The Preacher's Daughter (16 page)

A unique subject for a painting,
she thought, wishing she had the nerve to bring along a sketch pad to church in two Sundays, when the next meeting was to be held at Rudy Esh's parents' house. Annie had whispered this tidbit of news as they filled the feeding trough with a combination of cracked corn, cat food, and game bird food for the enthusiastic peacocks earlier this morning.

Louisa had awakened later than planned, and it was no wonder, since she and Annie had stayed up late talking. Even so, she had wondered why Annie hadn't knocked on her door, so she hurried out of bed, made it quickly, and peeked into the hallway. Annie was already coming with a pitcher of warm water for her washbowl and an extra hand mirror. ‘‘This'll help some, maybe,'' Annie said, all smiles, handing over the mirror first thing.

The second mirror
did
help, at least somewhat, although she still had no definite idea how she looked in her getup. But she certainly felt strange with her face pulled wide at the temples, the way Annie twisted the sides of her hair and then pushed all of it into a tight bun. She wondered how long before she would get used to this terribly simple hairstyle but was very glad it had worked out for her to appear this way, as Annie's sister or cousin, here today. She couldn't imagine which would be worse, however: wearing her own modern version of a simple dress and calling attention to herself in a sea of Amish women, or wearing this midcalf-length purple dress of Annie's with its full-length apron and dozens of straight pins poked into the waistline, holding everything together.

As for the lack of makeup, if she were to admit it to herself, it felt surprisingly good to go with a fresh face, although she'd never gone anywhere without her ‘‘lips.'' Lipstick made the world go round, and here she sat with scarcely any color on . . . only a bit of gloss.

At the moment, though, Louisa was becoming more preoccupied with the lack of padding on the seats than the fact that her eyelashes were mascara-less or that her lips were practically au naturel. The backless aspect to the wooden benches made her wonder how the four- and five-year-old children sat quietly for so long on either their parent's lap or next to them—girls with their mothers on one side of the room and little boys with their fathers on the opposite.

Not meaning to stare, she spotted a woman using a simple handkerchief to keep her preschool-aged daughter occupied. Soon a tiny cradle with twin babies in the center appeared from the hankie, and Louisa had to be careful not to smile too broadly, for she had never seen such a thing. Next, the handkerchief was transformed into a series of knots that, when the ends were pulled, gracefully vanished, bringing a look of surprise each time to the pixie-faced child.

All of a sudden, a flash of gray caught Louisa's eye, and she wondered if it was merely her imagination. But soon she heard a steady stream of meows.

Muffin . . . oh no!

Annie's eyes widened and she mouthed to Louisa, ‘‘Your cat?''

Louisa nodded.

‘‘Just leave him be,'' Annie whispered back.

Muffin skulked down the narrow space between the rows of benches, back hunkered low, tail high, in prowl posture. Hemmed in as Louisa was, she couldn't get to him, but she leaned over, snapping her fingers gently, whispering the cat's name, desperately trying to divert his attention. But Muffin was headed straight for the front of the meeting—toward Preacher Zook, who seemed unaware of a cat approaching him despite the muffled spattering of
ach
s from his congregation.

What's gotten into Muffin?
Louisa wondered, mortified.

One of the bearded men up front rose from his seat and clapped his hands, which was the wrong thing to do to get a feline's attention, especially her cat. Perhaps the man was attempting to scare Muffin out of the room.

However, Muffin remained planted where he was. In fact, he was now poised for attack only a few inches from Preacher Zook's black shoes.

Annie's father paused suddenly, abandoning his German. ‘‘Well, now, seems we've got ourselves a visitor . . . though not such a saintly one, I daresay.''

Louisa bowed her head, completely embarrassed. ‘‘I'm sorry,'' she whispered when Annie touched her hand.

‘‘Not your fault.''

I forgot to latch the bedroom door,
she recalled.

Preacher Zook spoke again, this time chuckling as he declared the enticement for Muffin's humorous entrance into the house of worship. ‘‘Seems my shoes tracked in a small temptation for this mouse chaser.''

Louisa looked and was shocked to see Annie's father holding up a peacock feather.

‘‘Well, for goodness' sake,'' Annie said softly, followed by a stymied giggle.

Laughter rippled through the large room where yesterday, minus its removable walls, a living room, sitting area, kitchen, and bedroom had been well defined.

When Louisa looked again, Muffin was gone from view.

Scarcely skipping a beat, Annie's father resumed his sermon-making, and the People were lulled back to reverence by his singsong tone.

An hour later, Louisa was still contemplating Muffin's whereabouts, hoping he hadn't completely disappeared into the cat population residing in the Zooks' barn.

Nearby, a little girl strained to look under the bench ahead of her.
Is Muffin hiding there?
Louisa wondered. She could kick herself for all the commotion.
My first Sunday with Annie . . . and this happens!

She was somewhat reassured by the way Annie's dad had handled the situation with a proper though quite ornery English cat in the middle of their sacred service.

Sighing, she was again taken by the incredibly close proximity of all these people—two hundred and fifty, give or take a few dozen—as Annie's mom had stated earlier, at breakfast. All of them smashed in like pickles in a jar. Louisa considered how good it was they took their baths the night before these Sunday gatherings. Half of the church district was made up of teens, children, and nursing babies, and she had already counted more than a hundred young people—a way to pass the time until she would help Annie and her mother serve the cold cuts and other food items for the common meal, as Annie had called it.

Thinking back to the rare times she had attended church with her parents, Louisa recalled a soft kneeling pad, pipe organ music, and stained-glass windows at the big community church in Littleton, Colorado. She remembered thinking the parishioners seemed distant somehow. Close vested. Far different from this quaint church experience, but Annie had addressed the closeness in one of her early letters, attempting to describe their concept of unity. Not until now did Louisa begin to understand that letter—the idea being fleshed out before her eyes.
A tight-knit group of people . . . close to each other and to God,
she thought as the final hymn was being sung.

Louisa still had not located Muffin by the noon meal, when she was to help Annie and her mother with the distribution of food. Deciding she had no real option but to wait—accepting Annie's assurance that ‘‘Muffin will come back''—she cut through dozens of pies, having never seen so many kinds in one place. She also helped set the tables, marveling at the number of people who would enjoy a lunch of bread, cheese, cold cuts, jams, red beets, sweet and sour pickles, and hot coffee here in the Zooks' old farmhouse.

The ministers, both the local and visiting preachers and deacon, along with the eldest church members, sat down to eat at the first table setting. The children ate at the fourth and final setting, and Louisa was surprised at how polite and self-sufficient they were—the older children helping the younger ones.

By the time the massive cleanup was underway, she had lost count of how many introductions Annie had made on her behalf. Funny, because none of the women had ever heard of her before today. Not even Rudy Esh's sister, who looked eager to come over and get acquainted. Rhoda also went out of her way to tell Annie that Susie Yoder was at home, sick with a cold, the reason she hadn't attended the corn-husking bee, either, she said.

Louisa wondered why it was necessary for Rhoda to explain, but Annie seemed to take it in stride. Most interesting to Louisa was the secret Annie had evidently kept all these years . . . that she had a pen pal relationship with a non-Amish woman.
Wouldn't they be surprised at her other bigger secret?

One after another, women came up to Louisa, repeatedly saying such things as, ‘‘Nice to have you visit—what church district did you say you're from?'' or ‘‘Are you in from a long ways?''

To this, Annie's eyes sparkled with mischief as she apparently enjoyed setting them straight. ‘‘Louisa's from clean out west in Colorado. She's actually English, wearin' my for-good clothes.''

Trying to fit in,
Louisa thought with a smile. Yet Annie avoided any mention of their years of correspondence.

Once all the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Annie, her mother, and all three sisters-in-law, as well as several other women appointed to help, stood around the kitchen chatting. At one point, Annie grabbed Louisa's arm. ‘‘Come, I see Esther Hochstetler.''

Louisa followed willingly to the corner of the kitchen, where Esther was standing, swaying with a toddler-aged boy asleep in her arms. She recalled having read letters about someone named Essie who had later returned to her given name, Esther. Annie had always indicated Essie was her dearest friend among the People.

‘‘Hullo, Esther,'' said Annie, giving her a big smile. ‘‘I was hopin' I'd see ya today.'' She turned to Louisa. ‘‘Meet my friend Louisa. Doesn't she look ever so Plain?''

Esther cracked a smile. ‘‘Louisa's an awful perty name.''

‘‘Thanks,'' said Louisa. ‘‘Nice to meet you.''

Annie reached over and stroked the sleeping boy's hair. ‘‘This is Esther's youngest, John. He's got an older brother, Zach, and a big sister, Laura.'' Annie went on to say how ‘‘awful sweet'' Zeke and Esther's little ones were.

Louisa listened, intrigued by the dark circles under Esther's eyes, as well as the pallor of her face. She appeared to be six or seven months pregnant.

‘‘You're comin' to the quilting this week, I hope,'' Annie said.

‘‘Well, I wasn't plannin' to,'' Esther was quick to say.

‘‘Ach, you should. I'm goin', and so is Louisa, if she wants to.''

Louisa was fascinated by the interplay between Annie and Esther.

Annie continued. ‘‘Connecting with the womenfolk, well, it's the only way to make it through . . . at times, ya know.''

‘‘S'pose you're right, but I can't get away,'' Esther replied.

‘‘I'll miss seein' ya, then. Honestly, I will.''

Esther nodded, and Louisa thought she saw a glint of a tear in the woman's eyes.

‘‘Take care of yourself, Annie,'' said Esther. Then to Louisa— ‘‘Have a nice time while you're here visitin'. It's good to have you.''

‘‘Thanks, Esther. It was very nice meeting you.'' She wished she might capture on canvas the pathos on the face of the saddest woman she had ever encountered.

Chapter 17

T
he first order of business, once the house was vacated of so many people, was to find Muffin. Annie helped with the search, suggesting the barn first, and to this Louisa cringed, visualizing mud and manure caked on Muffin's paws. She had taken care to have him freshly groomed for the trip here.

Climbing up the long ladder to the haymow, she suddenly missed wearing jeans for the first time since arriving here. But she kept up with Annie, following her to peer behind the square hay bales with a flashlight, calling for Muffin. They looked in the lower level of the barn, in the milking area, as well as the bedded areas, and last of all, the milk house, behind the milk tank and the cleaning units.

‘‘He has to be frightened by now,'' Louisa said, hoping she hadn't seen the last of her pedigree cat.

Annie nodded. ‘‘Maybe so, but he's not lost . . . 'least not for long.''

Louisa was concerned, but she didn't want to be priggish and mention the cost involved in purchasing such a well-bred cat.

‘‘Have you looked in your room?'' asked Annie

‘‘Several times, yes.'' Louisa thought of Muffin's playful nature. ‘‘He's been known to entertain children, so I hope he didn't follow one of them home. Except he's very intelligent, so I doubt that.''

‘‘I've never met a smart cat,'' said Annie.

‘‘Then Muffin's the exception.''

‘‘Well, let's think like a cat,'' Annie said, making a decidedly feline smile. ‘‘She has a permanent smirk on her kitty face.''

‘‘It's one of the features of the Russian Blue breed,'' Louisa said. Then she heard a squeal—a catlike one.

‘‘What on earth?''

‘‘That's Muffin!'' Louisa announced, relief washing over her.

‘‘It's coming from the cellar, I think.''

Quickly, Annie led her down the wood steps to what they called the cold cellar, where hundreds of quarts of vegetables, meats, and fruit were lined up on neat shelves. When they heard the squeal again, they followed the sound to find Muffin—his head stuck in an empty jar.

Louisa quickly knelt, making a fuss over her precious pet.

‘‘Poor thing. He's stuck,'' Annie said, joining Louisa on the floor.

‘‘This is nuts . . . he's never done anything so weird.''
Smart cat, indeed
.

Then Annie, getting down to inspect the situation at eye level, saw the real reason. ‘‘Your city cat chased a country mouse, that's what. Look, part of the tail's still in the jar.''

‘‘Oh, Muffin, what will I do with you?'' Louisa laughed.

‘‘I know for sure one thing,'' Annie said. ‘‘We need a hammer.''