Growing Up Amish - Ira Wagler [62]
She said yes.
And that scared me almost more than if she’d said no. No would have been a jolt to deal with; then it would have been over. But yes swung the door wide open to a world of complications, a world I had never before entered.
And then the day came. Church was at the other district, but I stayed home that day and cleaned and shined and polished my new buggy. I combed the Stud’s long, tangled mane and brushed him down. Evening finally came, and it was time to head to the singing. I dressed in my “church” pants and my finest shirt. Then I hitched the Stud to my shiny new buggy and drove proudly into the evening.
I watched for Sarah that night as supper was served, and later as we sang. She smiled faintly a time or two, right at me, I fancied. Oh boy. Tonight I’d take her home. The evening dragged, the minutes passing slowly, as did supper and the inane chatter around me. Then the actual singing started, and the minutes crawled as we sang for an hour and a half until the last song came to a close and we slowly walked out single file. It was finally over.
The experienced daters, the guys who were going steady, didn’t hang around long. They just politely mumbled good night to their friends, hitched up their horses, picked up their girls, and left. Marvin said so long, drove up to where the girls were waiting, and stopped. Rhoda walked out and stepped into his buggy, and off they went. No one even looked twice. They were a steady couple.
Then it was time for my debut.
Out in the barnyard, where I had tied him safely away from the other horses, the Stud snorted and pawed. It was unhandy, driving a stallion, because he was always wired, always tense and jumpy, always alert for any mares in heat. Or any mares, for that matter. He wasn’t shy about announcing his presence, but bellowed lustily, his high, wild call ringing through the air. I calmed and scolded him good-naturedly as I led him under the buggy shafts and hitched him up. Then I stepped onto the buggy and headed through the darkness over to the house.
I don’t know when all the loafing onlookers realized that I wasn’t heading straight out the drive as I always had before. At some point, I suppose, after I guided my snorting horse up to the house and stopped. A shadow shifted from the knot of girls standing there. A girl, dressed in shawl and bonnet. She approached and stepped up, then seated herself with a smile beside me on the soft velvet cushion. I leaned over and slid the buggy door on her side shut and clucked to my horse. He lunged away, and we were gone. Behind us, the loafers stirred, heads turned, and tongues wagged in overdrive.
Ira Wagler was having a date with Sarah Miller!
It was so long ago. I’m sure we were both nervous. Of course we were. But I am a pretty laid-back guy (at least on the surface), so it really didn’t go too badly. We chatted as the buggy rolled along the three or four miles to Sarah’s home. Once we arrived, I guided the Stud up to the hitching rail beside the drive and tied him up, and we walked into the house.
I’m not sure how to describe an Amish date. It’s somewhat similar to an English one, I suppose. Just two young people spending time together and getting to know each other. Except the Amish girl is escorted from the singing to her home, not off to town to the movies or to a restaurant.
The house was swept and clean. Quiet and dark. Sarah’s parents and younger siblings had already conveniently retired for the night. She had a snack ready. We sat at the table, chatting. After maybe twenty minutes, we moved into the living room, where we sat on the couch. An Amish date, at least the first one, is broken into the bare essence of the way things were a hundred years ago. There is no music, no TV, no entertainment. Just a boy and a girl in the company of each other, with only