The Preacher's Daughter (37 page)

Chapter 37

B
en backed his car up and headed over to the harness shop, whistling all the way.

Annie Zook
. The name had a distinct lilt to it. He even found himself wondering what her middle name might be.

‘‘This is nuts,'' he said, returning to work. He breathed in the strong smell of leather and oil, taking it deep into his lungs, relishing the odor. He finished up the harness he'd begun before Lou had come bursting in two hours before.

Then he laid out the next harness on the big table, replaying the time at the Rancks'—observing and getting to know Lou better, and what an interesting Amish girl
she
was. He almost had the feeling she was playacting, going through the motions. The way she expressed herself really threw him, but then, he'd heard that some girls went a little crazy during their so-called ‘‘sowing wild oats'' days. He wondered if Lou had been hanging out with some non-Amish friends, trying to pick up their lingo, perhaps.

Annie was also on his mind a lot. And about the time his thoughts of her seemed to quiet slightly, he would run into her again. Today he had even suspected she might be sensing something, too.

Meeting her had turned his whole world on its head. Never had he experienced anything like this . . . such all-encompassing feelings.

Annie,
he thought.
Funny how perfectly the name fits her
. He had only known one other person whose name seemed custom-made. His mother, Sandie, with hair the color of a tropical beach and a complexion to match. He already missed his parents, and his four younger siblings, and all of them were great about keeping in touch by cell phone. None of them, especially his next youngest sister, understood why he'd had the urge to uproot so suddenly. And he still felt apologetic about it, all the while enjoying his new work here in Paradise.

He had been oiling down the last harness of the day, staying longer to make up for the time gone, when Lou knocked at the door and waved through the window.

‘‘Come in . . . it's unlocked!'' he called.

Lou hurried in, glancing at the many racks of harnesses hanging along the wall. ‘‘You know what? I don't think you have any idea how you saved the day . . . over at Julia's.''

‘‘I was glad to.'' He paused. ‘‘I must admit, I would have thought someone your age—from these parts—would have been accustomed to helping when babies are born.''

‘‘Oh, I'm not from here. I suppose it's okay to say—because everyone in Annie's church knows—I'm actually her friend from Colorado, just visiting. Annie and I, we've been pen pals since grade school . . . that's how we first met.''

He listened attentively, wondering why Lou was volunteering this.

‘‘I dress Amish so I don't freak out anyone here . . . especially Annie's dad. He's the preacher-man. Maybe you've heard,'' Lou continued. ‘‘Anyway, I was sick of the complicated world out there—the nutcase rat race. Not to mention materialistic madness.''

‘‘Hey, I hear you.''

‘‘Well, I just dropped by to say thanks.''

‘‘Not a problem.'' He smiled, not so much at her but with her. He found her story, whatever the rest of it was, irresistible.

‘‘So, how can I ever thank you, Ben?''

He smiled, an ironic thought crossing his mind. He thought of Annie, the way he felt when they were in the same room together. Here in the shop, there at Julia's . . . with such affection for Esther and her new baby.

His mind was doing a number on him again.

‘‘Well,'' he said, surprising even himself, ‘‘there
is
something. . . .'' He paused. ‘‘What I mean is . . . is Annie seeing anyone?''

‘‘Well, no.''

‘‘Would she consider dating someone like me?''

‘‘An Englisher?'' She smiled. ‘‘You know what? I am staying out of this. I think you'd better ask her yourself.''

He nodded. ‘‘You're right. I will.''
Soon as I work up the nerve!

Annie should have guessed, by the stern set of her father's jaw during breakfast, what was coming. She ate as calmly as she could, making conversation with Louisa and Mamm, both of them eager to talk about Esther's new baby girl. And Annie couldn't help wondering if
that
was why her father looked so angry and disappointed, because she had spilled the beans about Esther's going to Julia's to have her baby. Of course, she'd been careful not to mention Zeke nor to let on that Esther went for any reason other than for help with the delivery, but maybe Daed had guessed the rest.

After redding up the dishes, she and Louisa walked back to the Dawdi Haus as usual. Annie was surprised when her father knocked on the door a few minutes later, saying he needed to talk to Annie alone.
About Esther?
she wondered.

Louisa excused herself and hurried off to the barn.

Then Annie spied the plain manila envelope in Daed's hand and her heart set to racing.
Could it be?
But, no . . . how could a copy of the magazine reach him so soon?

Everything that happened next seemed to Annie like staring through a cracked window—outside looking in. It shouldn't have felt like that at all, she surmised, having been on the receiving end before of such a harsh reprimand.

‘‘You know what this means, don't you?'' Daed's pointer finger tapped on the magazine cover. She stared at it, a lump in her throat, not for being caught—the third and worst time by far— but for the fact that her secret lay fragile and bare before her. The evidence not at all appreciated by a man who declared the glory of God and His handiwork each and every Preaching service. This disapproving man, who now stood over her . . . here, where she sat in her grandparents' kitchen, alternating stares between the perplexing landscape on the table before her and the honorable, yet smoldering, gaze of her father.

‘‘You bring shame to our good name,'' he said.

She flinched, struggling with his pronouncement.

‘‘What do you have to say for yourself?'' Daed's finger stayed there, pointing to her name, emblazoned like an announcement from Hades itself.

I'm guilty . . . I've always been that
. But she dared not express her thoughts in a negative manner. Self-expression had brought her to this moment, after all. This terrible black place. ‘‘My art was all I ever had, really. All I ever wanted,'' she managed to say, as if someone else were uttering the words.

He looked at her, disbelieving. ‘‘You never quit drawing, did you? You never stopped all those years ago . . . when I forbade you?''

She would not cower from him.
I must be true to myself
. Yet she could not bring herself to speak.

‘‘You will answer your father, Annie Zook!''

She had forced him across a line. There was something merciless about his eyes now, the angle of his head as he looked at her. ‘‘This is who I am,'' she said softly. ‘‘It is not what I do. This painting . . . right here. That's the real Annie. Not who you see sittin' on the church bench at Preaching service or round Mamm's table every day.'' She patted her chest. ‘‘I've tried to be good, honest I have. But I don't have it in me, not if it means I can't draw or paint or study shapes and colors with the eyes the Lord God heavenly Father gave me.''

‘‘Be careful, lest you blight your Maker. Pride, after all, is who we are. All of us. Sins entangle us daily. Before Lucifer fell, he could've said to the Lord God, ‘This is who I am!' '' Daed folded his hands. ‘‘It is wrong to align yourself with sin, to say that it is who you are, Annie. You must reject it. Be set apart, as all the People are called to be.''

She was crying now, unable to block her tears by sheer will. ‘‘To turn my back on my art would be impossible. I know this.''

He shook his head but not sadly, she was sure. His attitude was either of righteous indignation or pure anger. ‘‘If you refuse to cease . . . if you will not submit to the authority of your own father, and under God, then you must leave the covering of this house.''

She was not a baptized church member, therefore she could not be shunned. But many fathers required nearly as strict discipline of their rebellious youths.

Thinking of Louisa, she wondered what her friend would think
now
of the simple life she'd craved for so long. ‘‘Lou will leave with me,'' she said finally. ‘‘After all, she came at my invitation.''

His eyes registered sudden concern.

Was he bluffing?
She didn't think so.

‘‘I'll go right away and pack.'' Looking at the painting on the magazine cover one last time, she rose to leave, even before her father dismissed her.

Upstairs, she opened the bureau drawers and began haphazardly pulling out her clothes, sobbing just as she had over Rudy Esh months ago. She felt betrayed even though she was not.

I had plenty of chances to obey. . . .

Hurriedly she folded each piece of clothing. Then, glancing around the room, she realized she owned hardly anything else, except for the contents of her hope chest. Largely, the room's furnishings belonged to her parents, the quilts to her grandmother. The rest was Lou's. Her English friend owned considerably more, in the way of sketchbooks and art supplies, than she. Except for Annie's precious items stored in the studio at Julia's.

What on earth will Cousin Julia think when she hears?
Sitting on her bed, Annie covered her face with her hands and let go the tears. She felt sorry for poor Esther, and for her little children, and for helpless little Essie Ann, newly born. She felt sad for Louisa, who'd come here searching for something better than the modern world could offer. And she grieved for Mamm, who would be crying her eyes out when she heard what Daed had done.

Just when she felt so bad she couldn't feel a mite worse, right then, she heard a knock at her door. ‘‘Annie?''

It was Mamm.

She didn't know if she wanted to be seen this way, the way she surely looked just now, all tear-streaked and disheveled. But she longed for someone who might understand, and if anyone would, it was either Mamm or Louisa. ‘‘Come in,'' she said softly, brushing away her tears.

Her mother entered the room, face red, eyes swollen. Taking one look at Annie, she quickly closed the door. ‘‘Oh, you headstrong thing. My dear daughter.'' She rushed to her side and sat next to her on the bed. ‘‘Daed just told me.'' She didn't say anything at all against him, and Annie knew she wouldn't. But Mamm was clearly upset and sat there, reaching for Annie's hand.

Annie whispered, ‘‘I ought to be sayin' how sorry I am . . . but—''

‘‘Hush now. We must keep our wits 'bout us. It won't look so good for the preacher to oust his daughter before she's baptized.'' Mamm was thinking out loud, which made Annie terribly nervous.

‘‘I must do his bidding,'' she said. ‘‘Lou and I will pack up and find someplace else to live.''

Mamm shook her head. ‘‘I just don't see how such a thing can be.'' She turned and looked at Annie, frowning and shaking her head.

‘‘It's my fault . . . I deserve this. I do,'' she admitted. ‘‘I tried to give up my art. But it's got me—it's
in
me, Mamm. That's the best way to explain it.''

‘‘But where will you go, Annie?'' Mamm asked, her voice quivering.

‘‘I honestly don't know.'' She'd thought if Esther and her children weren't staying with Julia maybe that would have been an option. She recalled the day when Louisa had suggested renting a car.
Louisa's my answer,
she realized. But she couldn't think too far ahead, because Louisa had made it clear she would return to Colorado in due time.

Mamm wept, fumbling for a hankie in her sleeve. ‘‘I can't think 'bout this . . . it's much too hard.'' She rose and went to the bureau. ‘‘You were mighty quick to gather up your things, I see. Are you ever so eager to leave your family behind, dear one?''

‘‘I guess I
do
need some time to think. . . .''

‘‘Jah, we all do.'' Mamm turned, attempting to smile. ‘‘I'll leave you be for now.'' She made her way to the door, her shoulders heaving as she went.

Annie felt as forlorn as Mamm's dear face looked.

Lou had been outside helping in the barn. Now she came looking for Annie upstairs in the Dawdi Haus. ‘‘Can you help find me . . . er, us a place to stay?'' Annie asked her right out when she appeared in the doorway.

‘‘What for?'' Louisa stared at the piles of clothing on the bed. ‘‘And what's all this?''

Feeling emotionally and physically weak, Annie attempted to explain, saying what had happened, how her father had in his possession the magazine with the incriminating cover. ‘‘He never said where he got it, but he has it. And he's madder than a sprayed hornet.''

‘‘Well, I think I might know,'' Lou said. ‘‘Zeke was looking at it earlier today at Julia's, when he came storming in to see Esther.''

So Zeke came directly here?
she wondered.

‘‘You knew it was a matter of time before this happened.'' Lou sat on Annie's bed. ‘‘I think it's possible some good things can come of it . . . you know, finally getting all this out in the open. It doesn't really matter how freaked your father is right now. The truth is you haven't been honest with yourself.''

She was stunned, Lou talking like this. ‘‘What do you mean?''

‘‘Well, you say art is so much a part of you—
who
you are. And it is who I am, and everything I want to be.'' Lou pushed her head covering off suddenly. ‘‘But look at me, Annie.'' She began pulling her hairpins out, her bun falling out quickly. ‘‘Is this who I am, wearing my hair in a bun . . . these long blue or green dresses and black aprons? Is it?''