The Preacher's Daughter (20 page)

Jesse shuddered and considered how such information would have affected him . . .
if I were the son of Ichabod. . . .

Then and there, he purposed to reach out to the younger man, the first chance possible.

For now, though, he best get himself across the road for milking, because following breakfast he must head to an all-day wedding, where he was expected to give the
Anfang,
the opening comments, prior to the bishop's main sermon. He also must shake off his impending feeling of doom, wishing to convey a cheerful countenance on behalf of the bridegroom and bride.

Annie offered to take the horse and buggy over to Julia's, but Louisa insisted they walk, just as Annie always liked to. ‘‘Look over there.'' She pointed to their neighbors' farmhouse as they made their way along the road. ‘‘That's where the girl lived who first requested you as a pen pal. See how the electric lines run right up to their house and barn?''

‘‘So
that's
how you know who's Amish and who isn't?''

Annie laughed softly. ‘‘Well, it's one way. You also have to watch for horsey apples in the lane.''

This got a sniggle from Louisa, who looked as Amish as Annie was, except she'd twisted the sides of her hair looser than Annie ever would have.
At least she's learning
.

‘‘What's Jenna Danz doing these days?'' Louisa asked. ‘‘Haven't heard from her in years.''

‘‘If you'd like to, we could stop by the house and ask 'bout her. The Danzes are ever so friendly.''

‘‘No, I'm here to hang with you.'' Louisa was lugging her laptop in a leather case, evidently ready for some connection with the outside world.

‘‘So . . . does hanging with someone ever hurt?'' Annie tried not to giggle.

Louisa wrinkled her nose. ‘‘You're as bad a tease as I am.''

‘‘That's for sure.'' Several horse-drawn buggies went by, and Annie waved at each one.

‘‘Where's everybody going?''

‘‘It's Tuesday, so I'd have to say they're headed for weddings. Most families get multiple invitations. They might have relatives in other church districts, so they must decide which one to attend . . . a busy time.'' She hated saying it, worried that another mention of a wedding might upset Louisa.

‘‘How many in a single day?''

‘‘Oh, oodles, really.''

‘‘Do you ever stay home,'' Louisa asked, ‘‘just skip going?''

‘‘Most of the weddings in the past few years have been for my first cousins—close in age—or friends of mine.'' She sighed, not sure how to explain that it was beyond rude not to attend. ‘‘For me not to go would be similar to shunning someone for a whole day. It's just not done.''
No matter how difficult,
she thought, aware of the wrench in her heart again, relieved that the couples marrying today were not close kin.

‘‘Fascinating . . . to set aside a time of year just for weddings,'' Louisa replied. ‘‘Like we moderns have our June weddings . . .''

Annie smiled. ‘‘My father's glad to be finished with plowing, 'specially with his responsibilities for tying the knot for quite a few couples. He'll be busy for the next few months.''

‘‘Well, he certainly looked busy last night, too.''

‘‘What are you talking about?''

‘‘I saw him carrying a shovel . . . out to the road. Must've been round nine o'clock.''

Annie shook her head. ‘‘You must be mistaken. Daed always goes to bed with the chickens.''

‘‘Say what you like, but I saw what I saw.''

‘‘And you also must've spotted an owl, too, jah?'' Annie covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Louisa pulled a face. ‘‘As a matter of fact, I did! Didn't you hear him?''

‘‘I heard him, all right. I almost got up and went downstairs. Sometimes I creep out into the night and shine a flashlight on them. Daed's caught me several times.''

‘‘I felt the silent flap of his wings and saw the hind end of him. Amazing. So . . . can you guess what I plan to draw the moment my peacock painting is finished?''

‘‘My father chasing an owl?'' She couldn't help it, she burst out laughing.

‘‘Very funny, Annie.''

Annie was exceptionally surprised about Louisa's encounter with the owl—hindquarters or not. But she wasn't about to reveal the common superstition: if a person sees an owl up close it sometimes points to a death. No sense causing Louisa to freak out, as she liked to say. Still, the
bird of death
had flown over them.

They walked farther, soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the fresh air as the tension between them subsided.

Louisa brushed off her apron. ‘‘Does your cousin have an indoor bathroom? I would love a shower!''

‘‘Sure. Julia won't mind at all if you shower there.'' Annie found Louisa's need for soap and water interesting. Not even half a week had passed since their Saturday night baths!

‘‘I've been thinking about something else, too, Annie. If it's not a problem, would you care if I washed my hair more than once a week? I don't think I can stand it for more than three days, which it is today.''

‘‘Oh, you can shower at Julia's on Tuesdays and Fridays, take a bath at my house on Saturday night . . . and, in between, there's always the makeshift shower Daed and the boys use out in the barn. Goodness sakes, you'll be the cleanest girl round here!''

They counted fifteen more buggies coming their way, and at one point Louisa said, ‘‘I've never felt so strangely miserable and wonderful at the same time. Except for maybe the summer I spent with one of my aunts.''

‘‘Why's that?''

‘‘I think it comes down to the basics, and I'm not talking baths or showers or indoor plumbing.'' Louisa slowed her pace. ‘‘Sure, I miss all the conveniences of my home, yet I feel somehow closer to all that is good.''

‘‘To the Lord God, you mean?''

‘‘I don't know.'' Louisa turned to look at her. She had an almost sad expression. ‘‘Do you ever wish, sometimes, that there was something way more tangible to believing? I mean, than just a bunch of one-way prayers?''

‘‘Well, my cousin Julia has conversations with the Lord. I'm not kidding, she honestly does.'' Annie wondered if she should go on, but she forged ahead. ‘‘I say silent rote prayers first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. I've never considered addressing God the way Julia does.''

‘‘Really? You don't
speak
your prayers?''

‘‘Never.''

‘‘Well, then, I'll have to get acquainted with this cousin of yours.''

A lone horse and carriage was coming their way, and at a fast clip. When Annie spied Susie Yoder and her older brother, a surprising lump caught in her throat. Instead of calling out her usual cheerful hullo, she merely raised her hand to wave.

Susie, wearing her for-good blue cape dress and white apron, was quick to return the wave, smiling and glancing at her brother who held the reins, wearing his best black suit and bow tie. When Susie looked back at Annie, there was a noticeable twinkle in her eyes and a radiant smile on her dimpled face.

She looks too happy not to be in love. . . .

Annie's heart sank like a millstone.
Oh, what's-a-matter with me?

After all, it was to be expected that Susie would spend the afternoon and evening, following the all-day wedding festivities she was apparently headed to, playing games and attending a late-night barn singing with Rudy, along with many other courting couples. There was no other reason for Susie's big brother to be driving her today otherwise.

Annie swallowed hard.
Since I refused to marry Rudy, why should I begrudge Susie her happiness?

Momentarily she wondered what it might be like to somehow get Rudy's attention back for herself. To abruptly abandon the near-delirious joy of mixing colors, painting whatever her heart desired. But such thoughts troubled her greatly. No, she could not substitute a man—not even Rudy—for her dearest love.

Chapter 21

E
sther did not know what to make of Zeke's peculiar behavior. Nearly all day he stayed close to the house, except for doing necessary barn chores. He was spending more time with their boys than any other weekday she ever recalled—playing with them indoors, in the yard, and even washing their faces after the noon meal.

But each time she looked at her husband this day, she was keenly aware of a painful softness around his eyes. Something she hadn't seen in years. Was it the herbal potion she furtively mixed into his coffee each morning? Or was it linked to the bishop's surprise visit?

Is someone dreadfully ill? Or has Zeke's father gotten in touch with him at long last? If so, wouldn't Zeke say something?

She couldn't stop thinking about the bishop's mysterious visit, the good half hour he spent alone with Zeke in the barn. To get her mind off whatever it was, she set about baking an angel food cake for their supper tonight.
Zeke's favorite . . . and Laura's, too
.

‘‘Cousin Julia!'' called Annie at the back stoop and let herself in, holding the door for Louisa.

Molly and James came running to meet them, and the sight of the children cheered Annie's heart. ‘‘I've brought along my very good friend today,'' she told the smiling youngsters. ‘‘James and Molly, can you say hullo to Louisa?''

James grinned, showing his little white teeth. ‘‘Hullo, Louisa,'' he said, mimicking Annie. ‘‘You look just like Annie.''

‘‘Well! I'll take that as a compliment.''

Molly reached for Louisa's hand and smiled shyly. ‘‘Molly . . . that's me.''

Louisa was clearly taken with the little girl. ‘‘It's nice to meet you, honey. Your long braids are beautiful.''

Nodding, Molly reached up to touch her hair. ‘‘Mommy makes 'em.''

‘‘She does good work,'' Louisa said, touching Molly's head.

Soon, Cousin Julia hurried into the kitchen, face aglow at seeing Louisa.

‘‘Julia, I want you to meet my English pen pal.'' Annie quickly explained that she wanted to ‘‘be one of the People, at least in looks, for the time bein'.''

‘‘How thoughtful!'' Julia extended her hand to Louisa.

Annie was most grateful for the warm reception, especially since she'd never told Julia about this peculiar friendship. And once the children had gone outside to play, she asked if it was all right for Louisa to have a shower or bath sometime today while they were here.

‘‘Oh my, yes. Help yourself, Louisa . . . anytime, really.'' Julia's eyes twinkled when she smiled. ‘‘I see you've brought your laptop along, but if ever you want to simply use our computer, you can do that, too.''

‘‘I appreciate the offer,'' Louisa said, looking a bit surprised. ‘‘So . . . then, you're permitted to use computers?''

Julia nodded. ‘‘Well, yes, we are. You might not guess by looking at us, but many Mennonites embrace the whole gamut of technology. We are more conservative than some, but even our little church has its own Web site as an outreach ministry.''

They stood and talked awhile longer, and then Julia gave Annie the list of chores for the day. Louisa offered to help, but Annie insisted she should get her shower done. They argued jovially about that, but Annie finally said she could have the ironing out of the way by the time Louisa finished upstairs.

‘‘Well, if you're sure,'' said Louisa.

‘‘Oh, jah, I am . . . now go and get yourself cleaned up.''

Louisa shrugged and smiled, then followed Julia upstairs to the only bathroom in the house while Annie set to work ironing, realizing anew how much easier this task was with the use of an electric iron. But as she pressed Irvin's Sunday shirt, she pushed away envious thoughts, including what fun Susie would be having with Rudy tonight.

She thought instead of Louisa, ever so eager to show her the attic art studio.
I'm truly gaining a sister, of sorts,
she thought.
If only Mamm hadn't caught us drawing. . . .

‘‘Come, it's time for you to see my studio,'' Annie told Louisa once the ironing was finished . . . and when Louisa's hair was dry from her shower, hanging loose over her shoulders.

‘‘Well, hey, you've described it to a tee in your letters, but I'm dying to see it with my own eyes.''

Annie motioned for her to follow. ‘‘I need your opinion on something else, too.'' She wanted to know what Louisa thought of her painting, the one featuring the London Vale covered bridge, the cluster of locust trees, and the nearby creek.

When they arrived at the top of the attic steps, Annie reached for the skeleton key high over the doorjamb and unlocked the door. ‘‘Have to keep this locked, for obvious reasons,'' she explained.

‘‘Wow . . . this
is
a top-secret room.''

Annie stepped aside. ‘‘You go in first.''

Louisa walked into the room and slowly moved toward the center. She stood like a slender statue, simply staring. Then, slowly, she turned around, taking in every nook and cranny. Pursing her lips, she said, ‘‘What a place. It's terrific.''

Annie felt like she might burst. ‘‘I want you to spend the rest of today painting here . . . if you'd like.''

‘‘You mean it?''

‘‘Well, since you can't just turn it off or on . . . sure. It's been a while since you painted . . . since comin' here.'' She smiled at her dear friend.

‘‘This is too cool, Annie. I love it!''

Annie paused. Was now a good time to reveal the painting that had been driving her lately? ‘‘Uh, just real quick, I want to show you something I've been working on.''