There Really is No Place Like Home

Elle Fredine
Sep 8, 2018 · 4 min read

A Tale of Love and Letting Go

I could hear my mother’s voice wailing down the phone line. “No! Emma! How can you do this? How can you be so selfish? Think of your father!”

She used the formal words for him, “dein Vater” — “thy father.”

I sighed. Shivered in the early morning chill. It was April, but still cool at five a.m. The fog was thick, cloaking the tall grass in a soft grey blanket. But the sun would burn through in a few hours and warm us all again.

“But Mama — Mutti — I am thinking of Papa. Of you. Of my brothers. Everyone. I have always thought about my family before myself.”

“Emma, you know what I mean.”

I sighed. I knew exactly what she meant. Come home. Get married. Settle down. Raise a family.

I knew Ben Yoder’s son, Daniel, had been talking to Papa. I’d seen them with their heads together at the barn-raising for my brother, Jacob, and his new bride, Miriam. Daniel and his father had spent the day sizing up me and my sisters like we were prize heifers.

Oh, Daniel was strong, good-looking. And fairly modern-thinking. He loved music and reading. He preferred girls who were educated, not afraid to speak in the company of men. But still, to his mind, men were men and women were women, and we each had our separate roles.

His would be working in his father’s furniture business. Mine would be cooking, keeping a clean house, and raising a large brood of fine, strong, music-loving children.

But, that had all changed for me with Rumschpringe. It’s meant to be a time of freedom, of self-discovery for the youth of our community. And I had certainly discovered a lot about the big, wonderful world beyond our closed little place in it. And about myself.

But my two years was almost up. I had only a few weeks left before I must return and become a full member of our community. Choose a husband.

I’d traveled a long way in two years. As far south as you could go and still be in the same country.

I loved Florida. The smell of the ocean, the saw palmetto trees everywhere, the rainbow of colorful birds — ibis, egrets, pink flamingos. Even alligators held a certain exotic charm in my eyes, used as I was to wheat fields, horse-drawn carriages and chicken coops.

Mama was still going on about what an ungrateful, wordly girl I’d become. “You probably wear makeup now. And short skirts. A real city girl.”

I eyed my reflection in the mirror over my bed. “Yes, Mama. I wear makeup now. I went to school to learn how to apply it properly.”

“School! What kind of “English” school teaches young women to paint their faces?”

Mama didn’t literally mean “English” — that’s just our word for anyone outside our community.

I choked back a giggle. Good thing Mutti hadn’t been here to see my friend Rashid teaching me how to juggle while teetering on one foot on the back of a chair. That really would have set her off.

“I learned a lot of things at school Mama. Music, mathematics, some Italian, a little French…”

“And what good will Italian do you? Will it make you a better mother? A better cook?”

“Mama…”

“I know, I know.” I heard the tears in her voice. Tears she was too proud to cry.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“More than anything in the world, Mama.”

“I’ll never see you again.” Mama’s wistful tone cut my heart. But I couldn’t give in. Not after coming so far.

“Don’t be sad, Mama. I’ll come visit.”

“Your Papa…”

“Papa will get over it. You know he’ll come ‘round if you work on him. Anyway, Hannah’s already set her cap for Daniel Yoder. At Jacob’s raising bee, she glared daggers at me every time Daniel so much as glanced in my direction.”

“Your sister’s only fifteen.” The starch was back in Mama’s voice.

“You married at fifteen, as you were always telling us girls.”

Mama sighed.

“I love you, my Emma.”

“I love you too, Mutti. I have to go now.” We rang off. I promised to write every day. Mama pretended to believe me.

I gazed out the window at the quiet paths, the little park, the school dorms I’d soon be leaving. I stretched my arms wide. Embracing the day — my new life. Hugged myself for the sheer joy of it.

My friends would be leaving Florida soon. Packing up winter camp. Loading the huge trucks and rail cars with the torn-down rides, the fun-houses, the side-show booths. Traveling the circuit by night. Ready to spring up in the next town with coming of each new day, as if by magic.

And I’d be going with them.

I thought about the last nine months of school. It had been hard. Physically and emotionally. But I’d grown so much. And I knew now, for certain, exactly what I was meant to do. What I’d been born to do.

I looked down at the bright blue polka dots splashed boldly across my sunny, yellow dress. White stockings ending in shiny, red shoes. Huge-toed red shoes.

I gently clicked my heels together. Whispered, “There’s no place like home.” No place like my new home. And my magic red shoes were ready to dance me into my new life.

I waved my feet gently up and down and giggled as the shoes seemed to wave back at me.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, admired my perfect makeup.

White face, eyebrows painted in perfect surprised arcs. Mouth outlined in a vivid, red, cupid’s-bow smile. Pink apple-cheeks. All set off by a rainbow mop of tousled curls.

My very own, registered clown-face.

Perfect.

Publishous

Discover tomorrow’s bestsellers today. You'll say you knew them when.

Elle Fredine

Written by

West-Coaster, born and bred; northerner at heart; writing online since 2008; fiction, poetry, humor, and articles on feminism, writing, relationships and love

Publishous

Discover tomorrow’s bestsellers today. You'll say you knew them when.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade