The Preacher's Daughter (8 page)

Breathless now, she looked at the clock, calculating the time. ‘‘Laura, I need you to wash up the floor, quick as a wink. And you mustn't miss a single corner, ya hear?''

Her only daughter thus far, fair-haired Laura, tiny for six years old but quick on her feet, nodded quickly. Laura's normally bright blue eyes became suddenly dull and far too serious. ‘‘I'll help ya, Mamma . . . jah, I promise I will.''

Poor dear,
thought Esther. And her mind raced back to the day she had discovered herself expecting a baby, with her wedding day still six weeks away.

‘‘Show me how much you love me. . . .''
Zeke had whispered it so often she eventually believed that what he wanted from her was all right. And oh, how she'd loved him. Desperately so. But being in love at sixteen and getting hitched up soon after were two entirely different things. She had not waited till ‘‘the appointed time,'' like her mamma and
Grandmammi
and all the women before her surely had, although no one ever spoke of such things. At least not that she knew of.

Laura, their precious firstborn, was said to be premature, at least that's what Zeke had told the People. But she knew the truth. They both did. And she'd never forgiven herself, let alone her husband.

Sighing aloud, she tested the potatoes with a fork—still not quite done. Then she turned over the chicken pieces, careful not to splatter the grease, wishing she didn't feel so frantic.

Mamma . . . I need to call Mamma down this instant
.

With a fleeting look at Laura down on her hands and knees scouring the linoleum, Esther made haste and headed upstairs. There she found Mamma rubbing two-year-old John's ‘‘ouchie'' on his chubby finger and watching three-year-old Zach build a tower with blocks.

Pausing in the doorway, she placed her hand on her chest, catching her breath. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was to worry her dear mamma. Nor did she wish to cause alarm in her tiny boys.
No need,
she thought.

‘‘Time to wash up for supper,'' she said softly. ‘‘Mamma, can ya help with that?''

Her mother turned to look at her and her pretty gray eyes twinkled as she smiled. ‘‘Why sure. We'll be right down.''

A great sigh shuddered through her and escaped unnoticed, she hoped, as she turned away from the boys' room, making her way down the hall. On the landing, she steadied herself a bit, feeling slightly dizzy as she stood at the top, looking down.
Dear Lord God in heaven, grant me added grace—

‘‘Mamma! I'm nearly finished.'' Laura was calling up to her.

Ach, good . . . good
. She was careful not to slip as she hurried down the steps, securing her balance by holding on to the railing.

When she looked at the shining floor and saw that Laura had not only washed it but she'd also taken an old towel and dried it to a nice shine, she fought back tears. ‘‘Oh,
lieb
—dear—such a girl you are. Such a wonderful-gut help to me.''

Laura ran to her, holding out her slender arms. Esther held her near, laying her hand on the top of Laura's head. ‘‘Denki, ever so much!''

‘‘I'll help Mammi with the boys now,'' Laura said, and she was off.

Quickly Esther went to check on the frying chicken. She put the lid on it and removed the pan from the fire, then set about draining the potatoes for mashing.

Saved by the skin of my teeth,
she thought, resisting the urge to go to the back door and peer out. No sense in that. Any minute now she would hear the swift sound of work boots on the walkway.

Willing herself to breathe more slowly, she took down a large mixing bowl from the shelf and began mashing the well-cooked potatoes by hand. She wished Mamma would hurry and come down as she pressed the masher deep into the bowl, the steam rising to her face.

In spite of the heat, she felt suddenly cold, recalling the last time she'd made mashed potatoes, standing here near the cook-stove. A good portion of the potatoes—bowl and all—had fallen to the floor, splattering every which way, all over the floor. For the life of her, she hadn't known how the accident had even happened . . . whether she'd momentarily blacked out or just what. But she'd ended up scurrying around as she had today, heart pounding in her temples at the thought of being
schlabbich
—careless. Never before had such a thing happened, and she couldn't help but wonder if her fingers had merely slipped. Nothing more.

Fortunately for her, no one but little Laura had known of the mess. And from then till now, she had been determined to be more careful, forcing herself to pay better attention to the work at hand . . . not letting herself fall into an alluring daydream, where she had come to find a place of solace from the tempest. Where she was a young girl again, single and happy, enjoying the freedom of being as unhitched as can be.

Chapter 7

T
here's just something energizing about autumn—I feel it in the air,'' Mamm said as she cooked sausage early Monday morning.

Makes me want to paint all day,
Annie thought, having just come downstairs to help with breakfast.

Mamm wore her old green choring dress and long black apron. Her face had been scrubbed clean and her silver-blond hair freshly parted and pulled back in a tight, low bun beneath a clean white
Kapp
. ‘‘I feel compelled to redd up everything in sight,'' she said with a bright smile.

‘‘Happens that way every fall, jah?'' Annie moseyed to the sink and washed her hands thoroughly before counting out eight place settings of dishes and utensils for
Dawdi
and
Mammi
Zook, Daed and Mamm, Yonie, Luke, Omar, and herself.

That done, she returned to the cookstove and broke twelve fresh eggs into the large frying pan, stirring the mixture ever so slowly, just as Mamm had taught her when she was a little girl. Being the only daughter had its drawbacks, she'd found out early on, especially because she cared little for domestic chores. Her head in the clouds, she couldn't help herself . . . there was a potential painting everywhere she looked: the sky both at sunup and sundown, pastureland, wheat fields, and the canvas was constantly changing with the seasons . . . even hour by hour.

‘‘When do you want to start cleanin' for house church?'' Annie asked, even though the thought of scrubbing down walls and woodwork and waxing floors made her head pound, as if she were somehow wasting brain power. She would never voice what she was thinking, because such words were considered prideful.

‘‘Why put off till tomorrow what can be done today?'' Mamm replied, a knowing smile on her round face.

I should've known
. Annie began frying the bacon in a second skillet, recalling the meadowlarks she'd seen pecking away in the side yard yesterday, their bright yellow breasts adorned with a black crescent as they moved about like miniature peacocks with determined strides.
I could live to be a hundred and not run out of things to paint!

She had no idea how long she had been daydreaming, but soon the bacon was spitting and curling sufficiently. She flopped each piece onto a doubled-up paper towel to soak up the grease.

‘‘Jah, I'll help you clean, Mamm,'' she said softly. Daydreamers got lost in the shuffle of life, her father had once told her. Well, she certainly didn't care about that, because getting lost was the most fun, whether it was autumn or any season. Still, there was the pressing matter of when, or more rightly put,
how
she could ever join her parents' church. The clock was ticking on that issue, and she felt the pressure coming straight at her every time Daed and Mamm glanced her way, their eyes clearly conveying the question that weighed so heavily in their minds.
How long before I am asked to leave the People?

She suppressed the fact that she must make a decision, pushing the urgency down into her soul, where it would resurface the next time her eyes caught her father's look of not only concern but disappointment.

How will I live with myself?

It was midafternoon—between relining the dresser drawers with fresh newspaper and cleaning out the cupboards—when Annie heard the mail truck stop in front of the house. Quick as a wink, she took off running down the long, sloping front yard. She slipped her hand inside the mailbox and pulled out several letters for Mamm and one for her. Not waiting a second longer, she tore open the envelope and began to read the latest news from Louisa.

Thursday, October 27

Dear Annie,

Thanks for writing back so promptly. I hope you are well and enjoying all the beauty of autumn as we are here, although the earlier gold of our aspen trees is nothing to compare with your rainbow of colors there.

A lot has happened since I last wrote, so I guess I need to get you caught up. Don't freak out when you read this, because I'm not at all sorry. Well, I am for reasons other than the obvious, but I'm not devastated.

Things with the wedding planning had been going badly . . .
in all sorts of ways. Totally out of control. And to get to the point: I won't be marrying Michael. This may sound horrendous, but I think you'll understand, because simply put, Michael is not the man for me. In so many ways, he's anything but Mr. Right.
I'm so glad I discovered this before it was too late!

I'm really wishing for a less complicated life right now, longing to get away. I don't mean to be bold, but is there any chance I might come and visit you for a few weeks . . . even a month? I
know this is sudden, and I certainly wouldn't want to put you and your family out in any way, Annie. I'd be happy to pay for my keep and help with chores, as well. I really just need to ‘get away from it all,' as they say, and clear my head.

I'll eagerly await your next letter.

With love,
Louisa

P.S. I'm exhibiting my art students' work soon, and I'll take some pictures to send to you . . . or better yet, take them on my smart phone and bring them along
.

Annie was dumbfounded. ‘‘Her wedding's off and she wants to come here?'' she voiced softly, feeling just awful for her friend. But she reminded herself that Louisa hadn't sounded heartbroken whatsoever, which was downright peculiar . . . especially considering how much in love she had seemed to be.

Funny how that is,
she thought.
Head over heels in love one day and completely befuddled the next
.

But it was rather clear Louisa's situation was far different from her own. Still, Annie needed to think, to really ponder Louisa's letter, and while doing so, she headed across the road, spotting one of the peacocks strutting along, its enormous train of tail feathers spread to the full. These birds craved a peaceful setting such as their farmland here in Paradise.

Annie went and sat on the nearby fence simply observing the grand bird.
They need stretching room,
Daed had said some years back, when first he'd built the large pen and perches. With a wingspan of up to six feet, it was obvious a peacock could become stressed otherwise. Annie had seen this happen down yonder, at big brother Jesse's place, where he, too, raised the colorful birds.

Sounds like Louisa needs some stretching room, too. . . .

She opened the letter once again and read the part where Louisa was politely asking to come visit. Annie found it fascinating, especially because not too many days ago she'd thought of going to Denver . . . to Louisa's wedding! The whole thing struck her as odd—and to think a fancy rich girl wanted to come here. To an Amish farm, no less, where peahens sat on their nests of eggs and cows came home for milking twice a day.

She has no idea what she's asking,
Annie thought, yet she knew of other Englischers who'd come and stayed to sort out their lives. Some had gleaned simplicity, and others had even desired to learn to speak their language. Most of the time, though, outsiders simply did not fully connect with the Plain community and didn't stay long. But Annie was quite sure that's not what Louisa had in mind. Still, she hoped her own stonewalling—not joining church—along with putting Rudy Esh off, would not go against her now. Because, with all of her heart, she wanted Louisa to come and stay for as long as she pleased.

Watching the three-year-old peacock prance toward her now, she locked her gaze on the ‘‘eye'' in the center of each of the feathers. What striking violet, green, red, and gold! Where on God's earth could an artist see such striking hues all blended on the same moving, breathing canvas?

She sat very still, not wanting to distract the bird, not wanting to stress him in the least. When he seemed to stare right at her, she said softly, ‘‘Goodness' sakes, you're a brave one.''

The bird did not move, and she took this rare opportunity to lean forward, amazed again at the depth of color on each feather.

‘‘If Louisa comes, you just might be one of her first paintings here,'' she told the peacock, feeling silly talking to an animal.

If Daed agrees, that is. He would put his foot down if he knew
Louisa was an art instructor . . . and I a disobedient daughter, hiding my sin in Julia's attic!

She waited till the peacock turned, at last, strutting back to the pen, slowly closing his train and letting it drag behind him.

Drawing in a deep breath, she realized now what Mamm had sensed in the air earlier. Not only was it the urgency of getting work completed before the onslaught of winter, she also felt a flood of excitement. She could enjoy it for the moment, because she was not at all sure what her father would say about Louisa's request. Especially because she was considered to be on the very fringe of the church, although she still attended Preaching service regularly. And there was the knotty problem of adding a single girl to the mix of three courting-age brothers in the house.