The Englisher Page 12

  So does a person have to be drawn to this? Or does life need to be messed up before you crave serenity?

  At that moment, Louisa realized Annie was braver than she by far. Sam had asked to meet her later tonight, and she’d agreed. Yet she had said nothing at all to Annie. How long can I keep this quiet?

  She daydreamed, feeling surprisingly mellow at the prospect of seeing Sam again, as she watched Yonie move in and out of the cow stalls, hitching up his work trousers as he went. His scuffed boots were ridged with caked mud, she noticed, with pieces of straw sticking out like a sort of barbed halo.

  He, too, has secrets, she was willing to venture. One night, while Annie dreamed peacefully upstairs, sleepless Louisa had paced the main house’s long front room, which was lined with shelves full of books with strange German titles. It was then she had spied the preacher’s son outside, though Yonie had been too busy kissing his modern girlfriend to notice.

  The next morning, Esther watched the sun come up, her body signaling it was past time to nurse Essie Ann. Propped up with pillows, she prayed silently in the stillness of dawn, her children sprawled in a row along the width of the bed.

  I feel it in the marrow of my bones, dear Lord. I’ll be forced to return home . . . and soon. I ask for the grace to do this thing which I dread.

  She stroked John’s head. Touch my dear, frail child, I pray.

  Thank you for sparing his life on that most frightening night. Oh, I give you praise, Father.

  Essie Ann stirred in her cradle, making her usual soft sounds upon first awaking. Esther would not wait for her to wail. She slipped out of bed and went to her, longing to preserve the peace of this place, her retreat of safety, likening it to the shelter the Lord God had provided for the psalmist David.

  How much longer will I find refuge here? She did not wish to be a burden to the Rancks, kind as they were, and would continue to help around the house wherever she could, especially with young James and Molly. But although she was inclined to, she would not allow herself to fret. I will put my full trust in my Lord. I will not be afraid.

  Even so, she fought the looming sense of urgency that things were about to change for her and her dear, helpless children.

  Annie was a bit surprised by Ben’s somewhat Plain attire. She half expected he might arrive wearing the shirt and tie associated with church clothes or ‘‘dress up,’’ as the Englischers called it. But not Ben. His solid blue shirt was open at the neck beneath his dark coat. In fact, he looked like any one of Irvin’s Mennonite friends.

  Does he mean to impress me?

  ‘‘How are you, Annie?’’ he asked, opening the door for her. He’d parked out on the road, about a quarter mile up from their lane. The car was still running, and she marveled at how toasty warm it was inside.

  ‘‘I’m doin’ all right. How ’bout you?’’

  ‘‘Glad to see you again.’’ He grinned irresistibly and closed her door. She found herself smiling as he moved quickly around the front of the car to the driver’s side, got in, and snapped his seat belt. That done, he turned to her. ‘‘I hope you don’t mind . . . I made reservations for us at a restaurant quite a distance from here. I thought it might be best, considering our circumstances,’’ he said.

  He means: since you’re not supposed to be out with me!

  ‘‘Sure, I think that’s nice,’’ she said, surprised once more at how relaxed she felt with him. She was glad, too, for a long ride before yet another meal—even though she was not so keen on riding in a car. Even so she’d waited with great anticipation for this night, and Ben seemed to be as careful as any of the drivers her father occasionally hired for the family.

  ‘‘Am I going too fast?’’ Ben asked, seemingly mindful of her hesitancy.

  She shook her head. ‘‘Usually, when I ride in the vans on the way out to Ohio or whatnot, I sit far in the back. But I’ll get used to this, really.’’

  ‘‘We’ll be traveling more slowly tonight because of the weather.’’

  Jah, good, she thought. ‘‘It’s so cold the snow hardly has a chance to melt.’’

  ‘‘And more is coming, according to the forecast.’’ He went on to say he had made a habit of following the weather quite closely, via the Internet.

  ‘‘Louisa has a portable computer,’’ she volunteered.

  ‘‘Sometime she shows me the news and other things on the screen. That is, when we’re at Cousin Julia’s, of course. We don’t have electric in the house, ya know.’’

  He nodded. ‘‘I’ve wondered. Some of the Amish who come into the tack shop have electricity and others frown on it. Can you explain that?’’

  Happy to clarify, she outlined the differences between several of the conservative groups in the area to the best of her ability. ‘‘And you may not know this, but there is a growing number of folk leaving the Old Order for a group called, not surprisingly, the New Order. They’re more open to modern ideas. Over in the area of Gap there are Amish who drive cars and have lights in their houses, yet they dress similar to my family and me.’’

  ‘‘Hard to understand why there are so many groups.’’

  ‘‘Every Ordnung is different, if only a little, even from one regional district to another, my father says.’’

  They talked about Irvin and Julia and Ben’s fondness for them. And again about the blizzard that was supposed to blow in sometime during the weekend.

  ‘‘In Kentucky we wished we had more snow,’’ Ben said. ‘‘But here we complain if we get too much.’’

  ‘‘Mer net zefridde,’’ Annie said with a mischievous smile. We’re never satisfied.

  Watching the road carefully, Ben seemed distracted momentarily by a pedestrian, then turned to her, smiling. ‘‘You’re right, we’re not.’’

  She looked at him, somewhat surprised. ‘‘You’ve picked up some Dutch, seems to me.’’

  Ben shrugged casually, and she made herself stop staring. He was a curious man. She was careful to answer his questions— mostly about the ‘‘Plain society,’’ as he referred to their community.

  At one point she asked him if he’d ever read the book The Riddle of the Amish Culture, which was highly regarded as a good resource.

  ‘‘I’ll have to pick it up,’’ he said. ‘‘You say your people approve of the book?’’

  ‘‘Well, sure, because it correctly represents the Anabaptist community as a whole. The author has lived and worked among us for a good many years now.’’

  ‘‘He’s English?’’

  ‘‘Jah, and well respected according to Daed. And my Dawdi Zook knows of him, too, which is sayin’ a lot.’’

  Ben continued to inquire about the author, obviously interested that someone who was not Amish could be so welcomed by those who were. Annie’s mind flitted to the notion that, just maybe, Ben Martin was hoping to be well received, too.

  When they arrived at the restaurant after a drive of some forty minutes, Annie could see from the exterior what a lovely place it was. It wasn’t a regular sort of restaurant like some of those up and down Route 30, which catered to tourists with signs advertising home-style cooking.

  Inside Ben stepped forward and quietly gave his last name to the hostess, who promptly led them to a table for two near a fireplace.

  All during the candlelit meal, she found herself glancing toward the door, wondering if someone familiar might walk through and catch them. Several times, Ben asked if she was feeling ill, and each time she politely smiled and shook her head.

  Despite being on edge, her conversation with Ben came rather effortlessly as they discussed their growing-up years. At one point something triggered a distant memory, one she had nearly forgotten. ‘‘Mamm and Mammi Zook—that’s my grandmother who lives in the Dawdi Haus—were cookin’ up popcorn in a skillet. My mother must’ve forgotten what was inside, so when she lifted the lid the kernels right then began popping out of the pan, flying every which way.’’ She stopped, trying to suppress a nearly uncontrollabl
e giggle but did not succeed.

  When she had composed herself a bit, she continued. ‘‘I remember watching it pop wildly, some bouncing off the ceiling—that high, honest to goodness—other kernels soaring across the room. It was the funniest thing I think I’ve ever seen.’’

  Ben grinned, glancing at her across the table. ‘‘I can see it, Annie. You describe it so well. How old were you?’’

  ‘‘I’m not sure, but this happened at a quilting bee, during the afternoon break, when the womenfolk stopped to stretch their legs and have their fill of . . . well, popcorn.’’ She sighed. ‘‘I hadn’t started school yet, so I was young.’’

  ‘‘It surprises me you remember that far back.’’

  ‘‘Lou says the same thing ’bout me.’’

  He shook his head. ‘‘It’s really remarkable.’’ He reached for the salt and pepper shakers. ‘‘I have to confess I barely remember a thing before age five.’’

  ‘‘It might be easier for girls,’’ she said. ‘‘Maybe your parents could share a few memories to get you started.’’

  He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden, so she, too, ceased her talking.

  She was thankful she’d taken only a very small portion of mashed potatoes, buttered succotash, and roast beef at home. And for good reason. Not wanting to call attention to herself by simply not eating with the family for supper, she’d sat down with them anyway. Now Annie hoped she would be able to eat enough at this meal to please Ben, though it was usually the man who would eat up to impress his girl. But she wouldn’t allow herself to think that way— not about Ben.

  Why on earth did I share my recollection of the exploding popcorn? One thing she had not mentioned about that day, and she didn’t feel she ought to, was the fact that Isaac Hochstetler had been the only little boy at the quilting bee. Isaac’s mamma had not been any too keen on his gravitating mostly toward Annie in play, although both Annie’s mother and her grandmother had found it more humorous than cause for alarm.

  ‘‘How’s your meal?’’ Ben asked, jolting her back to the present.

  Truth was, she had scarcely even touched her baked potato. ‘‘It’s delicious, really ’tis.’’

  ‘‘Are you a light eater?’’ he asked, surveying her plate.

  ‘‘Ach, no.’’ Then she realized he should know her little secret. ‘‘I best be tellin’ ya . . . I couldn’t just up and leave the house without eating. Mamm, ’specially, would’ve seen right through it.’’ She might have, anyway, thought Annie.

  Ben’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘I wouldn’t want to offend you or your parents.’’ He glanced about him before continuing. ‘‘But I am hoping to see you another time.’’

  Annie felt her face flush. Courting? ‘‘I . . . uh, Ben. I don’t think . . . I mean . . . this can’t go on.’’

  Ben reached across the table and covered her hand with his. ‘‘Annie, please listen. I really want to get to know you.’’

  She knew her face was blushing a beet red; she could feel it all the way down her neck, too. ‘‘Honestly, I’m not sure how we can get better acquainted.’’ She wasn’t going to explain how she’d promised her father she would be obedient for a change. Not since she was committing the sin of disobedience even now, sitting here with Ben in this pretty dining room with white linen-covered tables. Such a lovely, fancy setting for the Englischers present, which she was clearly not.

  His eyes reached her heart. ‘‘I’m serious. I want to take you out again.’’

  She lowered her gaze to stare at her plate. It’s not fair to ignore him, she thought but couldn’t help it. She slid her hand from beneath the warmth of his own and picked up her fork. She began to eat again, hoping he might do all the talking now. Forget that she had not responded. She was at a terrible loss, unable to comprehend what she felt when she looked into his handsome face with those ardent brown eyes.

  ‘‘Annie, I don’t mean to pressure you.’’

  She nodded her head, because she didn’t know what to say.

  They passed the next few minutes in silence, except for the soft music she’d never heard the likes of before, which seemed to come from somewhere high in the ceiling.

  In time, their conversation began again, returning to more casual matters, and the earlier tension was forgotten. For this Annie was ever so glad.

  Chapter 14

  Annie and Ben were making their way out of the restaurant, following a two-hour dinner, when Annie spied Louisa and Sam Glick walking toward them. Annie sucked in her breath.

  Lou? Taken aback, Annie’s stare met Louisa’s, and she knew not what to say. Sam turned immediately red-faced, as though caught doing something terribly wrong.

  ‘‘Well, funny meeting you here,’’ Lou said, stopping to stand just feet from Annie as she rubbed her mittened hands together.

  ‘‘Jah, ’tis.’’ Annie realized her friend had not wanted her to know her plans. ‘‘How’d you two get here?’’

  ‘‘Hired us a driver,’’ Sam spoke up, pulling his black hat off in the night air.

  ‘‘Hey, if we’d known . . .’’ Ben’s voice trailed away.

  ‘‘What’s that saying about great minds?’’ Lou said, smiling directly at Annie.

  ‘‘Well, enjoy your supper’’ was all Annie could say.

  Sam and Lou waved and resumed walking to the entrance, and Ben and Annie proceeded to his car.

  What’s Lou doing? Then, realizing that she herself was in a similar jam, Annie squelched a laugh.

  On the ride back, Ben talked of Lou and Sam, suggesting it might be fun to ‘‘double up,’’ as he put it.

  Double up? ‘‘I don’t think we should be seen together— I mean you and me with Sam and Lou.’’

  Ben chuckled. ‘‘Then you’ll agree to see me again?’’

  ‘‘Did I say that?’’

  ‘‘Terrific. When can I come by for you?’’

  ‘‘Oh, Ben.’’ Annie shook her head in frustration but couldn’t conceal the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.

  He’s too fond of me. . . .

  ‘‘We could drive even farther away,’’ Ben persisted. ‘‘As far as Ephrata, if you’d feel better about it.’’

  They were nearing her home now and Annie debated. It was a truly bad idea for Ben to creep up the road in his car so close to Daed’s farmhouse. Awfully risky, especially with Omar, Luke, and Yonie coming and going. Her father’s friends in the ministry also stopped by at odd hours for talks in the barn, where the bishop, preacher, and deacon made many private decisions.

  She turned to face him. ‘‘Ach, I’d best be gettin’ out right here.’’

  He braked ever so slowly, till the tires ground to a halt against the crisp snow. ‘‘This far away, Annie? In the dark?’’

  She pulled on the handle before he could get out and come around to open her door. ‘‘I had a wonderful-good time. I truly did.’’

  ‘‘Annie, wait . . .’’

  Quickly she slid from the passenger seat but made the mistake of glancing back, only to catch Ben’s look of disappointment.

  ‘‘When will I see you again?’’ he asked. ‘‘How can I contact you?’’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘‘We can’t, Ben. We mustn’t. This is good-bye.’’

  Closing the car door firmly, she was determined not to break her father’s heart on this matter, despite the strong tug of her own.

  Louisa felt as oddly out of place wearing her Amish dress and head covering here in the lovely restaurant as she had at the outlet mall last Monday. Had it not been for Sam, who looked as Plain as she did, she might have considered wearing her pretty red sweater with her black suedelike pants. But she wasn’t spending her time tonight with a suave guy like either Michael or Trey, and she really didn’t miss wearing her own clothes enough to think twice about it. Only occasionally now did she still have passing twinges, missing some of her favorites back home or her normal hairstyle.

  Besides, her fondness for Sam
couldn’t be linked to her feelings for either her former fiance or her first boyfriend. For one thing, he had many more good character traits going for him. He also seemed interested in her as a person, and not just in what he could get out of her. And he’s cute, too.

  Despite all that, she was going to be cautious and not get too involved this time. She was too smart for that now; she’d learned some things from her past relationships. So, halfway through their shared dessert of New York cheesecake with chocolate sauce, she panicked inwardly when Sam lassoed her with his eyes and said, ‘‘I hope you’ll stay on here for the time bein’.’’

  ‘‘I have a studio of art students waiting for me.’’ She picked up the wine list absentmindedly, thinking a small amount might relax her. Then realizing what she was doing, pushed it aside. ‘‘They’re anxious for me to return.’’

  His face brightened. ‘‘You paint pictures?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  He leaned in closer. ‘‘Will you describe some of them for me?’’

  Immediately she was on her guard, so as not to implicate Annie. ‘‘Let’s see. My most recent work focuses on country landscapes . . . things found on Amish farms . . . and other rural places.’’

  ‘‘Windmills? Hand-held plows?’’

  ‘‘All that and more.’’ She told him about her peacock painting, where every color had been matched to numerous photos she had taken of Annie’s birds. ‘‘I followed those creatures around everywhere. Can’t believe I did that—I actually started talking to them. But, I guess, according to Annie, she does, too, sometimes.’’

  That brought a shared laugh.

  ‘‘Ah, those peacocks,’’ he said. ‘‘No doubt on that . . . a wonderful-good choice for a painting.’’

  They discussed the birds’ exquisite coloring and the fanned-out tails, and Louisa realized here was a person who apparently relished some of the same aspects of nature as she. Is that to be expected from an Amish guy? She had no other frame of reference, except for her friendship with Annie.