The Preacher's Daughter (30 page)

‘‘Yours, too.'' It certainly was, and she was quite glad she'd found a quiet spot to chat. ‘‘The roses were so gorgeous . . . well, I mean they
are
. Thanks.''

‘‘I had the hardest time tracking you down, girl. What are you doing in Amish country?''

She laughed. ‘‘So you must've called my parents?''

‘‘Your mom told me about the wedding. I'm truly sorry, Louisa.''

‘‘Don't be. I'm having a blast here . . . sorting out some head junk.''

‘‘So, let me get this straight . . . you ran away from the wedding altar to go and hang with your Amish pen pal?''

‘‘Uh, close.''

‘‘Which part?''

‘‘I didn't exactly bail at the altar.'' She paused a moment. ‘‘Let's just say I would've been out of my mind to take that plunge.''

‘‘I can't say I'm disappointed,'' he stated, followed by an awkward pause. Then—‘‘I understand you're living in an old drafty farmhouse . . . probably not much different from the old digs I rent. Man, the winters chill straight to the bone here.''

She smiled into the phone. ‘‘Yep, I wake up to the sound of peacocks, roosters, and cows every morning. Bet you can't believe that.''

‘‘It is surprising, Louisa . . . knowing you.''

Not wanting to go there, she quickly asked, ‘‘How's the art business?''

‘‘Booming . . . you'd be surprised. Actually, you wouldn't.'' He paused. ‘‘I hope you're still painting—you have the magic, girl.''

‘‘Well, I don't know about
that,
'' she said, beaming inwardly.

‘‘I do have a buyer for my work, though, here in Lancaster County.''

‘‘At a gallery?''

‘‘Yep.''

‘‘Sold anything lately?''

She gladly filled him in, and he responded with the enthusiastic support she remembered so well.

‘‘Well, let's keep in touch, okay?''

She warmed to his words. ‘‘You have my cell number now, but I don't have electricity here at Annie's. I charge up twice a week down the road.''

He chuckled, that deep and jovial laugh she'd always enjoyed. ‘‘I hope you're kidding.''

‘‘Actually, I'm not.''

‘‘Really? No electricity?''

‘‘None.''

‘‘Running water?''

‘‘Some.''

‘‘This
is
interesting. Too bad you're not a writer. You could turn this funky experiment into a novel.''

She let out a little laugh, feeling terribly vulnerable . . . the way his voice gave her goose bumps. ‘‘I just might, at that. But it's really not an experiment. It's a most needful thing.'' She'd picked up on this phrase at Julia's one day and liked it. Trying it out now seemed both strange and truthful somehow.

‘‘Merry Christmas, Louisa. Terrific connecting with you.''

‘‘Same here. And a happy New Year, too.''

‘‘I'll call you soon.''

‘‘Bye.''

She scarcely noticed how rough going it was getting through the snow back to the house or how she'd begun to shiver. All she wanted to think about was the fantastic conversation she had just had with a most amazing guy, who, it seemed clear, was still interested in her.

I forgot to ask for his email address
. She laughed at herself, questioning her own motives.
No, I won't chase him,
she decided.

Jesse sat enjoying his second dessert of carrot cake in Deacon Byler's kitchen, where a number of the older men had lingered following their Christmas feast.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he noticed Zeke making his way toward him, this time with Esther in tow.
What's this? Has he already blabbed the secret to his wife?

‘‘Esther here has somethin' to say,'' Zeke said, not pulling any punches.

Jesse got up from the table and motioned for them to follow.
Where could they go for privacy with a houseful of people?
He eyed the stairs and headed there.

When the three of them were shut away in the smallest of the upstairs bedrooms, Zeke blurted out, ‘‘Esther, go on . . . tell the Preacher what you did.''

The young woman blinked her pretty blue eyes incessantly, cradling her swollen stomach. She looked at her husband, then back at Jesse, clearly nervous. ‘‘I . . . well, it's awful hard to explain.''

Jesse was moved with sympathy and touched her elbow, guiding her to the only chair in the room. ‘‘Rest yourself,'' he suggested, and she quickly did so.

‘‘Now, go back and start at the beginning.'' Zeke kept his distance, standing near the door.

‘‘I've known a few Mennonites since I was a little girl,'' Esther said. ‘‘But this one lady, not so far from us, well . . . she's always been kind to the children and me. Seems to seek me out . . . as a friend, Julia Ranck does.'' She continued, reciting the various occasions she had encountered Jesse's own kinfolk.

Zeke became impatient and raised his voice. ‘‘Get on with it, woman. Tell what wrong thing you did!''

Esther immediately looked down, biting her lip. Jesse had a hankering to interfere, once again aware of the intense conflict between the two. But he waited, his heart entirely too soft to this lily of a woman who had often spent hours with Annie under his own roof.

‘‘It's just this. Only this,'' she whispered. ‘‘I've found the Lord, at long last. Or maybe I should say He's found me.''

‘‘We are
all
followers of Christ and His church,'' Jesse replied.

She was shaking her head now. ‘‘I'm not talking 'bout man's rules.''

Zeke spoke up, ‘‘She's fallen for this like a boulder in a fish pond, Preacher.''

Jesse indicated with his hand that Zeke should calm down and be quiet. But when Zeke continued to rant, Jesse knew he had a larger dilemma on his hands. Not only was the man itching for conflict, he had more than one ax to grind. Jesse must firmly address the issue at hand and hope, it being Christmas, that Zeke's urgency for hunting down Isaac's killer might diminish.

Esther spoke again, eyes bright with tears. ‘‘I believe what my friend Julia reads from the Scriptures. I'm not ashamed to say I'm a follower of the Lord Jesus.''

Zeke snorted a laugh. ‘‘See? Didn't I tell ya, Preacher?''

‘‘I see no reason to ridicule your wife.'' Jesse turned to Zeke, putting a hand on the man's shoulder.

‘‘Well . . . go ahead. Ask her!'' Zeke was close to shouting, rebuffing him. ‘‘Ask her if she's saved.''

Before Jesse could do so, Esther was bobbing her head. ‘‘I have nothin' to hide . . . and nothin' to lose, neither one. I've given over my sins—my very life—to the Lord. I'm redeemed by His blood.''

All kinds of buzzers were going off in Jesse's head. He had only once encountered such a problem with a church member.
Embracing an alien belief,
he thought, suddenly feeling less merciful. ‘‘Well, now, ya know declaring yourself saved is the most prideful thing a person could possibly do, don't you, Esther?''

Zeke nodded his head fiercely. ‘‘Oh, she knows, all right. She's testin' ya and she's mighty good at it.''

Apparently there was no limit to Zeke's smart-aleck approach. ‘‘I'll be talkin' with Preacher Hochstetler and Deacon Byler on this,'' Jesse said, presently feeling the need to distance himself from the couple.

‘‘Well, and while you're at it, be sure 'n' see Bishop Stoltzfus 'bout that other important matter we discussed,'' Zeke demanded.

Jesse held his peace, but what he truly wanted to do was to cut loose on the younger man. But he squelched the impulse for a full-blown confrontation with their mouthiest church member. ‘‘You'll be hearin' back from me—both of yous.'' But he had no intention of squabbling with the bishop.

Turning toward the door, he opened it and walked as confidently as he could muster into the hallway and down the stairs.

Chapter 30

A
gray smothering of clouds was suspended near the earth the whole week following Christmas, and although the atmosphere seemed conducive to snow, none fell.

The People marked the New Year by going from one relative's house to another, visiting extended family near and far. Some of the aging parents with more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than they could count knew they would still be having so-called Christmas dinner get-togethers come Easter. And many of those same youngsters displayed their Christmas gifts in the sitting room for visitors to see, especially teenage girls who had received a first ‘‘good china'' cup and saucer or floral dish for a hope chest.

It was nearly Epiphany, the day often referred to by older church members as ‘‘Old Christmas.'' Annie's father asked her to pick up a new harness at Cousin Irvin's tack shop. Louisa hadn't been feeling well, because she'd caught a nasty head cold and was nursing a fever, as well. So Annie headed out alone with the team.

Her younger brothers were busy helping slaughter steers three farms over, and Daed was tied up with the ministers over at the bishop's place. Annie was glad the majority of the pre-Christmas snowfall had turned to slush, at least on the main roadways.

Finding herself with the only horse left at home, one of the slowest driving horses Daed owned, she figured she might as well take her time to get where she was going. She settled into the front seat, glad for all the weight of the lap robes, as well as several heated bricks Mamm had given her for the trip.

Her thoughts meandered back to Christmas dinner—of observing Zeke coercing Esther to speak with Daed. Poor Esther's eyes were terribly pained and her big belly protruded like she was surely close to her time of delivery as she and Zeke followed Daed up the long staircase. Annie guessed Zeke was urging her to confess those things she'd already told Annie—of having found a friend in Jesus, in so many words.

Perhaps this is also the reason for Daed's meeting with the brethren today
. She shuddered to think of her long-time friend being put under the
Bann,
if only for a few probationary weeks. Even still, knowing the tenacity Esther was willing to exhibit—rare for a woman—Annie wouldn't put it past her to endure the punishment without coming under the Ordnung. No, if anyone could hold her ground against the ministers it was Essie Hochstetler.
And her best sidekick . . . me
. Annie stifled a smile, knowing she ought not to be at all proud of it and wouldn't think of saying so to anyone. Least of all her father.

In the small parking area outside the harness shop, designated for horses and buggies, Annie tied her father's horse to the hitching post and headed inside, aware of the jingling bell on the door.

The first few days of Ben Martin's new job had blended uneventfully with the instruction Irvin Ranck had so kindly offered—the cleaning and refurbishing of harnesses. Ben enjoyed watching Irvin lay out the inventory of leather, using patterns to cut out and sew up harnesses. Some were quite ornate, as in the matching sets of six for a team of Belgian horses. He hadn't needed extensive training in the trade, having kept himself busy with horses in Kentucky—especially at the Saddle Shop near Marion, where he had been employed since high school graduation. A lover of horses and racing, he had spent many summers as a groom at Churchill Downs, home of the Kentucky Derby, and filled his other leisure hours with stints as assistant coach for the local high school's football team.

The obnoxious dinging bell alerted him to the next customer, and when he looked up, he saw a blond Amish girl coming through the door. She was so pleasing to look at he was caught off guard . . . failed to call out his usual greeting. He could not overlook the confident tilt of her head and the purposeful way she carried herself. She was now walking toward him, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

When he found his voice, it was excessively strong. ‘‘May I help you, miss?''

‘‘Hullo. Well, I hope so,'' she replied, smiling, ‘‘ 'cause it sure was a long ride over here in the cold.''

Is she merely mischievous?
He didn't know. Certainly not flirtatious, he didn't think, although there was a curious twinkle in her eyes.
Blue . . . they're definitely blue
.

‘‘Cousin Irvin must've needed some help round here, jah?'' she said.

He nodded, captivated by her demeanor . . . the fact that she did not seem put off by his being non-Amish and her being every bit as Plain as the four hundred or so horse-and-buggy-folk who'd settled in Crittenden County in Kentucky, where he had grown up.

‘‘My father's in need of his order, and I s'pose you know what that would be.''

‘‘I'll look it up. What's the name?''

‘‘Preacher Zook,'' she said. ‘‘That's not me, of course. My father's one of the ministers round here.''

A preacher's daughter,
he thought. And this one was made of pure spunk.

He pulled his grin into check and hurried off to look up the order for a Zook. He hadn't recalled a farmer with that name coming in to drop off a harness since he started the day after New Year's, but there had been so many unusual surnames floating around. Glick, Stoltzfus, Lapp . . . and more.

So . . . how does a guy go about getting a date with an Amish chick?
he wondered, answering himself promptly,
He doesn't, nut head
.

Returning with the newly refurbished leather harness, he rang up the bill, aware of her fragrance there in the midst of leather and oil. Not the earthy, soil-beneath-the-fingernails kind of aroma he expected, but the spring-fresh smell of a young woman. Not more than twenty, if he was correct. He didn't care to analyze that his mouth had gone ridiculously dry, but he knew he had to at least discover her name.