The Preacher's Daughter (3 page)

So she'd attempted to get around the Scripture and simply drew a colored-pencil self-portrait, showing the oval shape of her face, the single dimple, the soft blue in her eyes, and her golden-blond hair. She had also sketched the sacred symbol—the white heart-shaped head covering with its white ribbons dangling onto the bodice of her light green cape dress.

Such a long time ago,
she thought, remembering how Louisa had written back with praise about the drawing, saying she'd immediately framed it for her bedside table. Annie wondered if Louisa still had it.

Here recently Annie had spent a rainy afternoon, counting her letters from Louisa, only to quit after reaching nearly five hundred. Smiling now at her amazing connection, not only with the outside world but with her English friend, she began to swing her arms, enjoying the pleasure of walking instead of having to hitch up the horse and carriage, as she often did to help Mamm on market days.

Yet even as she pretended to be carefree, she could not ignore the pangs of guilt.

Good thing Daed has no idea
. She pondered the significance of her actions, or when it came to joining church, her lack thereof.

Sighing, she spied an enclosed gray buggy up ahead, pulled by a prancing steed with shiny new horseshoes. The young woman driver waved urgently. ‘‘Annie, is that you?''

Rhoda Esh!

Pleased as pie, Annie waved back just as enthusiastically. ‘‘Hullo, there!'' she called, hoping Rudy's younger sister might stop and chat a bit.

‘‘I'm so glad I ran into you,'' Rhoda said, pulling on the reins. She motioned for Annie to get in the buggy. ‘‘Come on 'n' ride with me, won't ya? We best be talkin' some.''

Annie lifted her skirt and climbed into the buggy.

Right away, Rhoda spoke her mind. ‘‘I'm not s'posed to know, prob'ly, but Susie Yoder's cousin's big-mouthed sister said Rudy has been seein' Susie 'stead of you.'' Rhoda's brown eyes were about as big as gingersnaps.

Annie shrugged. ‘‘My lips are zipped.''

‘‘Aw, surely ya know
something . . .
after all, Rudy was your beau all them years.'' Rhoda eyed her curiously and slapped the reins, getting the steed moving again.

‘‘Well, if ya must know, ask him.''

‘‘I'm askin' you!''

Annie kept her eyes forward, wishing she might've continued to walk instead of accepting the ride.

‘‘Can't ya give me a hint . . . the least little one?'' Rhoda pleaded. ‘‘Honestly, I'm in your corner. I wouldn't want Susie Yoder for my sister-in-law.''

‘‘Oh, why not? She's a right nice girl.''

Rhoda paused a moment. Then she said, ‘‘Well, I'd have to say it's because she's nothin' like you.''

Ain't that the truth,
thought Annie.

‘‘Surely Rudy didn't have a fallin' out with ya, did he?''

Puh!
Truth was they'd fussed like two cats toward the end. One of them feistier than the other. Even so, Rudy had been the most wonderfully kind—even affectionate—boy she'd ever known during the years of their courtship. She had accepted rides home from Sunday night singing with several other fellows before him, but the minute she'd met Rudy, there was no other for her. Rhoda knew as well as anyone there was nothing bad to report about her own brother. He was not a troublemaker like some fellas. If anything,
she
had been the problem, unwilling to join church when he was ready to.

‘‘We've parted ways, Rhoda, and that's all I'm gonna say.''

Rhoda sniffled, like she might burst out crying, but Annie decided no fit of temper was going to change her mind. What had transpired between Rudy and herself was nobody's business. Least of all Rhoda's, who Annie just realized was something of a tittle-tattle.

They rode a good quarter mile in silence. Then, hesitantly, Rhoda asked, ‘‘Where're ya headed?''

‘‘To my cousins, Irvin and Julia's, but I can get out here and walk the rest of the way.'' She wished Rhoda would take that as a hint to halt the horse.

‘‘No . . . no, that's all right. Ain't so far out of my way.''

In a few minutes, they arrived at the redbrick house, set back a ways from the road. Irvin Ranck owned a harness shop across the vast meadow behind the house, in a barnlike structure he'd built years ago. Daed had always spoken well of his first cousin. Irvin was a good and honest man, one Mennonite the Amish farmers didn't mind paying for their stable gear. Just maybe that was the reason her father hadn't protested her working for the Rancks, even though Irvin's family had left the Amish church many decades before.

‘‘
Denki
for the ride,'' Annie said, hopping down from the carriage.

‘‘I'll be seein' ya'' was all Rhoda said with a quick wave.

Hurrying up the walkway to the prim house, Annie spied four-year-old James pushing a toy lawn mower over a pile of leaves in the side yard. ‘‘Hullo!'' she called and was delighted to see his eager smile.

‘‘Cousin Annie!'' the towheaded tyke called, running toward her with open arms.

‘‘How's your little sister?'' She gave him a quick squeeze and let him go.

‘‘Oh, Molly's got lots of bumps . . . you'll see.'' James hurried alongside her as they rounded the corner of the house, entered through the back door, and walked upstairs to the nursery.

James was quite right. Molly had oodles more chicken pox bumps than two days ago, wearing mittens now so she couldn't scratch. She was plumped up with several pillows, sitting in her toddler-sized bed made by her father.

‘‘Annie's here . . .'' said Molly, trying to smile.

‘‘
Jah,
I'm here, sweet one. And we'll look at lots of books together, all right?'' Her heart went out to the little blond girl with eyes blue as cornflowers.

That brought a bigger smile to Molly's face, and James promptly went to the small bookcase and picked up a stack of board books. ‘‘These are Molly's favorites,'' he said, placing them gently in Annie's hands.

Bright-eyed Julia sat on the edge of her daughter's small bed, looking pretty in one of her hand-sewn floral print dresses. She wore her light brown hair in a bun, similar to Annie's, only Julia's was set higher on her head. Atop her bun, she wore the formal cup-shaped Mennonite head covering.

‘‘I need to visit one of my expectant mothers in Strasburg today,'' Julia said softly. ‘‘She wants me present at the birth of her baby in a few weeks. I hope you don't mind.''

‘‘Ach, no, we'll be fine,'' she said. ‘‘Won't we?'' Annie looked at both children, who were bobbing their heads and smiling.

Cousin Julia went on to say that the word was getting out about her being a ‘‘gentle midwife, although I'm not certified at all.''

‘‘But you have such a comforting way,'' Annie commented. ‘‘I can see why folks depend on you.''

Later, after Julia had left and Annie had read each little book twice, she pulled up the quilted coverlet and smiled down at Molly, already asleep and clinging to her favorite dolly. Annie turned and raised her pointer finger to her lips as she and James tiptoed out of the nursery. ‘‘Time now for your nap, too, young man,'' she whispered, and the boy willingly followed her down the hall.

When James was tucked in, Annie hurried to the attic. Instead of closing the door behind her as usual, she left it wide open, tuning an ear to the children.

Over the years, she had managed to purchase everything she needed to create her landscape paintings, as well as her few attempts at portraits: Irvin and Julia's children, either from memory or from photographs. Naturally, she didn't dare bring even James up here for a sitting. And both Irvin and Julia knew her love for creating was to be held in the closest of confidence, even though Julia had admitted to being tempted to hire a professional tutor for Annie.

Mixing paints on her palette, she dabbed some purple onto the sky, making repeated attempts to blend it to create a rich lavender streak. Next, she gave the clouds a wispy sweep with her brush.

She eyed the canvas and scrutinized the creek bed and cluster of trees. She had stood on that very spot some weeks back, studying and pondering what precisely had happened there so long ago. But now she checked off each aspect of the painting in her mind . . . the sunlight twinkling on the wide stream, the covered bridge, the density of the trees, the depth of gray and the basket-weave texture of the trunks, complete with thorns protruding from trunk and limb. And the pale autumn yellow of the leaves.

The trees could not be climbed due to the wicked thorns, yet locust wood was the toughest kind, much stronger than cedar. It made the best fence posts, too, according to her eldest brother, Jesse, soon to be considered a master carpenter.

Annie stood in the middle of the unfinished garret where the easel had been positioned so that light from the two dormer windows, especially in the afternoon, could spill around the canvas like a crown. But the grayness outdoors was hardly adequate today, so Annie turned on the recessed lighting, which Irvin had so kindly installed last year. She always felt a thrilling sensation when flicking on the light switch.

Going back now to stand before the painting, she contemplated the waft and wisp of clouds. Several bluebirds populated the painting, one in flight, two others perched on a distant branch—feathery flecks of color.

Something's missing. . . .

She moved closer, her brush poised. The connection of hand to brush and brush on canvas sometimes triggered something important, something subconscious pulled into awareness.

Holding her breath, she touched her brush to the first tree.

The long swing, that's what!

Steadying her hand, she drew a thin line down.
Jah . . . good
.

Suddenly, she heard her name being called. ‘‘Annie!'' The sound came from downstairs. ‘‘Are you up there, Annie?''

Someone—
who?
—was coming up the staircase!

‘‘I'm here,'' she called back, her heart in her throat.

‘‘What the world are ya doin' up there?''

Now she recognized the voice as her sister-in-law Sarah Mae.

No . . . no, dear Lord God, no!

Dropping her brush, she grabbed the nearest rag and began to wipe the paint off her hands. She heard Sarah Mae's footsteps on the wide-plank hallway at the base of the stairs and her heart began pounding.

She's going to discover my secret!

Quickly Annie stepped out of the studio, pulled the door closed behind her, and ran down the staircase, bumping into Sarah Mae as she did. ‘‘Oh, hullo,'' she managed to say.

Sarah Mae's round face was flushed and her blue eyes were inquisitive. ‘‘I knocked on the front door but guessed the children were asleep, so I just let myself in.''

Annie nodded, feeling nearly dizzy with fright.

‘‘What're ya doin' clear up here?'' asked Sarah Mae. Then, without waiting for a reply, she added, ‘‘Does Julia have you redd up her attic, too?''

Not wanting to lie, Annie paused, thinking what to say, stumbling over several answers in her head. She stared down at the rag and said, ‘‘Jah, I'm cleanin' up a bit.''

‘‘Well, I stopped by to see if you'd be wantin' a ride home, since it looks to be turning a bit cold . . . and I'm headed there to drop off some blueberry jam to Mamm.''

‘‘I need to stay put till Julia returns. But denki—thank you.''

Sarah Mae nodded, ‘‘All right, then.'' She inched her way backward down the narrow staircase.

Whew!
Annie blew out a puff of air.
I must be more careful!

Chapter 2

F
ollowing a supper of lamb loaf, scalloped asparagus, buttered carrots, homemade bread with Sarah Mae's blueberry jam, and topped off with Mamm's well-loved misty mint salad, Annie washed and dried the dishes, taking pleasure in redding up. Mamm put away the few leftovers in their new gas-powered refrigerator, then swept the floor.

Soon her father wandered to the corner cupboard and took down the big family Bible for evening reading and silent prayers. He went and poked his head out the back door and called for Yonie, just turned nineteen last week, Luke, seventeen, and Omar, fifteen months younger than Luke—all courting age.

Annie had heard Daed refer quite often to his ‘‘empty wallet'' now that Omar was sixteen. The price of a good road horse was twenty-five hundred dollars, not to mention her father's purchase of a new open buggy for Luke, close to three thousand dollars. All this with Daed being something of a penny-pincher, too. But a new horse and buggy assured each boy attendance at the all-important Sunday night singings, as well as other necessary activities during rumschpringe—the running-around years before a young person settled down to marry.

Later, when evening prayers were done, Annie hurried upstairs to her room and lit the gas lamp. She sat at the little maple desk Daed had made for her twelfth birthday, pulled out the narrow center drawer and found her floral stationery. She was mighty curious to know how things had turned out with Louisa's mother's idea of having dozens of white doves released from cages as the bride and groom hurried out of the church to something called a stretch limousine, whatever that was. Annie had not the faintest idea about most of the things Louisa shared in her letters. Nonetheless, she began to write to her best English friend:

Wednesday, October 26

Dear Louisa,

Hello again. How are you doing?

I've been thinking so much about you lately. I hope you're not as tired this week as you said you were last, what with all the places you and your mother have been rushing to. Hither and yon, goodness me! Do you ever feel like just going to bed with the chickens, the way I do?