The Preacher's Daughter (14 page)

Louisa went to her room and closed the door. She swished her thick hair around, patting it with the towel and combing through it with her fingers.

Going to the tall bureau, she picked up her Palm where she'd left it on. Not expecting to see any messages, she was actually pleased to see four.
Who's thinking about me? Maybe Courtney or one of my students?

Sitting at the window, on the only chair in the room, she punched in the numbers for her code, then listened for the first message. ‘‘Louisa, we need to talk. . . .'' Michael's voice jarred her.

‘‘We have nothing to talk about,'' she whispered, deleting his message and going to the next.

‘‘I have an idea, babe. Please call!'' Another from Michael.

Yep, I have an idea, too. Get over yourself!

But hearing his voice made her feel miserable. She really hoped all four messages weren't from him, because she wanted to fall asleep in the stillness of this stark bedroom, not with Michael's desperation ringing in her ears.

Sighing, she listened to the third, finger poised to skip over it if she heard his voice again. But this time it was someone else. Cybil Peters, one of her newest students, was calling to say she'd sold an oil painting from the art show. ‘‘It's my first, and I owe it to you, Louisa. We definitely have to keep in touch while you're on your sabbatical.''

Sabbatical? Did I say coming to Amish country was that?
She didn't recall, in the midst of all that had transpired prior to her flight to liberty.

She pressed to return the call and was thrilled to hear Cybil's perky voice. ‘‘Hey, there!''

‘‘Cybil? It's Louisa. Got your message . . . and I'm so jazzed. This is great news.''

‘‘Don't I know it? And guess who bought it? You remember that older gentleman, the one who kept circling back to stand and stare at my painting? Well, he's the one. I got a whopping three hundred bucks . . . so I'll be hitting Aaron Brothers tomorrow, to stock up on art supplies.'' Cybil continued chattering, and Louisa was more than happy to oblige her by listening.

After a few minutes, Cybil said, ‘‘Well, it sounds like you've got another call coming in, so I'll let you go.''

‘‘Hey, keep in touch,'' she said. ‘‘See ya!''

Catching the incoming call, Louisa was surprised to hear her father's voice. ‘‘Honey, we miss you. I know you're upset, and so are we.'' He paused. ‘‘Frankly, this whole thing with Michael can be unraveled.''

‘‘No, Daddy. Marrying Michael would have been a mistake.'' The lump in her throat threatened to choke her words.

She heard him sigh. ‘‘Your mother and I think—'' ‘‘I can't do this now,'' she interrupted.

‘‘Listen, we need to discuss this. I see it as essential, Louisa.''

Essential?

‘‘I'm losing power,'' she told him. ‘‘I really need to go. Bye, Daddy.''

She pressed the off button. It was true, the Palm needed recharging.
Perfect . . . I'll be unavailable for a while. . . .

There was another voice message to check, but she turned off the power, not in the mood for more pleas from either Michael or her parents.

Going to lie down, she was happy to see Muffin jump on the bed and come purring toward her. ‘‘Oh, you . . . hiding again?'' He snuggled down on her stomach, curling up like a kitten. ‘‘What would I do without my kitty?'' she whispered. ‘‘You don't know it, but tomorrow's going to be a busy day. So I hope you'll be a good boy and stay right here in this room.''

She considered the church meeting tomorrow, but not so much the length as the awkwardness of it.
Will I feel as out of it as I did at supper?
She couldn't stop thinking how strange it felt to be looked at with such curiosity.
Like Annie and her family must feel when they're in the minority
.

Lying there, it struck her that she was free of any home ties—especially those connected to Michael. She stroked her cat, aware of his persistent strong purring. ‘‘I think you must be as contented here as I am,'' she whispered, playing with his crystal ID tag.

Smiling to herself, she reveled in the solitude, thinking of Cybil's excitement at selling her art, recalling her own first sale ever. It had happened the fall semester of her sophomore year at California School of Art. The acrylic painting had been dear to her, inspired by a trip to Hampton, Virginia, when she was twelve. She had spent a few weeks that summer with her single great-aunt on her father's side of the family. Margaret Stratford was the only person Louisa had ever known to talk somewhat casually about God . . . as if she met Him often for espresso and pie.

Although she did not see Aunt Margaret after that summer, not until years later at her funeral, Louisa had never forgotten her tender, even intimate prayers, offered at mealtime and other times of the day. Seemingly insignificant things brought out her aunt's eagerness to chat with divinity. Margaret would blink back tears at the mention of Jesus and ‘‘that black and heartbreaking day—Good Friday,'' as she referred to it, when her dearest friend was mutilated and killed . . . a criminal's crucifixion.

At the time of her work in progress, Louisa's heart was fiercely bound up in the painting, fondly recalling the one-time connection with soft-spoken Aunt Margaret. The Virginia seascape was the ultimate inspiration, set at Grandview Beach at the nature preserve, where she and Margaret walked the two-mile stretch of beach. In Louisa's mind, the lovely woman in the picture, gazing out to sea, captured perfectly her devout aunt as a young woman ‘‘communing with the Creator,'' as she liked to say.

Terribly attached to the painting, Louisa kept wishing she might have set the price higher on the opening night of the show. Ridiculously high would have been much better than being forced to sell, but when a serious buyer approached her with cash in hand, ethically she had no choice.

Ironically, the easy sale opened wide the door to romance. The buyer, a captivating man five years her senior, wined and dined her often. Quickly she was caught up in the exhilaration of his keen attention and his admiration for her artistic talent. But the relationship distracted her terribly from her studies and her painting, so when he talked of opening an art gallery on London's posh Cork Street, she let Trey Douglas walk out of her life without even so much as a dispute.

After he left for Europe, she turned all her attention back to completing school, often wondering how her first love was doing. Was he happy in Europe? Had he found his niche?

The next year, Michael Berkeley entered her life with grandiose and surreptitious plans. . . .

Louisa was lifted out of her reverie by a tapping on her door. ‘‘Are you still awake?'' Annie called softly.

‘‘Sure, come in.'' She sat up, still holding Muffin. ‘‘I've been thinking. . . .''

‘‘Well, that's a good thing to do!'' Annie laughed.

‘‘Seriously, do you happen to have an extra dress I could wear for tomorrow?''

Glory be!
Annie squelched her enthusiasm. ‘‘Just a minute.'' She hurried to her room and chose from the wooden pegs two of her best and newest cape dresses. One blue and the other purple.

She took them to show Louisa. ‘‘Which one of these do you prefer—the color, I mean?''

Louisa looked at one, and then the other, and back again. ‘‘Umm . . .''

‘‘Well, which?'' Annie pressed her, trying to keep a straight face.

‘‘Both are nice solid colors.'' Louisa seemed unsure. ‘‘We'd look like twins!''

‘‘And what would ya think of that?''

‘‘Well, it might be fun. The perfect way not to stick out, jah?''

Annie giggled a little at her use of the Dutch. ‘‘I can see havin' you here will be loads of fun. You'll be talkin' like us in no time.''

Hopefully not the other way around!
thought Annie.

‘‘Which one did
you
plan to wear?'' Louisa asked.

‘‘No, no, you pick.''

Louisa reached for her purse on the bed and rummaged inside. She pulled out her wallet and found a nickel. ‘‘Here we go! Heads it's blue, tails it's purple. Deal?''

‘‘Deal,'' Annie said, using Louisa's word. She watched her flip the coin high into the air, letting it fall
kerplink
on the wide plank floor. Her brothers had often done this very thing, but mostly to decide which team would serve first in volleyball.

‘‘Tails!'' Louisa leaned down to retrieve the coin. She rose and pointed toward the purple dress. ‘‘That's the one. Mind if I try it on?''

‘‘Sure, let's see if it fits.'' She removed the hanger from the dress, hand-sewn just last week, glad Louisa had picked this one. Especially since it hadn't been worn except while Mamm marked the hem for her.

Louisa had already kicked off her slippers and was untying her robe when Annie said, ‘‘You know what? I'll leave ya be.''

‘‘Oh, I'm fine . . . stay.''

Even so, she felt nearly pained with her friend undressing right here. When Louisa's pink robe fell to the floor, Annie's face burned in embarrassment and she huddled in the corner, waiting for Louisa to request help if she needed it. Pinning the
Halsduch,
the cape part of the dress, to the waistline was a real chore.

‘‘I guess you read my letters right close, then,'' Annie joked. Louisa seemed to know all about the pile of straight pins required for securing the cape to the skirt. She picked up a few and began pinning the front of the skirt.

‘‘I read every word, silly.'' Louisa stood tall and still while Annie began pinning the back.

‘‘This is my least favorite part of gettin' dressed,'' Annie admitted. ‘‘Takes a bunch of pins, as you can see.''

‘‘Ever stick yourself?''

‘‘Honestly, I never have, but my friend Esther Hochstetler— oh, and you've got to meet her tomorrow—she's stuck herself by mistake. She's my closest Amish friend, I'd have to say.''

‘‘You wrote me once that you feel lonely sometimes with only brothers,'' Louisa said suddenly.

Recalling that, Annie replied, ‘‘Mamm and I are closer than some daughters and their mothers, prob'ly. But with three sisters-in-law, I'm not the only young woman in the kitchen at family gatherings, that's for sure.''

When the final pin was in place, she said, ‘‘There. You look like one of us, 'cept for one thing yet.''

Louisa's eyes widened. ‘‘Don't tell me . . . you're going to pull my hair back in a bun?''

Annie nodded. ‘‘Let's do this right. I'll be back.'' She headed to her room to get an extra head covering, terribly excited that Louisa should consent to this much Plain dressing.

Returning, Annie displayed the white netting heart-shaped cap. ‘‘This goes over your hair, and the strings are tied for church but no other time.''

Louisa appeared to enjoy the process, while Annie took care to twist the sides of Louisa's parted hair, keeping any strays from escaping the tight, low bun.

When they were finished, Annie reached for a small hand mirror and held it up. ‘‘See?''

‘‘Wow . . . I look like you. Well, sort of.''

‘‘No, you actually
do,
'' Annie said, wondering how long this new look would last with Louisa.

Chapter 15

T
hough it was late and Louisa was tired, she joined Annie in her room after changing out of the purple dress and into her pajamas. She remembered how strange it had felt wearing Annie's clothing. But there was something else, too . . . something incredibly positive about the Plain attire. She'd felt stripped of all pretense. Truly uncomplicated, just as she had longed to be. And now, wearing her pink and silky shorty pajamas, her damp hair brushed straight back, away from her face, she actually missed the mega modest dress . . . missed how she had felt in it, too. Like she was someone other than a member of the Stratford family. She wouldn't have known how to explain the feeling to anyone, being a thoroughly modern woman from the soul out.

Not wanting to stare, even though she was, Louisa couldn't get past the conspicuous contrast between herself and Annie now that they were dressed for bed. Her Amish friend looked almost childlike in her white ankle-length, high-collared nightgown, her golden-blond hair parted down the middle with loose waist-length braids. Louisa felt like a schoolgirl again, sitting there with Annie on her bed, happily whispering together.
An old-fashioned sleepover!

‘‘What's your favorite memory, besides Christmas or your birthday?'' Annie asked unexpectedly.

‘‘Let's see. . . .'' But Louisa didn't know, couldn't think of an answer. ‘‘What about you? What's yours?''

‘‘I believe it was the day I finished an entire painting—the first time I did—back when I was fourteen. It was a Friday—I go to Cousin Julia's to work on Tuesdays and Fridays.'' She paused, reminding Louisa of the attic room. ‘‘I can't decide which is my favorite memory, really. It was either that day or the first time Rudy asked me to ride home from a singing with him. Oh, Louisa, he was so awful cute. And he still is, but . . .'' Annie looked like she might cry, but she composed herself quickly. ‘‘I remember my heart sure did flutter fast.''

Louisa knew too well the feeling of exhilaration. ‘‘Torn between two passions?'' She couldn't fathom having to choose between romantic love and her enthusiasm for her art. In fact, if she wanted to have both, she could. That was not the struggle of
her
life.

Annie leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. ‘‘You know, I never thought things would end up the way they did between Rudy and me. I thought for sure we'd be married, somehow or other. I loved him, really I did.''