The Preacher's Daughter (34 page)

The day she'd feared had come.
I must get away from here,
she thought, aware of the throbbing pain.

‘‘Come here to Mamma.'' She gathered John near. ‘‘You gave me an awful fright last night.''

‘‘
Millich,
'' he said softly, eyeing her bosom.

‘‘Jah, 'tis nearly time for breakfast.'' She felt so terribly weak . . . too shaken to stand and cook. She longed to lie down and simply wallow in her pity like the big black and white hogs Zeke raised out back. But she was anything but lazy and wouldn't think of shirking her responsibility, not when she was so needed.

Filled with tremendous sadness, she opened her nightgown and lovingly offering her sweet breast milk to John as she rested against the pillow.

Setting the table for breakfast, Esther imagined herself knocking on Julia Ranck's door while the children waited in the buggy.
My only refuge,
she thought of her Mennonite friend.

Annie's house had never been an option, not really. For all the conclusions she'd drawn in her head . . . and for the reasons she'd given Annie the day they had been so plainspoken with one another, she simply could not flee to Preacher Zook's house. Neither was her widowed mother someone she could run to, because hers would be the first place Zeke would set out to look. She and the children would be welcomed at Julia's . . . safe, too.

For a time. . . .

Once there she could simply let the horse gallop home, pulling the empty carriage back to Zeke. That way he would have his best driving horse back and the family carriage.

On the other hand, Laura could easily walk the short distance to the one-room Amish schoolhouse, possibly attend tomorrow. Zach would entertain himself playing with James and Molly, and Esther could watch John closely. She'd thought of trying to have their doctor take a look at John first thing, but she knew why his asthma had gotten out of control and what to do to prevent it in the future. Such a thing would not happen again; she'd see to it.

As for birthing her baby, Esther knew that Julia would gladly,
lovingly
assist. Beyond that, she had no idea, but she wouldn't allow herself to worry over the future.

Not today. I'll put one foot in front of the other, nothing more. . . .

After Annie helped finish her milking chores, she hurried indoors to help Mamm with breakfast. Today it was fried eggs, apple fritters, leftover pumpkin nut bread, freshly squeezed orange juice, and black coffee.

The kitchen already smelled of her mother's dusting powder, which she patted on daily, even on the coldest winter days. That coupled with the frying fitters created a kind of fragrant cloud around her.

‘‘Where's Lou?'' Annie asked Mamm, who had set out the utensils already.

‘‘Took off walkin' not more than twenty minutes ago.''

Annie hurried to the table and began to place all the forks around, as well as the paper napkins and their biggest plates. ‘‘Did she seem all right?''

‘‘Wasn't upset, if that's what you mean.''

That's good,
she thought, assuming Lou was perplexed, maybe even a bit stressed, too, over the many messages left by Trey.

‘‘Are you girls plannin' to attend the quilting bee next Tuesday?'' Mamm asked, flipping over the first fritters in the frying pan. ‘‘It's at Sarah Mae's this time.''

‘‘I'll go . . . but I'm not sure 'bout Lou.'' Honestly it seemed maybe her friend needed some time to herself, but Annie wouldn't mention it. Mamm had enough on her mind, what with taking oodles of baked goods to various markets several days a week.

Annie had also been thinking quite a lot about her best painting. Since she believed herself to be on the brink of being found out anyway, the least she could do was get her favorite work framed. She'd decided to ask Julia to drive her to the art gallery where Louisa had been successful in selling her own paintings. Since the magazine judges had chosen Annie's work for their cover, then, just maybe, the painting
did
have some merit . . . and she wanted to see it framed.

‘‘Does Louisa ever seem homesick to you?'' Mamm asked.

Annie sighed. She should've known a question like this might emerge at some point. Fact was, Louisa had settled in quite nicely . . .
for a fancy girl
.

‘‘You'd think her parents would miss her something awful.'' Mamm was pushing for some kind of response; and out of respect for her, Annie knew she ought to speak up.

‘‘Lou hears from her family some. She charges up her phone at Julia's and calls them now and then.''

‘‘She has no other close relatives . . . no brothers or sisters, jah?''

Annie shook her head. ‘‘Sadly, no.'' But her mother had known this for a good many years now . . . from all the letters.

‘‘She must feel like she has a sister in you.'' Mamm forced a little smile, staring at the frying pan as if contemplating what she might say next. It was mighty clear Mamm had a talk on.

‘‘Oh, we're sisters, all right. We've felt that way right from the start.''

‘‘And she shares her knowledge of art with you, as well?''

There it was! The thing Mamm was worming her way to
.

‘‘I watch her draw sometimes'' was all Annie cared to admit. No sense volunteering more. The woeful day was coming, she knew, and she often had nightmares about it—Daed pushing her published art before her eyes, forcing her to behold her own sin, his eyes pinning her soul down but good.

Mamm turned and looked at her. ‘‘S'posin' I ought to rue the day your father ever agreed for Louisa to come here . . . but, Annie, I have to tell ya—'tween you and me—I'm rather fond of her.''

‘‘Jah . . . I've sensed that.'' Annie felt a tender pull toward her mother.

‘‘Louisa certainly doesn't have to contribute money, and you must tell her this.'' Mamm was referring to Lou's sale of art, but Lou had never told them the origin of the money.

‘‘Well, she's not one to wear out her welcome. She wanted to pay her way from the outset here.''

‘‘Oh, but she's been more than generous. She doesn't owe another cent.''

Annie smiled. ‘‘Might be hard to get that through her head.''

Their conversation turned toward the day's snowy forecast, and just then Annie recalled having heard from her brothers that the hill behind the meadow was ‘‘right slick and good for sleddin'.''

Her mother remarked, ‘‘I trust you won't let Louisa's friendship lead you astray, dear one.''

She feels she has to repeat this. . . .

Quickly, Annie set about making toast and then buttered it. ‘‘I'll go over and see if Dawdi and Mammi Zook are ready to eat,'' she said, looking for an excuse to slip out of the kitchen.

The smell of fresh-brewed hot coffee tempted her, and she could hardly wait to have some. Mamm's was the best.
I'll have it black,
she thought, as if coffee void of sugar and cream would alone serve to quell her apprehension.

Yet she would not allow her worries to overtake her. She must move forward and explore the possibility of getting her best painting framed.

Hopefully today. . . .

Esther sat down at Julia's lovely table to eat homemade potato soup and chicken salad sandwiches. She had gotten her own children settled into their chairs, with John perched in Molly's former high chair. Besides Zeke, Julia's husband was the only one missing at the meal, out on a company-related sales call in Allentown.

Julia bowed her head and said a heartfelt blessing, mentioning Esther's name as well as Laura, Zach, and little John. ‘‘And, Lord, please pour your abundant grace into the hurting places of our lives,'' she continued.

Esther held Laura's hand during the prayer, squeezing it and offering a comforting smile when Julia finished, saying ‘‘amen'' in a hushed and reverent tone.

On the buggy ride here, Esther had said very little to the children, mainly that they were going for a visit to ‘‘Auntie'' Julia's, even though they had never met either Julia or her husband and children. Laura had been full of questions, as always, asking if this was a day off from school . . . and why wasn't Dat coming along with them. Esther had not fibbed, however, careful not to alarm either her eldest or Zach and John, who seemed to be quite happy to get out in the ‘‘snowy land,'' as Zach called it.

Having kept an overnight bag packed and hidden for several months now, Esther had been able to gather her wits, her bag, and the children in record time, her heart in her throat, while Zeke was gone visiting at the neighbor's for his midmorning coffee break. All during the time of her escape, she'd prayed both silently and under her breath, mindful to carefully bundle up John, who looked surprisingly fit for having nearly suffocated in the night. She realized that if she should fail to escape this time, she might never have another chance. Zeke would see to that. Even her stay at Julia's was risky business.

Still, she felt justified in leaving, needing a safe place to deliver her baby.
My helpless wee baby must come first
. She did not know what the next permanent step might be, for it would be presumptuous for her to think she could stay for an extended period at Julia's.

Handing the large soup tureen to her, Julia said, ‘‘Help yourself to plenty. I made a double batch . . . one for our shut-in 301 neighbors, too.''

‘‘Denki,'' whispered Esther, still stunned she'd made it this far into her unknown journey. She dipped the ladle into the thick soup, putting a small amount in Laura's bowl, then into each of the boys'. Last of all, her own.

The kitchen was pleasant, situated where sunshine could flood the eating nook as they all sat, the drop-leaf table extended out to accommodate all of them. With its refinished oak hardwood flooring, white cupboards and apothecary knobs, and hard rock maple butcher-block countertops, Julia's kitchen was more modern than anything Esther had ever seen. Bright touches of red cookie jar, sugar dish, and salt and pepper shakers, and the deep yellow sunflower toppers above the windows, made for an appealing room.

She felt her muscles relaxing as she ate each bite of food, not realizing until this moment how hungry she'd been. She enjoyed the simple offerings of tasty soup and sandwiches.

Later, when she was helping dish up the fruity Jell-O for Zach and John, she felt the sharp cramping of another contraction. Not wanting to upset the children, she would not let on.

After the children were finished with their cookie munching, she felt she ought to lie down, hoping to stave off the onset of contractions. She whispered to Julia that she was ‘‘all in,'' and Julia encouraged her to take the spare room, away from the traffic of the house, ‘‘back in a little corner, here on the first floor,'' said Julia. ‘‘I'll tend to the children. You rest.''

Ever so relieved, Esther rose and thanked her for the good meal. Picking John up, she turned to Laura and Zach. ‘‘Be sure to mind Auntie Julia, ya hear?''

Laura's eyes were focused on her, but her daughter said nothing. Esther smiled back, wanting to ease any fears her too-perceptive girl might have.

‘‘You go on, Esther. It's nice and peaceful back there,'' urged Julia.

‘‘Thank you ever so much.'' She felt so appreciative of her Mennonite friend and longed to rest her weary bones . . . and to have little John near to keep a closer watch on him. ‘‘Come, let's get you washed up.'' She kissed his sticky face.

Dear Lord, be with my wee unborn babe!
she prayed.

Chapter 35

A
nnie was bursting at the seams to share with Lou her sudden yearning—to frame her painting. But Omar was at the reins, having been kind to offer to drive them to Julia's.
This will have to wait,
she decided, trying to picture what such a large canvas would look like professionally framed.

And she couldn't wait to see the choices of beautiful frames. Of course she would be taking her chances at being seen out in the English world, but far as she knew there were scarcely any connections between herself and the fancy life here in Lancaster County. Next to none.

She kept still and listened to Omar and Lou chatting about upcoming farm sales, which Omar—and Yonie, especially—were always happy to talk about.

‘‘What sort of things are sold at auction?'' Lou asked.

‘‘You name it . . . it's there.'' Omar was keeping a straight face, but Annie knew he was smiling inside. Anytime anyone wanted to talk about the sale of cattle, mules, driving horses, shovels, rakes, and all kinds of farm equipment, Omar was more than willing. ‘‘You oughta come along sometime. It'd be quite an experience.''

‘‘I'll say,'' Annie spoke up. ‘‘An all-day thing, with baked goods, quilts, and such for sale, and just like Omar said, everything under the sun, truly.''

But not a speck of fine art,
Annie thought.

By the time they arrived at Julia's, Annie could scarcely keep mum. But she waited till Omar had turned the horse and carriage around and headed toward the road before saying what was on her mind. ‘‘I want to tell you something, Lou.''

‘‘What's up?''

‘‘I'd like to buy a frame for my painting.''

‘‘Hey, that's a terrific idea!''

‘‘You don't think I might be seen there with it, do you?''

Lou shook her head. ‘‘I've never noticed any Amish people in that gallery. So . . . go for it.'' She opened the side door to Julia's house.

‘‘All right, then. I'll do it today . . . if Julia will take me.'' Annie stepped inside the house, and right away she heard Laura Hochstetler's voice. ‘‘Well, what the world?'' she whispered, going to investigate by peeking around the corner.