The Preacher's Daughter (19 page)

Jesse shook his head, not in disgust but disbelief. It was impossible to imagine any of his own children abandoning family and faith. Not even Annie. ‘‘Knowing
something
just might bring some finality to the parents, jah?''

Bishop wiped his eyes and face with a blue paisley handkerchief. ‘‘I'll see what can be done. But this must not leak out amongst the People, mind you.''

Indeed, Jesse would heed the older man's admonition. After all, such a bleak report would only stir up more sorrow and foreboding.

Chapter 19

A
nnie studied Louisa intently. They were sitting at the writing desk drawing each other's profiles, making a game of it, to see who could draw most accurately and most quickly. Louisa, seemingly anxious to do some sketching again, was all for it, and she held her kitty on her lap as she did.

So far the outline of Louisa's eyes looked just right on the paper, her thick and slightly curly eyelashes nearly exact. Several times Louisa asked if Annie could turn slightly, not blinking.

This is such fun!
thought Annie.

As she worked, she experienced a sense of purpose and even peace, right here in her own bedroom. Doing something she never would have dared to do had Louisa not come. She knew she was terribly brazen, but who was to know? ‘‘Who would've thought we'd ever be doin' this . . . working together?'' she said.

Louisa agreed. ‘‘Funniest thing. I never considered visiting you until . . . well, you know.''

‘‘Perfect timing, jah?'' Annie knew what Louisa meant. ‘‘Daed often says ‘God works in mysterious ways.' And I s'pose this could be one of those times.''

‘‘Well . . . I'm not sure how I feel about that,'' Louisa replied, her face more serious now. ‘‘God may be okay for other people, I guess.''

‘‘I'm not at all sure what I believe and what I don't,'' Annie said, then clammed right up, not wanting to discuss such things within earshot of Mamm, who was resting in her own room down the hall.

She turned her attention back to getting the curve of Louisa's brow just so, as well as the shape and length of her cute nose.

Some time later, a knock came at the door, and without thinking, Annie said simply, ‘‘Come in,'' only to see that it was Mamm standing there.

‘‘Girls?'' Her mother came closer, peering down at their sketchbooks, eyebrows high. ‘‘What's this?''

Too late to hide the truth,
Annie thought glumly. ‘‘We're tryin' to draw each other'' was her reply.

‘‘Jah, I see that . . . and these are ever so good, I daresay.'' Mamm stepped back a bit.

Annie could hear Mamm breathing hard, and she cringed, waiting for the words sure to follow.

‘‘I didn't know you could draw like this, Annie.''

Louisa's eyes locked on her.
What to say?
The heat rushed to Annie's head and neck. At a loss for words, she blinked, too aware that she was holding her breath.

‘‘I have a group of students back home,'' Louisa volunteered, speaking up, yet sounding hesitant. ‘‘But Annie and I, we're just practicing now, that's all.''

Mamm sighed audibly. ‘‘Well, your father better not catch you, Annie Zook.'' With that she stood shaking her head and muttering something about never having heard that Louisa was a teacher. Then she turned and left the room quickly.

Annie felt frozen, her muscles taut as can be. She even wondered if her mouth had gaped open, like a fish. But she waited to speak to Louisa till Mamm's footsteps faded in the hall, and then in only a whisper. ‘‘We can never let this happen again.
Never
.''

‘‘I'm so sorry, Annie.''

‘‘No . . . no, it's not your fault.'' Annie closed her sketchbook. ‘‘Tomorrow, when we go to my cousin Julia's, I'll show you my art studio. You'll love it as much as I do. And there's no chance of bein' found out there.''

Louisa frowned briefly. ‘‘This is a huge problem for you, I can see that. I can't imagine not being able to express myself artistically.''

‘‘Jah . . . a problem's putting it mildly.''

‘‘I don't want to cause further trouble for you.'' Louisa was frowning now, glancing back toward the door. ‘‘Your mother is obviously upset.''

‘‘At me, 'specially. So not to worry. Promise me ya won't?'' Then she gasped, remembering Julia's insistence on entering her painting in the upcoming magazine contest. ‘‘Ach, no . . .''

‘‘What?''

In all the excitement of having her friend visit, Annie had completely forgotten this secret tidbit. Now with Mamm's stern warning, and the likelihood of her father being told, Annie dreaded the possibility of word getting out—whether she should win or not.
I never should've let Julia twist my arm!
she thought.

‘‘What is it?'' asked Louisa. ‘‘You're suddenly pale.''

Can I even trust my cousin to keep quiet?
Annie inhaled sharply. ‘‘You'll never guess what dumb thing I did. . . .''

After Annie had turned in for the night, Louisa lay awake. It was hours before her usual bedtime and she couldn't fall asleep. So she crept down the hall to Annie's room, careful not to wake her. There, she set the old framed self-portrait of Annie on the dresser. Stifling the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl pulling a prank, she tiptoed back to her room and slipped into bed. Still, she was too wired to close her eyes, too worried about Annie. What would Barbara Zook tell her husband about her discovery tonight? And what would Preacher Jesse do about it?

Turning in bed, she was conscious of an owl's persistent hoot.
Right outside my window?
she wondered.

Curious as to the location of the loud and immediate call, she again left her curled-up cat and went to the window. She raised it easily. Then, deciding to remove the screen, she did so and poked her head out.

The night was a silent, glowing basin before her, as the moon lit the pastureland and plowed fields in all directions. She listened, straining her ears.

Once, as a little girl, she had gone with her grandfather into the woods on a full-moon night, as he had called it. Enthusiastic about seeing the wide-eyed swivel-necked creature in the Connecticut woods at Christmastime, she had been intimidated by the size and grandeur of the black forest. But she had been equally intent on the owling adventure. In the space of a mere hour, they had thrilled to the eerie call of several owls but had not been successful at spotting a single one. Even so, the memory of the breathtaking experience remained all these years.

Less than two minutes had passed since throwing open the window. Suddenly, as if on cue, Louisa felt a brush of air against her face. The realization was nearly jolting.

Where is he?
she wondered, looking . . . looking.

Then she saw the extended graceful wings, silver-brown in the moonlight, thrust straight out in a thin, silent line above the open field. She memorized the longed-for image, wishing the owl were flying toward her instead of away.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she struggled to see as he flew with seemingly little effort, gliding over the harvested cornfield.

After all these years, is it a sign?

Suddenly from below, she heard a door open and there appeared Annie's father heading for the road, a shovel slung over his broad shoulder.

She stood there staring down at him until he disappeared into the shadows.
What sort of Amish work is required so late?
she wondered.

Esther was sitting reading the old German Bible by the cookstove when Zeke came into the kitchen, looking for seconds on pie left over from supper. He sat down at his usual spot at the head of the table, as if planting himself anywhere else might give the wrong notion to Esther . . . that he was loosening the reins even for a moment. She was probably wrong, but she sensed it all the same, the unspoken aspects of his dominance.

Closing the family Bible, she leaned her head back, aware of the smack of Zeke's lips as he enjoyed the pie. She couldn't stop thinking of Annie's introduction yesterday . . . of her English friend, Louisa. And she found it ever so curious that the preacher's daughter should be entertaining a worldly girl, one who'd been kept very much a secret from the People, evidently, although Esther remembered Annie had mentioned a pen pal back when she and Annie were schoolgirls.

Still, there was something terribly enticing about Annie's way. At times she had observed Annie in the line of young single women waiting to enter house church on a Sunday morning. Invariably, she would be the only girl with her hand perched on her hip. Not that Annie wanted to be bad-tempered, no. Neither was she known for being defiant. Even so, Esther thought she knew what made her tick, deep down. Preacher Zook's only daughter had some difficulty with the idea of wholly submitting. Rudy Esh was only one case in point.

Esther thought again of Annie's enthusiastic invitation to the quilting bee this week. Just the talk of work frolics and such left Esther feeling nearly overwhelmed. Too many prattling women sitting round a quilt frame gave her the jitters anymore.

Truth was, she enjoyed the company of the other women, but she felt out of step with them. As though
they
were doing what was expected and she was not. She privately questioned the whys and wherefores of submitting to male authority. It was impossible not to. She hadn't had the luxury of being born with the desire to simply say
jah,
like her female counterparts.

She sighed, acknowledging to herself that she made a consistent effort to put her best foot forward nearly all the time—at least giving the appearance that all was well. Yet she knew otherwise and was beginning to suspect that Annie may have been sensing it, too.

More often than she cared to admit, even to herself, she imagined rising up and shaking her fist at a man. Especially at Zeke.

She wished he might hurry and finish his snack so she could clean up after him.
Yet again
.

Rocking harder now, she clenched her fists, her breath coming faster as she stared a hole in the back of his head. She might have blurted out a terrible thing if someone hadn't come riding up the lane right then.

Zeke got up and looked out. ‘‘Well, I'll be. The bishop's dropped by,'' he said and hurried out through the back porch.

‘‘Hullo, Ezekiel,'' she heard the minister say to her husband.

But the men's words faded quickly, and Esther rose and went to stand near the window. Curiously, she watched the two of them mosey out to the barn in the fading light, wondering what was up, even though it was not her place to know or to inquire.

When the bishop reached over and placed a hand on Zeke's shoulder, she knew there was definitely something off beam.
What on earth?

Chapter 20

W
aking up the next morning, Annie was thankful for a few minutes to stretch and relax beneath her colorful quilts before getting up for the day. She snuggled down in her warm bed, staring at the window across the room, noting the slowly-shifting glow as dawn inched its way into daylight.

Eyes fixed on the light, she pondered Louisa's visit thus far. She knew one thing sure, she was beginning to see her own surroundings through her friend's eyes . . . grasping a glimpse of the peace she and the People seemed to take for granted. Right along with the rigid expectations weighing her down at times, though she attempted to conceal any negativity from her family.

She thought back to Sunday night, following their buggy ride home from the singing, when Louisa had said the most surprising thing: ‘‘The peacefulness here . . . it's like a sort of blessing hangs in the air.''

Funny, hearing Louisa say such a thing. . . .

Louisa had never expressed this before, and Annie hadn't ever thought of Paradise that way. But she guessed the immense contrast between city living and Amish country was rather severe to Louisa. The farthest she had ever ventured into the populace of Lancaster was to the town of Strasburg. Which was enough of a jolt to her, what with tourists driving here and there, milling about, and in and out of the quaint little shops on the cobblestone sidewalks.

Today, though, she was anxious to accomplish her home chores quickly and head to Cousin Julia's for the remainder of the day. Still upset at Mamm's discovery of the two artists at work, she decided it would be nice if her friend could possibly paint to her heart's content in the attic studio while Annie did her housework for Julia.

A wonderful-good surprise,
she thought, slipping out of bed and hurrying to put on her house slippers and long white cotton robe.

She went to the dresser and picked up the small hand mirror. Pouring a bit of water from the pitcher to the ceramic basin, she began to wash her face in the cold water. Quickly, she patted her face dry with an embroidered linen towel.

Just then she spotted a gold-framed picture Louisa must have left on the corner of the dresser. ‘‘For goodness' sake!'' She studied the long-ago drawing of herself.
I hope I've improved since this,
she thought, knowing without a doubt she had. The early morning surprise brought a smile, and she could scarcely wait to thank Louisa.

Best not have this on display anymore!
She placed the picture in her bathrobe pocket and tiptoed over to Louisa's room.

Jesse rose earlier than usual, still both mystified and shaken by the unearthing in Al Fisher's pastureland. The bishop had been quite prompt in meeting him last night, and together they'd decided upon an out-of-the-way spot for the suitable burial— a safe distance, deep into the walnut grove, behind the Amish cemetery, where they left no grave marker to signal the shared secret.

As for the bishop's plan to visit the Hochstetler farm last evening, Jesse speculated how Zeke had taken such hard news. The headstrong man was also known to be quite outspoken. But Jesse had always assumed the fiery nature had more to do with Zeke's inability to forgive himself for his brother's disappearance than anything else.