The Preacher's Daughter (5 page)

‘‘She's as trapped as I am . . . in a different way,'' she whispered into the air, thinking how ironic it was that she had not been able to pry herself away from her parents' wishes for her own wedding. Just as Annie had not been able to please her parents by abandoning her art and joining the Amish church.

‘‘Louisa,'' her mother said, tugging her back from her reverie, ‘‘let's have lunch. Somewhere wonderful.''

Conscious of her mother's anticipation, she surrendered. ‘‘Sure, if you like, Mother.''

Her mother waved at the thirty-something wedding planner, Katrina Tyler, who was pulling into the parking lot. ‘‘Why don't we head downtown to the Brown Palace Hotel and kill two birds with one stone?'' Mother suggested. ‘‘Would you like that?''

Translation:
Why don't we sample the reception dinner entrée?

‘‘I'd really rather not.'' The words tumbled surprisingly off her lips.

‘‘Beg your pardon, dear?''

Pardon, indeed . . .

Louisa shook her head. ‘‘Can't we trust the head chef, the wait staff, Ms. Tyler, and everyone else you and Daddy have shelled out tens of thousands of dollars to, to get it right? To make
my
wedding day the perfect memory. Can't we, Mother?''

Her mother's brow pinched up and her tone turned icy. ‘‘We're scheduled to meet the caterer there.''

‘‘I'd much rather grab some fast food. I'll ask Katrina to meet us at—''

‘‘The luncheon is already set, Louisa.''

Why didn't you say so?
She glanced over her shoulder and noticed the boutique owner's face crumpling while whispering to the clerk.

Louisa turned to leave and politely held the door. She forced herself to slow her pace and wave at Ms. Tyler when she opened her car window and called a perfunctory greeting. ‘‘I can drive if you'd like,'' the wedding planner offered.

‘‘I'm driving!'' Louisa said. ‘‘We'll meet you there.'' She matched the dignified slow tempo of her mother's stride. Everything these days—
everything
—was a corresponding link to the Stratford family name and fortune. The way things were expected to be. All the years of finishing school—how to walk and not to, how to point toes, cross legs at ankles, how to present oneself perfectly in public . . . whether dressed in scanty swim attire, tea-length tailored suit, or floor-length evening gown. She knew the drill.

‘‘I'll spring for burgers, okay?'' she said, making one final attempt when they were settled in the car. ‘‘We could eat them on the way. Consider it appetizers.'' She snickered at her own mouthy joke.

‘‘Far too much fat for a bride who must fit into her size two gown.'' Mother said, shifting into her most-determined mode.

‘‘I'm not worried about clogged arteries or zipping up my gown. You never saw what I ate during art school.''

‘‘Well, we fed you the very best food growing up.''

The very best . . .
How often had she heard that?

At Seventeenth Street, they pulled up for valet parking at the Brown Palace Hotel, and Louisa was told they were lunching at Ellyngton's, the place to be seen and home to the ‘‘power meal.'' Maybe Michael might wander in for lunch with his attorney pals. She could only hope so.

After all,
she thought wryly,
we're on the brink of marriage . . .

When they were settled at a window overlooking Denver's lively financial district, Mother suggested the baby greens and three-tomato salad on the starter section of the menu, to which Louisa quickly agreed. In doing so, she would improve her chances of ordering what she really wanted for her main course, which was neither the spinach and wild mushroom salad nor the lemon-marinated salmon. The Angus burger would satisfy her hunger. She had enjoyed it before, several months ago when Michael had met her here during his short lunch hour, to discuss a prenuptial agreement his attorney had drawn up. She'd found it to be rather annoying at first but was informed of the ‘‘necessity'' of such an agreement, as explained to her later by Michael's private attorney. And, silly her, she should have figured this might happen, with the amassed Berkeley fortune being ‘‘old money,'' unlike her family's more recently acquired wealth. After cooling down, which took a few days, she had signed on the dotted line, with a wink and a nod from Michael, who assured her there was ‘‘no need to worry.''

Now she reached for her glass of sparkling mineral water, studying Katrina, who had taken her checklist out of her briefcase. No older than thirty-two,
this
wedding planner was earning her keep. She would not derail with an impertinent approach and had way more style than her predecessors. She also possessed the single most important ingredient of all: the ability to persevere.

Yep, Ms. Tyler will cross the finish line
.

Later, when Mother and Katrina ordered identical desserts of apple beignets with lingonberry jam, Louisa went for broke with the black bottom pie, having chickened out on the burger and ordered a chicken entrée instead.

But it was following the meal, when the schmoozing with the caterer started, that Louisa stifled her opinion. She followed Katrina's lead, feigning interest in the reception entrée options: Filet Mignon, Roast Prime Rib of Beef, Chicken Edgar, Chicken Italia, Sesame Seared Salmon, and Herb-Crusted Haddock. Or a trio of three to please all palates.

After an hour and a half, she was no longer able to sit demurely by. She glared up at the chandelier, fidgeting idly with her smart phone and keys, wishing she dared call Michael. But his day would be demanding as always, tied up with important clients, as a busy junior partner at a competing law firm some miles from her father's.

Mother continued to deliberate the selection of ivory versus ecru linens, now kindly conferring with Katrina on the matter. Louisa let her mind drift away to the perfect daydream . . . to gorgeous Michael, who planned to drop by her apartment after work tomorrow evening. Together they would grill the steaks marinating in her fridge, but he would insist on making a walloping big Mediterranean salad while she stir-fried his favorite snow peas, oyster mushrooms, young asparagus spears, and strips of red and yellow bell peppers. Once dinner was over, she would share what was troubling her, confiding her dire frustration, asking if it was too late.
Too late for what, babe?
To make their mark on the most important day of their lives. Or, better yet, to go back to the drawing board and do it their way. He would assure her, pull her into his arms, and fervently kiss away her stress, while Muffin, her blue-gray cat, would blink his green eyes all curled up on Louisa's funky secondhand black-speckled Garbo sofa.

A good dose of sanity . . . soon!
She could hardly wait.

Chapter 4

S
unlight played chase with yesterday's fog, and the newly painted clapboard farmhouse beamed like a white moon against the backdrop of a considerable willow tree in the backyard. There, dozens of scarlet cardinals flocked to its branches in the early evening, as if drawn to the thousands of golden leaves.

A stand of sugar maples on the opposite side yard made a show of their dazzling red tresses, and each day more crimson blanketed the ground below.

Never in disrepair, though more than a hundred years old, the three-story house stood as a testament to hard work and constant care. Out front, just steps from the yard, a scarcely traveled ribbon of road divided the property in two—the house on one side and the barn and several outbuildings on the other.

Annie stared out her bedroom window at the radiant foliage bursting forth from nearly every tree, the array of colors reminding her of an artist's palette. She chided herself a bit.
No time for daydreaming during the harvest,
she thought,
what with everyone keeping busy—men filling silo, womenfolk making applesauce and cider, this very morning, in fact, in Mamm's big kitchen.
She headed downstairs.
I must do my part, too. For now. . . .

Annie and her mother were soon joined by more than a dozen women, each assuming a different task. Looking around intently, she saw that one very important helper was missing. Annie held her breath, thinking of her dear friend Esther Hochstetler, hoping she might yet arrive even at this late hour.

Mamm's three older sisters, Aunts Suzanne, Emma, and Frannie were on hand with their married daughters, Mary, Katie, Suzie, Nancy, Becky, Rhoda, and Barbianne. Another half hour passed, and Esther was still not there, even though two weeks ago at Preaching service she'd told Annie she was definitely coming today.

I hope she's feeling all right
. Esther was expecting again, and this pregnancy seemed to be the reason she gave lately for staying home.

Annie continued to help her cousins prepare the apples for cooking into sauce, cutting a neat circle in each apple to core the seeds and stem. All the while, Barbianne and Suzie chattered about the corn-husking bee tomorrow, the familiar light evident in their eyes as they talked softly of those ‘‘pairing up,'' unaware of Annie's hollow heart.

They continued whispering of the fun in store, hoping one of them might find the colored corn—Indian corn—for a special prize of candy or cream-filled cookies.

Then, for no particular reason, Annie happened to glance up. There was Esther coming through the back porch and mud-room area, hesitating slightly before stepping foot in the kitchen, looking awful tired and pale.

Lickety-split, Annie set down her paring knife and wiped her hands on her apron. She rushed to Esther's side. ‘‘Ach, I'm so glad you're here!'' She pulled her into the kitchen. ‘‘Where have you been keepin' yourself?''

Esther blinked her pretty eyes, blue as can be. ‘‘Oh, you know me . . .'tis easy to get caught up with the little ones.''

‘‘Well, two in diapers must be nearly like havin' twins.''

Esther nodded. ‘‘Jah, seems so at times.''

‘‘Who's with them today?''

Esther paused. ‘‘Uh . . . Mamma came by, said I needed to get out a bit.''

Annie agreed. ‘‘I'm glad she did!'' She led Esther over to the section of the table where the cousins were still coring and peeling. ‘‘How does your big girl like first grade?''

‘‘Laura thinks goin' to school is the next best thing to homemade ice cream.'' Esther gave Annie a quick smile. ‘‘But I miss her help at home . . . for sure.''

They went over and began working on the first bushel basket. Then, after a bit, when the next group of women had the apples quartered and ready for the sugar, cinnamon, and water, they all took a short break while that mixture cooked.

Annie sat with Esther at the far end of the table, pouring extra sugar into her own cup of tea. ‘‘Laura's always been keen on learnin', seems to me.''

Esther nodded, holding her teacup. ‘‘She's doin' all right . . . in school, jah.''

‘‘I remember I always liked spelling best.'' She bit her tongue and almost said
drawing,
too. But, of course, that subject was never taught in the little one-room schoolhouse over yonder. ‘‘I remember your favorite was geography. Am I right?''

Esther's lip quivered slightly and she was still.

‘‘You all right?'' Annie touched her arm. ‘‘Come, let's walk over to the outhouse right quick.''

‘‘No . . . no. I'll keep workin' here—you go on.''

Annie was stumped. Esther looked to be troubled about something, so why did she clam up like that?

Hurrying out the back door, Annie headed around the side yard to the wooden outhouse. She hoped Esther was all right, really she did. Essie, as she'd called her when they were girls, had always been a most cheerful playmate. She and her family had lived a ten-minute buggy ride away, so she and Annie got to visit each other often, and Annie loved it, being the only girl in a family of boys. She also remembered that up until Essie's courting years, she'd worn a constant smile on her pretty face.

But sadly it wasn't long after Essie married Ezekiel that the infectious smile began to fade. Soon Essie was asking folk to drop her youthful nickname. ‘‘Call me Esther from now on,'' she insisted.

In the few months following her wedding day, Esther became sullen, even distant, and within the year, she was scarce at gatherings. When she did go to help can vegetables and fruits or put up canned meats, she didn't say much unless spoken to first. It was as if Esther had to be pried free of something each and every time.

Annie could not put her finger on the reason for the drastic change. But something sank in her like a rock in a dew pond whenever she thought about who her friend had become. What was it about getting hitched up that caused the light to go out of some girls' eyes?

Annie shook away her fretting and headed back to the house. She wished she could help, but there was a thick wall around Esther now and it seemed no one could break through.

Just then Annie spied her father and Rudy Esh's older brother, Caleb, across the road smoking cigars near the springhouse. How peculiar. In all her days she did not recall ever seeing Caleb Esh chewing the fat with Daed.

A little shiver went down her back, seeing Caleb, because he looked a lot like Rudy.
What on earth does he want with my father?

But, alas, she'd worried enough for one morning. Taking a deep breath, she forced her attention back to applesauce-making and to dear downtrodden Esther. She opened the back door to the tantalizing aroma of tart Granny Smith applesauce.

Jesse Zook puffed on his cigar, exercising as much forbearance as possible, saying not a word as Caleb Esh gabbed away.

‘‘My brother Rudy must have had a good reason for picking a different girl—it's just that I think your Annie's far and away a better choice of a mate, Preacher.''