So, Gretchen Hargis and Rachelle Allen are en route to the Annual FanStory Convention when Hargis's 2005 Suburban beaks down. With no cell phone service, they are sitting on the side of the road when they are rescued by an Amish family in horse drawn buggies. To say they are in for a cultural shock is an understatement.

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It's dark when Rachelle and the others leave after dinner. I'm the type of person who does better being the side kick and not the main character. So, with her exit, I grow uncomfortably aware that I am now responsible for the small talk. I shift on the bench and stretch my legs before they start to ache from the unpadded seat. I used to sit for hours on the benches in the gym, watching my kids play basketball. So, why is it so hard to do now? The answer is twofold: I'm old, and basketball is exciting, while sitting here in silence is like watching paint dry.

Dinner was good, though I have no idea what it was I ate. Rachelle murmured the word scrapple, then closed her eyes briefly, then said "oy", so I'm figuring either she was excited or devastated. By the end of the meal, I figured out it was the latter, as her plate still had over half of the meal left. My plate looked like it had already gone through the dishwasher.

I stand up and look over at Helene, who is reading a small leather bound book by the candle-lit lamp beside her. Ezra has taken Hannah into the other room and they are reading scriptures. "Is it okay if I look at some of your artwork?"

Helene nods and closes her book. "Please," she says, as she places the book on the table beside her and walks over to join me. "Rachelle says you are an artist."

"I don't like the title artist, but I enjoy my creative moments." It sounds insincere when it comes out of my mouth. "I just always picture people who are snobby, standing around a gallery and telling people their process. I just like to paint and collage. If it makes people smile, then I've reached my goal."

Helene nods. "This was the only remaining piece of the wedding quilt that Ezra's mother and sisters made for us." Her voice holds a reverence to it as she gently touches the brown wood frame.

"What happened? Did your goat's eat it?" I tease.

"Our house caught fire. We were lucky, though, we were able to escape it and save some of our possessions."

"Geez, I'm sorry. Any idea how it happened?"

"A candle toppled over, while we were tending the animals. My fault. I should have blown it out."

We move on to the next thing hanging on the wall. It looks like a checker board. "Checkers?"

"We do sell them as checkers or chess boards. Simeon and Solomon, they carve the pieces for them. But, this board was made by Ezra's late brother. If you look closely, in the wood grain, there are faces in it. At least, it looks like faces to me," Helene says softly. Her cheeks grow pink and I realize, she has probably never uttered this to anyone else.

I lean in closer and study the stained wooden squares. I nod. I see a face staring back at me. "You, my dear Helene, have the soul of an artist."

She blushes more deeply.

"So, how did you meet Ezra?"

She peeks into the room where her husband and daughter are reading, then whispers to me. "It is a pleasant evening, let's go to the front porch."

There are two chairs nestled under the tall narrow window and she takes a seat in one and I take the other.

"This is nice. The only thing missing is a bottle of wine and two glasses," I joke. "Sorry."

Helene shrugs and settles back. "I was with friends from school, and one weekend, we decided it would be fun to come to the local Amish market. We would come, buy fruit, make fun of them in their clothes and the silly beards. The boys used to rate the girls and women. It was not a nice thing to do, but like many young people, that was how we entertained ourselves."

"So, there is a young Helene, goofing off with her friends and, then what?"

In the darkness, Helene lets a small laugh escape. "My good friends left me. They left me fifty miles from home, no phone, no money. Just left."

"Were you scared?"

"I was standing alone, calling out my friends names and I went to where they had parked the car, but it was gone. So, I am crying quite loudly, and I feel a hand touch my arm. I spin around thinking it is one of them. That, perhaps they were playing a trick on me. But it was an Amish boy. Who, by the way, had the most beautiful eyes, I had ever looked into. He led me to his father and mother, and after I stopped crying, I told them what my friends had done. They took me to the midway point where I could call my parents to come get me."

"I still want to hear more about this boy with the gorgeous eyes, but what the hell did you say to your friends when you saw them again?"

"They said they had planned to double back in half an hour and pick me up. It was just a joke. But when they got back, I was gone."

"Okay, so then what?"

"I came back the following weekend and found him. I had bought a card and written a thank you note inside," she says, pausing before she continues. "That was my excuse. I just felt so different after meeting Ezra. He was like no one I had ever been around. It was as if he saw me and we knew each other already."

"Soulmates," I say, sighing at the simple, yet beautiful story.

"That is how the English describe it, yes."

Helene stirs beside me as we sit in the darkness. The only light coming from the scattered stars above. The hum of the crickets and occasional call of an owl, settling my mind better than my usual dose of melatonin. It feels like midnight, and for the first time since I stepped out of my poor broken down Suburban, I feel relaxed enough to fall asleep. "Would you mind if I headed up to bed?" I ask.

"Please. There is an extra quilt on the rack by the door, in case you need it. And, you may put your discarded clothing by the door and we can wash them tomorrow."

I head inside, say a quick goodnight to Ezra and Hannah, then go upstairs. There in the tranquil darkness, I change out of my jeans and t-shirt, pull on my pajamas and tuck myself into bed.

As the owls and crickets lull me to sleep, I come to the realization that I could indeed live the Amish life. Well, with two exceptions, I cuss and I like a glass of wine now and then.