls distracting him from a higher purpose. What was the male equivalent of a nun? A monk? Maybe he should become that.

The school group moved into the main farmhouse, where women smiled and gave polite nods as they prepared lunch for their families. The group watched how the Amish made rolls and butter, as well as beautiful quilts.

They were in the middle of a demonstration when Gracie saw a child through the window. The girl was maybe six or seven and sat alone on the porch of the farmhouse, crying. She was dressed in the same fashion as the other children. A plain dress and apron peeked out from beneath a coat and her hair was covered by a bonnet.

Gracie glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed the child. Members of the Amish community walked along the road in front of the house, but if anyone had noticed the small girl, they didn’t stop to help. After another minute, Gracie slipped away from the group and walked outside. She wasn’t sure if the children were allowed to talk to the tourists, but she thought she’d try anyway.

“Where are the other children?” Gracie asked, sitting down on the step next to the girl.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she watched Gracie closely, as if ascertaining whether this redheaded behemoth was dangerous or not. After a moment, the girl’s small hand tentatively reached out and pulled on one of Gracie’s curls. It stretched out, and then bounced back into place when the girl let go. She giggled.

Gracie smiled at the innocent curiosity. “Yes, my hair is a bit crazy, isn’t it.”

The girl stared at Gracie quizzically, like she didn’t understand. Gracie thought she remembered reading somewhere that Amish children didn’t begin to learn English until they attended school. “Why are you out here alone?” she asked slowly.

The girl’s smile faded, and she stared into the distance.

Gracie was about to give up and leave when the girl pulled on Gracie’s arm. “I am Claire,” she said, pointing to herself. It was clear English wasn’t her first language, but she didn’t seem to want Gracie to leave, either. Her gaze darted around, as if making sure no one was watching, before she pointed to her legs. “Weak. Curse from God.”

Gracie stared. “You mean to tell me you can’t walk?”

Claire nodded.

“Who says it’s a curse from God?”

The girl drew in a shaky sigh. “Everyone. Other girls—they laugh. Because of curse, I can’t go to school. I have special teacher.”

The way the girl said it, so matter of fact…it broke Gracie’s heart. “What do you think? Is it a curse?”

The girl paused, like she was trying to make sense of Gracie’s question. After a moment she said, “I don’t know.”

In an impulsive move, Gracie pulled her sketchpad out of her pocket. “Why don’t you draw a picture about how that makes you feel?”

The girl eyed the pencil but didn’t move to take it.

Gracie wasn’t sure if Claire wasn’t taking it because she didn’t understand or because she wasn’t allowed to. She pointed to the pencil and paper, then to Claire’s chest, where her heart was. “Draw,” Gracie said, smiling and extending the pencil and paper toward the girl.

Claire seemed to finally understand, and she grinned as she reached for them eagerly.

“Are you allowed to draw?” Gracie asked, suddenly nervous that she was encouraging this young girl to break their family’s rules.

The girl nodded eagerly. “Ja.” She tapped the pencil against her lip a few times, as if thinking, and then her eyes lit up. She placed the sketch pad on her lap, and it wasn’t another moment before the pencil flew across the paper without hesitation, almost as if it were independent from the hand that held it.

When Claire finally slowed to a stop, Gracie asked if she could see the picture.

Claire held it up, and Gracie’s breath caught. It showed a young girl that was dressed just like the girl in front of her. In the drawing, she was also crying. But a man stood above the girl, comforting her.

“Is that your father?” Gracie asked.

The girl shook her head. “Nein. Jesus. He protect me.” She seemed much happier now.

Gracie heard them finishing up inside, and she stood. “Would your parents be okay with you keeping those?” she asked. She nodded toward the sketchpad and pencil. She had a couple more in her backpack, and plenty at home.

Claire’s eyes widened. “Keep? Forever?”

Gracie smiled and nodded. “Any time you feel sad, or happy, or…anything at all, just draw. It always helps me, and I think it might do the same thing for you.”

Claire hugged the notebook to her chest with a grin, then seemed to remember herself and said, “Danke.”

Mrs. Krump hurried out onto the porch at that moment. “What are you doing out here, Gracie?” She looked nervous, casting side looks up and down the dirt road that ran in front of the house.

“Talking,” Gracie said, not quite understanding what the big deal was. She had just been trying to help.

“When the Amish community here agrees to do tours, we are under a strict understanding that we are not to wander off on our own.”

“I’m sorry,” Gracie said. She noticed Claire hide the pencil and sketchpad under her apron. Gracie gave a small wave to the girl and followed Mrs. Krump back inside. The tour guide was demonstrating how they could run a refrigerator and other amenities without having to rely on public utilities.

For the rest of the tour, Gracie savored how quiet and peaceful it was on the Amish farm. She loved how the men, women and children all worked hard and had a purpose—like they were in sync. It was a far cry from the chaos that abounded in her own home.

And yet, her thoughts always returned to Claire and how Gracie had been a part of turning tears into laughter.

That was when it hit her.

She knew what she wanted to do after graduation.

* * * * *

The school group was walking down a dirt road and past one of the farms when Gracie spun around, looking for Mark among the throng of teenagers. She had finally figured out what she wanted, and she needed to tell someone. Gracie saw him on the outer edge, and she took a step toward him, but she stopped mid-step when he averted his gaze. She remembered now that they weren’t talking.

Gracie turned back around, her heart heavy, only to realize they had stopped at a small building. Their tour guide explained it was a one-room schoolhouse and that the children in the community only attended through the eighth grade. Class was in session at the moment, however, and they wouldn’t be able to go inside.

“Man, wouldn’t that be nice,” Cameron said. “I would have loved to quit school after eighth grade.” He caught Gracie’s eye and smiled. “Of course, then I wouldn’t have met you.”

Oh, gosh. Had he just used a pick-up line on her?

She noticed Mark watching. He had kept his distance ever since she had proclaimed herself an artist. If he was going to be judgmental like that, fine. That was his loss.

Gracie turned to Cameron. “How do you feel about artists?” She saw Mark’s gaze sharpen, but she forced her attention to stay on the swimmer.

“Um…they’re cool…I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Why, do you know any?”

“I am one,” she said, watching his reaction at her big revelation. Cameron’s eyes lit up. Finally. At least someone appreciated the finer things in life.

“Cool,” he said with an excited grin. He was like a little kid who had just found out they were getting a puppy. “Could you draw my head on a superhero’s body? Like make me into Aquaman or something?”

Or not.

“Um…some types of artists do comic book kind of stuff. And they’re really good at it. But…that’s not what I do.”

“Oh.” Cameron seemed really disappointed, like she’d just taken away that puppy. Just when Gracie was going to excuse herself, Cameron lit up again. “Do you do those sketches of people where their heads are huge and their bodies are tiny? Like what they do at amusement parks?”

Uh-oh. “I’ve never tried it before, but maybe with some practice I could get good at it. It takes a special kind of talent, though.”

Cameron’s expression fell again. Okay, Gracie was officially never talking to Cameron about art again.

“So, what kind of stuff do you do?” He was asking questions. That was a good sign. Maybe he really was interested.

But how could Gracie answer that? She wasn’t sure how to describe what she did. “Mostly abstract stuff. I kind of just throw all my feelings onto the canvas.”

Cameron did not look impressed. “That’s…interesting.”

“I’ve done some realistic paintings too, though,” she added quickly.

“You know what you should do…graffiti art.” Cameron beamed, like it was the best suggestion he had ever come up with. And it kind of was. Gracie had always thought that graffiti art was awesome, and she’d been practicing on her walls. It hadn’t turned out half bad, but not good enough to show people yet. Especially because there was no way she was inviting Cameron into her bedroom.

Mrs. Krump threw them a look at that moment that warned they needed to stop talking. Like, yesterday.

Gracie’s lips clamped shut, and she listened to the rest of the tour guide’s presentation. As they walked along the road back toward the farm, Gracie couldn’t help but feel worse than when they had started out. She had talked to Cameron about her art…and she could admit that it was to make Mark jealous…but the only thing it had accomplished was making Gracie doubt everything she’d ever done. Did anyone care about her art except for her?

Gracie squared her shoulders. It didn’t matter, because it was for her and her alone. She realized now that her art wasn’t just abstract…it contained the essence of her. She’d been spot-on when she’d told Cameron that her art was akin to throwing her feelings onto the canvas. Because that was exactly what she did. And that was exactly what that little Amish girl had done with the sketch pad.

Gracie hadn’t just been painting all these years. She’d been her own art therapist. And that was what she was going to do for others.

She was going to school to help others in a way only she knew how.