The Englisher (35 page)
Annie placed the suitcase on her bed and opened the lid. She couldn’t believe what Mamm had whispered to her about Zeke last evening before hurrying to spend the night with Esther.
Zeke in jail?
There had to be some mistake. Still, it felt somehow providential that Esther was alone without her husband just now.
Looking up, Annie saw Mamm standing in the doorway. ‘‘I need to leave home,’’ she said with as much determination as she could muster.
‘‘Oh, Annie . . . no.’’ Mamm lowered her head.
‘‘I’m a humiliation to my family.’’
‘‘Haven’t we been through this before?’’ her mother reminded her. She came in and sat on the spare bed that had been Lou’s.
No,
Annie thought to herself. This time was far different. She was not leaving because of her inability to resist art. She had besmirched herself, abandoning one of their sacred symbols, her head covering, instead of wearing it as the Scriptures instructed. She’d allowed her long hair to go uncovered, revealing it fully to a man who was not her husband.
And never will be
.
According to her father, there were more transgressions on the record of Annie’s life than she cared to consider.
‘‘I’ve made up my mind, Mamm. I’m goin’ to stay with Esther . . . to help with the pig farm and all.’’
‘‘Are you sure?’’
‘‘Esther can use the help, and Daed can’t stand the sight of me.’’
Mamm didn’t contradict her. ‘‘Does Esther know you’re comin’?’’
‘‘Well, no . . . but—’’
‘‘Ach, you best be thinkin’ this through. She’s banned from the fellowship, for pity’s sake.’’
‘‘Well, in many ways, so am I.’’ Annie set about packing her dresses, nightclothes, Kapps, and her small box of straight pins, as well as her best stationery and Lou’s letters— all of the things she had brought with her when she and Lou moved over to the Dawdi Haus bedroom last year.
‘‘You know Esther can’t care for the children and the farm by herself for long,’’ Annie went on, neatly folding her clothes. ‘‘You said you might even try ’n’ help her some, Mamm.’’
‘‘That’s different, Annie, and you know it. The brethren will disapprove of you livin’ there.’’
‘‘But I’m not yet a baptized church member.’’
‘‘And far from it, by the looks of it. Oh, Annie . . .’’ Her mother rose and hurried from the room, wiping tears away with her apron.
Struggling to keep her emotions in check, Annie braced herself, gritting her teeth. Now wasn’t the time to let go, nor was it the place. She’d wept away nearly a week of long nights already. When it was time, weary as she was, she would ask Yonie to drive her up to Esther’s. And wouldn’t Esther be surprised—ever so happy? The thought gave Annie all the more reason to press onward.
She filled one suitcase and began to pack another. Yonie poked his head in the door and, seeing her there, said, ‘‘You’re doin’ the right thing for yourself. I’d be packin’ this minute, too, if I had a place to go.’’
‘‘Well, if you got yourself a job, you sure could.’’ Her throat tightened. ‘‘But is that something a
son
should think ’bout doing?’’ She hoped he caught her meaning about his being favored and all.
‘‘Aw . . . you’re a feisty one.’’
‘‘I best be leavin’, to ponder things.’’ Her breath caught in her throat and she feared she might cry.
‘‘I’ll walk up the road a ways . . . get my car for you.’’ He twitched his nose. ‘‘Where ya headed? Out to Colorado?’’
She hadn’t considered that. Louisa needed time to sort out her own problems, so there’d be no going west. ‘‘If anyone needs to get in touch with me’’—
if anyone cares to,
she thought—‘‘I’ll be hangin’ with Essie.’’
He smiled. ‘‘You got yourself a good dose of Lou while she was here, ain’t?’’
‘‘This isn’t Lou’s doing. I had plenty of gumption before she ever arrived.’’
Omar appeared in the hallway, poked his brother playfully, and offered to carry her suitcases down. Annie let him, thanking him with a sad smile. Yonie carried her bedding, quilt, and pillow down to the front porch.
Annie took another glance around the room she’d so happily shared with Louisa, then headed downstairs, through the connecting door to the main house and up to her former bedroom. She stood in the doorway eyeing her hope chest with its embroidered doilies and tablecloths.
No
need to bring that along,
she thought.
Will I ever need it?
Her gaze fell on the little desk her father had made, and she ran her hand lightly over its smooth maple surface. But when the image of her father’s angry face flickered painfully across her mind, she raised her hand. She would leave the desk behind as well.
She thought fleetingly of her easel and art supplies, boxed up at Julia’s. Perhaps she would ask Yonie to stop there first, before they headed to Esther’s. But no, she’d made a promise to her father, and she intended to keep her word on that matter, if nothing else.
Reluctant to leave, she made her way downstairs, passing by Luke as she did. He only shook his head as if she’d done something too terrible to mention.
She headed for the front porch, where her belongings were gathered, assuming Daed was in the barn. But she had no interest in saying good-bye.
Mamm came right out and kept her company, the two of them taking in the springtime landscape of newly planted fields and grazing land. The birds were extra bold and boisterous today.
‘‘Too bad the scarecrow’s gone,’’ Annie said softly.
‘‘Jah, ’tis.’’ Mamm reached over and pressed her hand on Annie’s. ‘‘I’ll miss you somethin’ awful, dear.’’
‘‘We’ll see each other. I’m not shunned—or am I?’’
‘‘Knowin’ your father . . . you’ll be as good as.’’
The words struck a blow. ‘‘Why’s that?’’
‘‘You’re the preacher’s daughter, Annie. Never forget.’’ Mamm rose and walked the length of the porch, then turned, and came back. ‘‘When . . .
if
you ever return, it’ll have to be on Daed’s terms.’’
No fooling
. They both knew where the brethren stood on such things as creating fine art . . . and there was no tolerance for a courtship with an Englischer either.
She sighed, watching Yonie run up the road, heading for the spot where Ben had always parked . . . where he had waited for her with such delight on his face.
‘‘I guess this is so long for now.’’ She looked at Mamm.
‘‘But not forever, I hope,’’ her mother said, coming to stand near. ‘‘I’ll not be visitin’ at Esther’s so much, you must understand.’’
Annie looked up, taking her hand. ‘‘But you’ll stop by now and then?’’
Mamm sighed. ‘‘We’ll see. . . .’’ Her mother’s hand went still in her own. ‘‘Annie, your father showed me a magazine . . . the perty painting you did.’’
Annie swallowed, dreading the rebuke that was sure to come.
‘‘ ’Tween you and me . . .’’ Mamm paused, wiping away tears. ‘‘Ach, I best be still.’’
‘‘That’s all right, you say what you want.’’
‘‘Truth be told . . . I believe you’ve got yourself a gift from above. I told your father so.’’
Annie nodded, grateful for her mother’s words, meager consolation that they were.
They both fell silent, until Yonie’s shimmering silver car pulled into the drive.
‘‘What on earth?’’ Mamm muttered, appalled, moving toward the porch steps.
But Annie rose, reached for her suitcases, and whispered only, ‘‘Good-bye.’’
Jesse hired a driver, and he and Bishop Andy rode to the Lancaster County Prison, which served as a holding place for those awaiting trial—and their own Zeke Hochstetler.
At first glance, the place was something out of an Englischer’s storybook, Jesse thought, surveying the castlelike structure as they made their way beneath the high arched entrance on East King Street.
Bishop Andy, stating firmly he’d come only to offer moral support, sat in the waiting area, outside the visitation room. Both he and Jesse were nervously aware of the camera high on the wall, monitoring their every move. Jesse hoped the Good Lord might overlook it when their faces showed up on a hidden screen somewhere.
Entering the visitation room, Jesse was directed by the guard to a small cubicle. There sat Zeke, behind the glass partition, obviously pleased to see him. Jesse sat down in a folding chair.
‘‘You’re the first to come visit me,’’ Zeke acknowledged.
Jesse doubted there would be many more visitors, but he didn’t have the heart to say so. He listened while Zeke rambled on about missing Esther, becoming more aware that the thick glass window was not the only barrier between them.
But Jesse hadn’t come to discuss Zeke’s wife and children, though it was understandable for Zeke to want to. There were niggling questions, one in particular, and knowing they had scant time for a leisurely chat, Jesse directed the conversation to the business at hand. ‘‘Zeke, what happened?’’
Zeke shook his head, pulling on his beard. His eyes were dark beads.
‘‘I had me a whole group of tests yesterday.’’ Zeke leaned back and laughed—too heartily for Jesse’s liking. ‘‘I agreed to let them see if I’m of sound mind or not. I figure if I could strike Esther hard when she was only days from birthin’ Essie Ann, then I’m a threat to my own family, ain’t?’’
The hair on Jesse’s neck prickled. Zeke
narrisch
—crazy?
‘‘They ain’t keepin’ me here against my will, if that’s what you’re thinking.’’
Jesse watched the man more closely, hesitant to judge simply with his eyes. Still, he observed the slant of Zeke’s head, the clarity of his gaze, the set of his jowl, and the steadiness of his callused hands.
No obvious signs of mental illness that he could tell, but of course he was no match for worldly experts. He did know that Zeke was a man who said things he later regretted. He pressed the boundaries of the Ordnung and looked for ways to be a nuisance. He pushed folk around verbally and was no doubt dreadful to live with.
Zeke’s wounds were undeniably etched on his soul. Anybody who knew him readily understood his loss as insufferable, coming at such a tender age. After all, someone had taken away his little brother—killed him—that long ago and shocking night.
Jesse leaned forward. ‘‘You must come home to the People . . . we’ll help you.’’
Slowly Zeke’s mouth parted and he began to speak. ‘‘I finally figured it out, Preacher, after all these years . . . what happened to my brother.’’
‘‘And what’s that?’’
‘‘I did it,’’ he said flatly. ‘‘I killed Isaac.’’
Jesse was stunned at the conviction in his voice. ‘‘But, Zeke, you were just a boy yourself when Isaac was lost. You aren’t thinking clearly.’’
‘‘That’s where you’re wrong, Preacher. I’m thinkin’ more clearly than I have in sixteen long years.’’
O Lord God,
Jesse thought, sickened.
Can it be?
E
sther cried. She stood at her back door and wept tears of pure joy, mixed with laughter. Annie thought it a strange yet lovely sort of sound.
Laura came running through the kitchen and out the back door to throw her slender arms around Annie’s waist. ‘‘Mamma prayed somebody would come . . . and here you are!’’
Esther nodded, brushing back her own tears. ‘‘I know the Lord answers our prayers, but this is ever so quick.’’ She reached for Annie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘‘I’m so happy to see you!’’
‘‘Oh, me too, Essie! Me too!’’ She searched her friend’s face, her eyes lingering long enough to see that Esther had not yet been scarred by the Bann. ‘‘I was hopin’ you might take me in.’’ Annie leaned down to pick John up, not ready to tell Esther why she was here. Even so, it was evident Esther sensed something and was gracious enough not to pry.
‘‘Why sure, Annie. Stay as long as you like.’’
‘‘Denki. This means so much to me,’’ Annie replied.
‘‘You’ve got yourself a right heavy one there,’’ Esther said, meaning little John.
Annie and John rubbed noses playfully. ‘‘I think you’ve been eating pork chops again, young man.’’ She squeezed his arm muscles.
John grinned, showing some new teeth.
‘‘Oh, goodness, you don’t know how
wunderbaar
it’s goin’ to be having you here, Annie.’’
‘‘You sure? I don’t want to be a burden.’’
‘‘Not a burden . . . a blessing.’’
Yonie was already hauling her suitcases out of the backseat. ‘‘Just tell me where you want all this.’’
Zach hopped down the steps, their big black watchdog barking and wagging his tail and trailing behind him. ‘‘Follow me . . . I’ll show ya,’’ he told Yonie, then turned and marched into the house.
Esther whispered, ‘‘Zach thinks he’s the man of the house now.’’
Yonie followed Zach inside, carrying the suitcases and talking Dutch to the boy.
Esther told Annie she’d moved back to Zeke’s and her bedroom the night before, when she realized Zeke must not be returning from ‘‘you know where’’ in a few hours, as she’d first believed. ‘‘You can take the spare room at the end of the hall. It’s nice and quiet.’’
‘‘I’m grateful,’’ Annie said. ‘‘And I’ll pull my weight— you’ll see.’’
Esther waved her hand, laughing. ‘‘No doubt in my mind.’’
Annie set John down and watched him toddle across the back porch, then slipped her arm through the crook of Esther’s. ‘‘I’ll do all I can to help you, Essie. For as long as you’ll let me.’’
Esther’s face clouded over. ‘‘Not sure how long my husband will be gone, Annie. I heard from your father, there’s some sort of investigation under way. . . .’’ Tears threatened again.
‘‘Aw, Essie . . . let’s not fret. Surely something good will come of all this. Surely.’’
Esther shook her head. ‘‘I just don’t see how.’’
The baby let out a holler, and Annie offered to go and get her. She hurried up the back steps and into the kitchen, bent down to the small playpen, and lifted Essie Ann up, resting her warm little head next to her cheek. ‘‘Your auntie’s here,’’ she cooed at her.
‘‘Ach, I like that,’’ Esther said, following Annie inside and mopping her face with a tissue. ‘‘We’ll be sisters together.’’
Annie thought of Lou suddenly and caught Esther’s look of cheer. ‘‘We always were, jah?’’
There would be no further talk of jail or investigations or broken hearts. For today, they would dwell on friendship, laughter, and family—extended and otherwise.