The Preacher's Daughter (36 page)

She drives?
he thought, surprised.

‘‘A friend visiting Julia . . . is on the verge of having a baby.

Julia's gone and I know absolutely zip about this.''

Zip?

Ben removed his heavy work apron. ‘‘I'll drive you back over to the Rancks', then on to the hospital,'' he said, wishing he had time to scrub his hands clean. But he could see the panic on Lou's face, so he grabbed his jacket and they hurried out to the car.

When they arrived at the Rancks' house, Lou jumped out and rushed inside, leaving him to follow behind. ‘‘She's freaked,'' he said to the air, wondering why the birth of a baby should be such a troubling thing for a Plain country girl.

Inside the house, he heard a woman moaning and went directly to the kitchen to scour the leather oil off his hands. Then, waiting for Lou to return, he was suddenly aware of a stream of small children: preschooler James and toddler Molly— whom he'd met only once or twice—and three more he hadn't seen before . . . all coming into the living room.

Wow. . . . Who's going to watch all these little people?
He stood in the middle of the living room and Molly tottered over and grabbed him around the knee, looking up at him with a grin.

In a few minutes Lou reappeared in the doorway, wringing her hands. ‘‘Esther's baby is coming
now
! There's no time to go to the hospital.''

‘‘If it's any comfort, I've helped birth dozens of foals,'' he said, wanting to reassure her. He hoped he didn't sound as nervous as he suddenly felt.

‘‘Foals? Well, that beats anything
I
know.'' She looked at the children encircling him. ‘‘So . . . how about I watch the kids while
you
see if there's anything you can do to help Esther?'' Her eyes were blinking ninety miles an hour.

He agreed, but for all his bravado, his heart began to pound and his hands felt clammy. He followed her to the bedroom where the woman lay, startled, no doubt, to see an English stranger—not to mention a guy—enter the room.

‘‘This is Ben Martin, Esther . . . an employee of Irvin Ranck. He knows how to help you.''

Ben sure hoped
that
was true.

‘‘And, Ben, this is Esther Hochstetler . . . one of Annie's friends.''

‘‘Call me Essie,'' the woman said, her face flushed, her body covered with a thin blanket.

‘‘Essie it is,'' Ben said, somewhat confused.
She must be Zeke's wife. So why would she send her horse packing without a driver?
Something was weird about that, because he had seen the same horse and carriage he'd returned to the Hochstetler pig farm show up later, here at the Rancks', with Zeke at the reins. But he didn't have time to think about that now. He must figure out how to help this woman.

Lou wrung her hands, clearly flustered.

‘‘Listen, why don't you go hang with the kids,'' he told her. ‘‘I'll call you when I need you.''

Jesse took pleasure in watching Yonie decorate his horse harness with chrome and a few brass buckles. Perched on an old barn bench, Jesse rubbed his hands together, blowing his warm breath on them.

Yonie looked up. ‘‘We've got ourselves an understandin' bishop, jah, Daed?''

‘‘Well, he does seem to recall his young days better than some ministers.''

Yonie continued fussing with the harness. ‘‘So if a bishop's got a good memory, then he doesn't mind us fellas deckin' out our horse harnesses so much, then?''

Jesse nodded. ‘‘Must be.'' He recalled his own rumschpringe days, shining up his courting buggy and whatnot, mighty eager to meet some nice girls at the barn singings. Pretty Barbara had caught his eye along about the second singing, but she had been seeing another fellow at the time. He remembered
that
even now.

‘‘What were your running-around years like, Daed?''

‘‘Oh, 'bout like yours, I s'pose.''

Yonie laughed. ‘‘Now, how can ya say that?''

‘‘What . . . you got something to hide, son?''

‘‘Nothin' that most boys aren't doin', seems.''

‘‘Well, I don't have to tell
you,
now do I?'' Jesse paused, not wanting to sound so overbearing as to shut Yonie up for further father-son talks. ‘‘It ain't the smartest idea to follow the crowd, is it?''

‘‘How's a body goin' to know what they're missing then?''

Jesse stifled a smile. ‘‘Guess if a body's got to know everything he's missin', then he's not much of a leader but only a follower.'' He sighed. ‘‘I don't see you as the latter, Yonie Zook.''

His boy looked at him. ‘‘Honestly, Daed, do you see me as a leader?''

‘‘Since the day you came out squalling like a stuck pig.''

‘‘Well, then.'' Yonie squared his shoulders and twirled the shiny buckles on his new harness.

They heard the sound of a horse and carriage, and Jesse asked Yonie to go and have a look-see. Yonie poked his head out of the barn door, then came right back. ‘‘Ezekiel Hochstetler's here.''

Jesse got up, his ankles cracking loudly, and did several upper torso stretching exercises before heading out to greet Zeke. ‘‘Better make yourself scarce now, son.''

When he opened the wide barn door and marched out, Jesse waved when he caught Zeke's eye. Not that he cared to, really. He could feel in his bones this was going to be another unpleasant meeting. ‘‘Too cold out in the barn,'' he said, motioning him toward the house, in hopes Zeke might not cause such a ruckus round Barbara and all.

The two men walked together, crunching old boots through the fresh snow. ‘‘I want to know where you buried my brother,'' Zeke started in. ‘‘I want to know
now
.''

‘‘Snow's much too heavy to go lookin'.''

Zeke snuffed his nose. ‘‘Don't matter none to me.''

‘‘We've talked this to death.''

They were inside, in the enclosed porch now, removing boots, scarves, and coats. ‘‘I'm plenty tired of waiting,'' Zeke said.

‘‘No changin' my mind.''

‘‘So you're goin' to keep stonewallin' me?''

‘‘Call it what you will. . . .''

Zeke snorted like the pigs he raised. ‘‘Well, then, I have something to show you, Preacher.'' He reached in and pulled a magazine out of his shirt. ‘‘Here . . . take a good look at this.'' Zeke shoved it into his face.

‘‘What's this got to do with anything?''

‘‘Your daughter, that's what.''

Jesse had no idea what he meant.

Zeke was adamant. ‘‘Annie painted the picture on this here cover . . . see?'' He pointed to her name. ‘‘And if ya don't believe me, then ask her yourself.''

Jesse stared at the picture.
Annie Zook?
‘‘How many women with that name in Paradise?'' he muttered, half to himself. ‘‘Must be dozens. . . .''

‘‘Well now, Preacher, I guess that's for you to find out.''

Zeke was heckling him, and it was all he could do to keep from rolling up the magazine and bopping Zeke with it. Even so, he was drawn to the picture—the way the sun spotlighted a single peach stone there on the swing. He looked closer and saw that peculiar symbol of hope, unable to forget all the village talk following Isaac's disappearance. How many times, years later, had Annie asked about the boy's fascination with a peach pit? The odd way little Isaac had carried it with him in his pants pocket. . . .

This is Annie's work, all right
. But he wouldn't let on, so Zeke couldn't use it against him. Yet Zeke would, knowing him.

‘‘Go ahead, Preacher . . . look at your own cousin's name on the address label.'' Zeke poked his finger on the name: Irvin Ranck.

Irvin and Julia. . . . Jah, they might just know something about Annie's artwork
. But he wondered if he was jumping to conclusions.

‘‘It's your daughter that'll be your downfall,'' Zeke taunted. ‘‘And you know what I mean to do if you keep mum about where you and the bishop buried my brother.'' He snatched the magazine back.

Jesse resisted his ire. ‘‘I'm following the bishop's bidding.''

‘‘Well, then, I'll be takin' this here magazine all round, first to the bishop, then to Uncle Preacher Moses and Deacon Byler . . . see what
they
say 'bout your daughter's hobby.''

He despised what Zeke was doing, putting him between a rock and a hard place. ‘‘I daresay you'll get yourself shunned yet, Zeke. Just like your wife.''

Zeke scowled, mumbling under his breath.

‘‘You wouldn't want to lose your pig farm, would you? Your ability to make a livin' for your family?'' He could see he was making some headway, and right quick, too. ‘‘Better be thinking 'bout what you want to do.'' Jesse eyed the magazine. ‘‘And best be leavin' that here with me.''

Zeke wilted, relinquishing his hold on the
Farm and Home Journal
. And seconds later, when it came to accepting Barbara's offer of coffee, he flatly refused. Donning his coat now, Zeke made an excuse about needing to get home.

Jesse put a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. ‘‘Jah, you do that.''

Annie led the way to the house, as Julia had insisted on carrying in her own purchases from the fabric store. They had made several stops following the interesting visit at the art gallery.

She noticed a car parked off to the side. ‘‘Got yourself more company?''

‘‘Oh, that's Ben's car,'' Julia said. ‘‘He sometimes parks it here and walks over to the harness shop.''

So Annie thought nothing of it, stopping at the side door, accustomed to it being opened. But she found it to be locked.
How odd!

A little chill went up her spine just then, the slightest premonition. But she brushed off her jitters and waited for Julia to come and unlock the door.

Julia opened it and let Annie go in first. Right away as she entered the house, she heard a loud holler coming from the back room. ‘‘Hurry, Julia,'' Annie called. ‘‘Esther's cryin' something awful.''

Julia rushed into the house behind her.

Annie hurried into the living room and found Louisa there, sitting on the floor and playing with Esther's three and James and Molly, too. ‘‘Who's with Esther?''

Lou got up quickly. ‘‘You'll never guess in a million years.''

As if on cue, Ben Martin appeared in the doorway. ‘‘Oh, good, Julia . . . you're back. Your help is eagerly requested.''

Lou was obviously relieved, as well, smiling almost too broadly. ‘‘Annie, I was so freaked. You have no idea what excitement you missed.''

Julia had disappeared to assist Esther, and Annie felt Ben's scrutinizing gaze on her once again. ‘‘I'm going in to be with Esther,'' she said, hurrying past Ben.

Esther's face was wet with perspiration when Annie entered the guest room. But Esther's eyes shone with happiness as Annie came near. ‘‘Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Annie. It won't be long now . . . I'm ever so sure.''

Clasping her hand, Annie apologized. ‘‘I'm so sorry . . . we never should've left you.''

‘‘Don't let go of my hand,'' Esther said, another contraction coming.

Soon, Annie witnessed the tiny life emerge into Julia's capable and loving hands, and the newborn's high-pitched squeal rang out.

Later, when the precious bundle lay resting in Esther's arms, Annie whispered, ‘‘She's so little . . . so sweet. I'm glad I was here right when she came.''

‘‘I'm awful glad, too.'' Esther nodded and smiled. ‘‘What do you think of Essie for my baby's name?''

‘‘Sounds right fine. I daresay she's an Essie, through and through.''

‘‘And the dear Lord Jesus sent His angels to help . . . I just know He did.'' Esther's eyes were shining. ‘‘And Irvin's friend, Ben Martin, who was such an encouragement . . . and helped me stay surprisingly calm.''

Annie didn't know what to make of Esther's remarks about the harness shop worker. She leaned down and kissed the wee babe's damp brow. ‘‘Honestly, Esther, I had no idea your baby was comin' so soon.''

‘‘Everything happened fast. I'd fallen right asleep, even before you and Julia left. It was after Zeke came and was so awful loud, that's when I was jolted awake and things started to happen.''

‘‘Zeke was here . . . in the house?'' Annie's heart nearly stopped.

‘‘Ach, I was scared he might come marchin' back here and haul me home.''

‘‘Aw, Essie, I feel just sick 'bout this.''

‘‘Well, don't fret. Your friend Lou sent him on his way. A tough one she is. Then she brought Ben to help. . . .'' Esther's tears were not for pity but from exhaustion, and Annie wiped them away with her own fingers. ‘‘I'm ever so grateful for a healthy baby. That's what matters, Annie. Thanks be to the dear Lord.''

‘‘Well, now, you rest. Jah?''

Esther closed her eyes briefly, then blinked them open. ‘‘Do you really think this one looks like an Essie?''

Annie studied the tiny face. ‘‘Well . . . I'm not so sure now. Maybe a middle name suits her.'' She pondered several. ‘‘What 'bout Essie
Mae
?'' she asked. ‘‘That way we won't get her and you mixed up.''

‘‘I like Ann better—after you, Annie.''

‘‘Essie Ann. Jah, I
do
like it.''

Esther's lip quivered. ‘‘I just pray my baby girl might grow up more carefree than her big sister, you know?''

Annie's heart went out to her dear friend, and she let Esther squeeze her hand ever so hard. ‘‘I know you do.''