The Englisher (21 page)

So Jesse was torn, not knowing when or how to address the miserable news he held warily in his grasp.

It was after they’d enjoyed some chicken corn soup that Zeke asked Jesse if he thought his father’s ‘‘rebuff of the lot’’ had, in some way, caused his brother’s death.

He should know it did,
Jesse thought.

Zeke didn’t wait for an answer. ‘‘This is selfish, on my part . . . I know. But why did I have to suffer for Dat’s choice on the matter?’’

‘‘God made the choice, Zeke. You know as much.’’

Zeke fell silent.

‘‘Isaac’s kidnapping and death were never about you goin’ against your father’s wishes . . . buryin’ Isaac’s puppy.’’ There. He’d said what he’d been fixing to for the longest time. ‘‘Your father was wrong to put the blame on you.
He
caused a tragedy, when all’s said and done.’’

Zeke made a muffled sound, eyes raised to meet Jesse’s own. ‘‘I believed my father . . . all my life I did.’’

‘‘Well, quit.’’

‘‘Hard to do when I hear his shouts in my ears, Preacher.’’

Jesse had never seen Zeke so open and responsive. He would wait for a better moment to tell of Mary’s death.

‘‘Dat never forgave me, ya know.’’

Jesse nodded. ‘‘Would seem that way.’’

‘‘He took Mamm and moved far away from me . . . from you . . . all the brethren here. As a punishment of sorts.’’ Zeke pushed off his hat and scratched the back of his head. ‘‘Uncle Moses always thought Dat and Mamma went to another state. Moses has strange feelings ’bout things sometimes. He never got over Isaac’s disappearance, either, seems to me.’’

‘‘Oh jah.’’ Jesse inhaled, feeling the cold air fill up his lungs.
I can’t let him keep rambling on. . . .
‘‘Word has it your father lives in Canada somewhere.’’

‘‘Dat does?’’ Zeke turned quickly to look at him. ‘‘He’s not with Mamma?’’

‘‘No. What I mean to say is: There was word about your mother. They were livin’ in Ontario when your mother fell ill.’’

Zeke’s eyes were sudden darts of fire. He shook his head, turning red in the face. ‘‘She died, didn’t she? That’s what you’re tryin’ to tell me.’’

Jesse placed a firm hand on his shoulder, just as he had on other occasions when the younger man was out of order. But now he offered his sincerest concern. ‘‘I wish it were better news, Zeke. Truly, I do.’’ He removed his hand. ‘‘Your mother passed away in her sleep, here recently.’’

Zeke put his head down, nearly between his knees as they sat. What little warmth the winter sun had to offer seemed to disappear, and Jesse was aware of the growing knot in the pit of his own stomach.

Suddenly Zeke rose and faced Jesse, his tall body blocking the sun. ‘‘It’s not okay what I did that night. Isaac went missin’ because of me. You know it, and I know it. Just ’cause you say so, Jesse Zook, doesn’t mean anything’s different!’’

With that Zeke strode stalwartly away.

What have I done?
Jesse wondered, hands clenched.

Ben had driven himself to the mud sale in Honey Brook, assuming Zeke was put out with him. Zeke hadn’t shown up at the tack shop since asking Ben to contact the police, or Ben might have suggested the two of them go together.

He’s still waiting for my answer, most likely
.

Ben recalled Zeke’s comment about the chicken corn soup and made a beeline to the concession stand. He shivered, even though he’d earlier donned his long johns and the black scarf his mother had knitted for him last Christmas.

He was rounding the bend of one tent when he spied Zeke walking briskly, his arms stiff as a robot as he rushed past him. ‘‘Hey, there, Zeke,’’ he called.

Zeke stopped in his tracks, turned, and scowled. ‘‘You do what I asked yet?’’

Taken aback, Ben shook his head. ‘‘Look, I can’t just jump like that.’’

‘‘Why not? You do what your boss tells ya, don’t you? You do what your father says to. . . . You need to do what’s right ’bout this. Do it for an innocent boy’s sake.’’

Ben wanted to wait and discuss it with Annie, but Zeke was the one in his face at the moment, and in a big way.

Zeke stepped forward; his breath was foul. ‘‘Don’t dally, Ben.’’

‘‘Then don’t push me,’’ he muttered, saying it more for his own sake than for Zeke’s.

‘‘I didn’t take you for a bullheaded sort.’’

Ben stepped forward. ‘‘I said I’ll think on it and I will.’’

‘‘Well, fine. But would ya hurry it up?’’

Next time I see Annie . . . if I do, I’ll get some levelheaded
advice,
he decided. But he wouldn’t tell Zeke yes or no now. He wouldn’t let him force him into a decision, dead brother or not.

‘‘I’ll be seein’ ya,’’ said Zeke with a brusque wave.

Not anytime soon, I hope,
thought Ben.

For the first time since meeting Zeke, Ben had glimpsed his controlling nature. And he was worried for Esther and the children.

Annie was glad for Louisa’s eagerness to chat. They were heading out with the enclosed family carriage to deliver a turkey-and-noodle casserole to a sick neighbor. Lou had jumped at the chance to go along, which made Annie wonder what was on her mind.

The air was biting and snow was flying again. Coarse, short hair from the horse blew in on their lap robes. ‘‘I’m glad you’re comin’ along.’’ Annie glanced at her friend.

‘‘Well, hey, I thought it might be fun to get some fresh and frigid air.’’ Lou looked at her. ‘‘Actually, I wanted a chance to level with you.’’

Annie’s face grew serious. ‘‘About Sam?’’

‘‘How’d you know?’’

‘‘Seeing you out together, well, I assume you must like him.’’

Lou looked out at the snowy landscape. ‘‘I think I might be falling for him.’’

‘‘Well, he’s awful nice.’’ Annie didn’t know what to say, really. ‘‘And not one to court many girls.’’

‘‘That’s scary.’’

‘‘Well, why?’’

‘‘If he hasn’t dated much, then he’s more prone to being hurt.’’

Annie let the reins fall across her lap. ‘‘Well, you’re not plannin’ on hurting him, are you?’’

‘‘He’ll be way too vulnerable.’’

‘‘What ’bout you?’’ Annie wanted to be careful what she said next. ‘‘You might be heading in the same direction.’’

Lou nodded. ‘‘I’m afraid of that. I mean . . . when he walks toward me, at barn singings, or outside after the common meal . . .’’ She stopped.

‘‘What?’’

‘‘I don’t know how to describe it. It’s just the most incredible feeling. You surely know what it’s like to be in love.’’

‘‘In love or real
love
? There’s a difference.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ Lou pulled on the lap robe, bringing it up higher, covering her gloved hands. ‘‘I know all about infatuation.

’’ Annie looked at her. Lou’s cheeks and nose were red from the cold. Or was it something more? ‘‘Well, which is it with Sam? Do you even know?’’

‘‘That’s what I’m sorting out. Trying to make sense of things.’’

‘‘You’ll know in time, Lou. You will.’’

‘‘But time’s my enemy, don’t you see?’’

‘‘How so?’’

‘‘The longer I stay . . . and the longer I agree to see him, the more hurt he—
we
—could be. Oh, Annie, it’s a total dead end.’’

Annie leaned her shoulder against Lou’s. ‘‘What was it you said to me, not so long ago?’’

‘‘Just enjoy the friendship?’’ said Lou. ‘‘See where it goes?’’

‘‘Jah, that’s right.’’ No matter how much she wished it were otherwise, Annie’s heart could not be swayed from thinking about Ben. But she hadn’t come clean with Lou on that. No, she’d kept it tucked away where only she could ponder it, protect it. Especially because she’d sent Ben on his way for good, and the memory of it tortured her.

‘‘Where does friendship that’s bound up with genuine love end and romantic love begin?’’ Lou asked.

‘‘I’d guess it’s a fine thread of a line. But you’ll know when you cross it, for sure.’’

‘‘Meaning what?’’

‘‘Well, doesn’t deep sharing—talking and whatnot— include physical longing, too? A desire to touch hands, face . . . lip kissing.’’ Suddenly, she felt sorry she’d said anything. Many Amish young people, she knew, saved their kisses for after marriage. There were some groups in Ohio who never even held hands until after the wedding.

‘‘Lip kissing?’’ Lou laughed softly. ‘‘As opposed to what other kind?’’

Annie picked up the reins. ‘‘Oh, go on. You know.’’

‘‘Pecks on the cheek?’’ Lou laughed again.

‘‘Well, Rudy wasn’t one to let things get too much out of control. I’m awful glad of that now, ’specially since he and I didn’t end up married.’’

Lou leaned back in the seat. ‘‘You’re long past Rudy, I think.’’

‘‘You can say that again, even though we courted ever so long.’’ Truth was, Annie sometimes wondered if Rudy and she would have
ever
married ultimately, even apart from the art issue. ‘‘I wasn’t meant for him,’’ she admitted.

‘‘Julia says things about love I’ve never realized,’’ Lou said.

‘‘She’s a sensible person, no question on that.’’

Lou nodded her head, shivering in earnest. ‘‘I can see why Esther ran to her for safe haven.’’

‘‘She’s got a way about her . . . draws people,’’ Annie replied. ‘‘Makes you feel so comfortable.’’
The way I felt with
Ben. . . .

Their destination could be seen now, and Annie craned her neck to see the gray curl of smoke from the brick chimney. ‘‘Well, here we are. Want to come inside and warm up some?’’

‘‘Sure.’’

‘‘You tether Betsy and I’ll get Mamm’s basket from the rear of the buggy.’’ She climbed out as Lou hurried to tie up the horse. Annie moved back around the carriage and opened the tied flap to remove the sturdy wicker basket, filled with the hot dish and other goodies.

Did Ben go to the mud sale today?
she wondered as she made her way toward the house.
Will I ever see him again?

Zeke wasted no time in hunting down Preacher Jesse for the second time during the mud sale. Running into Ben Martin had stirred him up even more. He didn’t know why he was so upset just now. Perhaps it was the news of his mother’s death. Missing Esther made him scattered in his thinking lately, too.
Murky-headed
. He wanted her back, no matter what Irvin’s plans for discussion were. He was tired of cooking, of washing his own clothes. Tired of the wrinkles in his for-good shirts and trousers.
Tired of sleeping
alone, too. . . .

There was a problem with that, though. Even if he got his way and Esther and the children returned, he would have to leave her be. The probationary shunning meant life without the things he missed most. But no, once he got Esther home again, he’d get her to see the light . . . the recklessness of her ways. You couldn’t claim to have salvation and still be saved in the long run. He would make her see what nonsense all that talk was if he had to shake it clean out of her.

He found Jesse standing in a long line, waiting for a cup of coffee or cocoa. Knowing the preacher as Zeke did, it would be coffee. Zeke inched forward when Jesse had his back turned, then stood right by him, to the dismay of several customers behind them. ‘‘You won’t mind if I butt in right here, will ya, Preacher?’’

Jesse grimaced. ‘‘S’pose not.’’

‘‘ ’Tis a cold one,’’ Zeke ventured.

‘‘Jah,’’ Jesse agreed.

‘‘Good for the soup and coffee business.’’

Zeke decided he’d best be keeping his tongue still till there was opportunity to talk in private. Jesse was the type to speak little, but folks paid attention when he did.

Like Mamma . . .

The thought of his mother lying in a wintry grave put a tense feeling in his chest, and a barricade in his brain. He had purposely refused to acknowledge Jesse’s news. Fact was, Mamm was the one good thing in his life, like salve on a wound. But the ability to soothe was not always granted her, thanks to his father.
A tyrant of a man,
Zeke thought.
Like
I’ve become. . . .

When they had their cups of black coffee in hand and had wandered over to an out-of-the-way place, Zeke said simply, ‘‘Esther’s been gone long enough. I want her home.’’

Jesse nodded, as if recalling his comment about speaking to Irvin about this. ‘‘I’ll go ’n’ see what can be done,’’ he offered.

‘‘Time Esther gets away from them Rancks.’’

‘‘I’m with you on that.’’

‘‘Well, then, I’ll expect my woman back tomorrow.’’

Jesse shook his head. ‘‘Did I say that, Zeke?’’

‘‘No, now you listen to me. I’ll have Esther home if I have to carry her out of Irvin’s house. You hear?’’

The preacher lowered his eyes. ‘‘If you lay a hand on her, she’ll leave you all over again.’’

‘‘I’ll bite my tongue more . . . if need be. But I’m not lettin’ her have her say!’’ And he wouldn’t. She had a good many lessons to learn yet, and he was just the one to teach them to her.

‘‘Esther’s young yet. She’ll come under, in time,’’ Jesse said.

Zeke could only hope. A difficult wife was a detriment to her husband. He’d seen this firsthand as a child, because occasionally his mother had the gall to voice her opinion and was squelched for it. Even punished. Like the time the house was so cold she threw extra logs on the fire to warm the kitchen, and from then on the wood was severely rationed.