The Englisher (33 page)

Impossible to say good-bye.
Yet she had written those very words.

Reading it again, he shook his head. Torn and hurt as she obviously was, he would not fight her decision. He’d caused Annie Zook enough trouble.

Standing, he walked to the window and back, running his hand through his hair. ‘‘I’ll bow out and give her time— some space—to figure out what she wants.’’

He could only imagine what was going on at the preacher’s house . . . and in dear Annie’s heart.

The next day, after locking up the tack shop, Ben drove to Irvin’s, hoping to catch him before he left to visit a supplier. But upon arriving, Julia said he’d just missed him and invited him in for coffee. ‘‘You look pale, Ben. Are you ill?’’ she asked, treating him like a big sister might.

He assured her he was fine.

‘‘Well, would you like some chicken soup?’’ She seemed to think food could fix anything.

‘‘No, I really shouldn’t stay.’’ But he was already in the door and moving toward the kitchen in a fog. He sensed Julia’s ability to calm his nerves, although he was not the sort of person to tell just anyone his problems.

He sat down at her table, and soon James and Molly came to show him a favorite book. When they scampered back to the living room, he said, ‘‘I know this may be sudden . . . well, it is.’’ He paused, gathering his wits. ‘‘I don’t want to spring this on Irvin, but I do need to return home. Very soon.’’ He stopped again, wishing this weren’t so difficult. He would miss his work and the good pay. ‘‘I need to give my notice today, Julia.’’

She tilted her head in the usual way, eyes filled with understanding, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that was why folk liked to be around her. Julia seemed to know how to let you off the hook and wasn’t into the control thing like so many women seemed to be.

‘‘Irvin would want to say good-bye and wish you well,’’ she said. ‘‘I know I speak for him on this.’’ She took the portable phone out of its cradle and offered it to Ben. ‘‘Would you care to tell him yourself? He has his cell phone with him, I believe.’’

He accepted the portable phone, though he might have used his own cell. There was no turning back. He would exit Annie’s life and spare her any further pain.
The best thing for
all concerned
.

Irvin answered his call promptly, and Ben felt as though he were going through the motions. Swimming in a haze of lost causes, lost dreams.

Irvin asked him to stay on at the tack shop for at least two weeks, so he would have time to hire someone to take his place. Ben understood and agreed, not wanting to shirk his duty. He was thankful Irvin had given him the excellent job in the first place, entrusting him with a lot of responsibility.

‘‘All right. I’ll stay until you find a replacement,’’ Ben agreed.

When he hung up, he accepted a second cup of coffee, glad for the nice distraction of Julia’s children. He enjoyed their playful expressions, their need to push their own interests— books, toys—into his lap or onto the table before him.

Julia cooked supper, seeming to take care not to disturb him. Every now and then she reminded the children that ‘‘Ben isn’t a playmate.’’ He might have been amused were he not so immobile. He felt unable to push through the blur of where he and Annie had been and where they were now. In a short time, they’d gone from enjoying many hours in each other’s company to absolutely zero.

Julia asked if he would like to stay for supper, but he declined gratefully. He must figure out how to get out of his lease, if possible. If not, he’d have to make arrangements to sublet.

He remembered his manners. ‘‘Is there anything I can help you with before I go?’’

‘‘As a matter of fact, there is.’’ Julia said there were a few things Esther Hochstetler had left in the attic room. ‘‘Would you mind bringing them downstairs for me?’’

‘‘I’ll do you one better,’’ he replied. ‘‘I’ll haul them over to Zeke and Esther.’’

‘‘Well, I appreciate that,’’ Julia said, returning to the stove. ‘‘And I know Esther will be glad for them.’’

Upstairs in the small room, he stood in the center of the attic space and struggled with his loss of Annie.
Buck up,
he told himself, realizing he would miss not only her, but also Irvin and Julia and their children . . . not to mention the good men coming and going at the harness shop.

I made a foolish mistake, falling in love. . . .

He sat on the only chair in the room, head bowed. After a time, he straightened and noticed a long, rectangular item in the corner, propped up between the wall and the bureau.

Getting up to look, he saw that it was a frame, tightly wrapped in brown packing paper. The name
Zook
was written in the corner with a felt-tip pen. Curiosity tugged at him, and he found himself opening a loose corner. He peered inside, intrigued to see part of a painting. He knew he was snooping, yet he removed the small strip of tape and saved it, then carefully unwrapped the entire large piece.

He stared at the painting inside—a haunting, yet remarkable rendering of the covered bridge on Belmont Road . . . the cluster of trees, and the stream below. ‘‘This is the very image. . . .’’ He could not believe how perfect a likeness the artist had created as he scrutinized the beauty of brush stroke on canvas.
Unbelievable!

Opening his wallet, he extracted the folded copy he’d carried since Christmas. Smoothing it out, he studied it closely. ‘‘They’re identical,’’ he murmured.

Wondering who the artist was, he searched for a signature in the bottom right-hand corner. Finding it, his mouth dropped open. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘‘Annie Zook . . . you do have your secrets.’’

No wonder her eyes saw all things beautiful
.

‘‘She’s really good,’’ he said, wondering why Annie had never told him of her talent.

Wanting to stare longer at the superb work, yet knowing Julia might wonder what was keeping him, he began to wrap the paper around the frame again, even placing the tape exactly where it had been before.

Satisfied the painting was positioned just as he’d first found it, he stepped back and shook his head. ‘‘No wonder . . .’’ He turned to look out the window, at the fading sky. ‘‘Annie, it was
you
. You brought me here.’’

Chapter 28

S
oon after morning milking, but before breakfast was served, Esther went to check on Essie Ann, down the hall in her crib, when she thought she heard weeping. But how could that be? Laura was out feeding the pigs just now, while Zach watched over John in the kitchen, the two playing quietly together. Not another soul was in the house, except for her sleeping baby.

Or so she thought.

The nearly eerie sound continued and she felt compelled to go and stand by Zeke’s bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Inside, Zeke was muttering and whining to himself like a child fussing over having been harshly disciplined.

Well, for goodness’ sake,
she thought, wondering what was troubling him.

Listening in on the peculiar exchange—in essence, what it was—Esther was stunned. Zeke was saying he most certainly deserved to be shunned now, just as his wife was. ‘‘If the men of God knew my sins, they wouldn’t think twice on it.’’ Here he stopped, and a kind of sad and despairing wail poured out of him. ‘‘I know now what happened. . . .’’

She swallowed hard, and it was all she could do to stand still and not let her feet take her right in there, right now, and comfort the poor man.

Zeke continued his odd dialog, switching to take the side of one of the preachers. ‘‘What do you have to say for yourself, Ezekiel? You pray more . . . nothin’ changes. You can’t keep strikin’ Esther, frail thing.’’

Zeke moaned again. ‘‘It’s rippin’ out my insides . . . who I am. Who I’ve always been . . .’’ He paused. ‘‘Nothin’s as it seems. Nothin’ at all.’’

Trembling, she moved closer to the door and peeked through the sliver of an opening. There Zeke sat, on the bed they had always shared before her shunning, rocking back and forth, his big hands covering his face and part of his beard. ‘‘With pride comes shame,’’ he said. ‘‘Ach, one wretched sin begets another and another. Ain’t so, Lord God?’’

Esther hadn’t the slightest notion what he meant, and she inched back, afraid. She took in a slow, long breath.
O
Lord in heaven, help us!

Zeke had been strangely quiet the past few weeks, so Jesse thought it might do them both good to stand out in the barn and talk, now that spring was in the air.

Too early for straw hats yet
. However he had seen a horde of bees droning over some dried-out wood at the neighbors’ yesterday. Birds, including a few barn swallows, were back in the neighborhood, starting with the first robins two weeks ago, and the finches just today.

But it was the stubborn way the new grass had begun to shove its way up through old thatch that told him warmer weather was near.

He clicked his cheek as Betsy trotted down Belmont Road, heading north. His noontime dinner of fried chicken sat heavy on his stomach as he made his way to Hochstetlers’.

He wondered how Zeke was getting along with his headstrong woman. He figured it wouldn’t be much longer and Esther would give in to the demands of the Ordnung. Whatever had gotten into her recently was clearly dangerous.

He turned his thinking now to the task that lay before him, feeling mighty responsible, considering his big push to return Esther to Zeke’s precarious nest.

Zeke stared at the neighbors’ barn telephone, clutching it till his knuckles turned white. He’d run all the way here, compelled by an urgency that had been mounting all day. Slowly he lifted the receiver to his ear and dialed 911.

A woman’s voice came on the line, and he said right quick, ‘‘Send the police to my house at once.’’

‘‘Please state your name, address, and phone number for verification, sir.’’

He managed to eke out the requested information, having to peer at the number printed on the telephone.

‘‘What is the nature of your emergency?’’

He began to weep. ‘‘My brother . . . Isaac Hochstetler is dead. He’s . . . dead, and too young to die.’’ He choked back heaving sobs.

The woman attempted to calm him, or at least he thought that was why she spoke in such measured tones. But he was beside himself. ‘‘So you best be gettin’ the police out here, and quick.’’

‘‘How did Isaac die?’’ came the dreaded question.

He stammered a bit, then inhaled sharply, dropping the phone and letting it dangle and sway on its cord. Wiping his face with his paisley blue handkerchief, he stumbled back up the road to his house.

Jesse spotted fresh tire tracks in a stubble-filled cornfield to the east. Curious, he followed the tracks with his eyes, craning his neck as the horse pulled the carriage past. He had occasionally given some thought to the faster, less strenuous work a tractor could offer. Even if he had the funds for that type of equipment, he couldn’t justify entertaining such thoughts for longer than a few seconds, if at all. Truly, being a minister stymied much inventive thought.

For a moment he understood something of Annie’s inner struggle, her desire to create. Surely that was inventive as well. He was convinced, however, once she gave her lifetime vow of submission to the church and the Lord God— once she settled into marrying, too—she would forget her foolish penchant for drawing and painting. He could not deny his daughter’s
great talent,
as Barbara regarded her ability, but he would not go so far as to agree that Annie had a God-given gift.

Looking at the sky as he neared the Hochstetler farm, Jesse was in tune with the change of season. Winter was beginning to shed her long woolens for the fluttery skirts of spring. He’d thrilled to the softness of the soil in Barbara’s garden plot, surprisingly ready to be spaded up and set to hand plowing. He’d even seen two earthworms already hard at work aerating the black soil.

‘‘Gee,’’ he commanded the horse. Zeke’s black watchdog wagged his tail near the turn into Hochstetlers’ driveway.

Right away Jesse spotted the police car parked near the backyard.

Now what’s Zeke gone and done?
He clenched his teeth, and his palms broke out in an unexpected sweat.