The Preacher's Daughter (24 page)

The cold seeped into the enclosed carriage despite the heated bricks she'd placed on the floor, as well as the lap robes, to help ward off the nip in the air. Her nose became quickly chilled, but the tips of her ears were well protected with her black ‘‘candle-snuffer'' style hat. She was amused, looking over at Louisa . . . the three of them looking rather alike in their winter bonnets.
Such a good sport is Louisa, dressing as if she were truly Plain!

It turned out that Esther did not show her face at the quilting frolic, just as she had indicated on Sunday. But a dozen or so other women were on hand—half of them were married first cousins of Annie's; the others were hoary-headed seasoned quilters.

When it came time to sit at the enormous frame, Louisa planted herself next to Mammi Zook. She seemed determined to imitate the smallest stitches, listening to the storytelling while heeding Mammi's gentle instruction. Louisa appeared to be quite taken by the bold reds, purples, and greens of the Center Diamond quilt. Annie wasn't surprised at all, for it had always been one of
her
favorites.

The only Mennonite woman present—a cousin of Julia's— commented that several women in her neighborhood had formed a ‘‘Scraps R Us'' group, creating comforters from leftover fabric. ‘‘Some of our husbands are helping cut the squares,'' the woman explained, ‘‘and the youngsters tie the knots on the comforters.''

Mammi Zook perked up her ears. ‘‘Well, I have hundreds of pieces—I'd be glad to donate 'em.''

The Mennonite woman smiled and thanked Mammi, returning her attention to making careful stitches. Annie was content to sit across from them, concentrating on the process of quilting, saying precious little. Rhoda Esh and Susie Yoder were on hand, as well, and it was rather clear that Rudy's sister and his new girl had gotten themselves on much better footing these days.

Time heals. . . .

Annie couldn't stop thinking about Mamm's startling revelation last evening.
Isaac's father is Ichabod. . . .

She shivered with the ominous feeling, the knowledge that one of their own had rejected the divine appointment. Could time heal such a thing as
that
?

The next day, Louisa worked diligently on her colorful peacock painting in the attic studio while Annie cleaned Julia's downstairs. Louisa didn't have to remind herself to charge up her Palm. She was beginning to feel somewhat out of touch and was ready to make contact with the outside world.
I need to remember who I really am,
she thought as she mixed blue with green on the palette.

Julia knocked softly and entered, bringing a cinnamon roll and a cup of tea. She placed the tray down and stepped over to the easel, eyes wide with delight. ‘‘Oh, Louisa. What a wonderful talent you have! God certainly has given you a great gift.''

‘‘Well, thank you. I've never quite thought of it that way.'' Louisa paused, realizing this woman was absolutely sincere. ‘‘Do you really think God gives people certain abilities?''

‘‘Oh my, yes. The Lord is the ultimate artist, you know, creating each one of us with special gifts. I should say so.''

Louisa was stunned. Julia wasn't kidding . . . she believed this.

‘‘There are gifts such as musical ability, as you know, writing gifts, and gifts such as friendship, loyalty, and courage. Honestly, the list goes on and on. I'm sure if you think about it, you'll realize this in your own life . . . and others.''

Louisa thanked her for the ‘‘sticky bun,'' as the breakfast rolls were called here, and the honey-sweetened peppermint tea before Julia slipped out nearly as silently as she had come.

During lunch Louisa checked her email on her laptop, corresponding with Cybil Peters and several other art students, smiling at their waiting remarks about her abandoning them for Amish country.
They would snicker at my Plain getup,
she thought.

While she was online, Courtney sent her an instant message, reminding her unnecessarily that today was the eve of her once-planned wedding. ‘‘I'll be thinking of you—especially tomorrow. Just want to make sure you're okay, girl.'' She replied to Courtney, assuring her she was fine and happy to hear of her latest date to
The Phantom of the Opera,
at the Buell Theatre in downtown Denver. Louisa experienced a twinge of melancholy, having seen the musical years before on Broadway with her parents. Suddenly she decided to send individual email messages to her mom and dad, which triggered an interesting thought:
Am I becoming latently homesick?

When her Palm was completely charged, she listened to all of her new voice mail. Starting at the beginning, with the call she'd snoozed the last time, she was surprised to hear Trey's voice in her ear.
Hey, Louisa . . . I just sold a large Joseph Bohler painting— man, what a style . . . earthy and honest. Anyway, Joe's work made me think of you. Maybe we can do Denver again sometime. Call me!

Hearing Trey's voice did crazy things to her. She pressed ‘‘9'' to save his message. When she'd heard each message, including three from Mother and two more from Michael, she replayed Trey's, savoring the rich tone of his voice, visualizing him making the call from London, within the confines of his fabulous art gallery.

Why did we disconnect so thoroughly?

But she knew. She had wanted to finish her degree at the California School of Art, and he was ready to get on with his life, having completed a master's degree in business management, his undergraduate degree in fine arts with an emphasis in art history, theory, and criticism. The perfect combo for an art dealer.

She humorously recalled his aversion to high tech anything, never having asked for her email address and avoiding the Internet as long as possible. If she could have reduced Trey to a two-word definition, it would have been
earthy sophisticate
.
But minus
the deception,
she decided, smiling at the perfect description for her first boyfriend.

Why should he contact me now? Does he know about my split from Michael?
She also wondered if he had ever known of her engagement.

She recalled her many dates with Trey, the way he seemed to enjoy treating her special—like a lady. Rushing around the car to open her door, insisting on paying for her expensive dinners, ordering for her . . . things most men overlooked, or women didn't value, being liberated and empowered these days. Trey appreciated fine quality and nice things, but he had always been just as comfortable in jeans and a sweater as he was in an expensive suit.

All day she contemplated his charming phone message, growing more introspective of their past romance as the hours ticked by. Even at supper that evening, Annie attempted to pry Louisa out of her blackout, asking occasional questions about Denver, her college years . . . as did Annie's mom, uncharacteristically so. But Louisa was preoccupied with Trey, struggling with the strong tug toward him yet somewhat stunned by the uncanny timing of his reappearance in her life.

During the evening prayers—always silent rote prayers, so she never really knew what the Zooks were saying to God anyway— Louisa considered returning Trey's call . . . perhaps in a few days.
I'll give myself more time to think. . . . But, no, we called it quits. It's over
.

Kneeling before the plain sofa next to Annie and her family, Louisa was so conflicted regarding Trey. She wondered if her back-and-forth state was itself a clue.
Should I pay attention to that alone?
In the past, she'd often listened to her psyche, making sure all systems were go, especially when it came to relationships with guys. So many things could go wrong, she had quickly discovered.

But since hearing Trey's voice, her old feelings continued to resurface. She wouldn't tell Annie, when she asked what was bugging her, in so many words . . . but Trey
had
been the all-time best kisser ever. A truly affectionate man. Was that
his
gift? she wondered, smiling and recalling Julia's strange remarks. She wished she'd thought more than twice about possibly following him to London. Had she agreed to go with him, she might have easily transferred her credits to the Sorbonne in Paris, where two of her girl friends had gone. If so, she would never have been around for the blind date setup with attorney Michael Jackanapes Berkeley!

The next morning, Yonie returned home without a buck to show for all his hunting. There was one good thing about his recent disappearing act—he seemed more relaxed, Annie thought. They promptly resumed their fun-loving bantering, including his comments about Louisa's ‘‘powerful cologne,'' which Yonie insisted still permeated his bedroom even though she'd aired it out but good. He hadn't seemed to mind Louisa staying in his room, however. If anything, he was intrigued by an English girl dressing in Amish clothes.

There was a decided spring in his step, so Annie guessed he'd also paid a visit to Dory Zimmerman en route home.

As for housing Louisa, Mamm was surprisingly agreeable, allowing her and Annie to move to the large upstairs bedroom in the Dawdi Haus, which put a surprisingly big smile on Mammi Zook's wrinkled face.

As Annie unpacked a box of her things, she ran across Louisa's wedding invitation—the fancy wedding that had been scheduled to take place at high noon today. She slipped the invitation into the bottom of her drawer, thinking Louisa didn't need the reminder, especially considering how quiet and preoccupied her friend had been lately.

In the weeks that followed, various works of art began to emerge from both Annie's and Louisa's keen imagination onto the pages of their individual sketchbooks and the canvases in the sequestered attic. Louisa insisted, however, on taking time off to show Annie some advanced techniques, saying her brain needed time to be ‘‘re-inspired'' between projects. Annie soaked up the instruction, which involved highlighting to set a mood, layering and glazing colors—moving from light to dark values in watercolor and pastel chalk—and the power of shading accents with pencil drawings. Louisa worked frequently with Annie to help her transform her simple still lifes into a three-dimensional look. But Annie needed less help with her landscape paintings— which popped right off the canvas—and Louisa focused on their fine details by using unexpected spots of color.

Annie savored these educational, yet creative hours, but had the growing conviction that they could not last much longer. Although she didn't breathe a word to Louisa of Mamm's revelation about Isaac's father's refusal of the divine lot, she frequently brooded about it, wondering what consequences might befall her, too, for refusing to submit to the will of the People.

She also found herself finishing her household chores for Julia more quickly than she had in recent months. And even though Louisa offered to assist with the work, Annie continually refused, urging her to ‘‘make good use of the time,'' knowing they must not risk a further run-in with Mamm at home.

Preparations for a Thanksgiving feast were in progress with oodles of baking—a half-dozen pumpkin pies and the same of mincemeat—which meant less time for drawing at home. Annie was actually glad none of her cousins were scheduled to marry that week, otherwise they would have been planning to attend the all-day wedding celebration instead of happily inviting all of her brothers and their families for a big get-together.

Later, when Louisa brought up the possibility of renting a car ‘‘for a few days'' for the purpose of purchasing additional art supplies and exploring the art galleries nearby, Julia offered to drive her to several locations, including the Village of Intercourse. In short order the completed peacock painting and the ethereal owl in flight, as well as one of surrounding farmland, including Preacher Zook's barn, were quickly snatched up on consignment by a small art gallery and craft shop situated on Route 30, near Leaman Place Furniture.

Annie was delighted no end at Louisa's success in placing her realistic paintings where, given the heavy tourist trade, they could enjoy a wide audience of potential customers. Of course, Louisa's appearance, looking as if she were Amish, had an appealing influence on the owner, as well. Louisa was quick indeed to set the record straight, revealing that she was actually a modern young woman, though residing with an Amish family ‘‘for the time being.'' Annie was fairly sure the English owner didn't believe this for a single minute.

Annie secretly wished she, too, might sell her work. But that was out of the question for now.

One Saturday morning, Louisa, Annie, and Julia, along with her children, headed out by car to the Old Country Store in Intercourse. There, Julia shopped for precut fabric, color-coordinated in packs, ready for quilting.

Meanwhile, Louisa and Annie walked around, looking at the various handmade crafts—the embroidered items especially interesting to Louisa. ‘‘I can't believe someone actually makes this stuff by hand,'' she commented softly to Annie. ‘‘You know, it's really an art form—check out the colorful arrangements and the unique designs.''

‘‘Well, the whole upstairs is a quilt museum, if you want to see more,'' said Annie. ‘‘Quilts made before the 1940s.''

Louisa glanced toward the stairs. ‘‘I'm in!'' Then she ran her fingers over the intricate flowers in a basket stitched onto the wide hem of a pillowslip, studying the needlework. ‘‘Do you embroider like this?''

‘‘Jah, all the womenfolk do . . .'specially during the winter. Some are better at it than others, though.''

‘‘Well, this is a talent, too, Annie, like painting. A gift, Julia would say.''

Louisa became aware of two ‘‘English'' women near the piece goods, looking their way and talking none too quietly.

‘‘Look, Cari, they're Amish,'' said one.

‘‘Oh, you're right,'' said the other. ‘‘Have you ever seen dresses like
that
?''