The Englisher (15 page)
‘‘He was constantly belittled by his father,’’ Esther said.
‘‘After Isaac disappeared?’’
‘‘Jah. Even Zeke’s mamma joined in, instilling the notion that the full blame of the kidnapping rested on Zeke’s shoulders.’’
‘‘Why on earth?’’
‘‘Because Zeke disobeyed his father and left the house to bury Isaac’s puppy that night. He had been told not to go at all. He was bullheaded and took Isaac to witness the dog’s burial.’’
Annie had heard bits and pieces of this account, but she had never observed such pity as was evident in Esther’s face. ‘‘Do you believe it, too? That Zeke was punished by God for disobeying his father?’’
‘‘Oh, it’s hard to say. And Zeke never speaks of that night—’cept in his sleep, that is. I know he’s obsessed with his loss . . . and the fact that he believes Isaac is somehow watchin’ over him, from on high.’’
‘‘Well, it’s not like Isaac’s become an angel.’’
At Annie’s mention of
angel,
Esther began to weep. ‘‘Zeke’s had so many strikes against him, and here we are apart from each other. By my own doing.’’
‘‘You felt you had a reason to leave—it was for your baby’s sake. And now that Essie Ann’s here, have you thought of goin’ back?’’
Esther sighed, brushing tears from her face. ‘‘Even if I were to return to Zeke, I wouldn’t be allowed to share his bed. I’m a shunned woman, ya know.’’
‘‘You mean you’re going to keep on sayin’ the prideful things—about salvation through grace ’n’ all—that got all this started?’’
‘‘Are you askin’ if I’m gonna hush up ’bout being saved in Jesus’ name?’’ Esther stared into the milky blue eyes of her baby. ‘‘Well, no. I won’t renounce my dear Savior. I wouldn’t think of it, Annie.’’
She’ll accept what she cannot see over what she can . . .
over Zeke and the church?
‘‘I best keep my opinion to myself,’’ Annie whispered.
Esther reached out a hand. ‘‘You don’t have to be put out.’’
‘‘I guess I am in some ways . . . you’re making a decision I doubt I could ever make. Or stick by.’’
‘‘To open up your heart to the Lord?’’
‘‘If you must put it that way.’’
Esther did not attempt to persuade her otherwise. ‘‘It is a hard path . . . the one the church has set forth. We must come to our own fork in the road, and find God’s Son waitin’ there.’’
Annie squeezed her hand and released it. ‘‘I can tell you’ve been livin’ here with Julia these days . . . hearing all her blood-of-Jesus talk.’’
‘‘But I’m ever so happy, strange as that must sound, even with my future hangin’ in the balance.’’ Esther straightened and looked at her. ‘‘Maybe I’m speakin’ out of turn, but I see a sad sort of look in your eyes when you hold Essie Ann near. And I can’t help but wonder if you might not be longing to be a mother yourself . . . someday.’’
Annie quickly changed the subject . . . to the attic, where Irvin and Julia had made a special place for Esther and the children to sleep. She missed it terribly—
my former
art studio
. Yet just entertaining the thought of working up there again was not acceptable. No matter, she asked Esther, ‘‘How do you like your little bedroom up yonder?’’
‘‘Well, it gets a bit chilly at times, but we sleep with lots of quilts and covers . . . and I even put Essie Ann in with me. It’s not the best setup, but we’re all together and that’s what counts.’’
‘‘Except for Zeke,’’ Annie said.
‘‘Still, I can’t just rush back to his arms, Irvin has said. Julia says so, too.’’
Annie gave her friend a concerned look. ‘‘Cousin Irvin’s not settin’ out to convert your husband, too, I hope.’’
Esther’s smile grew. ‘‘Oh, that would be just wonderfulgood, I’m thinkin’.’’
‘‘No . . . no. You’d both be shunned.’’
Esther nodded. ‘‘I’m not taking my heart back.’’
‘‘Sounds mighty odd . . . like you’re in love or something.’’
‘‘Well, I surely am, Annie. I’ve fallen in love with my precious Lord Jesus.’’
No wonder the brethren slapped the
Bann
on her. . . .
Annie rose and excused herself. ‘‘I’ll leave you be for now. Must complete things round here before Julia returns and finds me shirking, ya know.’’
‘‘I’m glad we could talk frank like this, Annie.’’
Annie wasn’t about to lie. In some ways she was sorry she’d ever sat down and listened to Esther go on so. It made little sense to her . . . and the last thing Annie wanted was to get caught up in Esther’s zeal for a personal God and whatnot all.
After the cab dropped them off at the art gallery, Louisa introduced Courtney to Eileen Sauder, the owner, who had shown such interest in Louisa’s work. Then, strolling about the corridor, Louisa pointed out her paintings to Courtney among the various framed oils and watercolors on display. Louisa made every effort to be cheerful and to solidify her apology. Courtney, too, seemed to be on her best behavior.
‘‘Here’s one of my first Lancaster paintings,’’ she said, pausing in front of an autumnal landscape. ‘‘I’m mesmerized by the barns around here, the rolling countryside.’’
‘‘Nice,’’ Courtney acknowledged, and they moved to the next painting.
‘‘Now, this is one of Annie’s peacocks. Did I tell you I actually help feed these critters each morning? I think God was working overtime when He created this guy. I still don’t think I did the colors justice, but isn’t he gorgeous?’’
Courtney shook her head. ‘‘Wow, I’ll tell you what’s gorgeous— it’s your work. Seriously, Louisa, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you paint so well, with such . . . peaceful beauty.’’
‘‘Thanks. That means a lot.’’
After they had thanked Eileen, Louisa called a cab on her cell phone. Then they headed back outdoors, bundling their coats around them.
‘‘Your students should see your recent paintings, Louisa,’’ Courtney said. ‘‘They’re really something. What are you working on now?’’
‘‘Oh, I’ve kinda put my art on the back burner these last few weeks. Out of respect for my hosts—the Zooks. Besides, I’ve had other things on my mind.’’
Courtney’s red lips parted in astonishment. ‘‘I can’t believe it. You really
are
different. But I still wish I could talk you into coming home and giving Michael a second chance.’’
Louisa shook her head. ‘‘It’s over. I know it; so does he.’’
‘‘But what about the rest of us?’’ Courtney softened the question with a smile. ‘‘Giving up on us, too?’’
Louisa smiled back. ‘‘No, Court. Never.’’
‘‘So you’ll stay in touch?’’
‘‘Sure, but I have no idea when I’m going home, so don’t raise my mom’s hopes, okay?’’
Courtney nodded, then reached for her and gave her a hug. ‘‘If that’s what you want.’’
‘‘Jah, it is.’’
They both laughed as the summoned cab pulled into the parking lot. ‘‘Drive us to Miller’s Smorgasbord, please,’’ Louisa said when they were settled in the backseat.
‘‘Excellent choice for a buffet lunch,’’ the cabbie said with a smile. ‘‘They have the creamiest cheesecake . . . and don’t forget the shoofly pie!’’
Louisa couldn’t resist. ‘‘Wonderful-good cookin’, jah?’’
‘‘Oh, brother,’’ Courtney said, laughing.
When they parted ways, after a not-so-light meal, Louisa secretly felt glad about not having fallen for Michael’s attempt at getting back together. She was rather impressed that he had given up the law partnership—an aspiration that had been the last straw between them.
But I won’t let this news affect me,
she thought, relieved the last day of Courtney’s visit had gone so well. She was eager to tell Annie all about it . . . and surprisingly eager to start painting again, as well.
B
en accepted payment for the newly oiled harness. He offered to help carry it through the snow to the waiting buggy, but the elderly Amish bishop and his greatgrandson— introduced to Ben as a ‘‘wonderful-gut checkers player’’—would not hear of it.
‘‘
Denki
, Ben,’’ Bishop Stoltzfus called over his shoulder.
Needing some fresh air, Ben walked to the back of the shop and pushed open the narrow door, standing where no one could see him. And where he could look out over the vast expanse of fields inundated with drifted snow. The skeletal figures of winter trees punctuated the horizon.
His gaze settled on a grouping of scrappy trees to the south.
What type of trees are they? I suppose Annie knows.
How quickly his thoughts turned to her, as if she’d been his friend for years. His best buddy back home, Eric, had complained vociferously when he’d told him of his plan to move away. He hadn’t been able to say then why he wanted to live in the middle of Pennsylvania Amish country, because he hadn’t known himself. Truth was, he still didn’t.
His eyes focused again on the distant grove, recalling someone from his childhood who had the uncanny ability to identify various trees. The astute person spoke of the Creator God—an all-powerful Being responsible for the majestic beauty of the woods and the meticulous design of the trees themselves. The tree expert, obscure in his memory, sometimes still appeared in his dreams.
Ben himself had readily recognized the glossy white bark of the wild river birches planted in various yards around Paradise. He had also spotted the tall-growing native cedars with their deep evergreen lacelike leaves. Yet his was a beginner’s knowledge of trees.
Exhaling, Ben watched his breath float aloft in the frosty air. ‘‘Who was it?’’ he whispered, aware of the too-familiar sense of frustration he always felt when struggling to remember such things from childhood.
I’m not the only one.
He recalled his strained conversation with Zeke, dogged in his determination to discover the murderer of his brother. Yet as pivotal as that night seemed to him, Zeke was terribly confused about what actually happened.
Ben was incensed to think someone could sneak into this quiet community and steal away a small child. Yet wasn’t it nearly equally unjust, in a different sort of way, for the People to keep a lid on things, evidently not wanting to make waves by reporting outsiders’ offenses? Doing so left victims of such crimes unable to find solace in justice.
You could report this,
Zeke had said when moved by Ben’s pity, and later Ben had reluctantly agreed to consider it. But now he shook his head, for as much as he wanted to help raise Zeke’s banner of justice, what would happen if it were known that
he
had caused the police to invade the People’s sanctified privacy? It was bad enough for an Englisher to seek out an Amish girl. But this?
His hands were stiff from the subzero temperatures. ‘‘It’s Annie who is most at risk by associating with me,’’ he muttered, pushing his hands into his pockets. He remembered the spark of awareness in her expressive blue eyes . . . the way they held his gaze. At the same time an ever-present fear was etched on her face: She was afraid of being found with him.
I must make her feel comfortable . . . and trust me,
he thought, then sighed.
If that’s even possible
.
At once he smelled the familiar scent of pipe tobacco and wondered which of the regular Amish clientele had arrived, although he had not heard the clatter of carriage wheels nor the thud of horse hooves against the packed snow.
He wondered if Zeke had returned for yet another visit. Then again, Zeke was not one for tobacco. But Zeke
had
pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket—‘‘from the preacher,’’ he’d said—when Ben agreed to go tramping around in the woods, looking for an unmarked grave, which they had never found.
Thinking back on yesterday’s strange afternoon, Ben realized he could not assent to Zeke’s urgent request, not without further advice. And who better to advise him than another Amish person, namely Annie herself? Being the preacher’s daughter she would surely know the issues at stake for Zeke—the possible shunning aspect, especially.
Torn between frustration with Zeke’s circumstance and anticipation of seeing Annie again, Ben headed back inside to the warmth and leathery tang of the shop to tend to his unseen client.
Esther had never intended to overhear Zeke’s discussion with Irvin. She had slipped downstairs, leaving her napping children in the attic room to get a drink of water in the kitchen. She heard Irvin talking in the small sunroom off the kitchen, telling Zeke he had proposed marriage to Julia on the tan loveseat in their living room—‘‘on the same piece of furniture where my father proposed to my mother.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘Of course, I reupholstered it since that time.’’
Zeke’s response seemed to indicate he was more interested in the process of upholstery than whatever point Irvin was trying to make, which brought a sinking feeling to Esther.
Is he that closed up to love?
But she knew from being Zeke’s wife what sort of man he was. And she seriously doubted if Irvin, or anyone, could change his way of thinking.
As she sipped the cold water, Irvin began to talk straight. ‘‘I’m not interested in wasting your time, Zeke . . . nor mine. To put it bluntly, I believe you have been treating Esther wrongly.’’
Wrongly? Had anyone ever dared to be this forthright?