Read Online A Secret Identity by Gayle Roper - Free Book Online Page B

here?”
    “I am,” I said. “Last night I went for a drive. No matter where I looked, the view was beautiful. I think it’s the size of the farms—so compact, the fields all bursting with crops, and the barns and houses so picturesque.”
    “Is it picturesque?” Todd asked, looking around as if he could see all of Lancaster County from here. “I’ve never gotten as caught up in the whole Amish thing as lots of people do. Maybe living in the area all my life has made it too common.”
    I stared at him. “You mean you don’t see the beauty of these farms and the fascination of this unique culture?”
    He grinned with one corner of his mouth. “I know. I’ve no depth of soul or appreciation for the finer things. I’m shallow and insensitive. I see the glass half empty instead of half full. But honestly, instead of a sociological paradise, I see a culture that, in order to survive, is fraught with inconsistencies. In fact, there goes one now.” And he pointed to the street.
    I looked and saw a van full of Amish people driving by.
    “An Amish taxi,” Todd said. “There are lots of retired men—regular men—who have a nice second career as drivers for Amish folks. The Amish take the taxis places they either want or need to get to quickly. Why, I ask you, is it all right to ride in a car but not drive one? Or why is it okay to take the bus?”
    “The Amish use buses?”
    Todd nodded. “I used to think they were almost fraudulent in these inconsistencies, but I’ve changed my mind since I’ve come to know the Zooks. I’ve decided they’re just trying to keep their culture alive. My question, I guess, is whether it’s worth keeping alive.”
    “Sure it is,” I said, slightly scandalized at his question.
    “Yeah? Why?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t know enough about them to know. But it must be.”
    I watched a pair of Amish boys in straw hats push their way along the road on scooters. How sad it would be to lose something so singular.
    “Bikes would be faster,” I said.
    “But bikes aren’t allowed, at least in Lancaster County. Too far too fast.”
    I looked at him. “I don’t understand.”
    “As far as I can figure it out, anything that pushes the parameters of the culture beyond their concept of what family and church should be is bad. Farms are small and picturesque because they are the size an individual family can handle without the use of mechanized farming equipment. Bikes and cars are forbidden because they would take individuals beyond the boundaries of the group. Electricity off utility poles would bring in the questionable world of TV, radio, and computers. So for the sake of guarding their beliefs, they use 12-volt batteries or kerosene-fueled generators for power. The lack of public utilities, the mode of dress, and the horses and buggies are the outward signs of a very exclusive community.”
    “Do they proselytize?” I asked, trying to imagine an Amish man on a street corner handing out tracts or standing on a soapbox pleading with a crowd to give up worldliness and come to Jesus.
    He shook his head. “They don’t seek converts like most religions do, but they are willing to accept them if folks from outside want to join. Not many who seek stay long. The divide between Plain and fancy is too wide.”
    I watched a buggy roll slowly by, a line of cars stacked up behind it.
    “Have you ever ridden in a buggy?” I asked.
    Todd looked at me like I’d gone crazy. “Of course not.”
    “Haven’t you ever wondered what it feels like to sit in one of those things, especially when a tour bus zooms past?”
    He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and said, “I can honestly say I’ve never pondered that.”
    “Never?”
    “Never.”
    It was obvious from his tone of voice that he thought the idea ridiculous. It was time to disabuse him of that opinion.
    “Then let’s go for a buggy ride and find out what it’s like,” I said.
    He stared at me, horrified.
    “Oh, come on.