She hurried out to the cluster of bare sycamore trees near the pond at the edge of their property. After retrieving her backpack from the tangled base of the largest tree, she headed for the meeting spot. No one would miss her. They never did. Vater’s trip to the hospital had been proof of that.
Deborah tramped through the still-fallow field. This year would be the year this field was planted again. She came out the other side and dashed down the road. At the intersection, an idling car waited. She opened the passenger door and climbed in. Then she switched to English. “Sorry for making you wait.”
The older woman pointed toward Deborah’s seat belt. “I don’t go anywhere until your seat belt is on.”
Deborah grabbed the belt, pulled it and snapped it into place. One of the many differences between automobile travel and riding in a buggy.
The woman put her car into gear and pulled out onto the road. “I thought you might not be coming, and I was about to leave.”
Deborah was glad the woman hadn’t. “Thank you for waiting.”
“This is certainly a strange place to be picked up. I’ve driven a lot of you Amish and always go to a house, not the side of the road.”
“I didn’t want to bother anyone.” Deborah hoped the woman didn’t suspect she was sneaking out. Deborah usually had another woman drive her, one who didn’t ask so many questions or insinuate things.
She was relieved when the woman dropped her off at her destination. “Thank you for the ride.” She paid the woman for her gas and time.
“Do you need me to come back and return you to where I picked you up?”
“No, thank you. I have a ride.” Fortunately, her regular person could take her back.
She hustled away from the car before she could be further delayed and nearly ran into an Englisher woman with multicolored hair. “Entschuldigen Sie—I mean, excuse me.”
The young woman stared a moment as though trying to figure out who Deborah was before she scurried away.
Deborah shrugged and ducked into the restroom of the combination gas station/convenience store to change from her plain Amish dress into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and let down her hair. Where it had been twisted into place in the front, it kinked, and where it had been coiled in the back, it waved. When she wore these clothes with her hair freed, she felt like a different person. What would Amos think of her appearance? Disapprove, for sure.
She hurried to the photography studio and entered silently.
Hudson stood behind his camera, giving instructions to the model sitting on a fake rock wall in front of a backdrop featuring an old building. He had dozens of such roll-down backdrops. From urban to countryside, woodlands to deserts to mountains, all four seasons and various weather, and fantasy backdrops with mythical creatures, medieval castles, Gothic arches, waterfalls and stone stairways in the forest.
Hudson, in his late twenties, had ambitions to move to New York City and become a famous photographer. His wavy, shoulder-length blond hair and dashing good looks meant he could likely succeed on the other side of the camera, as well. When she’d first started modeling for him a year ago, she’d developed a crush on him because of all his praise and attention—two things she rarely received at home.
His assistant, Summer, was the first to see her approaching. She leaned in and spoke to Hudson in a hushed voice.
He pulled back from his camera and swung in Deborah’s direction. “Debo! There you are.”
When she hadn’t wanted to use her real name, Hudson had dubbed her Debo. She didn’t much care for it, but it was better than using Deborah and risk being discovered. Because of all the makeup and fussy hair, no Amish would guess that was her even if they ever found out. The likelihood that any of them would see her in one of these Englisher catalogs was slim to none. If they did, they wouldn’t recognize her.
He walked over to her and gripped her shoulders. “You’re my best model. Go see Lindsey and Tina for wardrobe, hair and makeup.” He stared at her a little longer and was probably assessing the condition of her features today.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
“It just amazes me how different you look from when you go into the dressing room and when you come out again. Lindsey and Tina are miracle workers. If I didn’t know both women were you, I would never guess you were the same person.”
Deborah counted on that. If her Amish community knew about this, she would be shunned. If the media found out she was an Amish girl modeling, they would exploit that. But Hudson and his team kept her secret, and as long as they did, she could continue to model. She wasn’t hurting anyone and wasn’t doing anything illegal. The money she earned would help her and her future husband buy a house and farm. She would quit as soon as someone special took interest and asked to court her.
Today’s shoot was for a high-end clothing catalog. She would be transformed with makeup, and her hair would be curled and fluffed. It was fun to be pampered like this. It still gave her a chuckle at the variety of clothes Englishers owned and wore—different clothes for every season, every occasion and various times of day.
For her, spring and summer meant she could put away her sweater and coat and didn’t have to wear shoes or stockings most of the time, going barefoot. Same dress, just fewer layers. Her biggest decision was whether to wear her green, blue or yellow dress. She wore far more outfits on a single photo shoot than she owned. Where did Englishers put them all? She would hate to have to wash the lot.
Once she had been rendered unrecognizable and dressed in a long, flowing summer dress she could never imagine owning, she returned to the main area of the studio.
Hudson smiled at her. “There’s my favorite model.” He positioned her in the shot and took a lot of pictures. Same instructions he usually gave her.
Strange to be wearing a summer dress in the middle of winter. Strange to be wearing an Englisher summer dress, period. She moved automatically and let her mind wander. Back to her family’s farm. Was Amos still gazing at Miriam? Had her sister taken notice of his attention? Part of her hoped not.
Deborah focused on the hand snapping in front of her face.
Hudson stood less than a foot away. “You’re distracted, Debo. I don’t know where you were, but I need you here.”
Was she distracted? Ja. She supposed she was. “I’m sorry.” Her mind kept flittering back to Amos. Why? He wasn’t her beau. Until a little over a week ago, she’d barely known he existed. Now she couldn’t shake him from her thoughts. He was like a mouse in the wall, always scratching. Always capturing her attention. Always crawling into her daydreams.
She tried to push Amos from her thoughts and focused on Hudson’s instructions.
After four hours of changing clothes and hairstyles and having hundreds of photos taken of her, relief washed over Deborah when the shoot was over. After changing into her own Englisher clothes and scrubbing off the makeup, she left the dressing room.
Hudson gathered the five models around him. “A mostly great shoot today.” He gave Deborah a pointed look.
Her performance was in the part not included in the “mostly great.”
“I need all of you back here tomorrow and for the rest of the week. The client wants the photos this weekend to present to his marketing department Monday.”
The other models grabbed their coats and purses and headed out.
Deborah hung back. “I don’t know if I can come every day.”
He gave her a hard look. “Debo, I need you. You have to come.”
“I’ll try.”
* * *
Surprisingly, she did manage to