So far, Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis have had Hargis's suburban breakdown on a lonely stretch of road in the heart of Amish country. While communication with the outside world is spotty, they have two choices. They can either wait for the sheriff and doctor to return or chance using all of their cell phone battery and trying to get in touch with Rachelle's cousin. They choose the latter.

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I watch as Rachelle punches the number for her cousin into my phone. When I last checked, I had about eighteen percent battery life left. The old me would have started panicking at forty percent, but not now. Life in Amish county changes a person. Like doing time or serving in a war, you learn what's important. Getting the hell out of here, that's the main objective.

She scrunches up her nose and lets out a frustrated breath. Apparently, Tova ain't taking calls at the moment. Rachelle takes a deep breath and when she opens her mouth, this steady stream of words comes pouring out. I hear an "oy", a couple of Yiddish sounding words that I can only assume are curse words, then she hangs up.

"How certain are you that your cousin is going to come up here?" I ask. She doesn't answer. She looks from one side to the other. Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm looks like she's going to cry. "Wait a second, are you gonna cry?"

"No. Maybe." she mumbles. "This sucks, Gretchen. No matter how nice these people are, we don't belong here."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Helene is nice and I love Hannah. But the Mister, I don't think he likes me much."

"Men in this culture are different."

"Understatement, Allen. Plus, it's boring as crap here. They go to bed at like eight. I can't read because they don't have electricity, I can't write, well, for the same reason I can't read. The food is good, though."

Rachelle rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Her eyes still threaten to start leaking.

"Don't start bawling, Rachelle. I don't have any corn cobs to dry your pretty eyes."

She swats at me before turning and walking away.

We carry our pails filled with blueberries back to the main house and Helene already has lunch ready. Rachelle smiles but I know she is disappointed with the offerings. She hasn't been eating much. She moves the food around her plate, takes one or two polite bites then covers her plate with her napkin. She isn't a hundred pounds soaking wet with rocks in her pockets to begin with. She could be dead by Wednesday.

I eat whatever they put on my plate. I'm enjoying the food, mainly because I haven't had to step foot in the kitchen. This southern belle hates to be in the kitchen.

After lunch, its back to the fields for Rachelle and me, led by the energetic little girls. I start picking slower and slower, not minding that I'm getting some disappointed looks from the other three. It's hot, I'm tired and itchy, I keep seeing bears in my peripheral vision, only to have them disappear when I look over. The bees have started to hang around me too long and I haven't totally forgotten the horror movie that first played in my head. "Are we done yet?" I ask.

Hannah looks in each of our buckets. She nods her approval until she gets to mine. "It's not full."

"I'm color blind, if you must know. It's really hard to see these da-dumb berries." I say, catching myself before using a bad word. "Look, I'm old and I'm tired. Can I, at least, sit down?"

Hannah takes my pail and starts picking berries. Her little fingers move fast, expertly plucking and depositing the indigo orbs as if she has been doing it all of her life. And, come to think of it, she probably has.

Rachelle, and her family, along with the older Yoder girls return to her house, leaving me at mine. I sit on the bench, having downed a couple of Tylenol from my purse with dinner. The little girls are on the floor, each playing with a corn husk doll. I lean forward, studying the handmade dolls.

"Those are so cool," I say.

Both girls look over at me, stopping mid-play as Hannah hands hers over to me.

"What happened to their faces?" I ask. The doll is faceless but still a beautiful work of art.

Helene comes over, sits on the bench beside me. "It keeps the child humble. You are supposed to see the doll for what it is on the inside, like a real person. Judging not for their outward appearance."

"I used to cut my Barbie's hair. I didn't want them to be judged for being too beautiful," I mumble as all three stare at me like I'm speaking gibberish. "Ignore that. So, if I was to tell you that you are pretty, it would be a bad thing?"

"It isn't something that I'm comfortable with, but I would not be angry," Helene says, glancing at the doll.

"Mamm made mine," Hannah says.

"Could you teach me how?"

"I can. Tomorrow, I will gather our supplies." Helene stands and nods at the girls.

The little Yoder girl, Elizabeth, whispers to Hannah, "I hope she will be better at this than she is at picking blueberries."

I wait until Helene turns away and stick my tongue out at her.

Helene walks to the front door and steps out onto the porch. "Come, girls, Gretchen, listen."

The sound of voices, sans music, come floating across the yard. The breeze carries it closer and I hear the words to Amazing Grace. I've never cared for that song, but I've never heard it sung like this before. This is beautiful. Voices, each distinct and clear, meld together. They are like wildflowers in a field, no flower prettier than the next.

I smile, knowing Rachelle who has been upset all day, is in her happy place. I look up and wink at the heavens. God knows what he's doing. I sometimes forget that.