The Englisher (19 page)
‘‘Well, tell her I’ll take her to the doctor when she’s ready . . . once the roads clear some,’’ Annie offered, heading to the Dawdi Haus to read, as she often did on their off Sundays—‘‘ no church’’ days. Sometimes, though, they attended church in neighboring districts, since Daed was a preacher.
‘‘Right nice of you, Annie,’’ Mamm said, eyeing her more closely. ‘‘She’s growin’ older, just as we all are.’’
Annie couldn’t help but think her mother was attempting to send a not-so-subtle message that she wished a replacement beau for Annie might hurry and show up.
To Annie, the best sounds of winter were the stomping of boots in crusty snow and the scrunching of skate blades against hard silvery ice. Once the snowstorm blew itself out, Annie had taken Lou off to tromp through drifted pastureland and then skating on neighbor Lapp’s pond during the week.
But today Annie was ready to help lay out an intricate ‘‘album patch’’ quilt with the womenfolk at her brother Abner’s house. Her sister-in-law Priscilla, who was fond of researching old quilt patterns, had discovered an old Zook family quilt stuck away in an attic. She declared up and down it had been made in the early 1920s, complete with hundreds, if not a thousand pieces.
Louisa had been talking of Annie pouring her artistic inclination into quilt making, so despite oodles of snow, Annie was excited to take the sleigh out for the first time since the blizzard. ‘‘I hope the colors haven’t been decided on,’’ Annie told Lou as they strung the reins through the horse’s bridle.
Lou laughed. ‘‘You think you’ll have much say in that, Miss Annie?’’
‘‘I can hope. After all, this one’s for my cousin Fran, who’s gettin’ close to marrying age.’’
‘‘Has anyone decided to make a quilt for
you
?’’ Lou looked at her with a sly grin.
‘‘Oh, you . . . don’t you know better than that?’’ No one knew of her having seen Ben but Lou, who had been sworn to secrecy, especially because Annie had vowed to herself she would never go down that path again.
Going with the
likes of Ben Martin. What was I thinking?
Yet she felt terribly susceptible to him, wishing to know him better, longing for the things she saw in his face. His eyes seemed to open up vast woodlands to her. No, it was the sky . . . or the sea, or something she knew he possessed. Was it merely his Englishness? She didn’t believe so, yet, irrational as it was, she longed to be with him.
Years back, she had also felt stirrings of affection for Rudy Esh, but this was not akin to that. Something far different was drawing her.
Annie knew with conviction where her thinking should be in regard to Ben. As wonderful as she believed him to be, she dared not let her heart beat only for him.
She rehearsed their good-byes that lovely night once again, pushing down the keyed-up feelings she had experienced then.
He wanted the promise of another meeting.
‘‘I hope this get-together with the women puts some zip back into you,’’ Lou said, changing the topic back to where they’d begun.
‘‘Well, look at you talk. I haven’t seen you drawing much anymore, Lou. Why’s that?’’
‘‘I’ve put my art on hold for you.’’
Annie couldn’t help but frown. ‘‘You mean it?’’
‘‘Why not, silly?’’
‘‘I can’t let you do that.’’
‘‘Hey, my coming has caused you enough nuisance. So postponing my work is all right with me.’’
‘‘It’s awful nice of you, Lou, but—’’
‘‘No ‘buts.’ That passion can wait.’’
Annie climbed into the sleigh, amazed. ‘‘I don’t know what to say.’’
‘‘Say: ‘Sure, that’s cool, Lou.’ ’’
Annie laughed. ‘‘You’re such a
Schpundi
—a nut!’’
‘‘Look in the mirror . . . er, I mean . . . oh, you know.’’
Annie picked up the reins, looking fondly at her friend. ‘‘All righty. Let’s go and use our artists’ eyes to lay out a perty quilt for Fran.’’
Lou tucked the lap robes around her. ‘‘Are purples and yellows allowed in the same quilt?’’
‘‘Well, if reds and purples are, why not?’’
‘‘I haven’t seen yellow or white used in any of the quilts here, though.’’
‘‘Mammi Zook says those aren’t such good choices . . . the other deeper colors run into them when washed.
‘‘Makes sense,’’ Lou said.
They were off to Annie’s sister-in-law’s place on another gray sort of day. Not a soul could possibly see a shadow on the snow that spread itself out in all directions. She wondered if there would be a moon tonight. Even a hazy one, as she often saw during winter nights, would be nice.
Will Ben look up at its muted radiance over knoll and
woods? And will he think of me?
When they arrived, Annie noticed a few buggies parked in the side yard.
Highly unusual to cut out and piece a quilt as
a group,
she thought, assuming Fran and her mother were simply wanting fellowship at this bleak time of year.
How
nice of Priscilla to open her house for this.
Once inside, Annie took a deep breath and peered down at the choice of colors Fran had already picked for the wedding quilt. Nothing out of the ordinary—plum, reds, blues, and touches of orange.
In keeping with her color scheme, no
doubt
.
‘‘What ’bout different combinations?’’ Annie suggested.
‘‘Fran’s favorites are these here,’’ Priscilla replied, her black apron tied loosely to cover her round middle. ‘‘Besides, how many colors do ya want?’’
A rainbow full,
she thought. No need to speak her mind, though. Priscilla and the others had no idea Annie longed for things she ought not to.
A little more than a handful of women worked to piece together the blocks, creating the small nine-patch squares— twenty-five larger squares in all—set against an even larger gray background, and a plum-colored border, hemmed in the same dreary hue as the middle block.
She didn’t quite know why it plagued her, this urgency to recreate the pattern. Perhaps if Lou hadn’t brought up the possibility earlier. That, and if she weren’t so headstrong herself. At any rate, Annie resigned herself to Fran and her mother’s plan of action. Rightly so.
Her mind wandered back to Mamm’s insistence that she and Lou attend without her. ‘‘Mammi and I, we’ll fill the gas lamps and lanterns while you’re gone,’’ her mother had replied, which seemed odd. Mamm wasn’t one to miss out on some good fellowship. Annie suspected Mamm of being overly worried, truth be known. Mamm was a brooder . . . and this was another case in point.
At the moment there was abundant chatter around the worktable. One of Fran’s aunts mentioned having heard a cousin of hers clear out in Wisconsin had cut her knuckle badly while drying a glass. ‘‘It broke apart right in her hands. Ever have that happen?’’
Across the table, Fran’s mother nodded and made a little grunt.
‘‘Well, anyways, both a nerve and muscle were cut and six stitches were needed,’’ the woman continued.
Several low
oohs
were heard, and the woman next to the first began talking. ‘‘An Englischer friend of mine from Shipshewana, some of yous may remember, well, she and her husband stopped in at Wannacup for some hot cocoa last week sometime, and here came—least she said this was true—a Plain fella with two perty girls, one on each arm. And neither one was his sister.’’
This brought a round of
ahs
and a few curious smiles.
Annie liked the table talk. It was one of the reasons she enjoyed work frolics, although typically they were canning or quilting bees. So many stories to hear. Sometimes, between the work and the talk, she imagined drawing a collage, a wall hanging of sorts portraying all the images of things women shared round the worktable.
‘‘And listen to this,’’ another woman close to Annie said. ‘‘One of Zeke’s cousins over in Honey Brook heard from Daniel Hochstetlers, who’ve been living on a farm up near Wingham, Ontario, of all things.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ said Fran. ‘‘Wonder what took them so far away?’’
The woman could only shake her head. ‘‘Don’t know, really. Only heard that Mary died in her sleep sometime recently.’’
‘‘Zeke’s mother?’’ said one.
‘‘Ain’t it just awful?’’ said another.
Annie’s heart sank. Zeke’s—and Isaac’s—long-lost parents . . . chastised yet again by the Almighty? ‘‘Wonder if Hochstetlers have gone fancy,’’ Annie said.
‘‘Well, seems so.’’
A weighty pause followed. Then Annie filled the silence with her words. ‘‘Could it be the nickname caught up with them?’’
‘‘Ichabod,’’ someone whispered.
Lou looked at Annie, frowned, and went back to her slow stitching, making Annie feel awful for speaking her mind yet again.
‘‘Daniel oughta be a lesson to us all,’’ said Fran’s mother suddenly. ‘‘First Isaac’s kidnapping . . . now the man’s own wife, dead too soon. What a shame.’’
‘‘A word to the wise is sufficient,’’ said another.
Annie forced her eyes back on her work. So Zeke’s family had been located after all this time . . . if the Amish grapevine was accurate. And his poor mother dead.
She felt she must talk to Esther about this. Wouldn’t Zeke be comforted to hear something—
anything
—but also terribly grieved at his mother’s passing? Annie wondered what Zeke’s reaction would be to such news. To put it mildly, Esther’s husband was truly a conundrum, not only to her, but to all the People.
A
nnie had not come to Julia’s attic to discuss bygone days, but the past certainly seemed to weigh on Esther’s mind today. During the course of their conversation, Annie was surprised to discover she and Zeke had talked only minimally through the years about Isaac’s kidnapping.
‘‘Zeke’s kept it to himself,’’ Esther had said out of the blue. ‘‘Sometimes I wonder just how much he remembers, really.’’
‘‘I s’pose things would become hazy over time,’’ Annie replied, watching Esther stroke her baby. Essie Ann squeezed her tiny lips into a pucker, then relaxed them again into a faint smile.
‘‘He’s had nightmares . . . well, I don’t know so much now, since I’m not home with him.’’ Esther avoided Annie’s eyes.
Annie had hoped Esther and Zeke might have heard of Mary Hochstetler’s death directly from Zeke’s father, but since it seemed Esther was in the dark, Annie forged ahead. ‘‘I don’t like to be a bearer of bad news, but I heard something awful sad at Priscilla’s frolic. Mammi Rosa said word came from one of Zeke’s cousins . . .’bout Daniel Hochstetlers.’’
‘‘Oh? That’s odd . . . no one’s heard from them for years—not even Zeke’s uncle, Preacher Moses. Not since after Zeke and I married, anyway. His folks have never even seen our children.’’ Esther’s voice quivered.
‘‘I hate to tell you this, truly I do, Essie.’’
‘‘Well, what the world.’’ Esther frowned, her eyes searching Annie’s. ‘‘Did Daniel pass away?’’
‘‘Not Zeke’s father . . . his mother.’’
Esther’s eyes clouded from blue to somber gray. ‘‘Ach, such terrible news.’’ She lifted Essie Ann up close to her heart, holding the wee babe there, whispering something against the infant’s peachy head.
‘‘Awful sorry,’’ Annie murmured.
The small room felt dismally devoid of light, as though an invisible hand had blocked off the sun from the dormer windows.
Annie felt she ought not say another word. She held her breath, sad for the anguish on Esther’s face.
At last, when Annie felt sure her friend might not speak again . . . that Annie might simply have to say her whispered good-byes and slip out of the makeshift bedroom, right then, Esther raised her head. ‘‘This will bring such sorrow to Zeke,’’ she said.
‘‘I’m sure’’ was all Annie could eke out.
‘‘You see, he was always convinced his mother loved him . . . even though she was forced to take her husband’s side all durin’ Zeke’s growing-up years.’’
‘‘Take sides on what?’’
Esther looked away again. When she spoke, her words were faltering. ‘‘Mary Hochstetler . . . believed she must follow her husband’s approach to Zeke by not interfering. So, in a way, they both belittled him. Zeke once told me the ridicule was near endless.’’ She sighed. ‘‘It’s one of the reasons I think I must’ve married him. I felt sad for the way he was raised . . . with no real sense of parental acceptance. His father clearly hated him.’’
‘‘Hate’s a strong word.’’
‘‘Even so, Daniel
did
put the blame firmly on Zeke’s head.’’
‘‘For Isaac?’’
Esther nodded forlornly. ‘‘And hearin’ of Mary’s death, well, I just don’t know what it’ll do. . . .’’
Annie wished the news might soften Zeke’s heart toward his wife, but she wouldn’t hold out much hope of that.
‘‘Does your Laura know about her uncle Isaac?’’ Annie asked.
‘‘She’s never to know—Zeke is adamant on that.’’
‘‘I understand.’’ Annie felt herself frowning hard.
‘‘Well, lookin’ at you, I’m not so sure you do.’’
‘‘No . . . no, I don’t mean to complicate things.’’ Annie shook her head, pushing away her own happy memories of the boy.
‘‘What Zeke says goes.’’
‘‘Jah . . .’’ Annie wanted to cry. ‘‘I want you happy again. Honest.’’
Neither of them spoke for a time. Then Esther looked right at her, her eyes pained. ‘‘Happiness is hard to pin down. My joy comes from the Lord Jesus now. He’s my everything. . . .’’