The Preacher's Daughter (7 page)

Several girls had their heads together, giggling.

‘‘Once one of them flew off lookin' for his mate after she died. . . . I'm not kidding.'' Annie straightened her apron and pushed her shoulders back. ‘‘But for the most part, they stay put. They don't stray too far from home.''

‘‘Besides that, peahens are some of the best mothers ever,'' Kate Byler added amidst more peals of laughter. ‘‘Now, listen. What Annie's sayin' is ever so true.''

More than amused by Kate's seriousness, Annie watched her dark eyes sparkle as she appointed different girls to carry the trays of drinks out to the men.

As if on cue, right then Rudy Esh appeared in the back doorway. His auburn hair shimmered clean, and he held his head at a slight angle, as if questioning her resolve even now. ‘‘It's time to team up and get to workin','' he announced.

His take-charge voice reminded Annie of all the happy yet frustrating years she'd spent as his girl. Here was a young man who knew precisely what he wanted in life, and she'd fully messed it up for him.

Turning her attention back to the girls, she refused to let on, but she missed him all to pieces.

Louisa kept to the speed limit as she headed up Highway 285 toward the town of Conifer, taking in the sweeping views of pine and evergreen. The highway was a two-lane sliver of concrete, crawling with cars filled with hikers, soon-to-be bikers, and tourists too late for peak foliage of aspen gold.

She was glad for a blue-sky day with not a threat of snow or sleet. This late in the season, a blizzard frequently enveloped the road within minutes of the first sign of snow-laden clouds moving quickly from the mountains to the eastern plains.

At Pine Junction, she made the turn south on Route 126, her ultimate destination being the cozy bedroom community called Pine a few miles from Buffalo Creek, another well-kept secret with an elevation of eighty-two-hundred feet above sea level. She knew of a secluded inn where she'd gone to work on several drawings sometime ago. The place was set back in the woods, with hiking trails that led to a spectacular overlook. She had called to reserve a room for the night, for the purpose of getting her emotional bearings. Of course, she could be reached if necessary, and she checked the time on her smart phone as the Mercedes climbed in altitude.

‘‘Let's talk. . . .''

Michael's tense voice mail still ricocheted in her head. What was there to discuss? They had talked for more than an hour by phone following the superb steak dinner, only for Louisa to understand more fully how susceptible to the trappings of success Michael had become. Her fiancé's true motives had finally surfaced.
Just like Mother and Daddy,
she thought,
and all their friends
.

Excessive extravagance—the kind Michael continued to argue for, even on behalf of her own mother—had begun to slowly sicken her toward all she had grown accustomed to, although she had never known anything different. But now, enough was enough, and the way Michael had explained it, there was simply no room for compromise.

She pondered her life as Michael's wife. They were formed from the same mold, but she had come to long for something meaningful . . . the simple life, the way Annie Zook lived. At this moment such a peaceful existence strongly beckoned to her.

Most importantly, she could not marry a man who was so consumed with his career and making money that his wife—and eventually the children he wanted—would come in at second or third place. Or maybe fall right through the cracks.

She glanced at the sky now, at each tuft and curl of clouds, contemplating what she would give up by not going through with the marriage. Her father's favor and approval, for one. Possibly her eventual inheritance . . . who was to know? Anything and everything money could buy. She conjured up images of being disowned, destitute. At least she would have a say in how she lived her life.

If she were to call off the wedding, she would have to tell Michael first, then her parents. She must also be the one to tell her maid-of-honor.
Courtney will think I'm insane!
The rest could hear it from Mother.

She gripped the steering wheel as though clutching the remnants of her life.
Will my parents ever forgive me? Will Michael?

What was she to be absolved of really? Hadn't they gotten the whole relationship started . . . that first blind date introduction?

At least she would give them an earlier heads up than most runaway brides. She would not wait until the actual wedding day, nor would she wait until the luxurious rehearsal dinner to call it off. There was still adequate time to alert guests,
immediately
. Most had not sent RSVPs yet, nor had many gifts arrived.

So much for the Fostoria crystal and the posh flatware, including two sets of silver-plated tableware. None of which reflected her taste—all chosen with Mother's plans for them in mind.

She thought back to the day Michael had accompanied her and her mother on yet another trip to register for wedding gifts; this one at Nordstrom in Park Meadows Mall, in south Denver. There had been tiny chinks in the armor again on that day. The hollow feeling she had when Mother kept insisting on the most impractical things—the one-of-a-kind placemats that had to be thrown away if ever soiled, the linen napkins, the too-delicate glassware for everyday use. Michael had seemed to approve of her mother's every selection, surprisingly.

And only the most exclusive honeymoon package would do for them.
Nothing but the best
. His mantra. And hers, as well . . . until now. Something had snapped, and there was no turning back.

Adjusting her automatic seat, she hoped Michael's parents could get a good portion of their money back. Ditto for her parents. The last thing she wanted to do was rob them blind. But even with three weeks' notice, there was an enormous risk of loss.

She thought again of her pen pal, wishing Annie had access to email. Instant messaging would be even better. She needed to talk to her, but only one telephone serviced four Amish farmhouses, and those homes were well spaced, as she understood it.

There was something quite incredible about the wisdom of the unassuming girl who'd become her truest friend, though she lived in a remote area of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Louisa knew precisely where, because after only two exchanges of letters, she had searched out the town of Paradise in her father's big atlas. The one most highly prized by Daddy nestled on the first shelf nearest the writing desk, in his cherry-paneled home library.

Annie would understand. . . .

She pulled into the inn's wide dirt driveway and found a parking spot. Turning off the ignition, she leaned on the steering wheel, looking up at the historic rock-hewn structure of Meadow Creek B&B.

The fresh, strong scent of pine hung in the air, and the trickle of the spring-fed stream bordering the property welcomed her back.

If there's a God, He would definitely hang His hat here,
she thought, getting out of the car and pulling her backpack behind her. She had never been one for church, the result of her parents being too socially busy to bother with religion. Their god was their lifestyle, and even they would not have disputed the fact.

Suddenly a strange idea struck her, and she stopped walking.
What if I went to visit Annie . . . to see just how long I can last without the good life?

The notion was incredible—staying with an Amish family, if they'd be agreeable to it. Actually, it was quite perfect!

But she could hear it now. Her parents cautioning her, questioning her once their anger subsided over the called-off wedding.
If
they ever calmed down.
You're out of your mind, dear.
What are you thinking?

Michael would sneer,
You don't think you're just like us? Well, sure, try it for a while. But you'll cave, and then you'll come crawling back, ready to accept your real life
.

Annie absolutely refused to give up, keeping an eye out for the coveted colored corn on the stalks, hoping to find it, to be a winner of a special prize. She'd heard from Rudy, who was working on the same team as she, that the prizes were not merely homemade candies and cookies this time.
Why would he tell me that?
she wondered.

She couldn't get over how nice he had been to her for all the hours they had worked to husk the corn from the stalk, but then she'd never been ditched by a beau before, so she wasn't exactly sure how she should act. And what she did know, nevertheless, was how terribly difficult it was to stand in such close proximity to him, as they tied the stalks into bundles. She caught the occasional whiff of his sweet-smelling peppermint gum, which he seemed to continually chew, no matter what he was doing.

I must still love him,
she thought.
But I love my art even more. . . .

Rudy had been most pleasant during their courtship. For too long, she had simply taken his keen affection for granted, just assuming it would always be there, offered to her for the taking. But here they were working shoulder-to-shoulder, yet no longer planning a future as husband and wife. Quite the contrary. They'd gone their separate ways, so to speak, all the while involved in the same church district.

She wondered,
Can it be?
Was his thoughtfulness this day a way to show he still appreciated her? No animosity between them? If so, she was grateful, Indian corn or not.

‘‘I found some!'' Cousin Barbianne called out.

‘‘Give that girl a treat,'' one of Rudy's buddies hollered.

‘‘By all means!'' said Rudy himself.

Barbianne blushed, obviously a little embarrassed yet thrilled to be a winner. But her big brown eyes sparkled as she was given the large whoopie pie, its icing threatening to trickle out between two homemade slabs of chocolate cookies.

Just then Annie spotted Sarah Mae motioning to her from the cluster of workers who were taking the nicest corn from the stalk for cornmeal. ‘‘Come over here and help us,'' Sarah Mae said, offering a sympathetic smile.

Annie went willingly, if not quite relieved. She was sorry . . . even sad to leave Rudy and his group behind.

How long before I don't give a care?

Sarah Mae chattered about the delicious ham bake to follow the husking bee. She also mentioned the anticipated full evening of singing and games geared to single youth.

The sun flickered and flashed light through leaves high overhead, and an occasional breeze made the work more pleasant. At one point Annie stopped and stretched a bit when several of the other young women did the same. Stealing another glance at Rudy, she couldn't help but wonder why Susie Yoder had not shown her face here at all today.

Chapter 6

E
sther Hochstetler trembled as she made her way to the back door, glancing over her shoulder toward the barn. Time had simply flown from her, and she crept into the house, having just returned from visiting an elderly aunt.

Past time to start supper,
she thought, pulling out the heavy black frying pan from the low cupboard. It was in her best interest to serve up a hearty platter of fried chicken this supper hour.

I could've stayed much longer,
she thought sadly of ailing Aunt Rebecca.
If only . . .

But she had known better than to risk it. As it was, she'd missed the imposed limit on travel time by two long minutes.

Scurrying about the kitchen, she set the table and made ready for the meal. All the while she heard her little ones upstairs, looked after by her widowed mother. Such a good thing it was to have Mamma so close by.
Maybe, just maybe I won't catch it bad this time. . . .

Any minute now, her mother would come down, describing the cute antics of her wee grandsons, as well as saying what a big help Laura had been again this short visit. Mamma would also say,
Why on earth don't you take more time away, Esther? You rush
off and rush back . . . makes no sense
. Mamma had made a point of encouraging her to get out to quilting frolics and such, frequently pressing her as to why she stayed home so much. Impossible it was to explain, so she bit her lip and never said a word, letting Mamma think she'd become a loner, content to stay put.

She'd never understand how I feel
.

But today Esther was especially grateful for the help her mother could give with the children. While tending to her elderly aunt, she'd had the strongest urge to get out more, to pull her weight in the community. Helping Aunt Rebecca was only part of it. Actually, being in what she assumed to be a safe environment was altogether enticing to her, as well.

The potatoes came to a rolling boil, and she thought she best be calling up the steps. She leaned her head that way, getting ready to tell Mamma to bring the boys down and let them play in the corner of the kitchen on the floor for a bit.

Suddenly her heart leaped within her.
Oh no, I forgot again!
The thought of having little Zach and John play on the bare floor had triggered her memory.
What's-a-matter with me? How dare I forget this chore?

But she knew too well. More and more, she felt angry, even defiant, having buried the resentment deep inside where it festered. Bitterness was beginning to take shape in her dreams, and sometimes she would awaken terribly frightened, being chased by a vicious animal or attempting to run to safety, only to be frozen in place. Just as she felt even now, nearly motionless with panic wondering how she could get supper on the table, the floor scrubbed well enough for an inspection, and Mamma out of the house and back home where she lived in the
Dawdi Haus
of Esther's brother and wife. All in the space of a few minutes.

O Lord God, it is not possible. I have failed once again
.

Just then Esther heard her daughter running down the stairs. Did she dare ask happy-go-lucky Laura for help? And if so, she might be found out, having shirked her own duty.