style="margin-left:0in; margin-right:0in">     As she waited, Cecily gazed at herself in the mirror she had on her closet door.  All she could do was stare at the young woman staring back at her.  This wasn’t the girl who left Shipshewana, Indiana, a couple of weeks ago, dressed as an Amish bride.  This was a woman, dressed as an adult, and she hardly recognized herself.  She looked so different, pretty, not bland, ordinary.  She looked like a city woman, not a country girl, in ripped jeans, black tank top, thin black belt, blue jeans jacket that only went to her waist, and black heels.  She’d had to practice a couple of nights walking around her apartment in the heels, so she wouldn’t fall in some bar or restaurant.  Her hair, she wore down...

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