The Preacher's Daughter (29 page)

Annie's heart was in danger of breaking.
Ach, she believes she's got herself saved!

The lanterns rimming the shoreline were mesmerizing as Annie skated around the far rim of the Lapps' large pond. Louisa was close behind, doing ‘‘ice laps,'' as she jokingly called her everlasting loops. Annie wasn't sure, but she thought Miss Lou just might be determined to ignore Trey's kind gesture of the bouquet of cut roses.
What a shame to waste such pretty flowers!
she thought, skating much more slowly now as Louisa whizzed past.

She had heard once, when she was a girl, the notion that if you wanted a boy to fall in love with you, a rooster's tail feather would easily do the trick if you pressed it three times into your beau's hand. That alone was supposed to make him love you forever. The old tale was the most outlandish she'd ever heard. Yet pondering romantic love made her wonder how Louisa's former beau had happened to resurface here and now, via the roses.

As for Annie, there was plenty on her mind to make her want to skate ‘‘till the cows came home,'' which had already happened twice today, as she'd helped put milkers on a good two dozen of the herd earlier this afternoon, following their visit to Esther.

Louisa slowed her pace and came over to skate alongside Annie around the rim of the pond. It was clear that she, too, had something on her mind. ‘‘What's with Esther and her husband?'' she asked. ‘‘Is she always that upset?''

‘‘That's between them.''

‘‘Well, what's he doing to her? Do you know?''

‘‘Not for sure.''

‘‘But you must suspect something's wrong, don't you?''

Annie looked at Louisa as they made the turn at the lake's narrow end. ‘‘The women are to mind the men. That's what we're taught.'' She had promised not to spill the beans on Esther.

Louisa continued to press for answers. ‘‘Are you saying . . . even if you knew for sure Zeke was beating Esther, you wouldn't contact the police?''

‘‘Never the police. It isn't our way.''

‘‘Then, what
is
your way?''

‘‘Well, God's way, according to the church.''

‘‘So . . . let me get this straight. You simply turn a blind eye when husbands abuse their wives?''

Annie felt the sting of cold . . . and the harsh words.

Louisa must have noticed and quickly apologized. ‘‘I'm sorry, Annie. I know you care deeply about Esther . . . and you would help her if you could. I'm sure you feel quite helpless.''

‘‘Jah, 'specially when she looks so pale and exhausted . . . and expecting her baby soon.''

Indeed, her befuddled friend's eye-opening disclosure weighed heavily on Annie's mind. That and the fact that Esther seemed to be losing the ability to keep up with her chores and her children. To help her catch up some, Annie and Louisa had finished mopping the floor and doing the dishes while Zach gathered up the toys in the sitting room at Annie's request. Annie even picked up little John and put him in a clean diaper, then into Esther's arms for a quick nursing. Esther had nearly weaned him, knowing full well she'd be kept busy with the new baby here before long. Besides, young John's baby teeth were becoming a problem, she'd said quietly.

Hemmed in on all sides,
thought Annie.

Skating over a stray willow twig, Annie put out her arms to steady herself, then kept going. She considered Julia's involvement with Esther, which still flabbergasted her, in spite of Essie's ongoing struggle.
What right does my cousin have imposing her religious opinion on Essie?

Oh, there had been occasions when Julia had talked about the Lord or heaven or what she liked to call ‘‘the gift of God— eternal life.'' But for the most part, Annie had paid little attention, letting it go in one ear and out the other. It wasn't that she wouldn't have been long-suffering enough or willing to hear Julia out; she just didn't see why she should compound her problems with unknown doctrine, or whatever it was her cousin was spreading around. Her own problems, though suppressed at this moment, were big enough to keep her up pacing the upstairs sitting room at night.

How long before one of our cousins in Ohio sees Annie Zook of Paradise, PA, is painting in her spare time and says to himself,
Well now, isn't that Jesse Zook's girl back East?

Annie could hear it now, the ruckus such a disclosure would raise with her father first and foremost. Then it would filter into every crevice of the church district. People would wag their tongues like dogs catching flies.
That awful wicked girl . . . doesn't she know better?

Annie had been noticing Louisa nearly every night sitting and drawing in her sketchbook in bed. Sure, she'd urged her friend to feel free to do so, but she hadn't thought Louisa would quite so often. Not with Annie propped up in her own bed nearly pining away for a graphite pencil and her own artist's pad. She often imagined what it would be like to openly convey her ideas on paper . . . or to sell her drawings unframed in small bins where customers could simply look through and discover a special gem. Louisa had recently sold several more paintings to the art gallery on Route 30, and Annie had decided to give Louisa the art classes she'd won as a special Christmas gift, since there was no way she would ever go.

What would it be like not to have to sneak around?
she wondered.

Then it struck her like a brick out of the sky.
If the People would shun Esther for simply being led astray, what would they do to the preacher's willfully disobedient daughter?

Chapter 29

A
nnie's stomach began to gnaw and rumble during the final hour of the second sermon on Christmas Day, and she couldn't resist breathing deeply to get a whiff of the roast and all the fixings warming in the bishop's old black cookstove. Each family remaining for the special dinner had also brought along a tempting dish. Some brought more than one. She only knew of a few who would be heading home for their own family dinners, so there would be a big crowd staying put at the bishop's big farmhouse today.

Smelling the delicious food, she was more than ready to hear from Deacon Byler, who rose to announce the location of the next meeting, as was customary. Then he continued. ‘‘Our brother Rudy Esh, along with our sister Susie Yoder, plans to marry next month, along with several other couples.''

Annie paid close attention, although the words did not register immediately. Yet she had been expecting this ‘‘publishing'' of the wedding news for some time now . . . and here she was, on Christmas Sunday, witnessing what might have taken place for herself and her former beau.
They're thick on each other, so they ought to marry,
she told herself.

Next thing, Susie's father walked to the front and stood before them, announcing that a January tenth wedding—‘‘on Tuesday''—was to take place for his daughter. ‘‘Those of yous sixteen and older are invited to attend the wedding service at our place.''

In no time at all, Rudy will be a married man
. Annie realized at that moment she was quite all right with the announcement. She actually had pleasant thoughts for the couple . . . not feeling regretful at all. Thankfully so.

Following the preaching service, Jesse situated himself among the group of older men just inside the barn, waiting for several of the younger men to move the benches around in the house, creating long tables for the common meal. He glanced up and noticed Zeke Hochstetler hurrying across the snow toward him.

Will he cause a scene on Christmas Day yet?
Jesse wondered.

He anticipated what he would say if Zeke threatened to go to Bishop Andy with his malarkey. Truth was Jesse hadn't bothered with Zeke's request at all. It made no sense to speak to the bishop when he knew precisely what Andy would say.
What's done is best left alone,
he thought.

Zeke came right up to him and asked if he could have ‘‘a word'' with him, and Jesse nodded, stepping out from the group, none of the men taking much note. ‘‘What's on your mind?'' He almost slipped and said
son,
which would have been a bungle.

‘‘I've been wonderin' where you've been.'' Zeke looked right at him. ‘‘I thought we had an understanding,'' he muttered.

Jesse wouldn't stir the fire by making an offhand remark. Instead he said, meekly as possible, ‘‘It's best all round to leave it be.''

Zeke grunted. ‘‘No, I'm not going to rest till something's done. If you can't get the bishop to move on this, then I will. And I won't wait.''

‘‘Well, I see no need for anything rash.''

Looking around, Zeke's jaw was set in a dogged clench. ‘‘Where's the bishop now? I'll talk to him myself.''

‘‘I'm tellin' ya, Zeke, this is unnecessary.'' He reached out a hand.

Zeke brushed him away. ‘‘Isaac's dead, and I want the murderer caught.'' Lowering his voice as he looked around, he said, ‘‘I want some justice for the blood of my brother.''

Jesse heard the misery seeping out. There was no getting around it, Zeke was unable to manage his grief or the knowledge of the boy's death. ‘‘Ain't our way, and you know this. We don't press criminal charges . . . or any for that matter.''

‘‘Well, this is the exception to that rule!'' Zeke's words were biting now, and his eyes glowed with pain.

‘‘It's best if we not bring the English world into our own. It is imperative.''

But Zeke continued to urge, only for Jesse to put him off. ‘‘It is
always
best to err on the side of obedience. And that is my final answer,'' Jesse said. ‘‘It is Christmas Day, Zeke. Let's rejoice together in the advent of God's son.''

Downtrodden as ever he'd looked, Zeke turned and clomped back through the snow, away from Jesse.
Will he bend his will and come under?
Jesse could only speculate, quite concerned that Zeke might do something foolish. Something to jeopardize all of them.

Louisa had charged up her Palm on Friday at Julia's, and by keeping it turned off since then, she had enough power to place several Christmas calls. She was hesitant to use it within earshot of Annie's church friends, all of them still hanging out at the deacon's place following the Preaching service. She'd kept the device tucked away in her dress pocket during the service, aware of the lump in the cotton fabric.

While the other women were preparing for the common meal, Louisa stepped out onto the porch and speed-dialed her home. She was relieved when her dad answered. They talked casually, and he did not once mention Michael's name this time. ‘‘We miss you, Louisa, but hope you're having a good Christmas there.'' Then, when he'd said ‘‘Good-bye, dear,'' he put her mom on the line, and even she was not pushy.
They've backed way off,
she thought while her mom rattled off about this function and that they had attended. ‘‘How
are
you, Louisa?''

‘‘I'm doing well.''
A safe answer
. ‘‘Thanks for the Christmas present. . . . I didn't buy any this year . . . needed a break from the mall scene. And, well, that whole shopping nightmare.''

‘‘We thought you might need a new watch, dear.''

‘‘It's beautiful,'' she replied.
But I won't wear it here
. She wondered if this was her parents' way of alerting her that it was
time
to get over her little fit and return home.

‘‘Thanks for thinking of me.'' She wanted to be polite. Well, she did, and she didn't. The purchase of the diamond-studded watch was not the best choice for one who wished to loosen her grip on material possessions.

‘‘Are you eating healthy food?'' Mother asked.

‘‘Straight from the moo to you.''

Mother actually laughed into the phone, almost too loudly, too freely. And then Louisa realized why. They had been drinking, probably a few too many glasses of wine with Christmas dinner.
Dinner alone . . . just the two of them, and why? Because their only child had abandoned them. Perfect reason to get sloshed!

‘‘I hope you both have a Merry Christmas,'' she said.

‘‘You have a nice time there, too, Louisa . . . with your Amish friends.''

‘‘Well, bye, Mother.''

‘‘Good-bye, dear.''

Wow, Mother didn't fight to keep me on the phone. Weird. New tactic?

She didn't know, and she really didn't care to analyze the conversation to death. Instead she called Courtney and was oddly relieved when her friend didn't answer. Somehow she knew Courtney would give her grief about jumping ship. She left a cheerful Christmas greeting on her voice mail and disconnected.

Then she pulled her sleeve back and looked at her simple watch with its plain brown leather band. She calculated ahead five hours from eastern standard time, assuming Trey probably wouldn't be having supper yet at six o'clock his time.

Annie stepped onto the porch, startling her.

‘‘What on earth?'' Annie said, eyes blinking and very serious. ‘‘Best not be takin' any chances.''

She'd pushed her limits. ‘‘Oops, sorry. . . .'' Not wanting to cause further alarm in Annie, she eyed the area of the springhouse and set off tramping through the snow to the more private spot.

Louisa checked for Trey's current cell number, stored in her incoming list of calls. It was the polite thing to do to call, to thank him. A dozen roses of that quality—roses that actually opened beautifully—didn't come cheap.

He surprised her by answering on the second ring. ‘‘Trey here,'' he said, sounding nearly British.

‘‘Hey, merry Christmas. It's Louisa.''

‘‘Well, it's great to hear your voice.''