The Preacher's Daughter (17 page)

‘‘You sure we can't get him loose without breaking the jar?''

‘‘Not unless he holds his breath.'' Annie burst out laughing now, too.

‘‘At least the lost is found.'' Louisa stayed with Muffin while Annie went to get her father. ‘‘You've got the preacher coming now,'' she whispered, petting his haunches. ‘‘You're in so much trouble!''

Muffin peered out at her, his natural smile still evident.

‘‘This is too funny!'' Suddenly she wished she could share this with her parents, but the feeling was short-lived, and her Palm had very little power left anyway.

Annie's father came downstairs along with Annie, who had a big towel in her hand. ‘‘Well, now, just what do we have here?'' He eyed the situation without cracking a smile.

‘‘Can you get him out safely, Daed?'' Annie asked.

He advised Annie to wrap the towel loosely around the canning jar.

Louisa helped hold Muffin's lower body and legs while the towel was put into place. She spoke softly to her cat. ‘‘You'll be out of there soon, little boy.''

Annie's dad raised the hammer and struck the canning jar through the towel. With a muffled crack the jar broke into large pieces. Muffin was out and not even scratched for all his dimwitted curiosity.

‘‘Thank you,'' Louisa said to both Annie and her father. ‘‘Muffin and I appreciate it.''

The Preacher smiled and nodded. He looked at Muffin. ‘‘Seems this cat's lookin' for a bit of adventure . . . twice in one day, jah?''

Annie covered her mouth, apparently finding her father's comment amusing.

‘‘I'll keep better tabs on him from now on,'' Louisa promised.

Annie's eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘‘Got to keep tabs on the tabby?''

‘‘Aren't you the punny one?'' Louisa cradled her beloved cat.

That evening, Louisa and Annie stood on the back walkway waiting while Omar hitched up his horse to his shiny black buggy used for courting. The air was cold, and Louisa was not at all accustomed to wearing a woolen shawl. It reminded her of playing dress-up when she was little.

‘‘Now, Omar, don't be leavin' us high and dry if you find yourself a girl to take home tonight, ya hear?'' Annie said, smiling at her brother.

‘‘Well, why not?'' He grinned back.

‘‘You know why.''

Louisa found the tone of voice Annie used with her brother to be quite curious. For a girl who had been taught submission to male authority, she certainly felt free to banter with Omar.

Annie whispered to Louisa, eyes bright with mischief, ‘‘We best be stickin' together, jah?''

‘‘Well, since I don't speak your language—or understand—it could get very weird.'' She didn't want to be put in the position of having to find her way back here without either Annie or Omar. ‘‘I'm not lookin' for a new boyfriend anyhow. The last one was somewhat of a disaster, as you know.''

Annie shook her head, eyes flashing a warning.

‘‘What? Did I say something wrong?''

‘‘Come with me.'' Annie motioned with her head toward the well pump in the side yard. ‘‘We never talk 'bout a beau, present or past, 'specially not in front of another boy. Or a brother. That's how rumors spread, and goodness knows, that's not what you want to happen.''

‘‘Well, good,'' Louisa said, trying not to laugh. ‘‘I'm glad that's settled.''

A few minutes later, Omar called to them. ‘‘Time to get goin' if yous want to be on time.''

Annie reached for Louisa's hand and playfully pulled her toward the buggy. ‘‘Jah, we'll have us some fun tonight. It's 'bout time. . . .''

Louisa felt hesitant, but she was also interested to see firsthand the social scheme of things from the Amish perspective.

I can't believe I let her talk me into this barn singing,
she thought, raising her skirt just enough, as Annie did, to get into the open carriage on the left side.

Omar sat on the far right, looking a bit impatient as he held the reins, but Louisa somehow sensed he was enjoying himself. Even though Annie kept poking fun at him.

Once they were on the road, Louisa asked, ‘‘Do you think I could ever learn to drive the horse and carriage, Annie?''

Omar leaned forward and looked at her. ‘‘I can teach you, easy.''

‘‘So can I!'' Annie sat straighter, egging Omar on.

‘‘That would be right nice,'' Louisa said, bringing a pert smile to Annie's face and a chortle from her brother.

They rode for more than a half hour, and as they did, Omar ribbed Annie with his words, looking over at Louisa every so often, no doubt trying to include her in the conversation.

At one point, Louisa asked about the theme of the morning's sermons. ‘‘It seemed like the ministers, including your father, were making eye contact with the young people. At least it seemed that way.''

Annie spoke up right away. ‘‘You're quite right on that. Both sermons were about obedience . . . it's the theme of the day.''

Louisa wondered why that should be. ‘‘What's up with that?''

‘‘Well, I don't know 'bout up, but there is a downside to not following the Scripture and the Ordnung,'' Annie said. ‘‘For sure.''

Omar piped up. ‘‘You can say that again.''

‘‘Well, like what?''

‘‘For instance, there are several boys in the church district who are known to be runnin' with a wild crowd,'' Annie explained. ‘‘They call themselves the Mule Skinners and have guitars and carry on at Saturday night dances . . . nothin' like the expected behavior at our Sunday singings, I can tell you. If they were baptized church members and actin' like this, they'd be put under the shun.''

‘‘Most definitely,'' Omar said solemnly. ‘‘They don't care how they hurt their parents and younger siblings with the fancy clothes they wear and their English hair cuts 'n' all.''

‘‘More than likely, that's the reason for all the preaching on submission to God and the authority of the People,'' Annie said. ‘‘Nearly
every
meeting, here lately.''

‘‘Authority of the People . . .''
Louisa considered the idea of kowtowing to the expectations of an austere group. Even Annie was struggling, and Louisa knew this to be true. All these years of hiding her artwork, Annie had been disobeying or ‘‘sinning,'' as she always called it in her letters.

The buggy ride afforded plenty of time to think—an evening for some hard thoughts, continuing with the jolting impressions she had experienced while enduring the hardness of the church benches earlier. One of the more positive things about Annie's people was their connectedness. Louisa didn't have to understand Dutch to get this. They cared for each other with unusual compassion, including their very young and their aged. High regard was given to the elderly men and women at the large church gathering, evidenced by their being served the noon meal first. But it was the concept of an integrated sharing community— putting everything into a common pot—that shook her to the core.

If only my mother might understand this, if not witness it for herself
.

Such a perception was foreign to Louisa's upbringing. Instead of hoarding wealth or spending it on oneself, a person could supposedly lay up treasures in the hereafter by demonstrating kindness and extending love and thoughtfulness, as Annie had explained with great enthusiasm following the church gathering. She described a community where people shared not only their finances but also time and energy. Annie said this was one way to carry out God's will on the earth, helping one another. Even to the point of sacrifice, if need be.

The thought made her eyes swim, and she had an irresistible urge to continue dressing Plain.
I might even ask to borrow one of Annie's cotton nightgowns,
she thought, not understanding this new and peculiar yearning but wanting to follow wherever it might lead.

The tranquility of the buggy ride was eventually replaced with noise and laughter coming from a large barn as Louisa and Annie stepped down from the open carriage.

‘‘I'll wait for you two,'' Omar said, tying the horse to the post.

‘‘Well, you better!'' Annie called over her shoulder.

Louisa was amused. ‘‘You and your brother are a hoot.''

‘‘You think so?''

‘‘Omar enjoys throwing barbs, I can tell. And you give it right back.''

Annie nodded. ‘‘Well, you haven't seen anything. Wait'll you meet Yonie if you think Omar's that way. Yonie and I are constantly carryin' on . . . never get our feelin's hurt, though. My brothers would be the first to defend me, I know.''

Unable to relate to sibling camaraderie, Louisa was quiet as she followed Annie into the barn. She took in the curious scene, aware of not only the sights but also the noticeable farm scent, which her college friends would describe as a stench. None of which seemed to deter the crowd of Plain-garbed youth milling about, some in the lower area, near the stabled animals, others up in the haymow, swept clean for the gathering.

She heard the strains of country music. ‘‘Hey, check it out.''

Annie leaned forward a bit . . . then frowned. ‘‘Someone's goin' to be in trouble. It's got to be a radio or a CD player, one of the two.''

For a moment, Louisa wondered why an Amish barn would be rigged for electricity. ‘‘Must run on batteries,'' she said.

‘‘Always batteries. Still, we're not s'posed to have radios at singings. My father's spoken out on this at Preachin' plenty of times.'' Annie began to explain the different groups of kids, called ‘‘crowds.'' Some who pushed the boundaries and were considered liberal, some who were more middle of the road, and about five different groups like the one assembling here, who were more likely to toe the line. ‘‘Even still, there's often a rowdy one who tries to influence everyone else.''

Louisa had never had a reason to question the rank and file of Amish youth. She assumed they were all similar to Annie, merely wanting to have a good time mingling with the opposite sex, and ultimately, making a decision about their future. She had not expected to hear Kenny Chesney crooning ‘‘When the Sun Goes Down.'' Not here. And looking up, she spied the culprit perched high in the rafters. ‘‘Look, Annie.'' She pointed at the portable CD player.

Annie craned her neck. ‘‘I wonder how it got up
there
.''

‘‘Got a gymnast in this group?''

‘‘Jah, it takes all kinds.'' Annie stopped walking and turned toward Louisa. ‘‘Don't stare, whatever you do, but over yonder's my old beau.''

‘‘Auburn hair, right?'' She remembered from Annie's description in her letters and had already spotted Rudy standing with several other boys.

‘‘Uh-huh.''

He's gorgeous,
she thought.
Amish or not
.

‘‘Oh . . . no,'' Annie sputtered.

‘‘What?''

‘‘He's lookin' this way.''

Not only looking, but Rudy was walking toward them. ‘‘Don't freak,'' she told Annie softly. ‘‘Be cool.''

Rudy strolled right up to them. ‘‘Hullo, Annie. Nice to see ya.'' Then he smiled at Louisa, removing his straw hat. ‘‘You from round here?''

Annie spoke up. ‘‘This is Louisa Stratford, a friend of mine from Colorado.''

Nodding, Louisa said, ‘‘Hey. How's it going?'' But by the surprised look on his face she realized she'd said the wrong thing, the wrong way.
Too forward for a girl who looks Amish
.

Rudy frowned, scratching his head and eyeing Annie. ‘‘Stratford? Never heard of that one.''

‘‘That's because Louisa's English,'' Annie said.

‘‘But I sure don't look fancy, do I?'' Louisa couldn't resist, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. This Rudy was a wreck, absolutely on edge around Annie.

‘‘You're as Plain as any girl here.'' He offered a quick smile at last. With that he waved, especially at Annie, then put his hat back on, turned, and marched back across the barn to the other young men.

‘‘Oh,'' Annie groaned.

‘‘Yeah, I see what you mean. He's cute.'' She studied Annie, obviously still pining. ‘‘Why not get back with him again? It's not too late, is it?''

‘‘No . . . no, you don't understand'' came Annie's woeful reply.

‘‘Well, I'm not blind. I can see how miserable he is without you.'' She was convinced of this . . . she'd seen the way he looked at Annie.

‘‘I can't have it both ways—Rudy
and
my art.'' Annie sighed, turning away from the growing swarm of boys. ‘‘In order to ever marry at all, I would have to turn my back on my drawings and paintings.''

‘‘Bummer,'' Louisa whispered.

‘‘Time's running out for me . . . and the pickin's will become slim once I turn twenty-one. Most fellas get hitched up pretty quick once they eye the new batch of sixteen-year-old girls each year.'' Annie began to walk toward the barn door, swung wide for the evening.

‘‘Sixteen? Wow, that's young.''

‘‘That's when we start courting, lots of us girls do.''

Louisa shook her head. ‘‘Well, how can anyone possibly know who . . . or what . . . they want at that age? At twenty-two, I nearly made a huge mistake marrying the wrong guy.''

‘‘I know girls who marry and are expectin' their first baby by the time they're turning just eighteen.''

‘‘That's way too young,'' Louisa said again.

‘‘It's our way.''

Makes no sense to me
. Louisa looked at the dark sky, glad to have escaped the din of the barn. Several lone stars cut through the blackness, and she sensed Annie's dire frustration—being trapped between wanting her art and wishing to be a wife and mother someday, which suddenly united with Louisa's own very discouraging position.