The Forbidden by Beverly Lewis Page A

“May I join you?”
    She looked around. “Are ya askin’ to sit with me?”
    “Only if I can be of help, miss.”
    “Rhoda,” she was quick to say. “And do sit, if you’d like.”
    He introduced himself as Glenn Miller, named after some band that had made a debut in New York City the year he was born. He was surprisingly friendly and chatty—polite, too. Possibly he was curious about her Plain attire just as others had seemed to be, yet everyone she’d visited with this evening had been exceedingly gracious.
    Rhoda realized it was her turn to say more about herself, so she mentioned that her father bred and raised horses. “We’ve got a bakery shop on the premises, too. Seems an ad’s even been runnin’ in the Lancaster paper ’bout it.”
    Glenn repeatedly blinked his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss Rhoda . . . I guess I don’t follow.”
    She felt ever so silly. “No, maybe it’s me that should be sorry. I’m surely speakin’ out of turn, jah?”
    “I wouldn’t say that.” He winked at her and she blushed immediately. “You go ahead and speak however you wish.”
    He flashed another smile. “Now, which cars have your interest?”
    She didn’t think she ought to say—suddenly she felt all ferhoodled, sitting in an English restaurant with such a fine-looking man. Was it a good or bad sign that he kept smiling at her? In truth she had no idea who this Glenn fellow was.
    “Well, I oughta be gettin’ home,” she said softly, wondering why she had announced that. By implication, she’d pretended to know how she was getting home, when she certainly had no idea.
    “You got your horse and buggy out back?” Glenn glanced out the window. Rhoda could see by the streetlights that it was beginning to snow again.
    “Not this time,” she admitted, lowering her head.
    “You need a lift, don’t you, little lady?”
    Little? This was the first she’d heard that since she was maybe ten or so. From then on she’d grown to become pleasingly plump, although perhaps chubbier than most fellows cared for. Most, except for Glenn here, who was now reaching across the table for her hand with the most endearing look. “I’d be honored to take you wherever you want to go, Miss Rhoda.”
    She hesitated. Should she let this strange man touch her hand?
    Rhoda had never been told she was or wasn’t a good judge of character, so when Mr. Glenn Miller, with his appealing smile and crisply ironed white shirt and handsome knit sweater vest, asked her yet again if she wanted a ride, Rhoda actually considered saying yes. She felt sure that if she looked hard enough into his clear eyes—the windows to his soul, as Mamma said—she would know whether it was prudent to accept his kind offer.

C HAPTER 12
    Rhoda was not so much alarmed as she was tired when Glenn pulled his car over onto the shoulder and slowed to a stop. She’d done the selfsame thing with the horse and buggy when she’d lost her way. She and her newfound friend—an Englischer, of all things—were apparently lost somewhere in Chester County, well beyond Beaver Dam Road. She wished for a map to guide them back to Route 340, but she didn’t dare mention it. Glenn had talked nearly nonstop since they’d left the restaurant, describing a number of bossy women in his life, as he put it. Several at work . . . two younger sisters and suchlike . . . but not a word about a girlfriend.
    She was determined to show him by sitting demurely in the front seat that she was not the bossy type. No, Rhoda was satisfied to wait for him to decide what to do about their having gone astray. At least they hadn’t run out of gasoline, like she’d heard happened occasionally to others. On such a clear and brilliant moonlit night, surely they would find Dat’s house in due time.
    A thin cloud passed over the moon, and Rhoda gazed at the vastness of the dark sky, filled with jewel-like stars. They reminded her of the several necklaces she’d purchased so spontaneously. My