The Englisher

by Beverly Lewis

  Omar and Yonie were exceedingly friendly, almost too much so, Annie thought, asking Courtney about Colorado weather and suchlike. Luke eyed Courtney suspiciously, though, and held back, as was his usual way.

  My brothers must wonder how many worldly women I’m going to invite into the house! Daed and Mamm must be wondering, too, thought Annie, hoping Courtney’s stay wouldn’t ruffle too many feathers. Her arrival in Paradise had already raised Mamm’s eyebrows, beginning with Courtney’s staying at the B&B rather than at the Zooks’ home. Still, Mamm had cordially welcomed Courtney this morning, though Annie noted her parents were not overly friendly. Even Mammi and Dawdi were quieter than usual.

  Daed’s stern words of rebuke were still floating in Annie’s head. Goodness knows she was not interested in yet another straight talk from her father. In no uncertain terms Daed had let it be known that her sinning days were to be a thing of the past. And she felt his eyes on her too often.

  Six months is a long time to stay far from my art, she thought. But, then, so is forever. She contemplated the life vow she was expected to make to the church come next fall, feeling she had little choice as each day passed. She also knew that her promise to her father would be up in mid-July.

  ‘‘Pass the bacon, Annie,’’ Daed spoke up.

  Quickly she reached for the large plate and passed it to her right, to Luke, who then handed it on. ‘‘Would ya like some sausage, too?’’ She leaned forward, able to see Daed sitting at his usual spot at the head of the table.

  ‘‘Jah, sausage. Es gut.’’ Her father’s gaze caught hers briefly. He wore his black work suspenders and a bright green shirt. ‘‘And more coffee, Mamm.’’

  Her mother jumped to her feet. Courtney looked shocked, as if she’d never before seen a woman wait on a man.

  Well, won’t she be surprised all round?

  Annie’s thoughts flitted back to the first few weeks of Lou’s visit, back last November when she’d arrived here in a yellow taxi cab. Late into the night, the first several weeks, they had whispered about the vast differences between the Plain life and the fancy. The role of husbands and wives being one of the bigger discussions, she recalled. According to Lou, worldly men often catered and even kowtowed to their women. And English women, more often than not, were eager to be the boss of the house. Eager, too, to run things in general. The empowered female, Lou had kept saying, as if that were the right way to do things.

  Annie still found such a thing fascinating, although she had no way of relating to it, mainly because she’d only known one English fellow her whole life.Well, Cousin Irvin was English, too, but he was as conservative a Mennonite as there ever was, so he didn’t really count.

  But Cousin Irvin’s tack shop employee and her new friend, Ben Martin, was mighty fancy. No question about that! Even so, Ben had shown no indication of such nambypamby behavior toward her or Lou, who had often been on hand to witness the interaction between the Englischer and Annie. Lou had been a sort of safety net, but one that Annie was beginning to feel she no longer needed.

  ‘‘More raspberry jam for anyone?’’ Mamm asked, reaching for the pint jar.

  ‘‘I’ll have some,’’ Luke spoke up for the first time this meal.

  Omar reached over, after Luke had scarcely dipped his table knife into the jam, and snatched it out of his hand.

  ‘‘Ach, boys . . .’’ Mamm said, a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘‘Say, here, we’ve got ourselves company.’’ Daed’s was a more serious tone.

  Annie glanced at Courtney, her long and thick eye- lashes blinking quickly as she observed the rather ordinary interplay between the boys. Guess she’s never seen homemade preserves, either, Annie thought, trying not to smile too much.

  ‘‘Please pass the raspberry jam,’’ Courtney said suddenly.

  Annie didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone Amish say please at the table. Such a fancy sort of word it was, used by the English, which was maybe the reason the People didn’t say it, as a rule of thumb. Was their snippy English guest trying to teach them manners?

  To say they were much too far from home was not an exaggeration. Annie was still scratching her head, trying to figure out how Lou had managed to get Mamm to say Annie could go along to the Rockvale Square Outlet mall, with its 120-plus shops to choose from. Sugar talk was part of it, she realized. Goodness, but Lou had even talked Mamm into allowing Annie to skip eating at home so the three of them could go to a restaurant at noon. Annie enjoyed every minute of it, even though the place Lou chose ironically had been the same establishment where Rudy Esh had sometimes taken Annie during their long courtship. Maybe it was a good thing for me to eat here again, she thought, taking in everything around her, relieved and grateful she felt no remnants of sadness.

  Has Ben so completely captured my thoughts?

  She hurried to catch up with Lou and Courtney, who were eyeing a pair of blue jeans with an accompanying longsleeved jacket. ‘‘One sweet-looking outfit,’’ Courtney called it. Lou, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the pure white lace blouse beneath the jacket. For Annie, though, the pretty lace and the blue denim didn’t go together.

  But what do I know about worldly clothes? She wondered if the blending of the simple look of the jeans with the fancy lace was likewise how the outlet shoppers must be viewing her and Lou in their Amish dresses and shawls, with Courtney in her tight tan stretch pants and black leather jacket. Like we somehow don’t quite belong together.

  Once again, Ben came to mind. Unequally yoked, that’s what she’d be if ever she were to give in and go on a date with him. It was as far from being Amish as the modern mannequin Courtney was now pointing to in the shop window. There was simply no middle ground.

  ‘‘Hey, check out that cool sweater,’’ Courtney said, her gaze on a bright yellow V-neck top.

  Lou pulled her black shawl around her more closely, looking over at Annie as if to see how she was doing, exploring this too-modern environment.

  ‘‘We can go into any store you wish,’’ Annie offered. She did not want to stand in the way of Courtney’s desire to shop till she dropped. Or Lou’s, for that matter.

  Annie had made up her mind to enjoy herself, even if it meant haphazardly showing the slightest interest in the modern clothing and whatnot. Even if it meant denying the images of color and design stirred up by surrounding herself with this aspect of the modern English world. Simply stepping foot into a store like Liz Claiborne Shoes was yet another factor in whetting her appetite. It did not serve to discourage her thoughts of worldly Ben either.

  I must hold fast to the Old Ways, she told herself, following Lou and Courtney into the store. As best as I can!

  Ben had decided first thing this morning he was going to brown bag it. He’d learned to pinch his pennies from his mom’s endless, but gentle, lectures. Replaying last evening’s phone conversation in his mind, he contemplated his mother’s ability to hide her disappointment. During other conversations she had not been so successful, calling it ‘‘ridiculous’’ of him to leave home for an unknown locality. She’s resigned herself to my absence. . . .

  When the shop door jingled open, Ben scooted his turkey sandwich beneath the lip of the counter as a matter of course. Looking up, he saw Zeke. ‘‘Welcome, neighbor,’’ Ben said.

  ‘‘How’s business?’’ Zeke nodded curtly, then removed his wide black hat.

  ‘‘Slow.’’

  Zeke’s golden brown hair was smashed down from his felt hat. He ran a big callused hand through his hair while glancing around the shop. ‘‘Anybody here but you?’’

  ‘‘Only the leather and me.’’ Ben smiled, glad for the company. ‘‘Help you find something?’’

  ‘‘Well, s’pose I could go for a thick, juicy steak and some mashed potatoes and gravy ’bout now,’’ Zeke said.

  ‘‘Oh . . . you just missed the kitchen help. They’re out for lunch.’’ Ben laughed, and Zeke cracked a smile, unexpected for someone who seemed so hard
-faced. But Ben had purposely set out to lighten things up between them.

  ‘‘Thought I’d drop by, is all,’’ Zeke said.

  A man lost among his own people, Ben decided.

  Appearing more at ease, Zeke went to sit near the long table where Ben laid out the harnesses for polishing. Zeke pulled out a small bag of pistachio nuts. ‘‘Care for any?’’ He held up the bag.

  ‘‘I was just finishing my lunch here. But thanks.’’ He thought it rather generous of Zeke and not in keeping with his harsh reputation.

  ‘‘Thirsty?’’ Ben asked, returning the gesture. ‘‘I’ve got a case of Pepsi out back.’’

  Zeke’s brown eyes lit up as if Ben had offered him a tractor, church approved. ‘‘That would be right good,’’ he replied, getting up and going to lean on the counter where Ben’s simple lunch was hidden, laid out on the back of a folded paper bag.

  Returning with a can of cold soda, Ben offered it to Zeke, thinking now he ought to have brought along a large Thermos of hot black coffee instead.

  Zeke continued to talk. ‘‘Our bishop—name’s Andy Stoltzfus—and his great-grandson are neck and neck against two other fellas in a checker game to beat all games,’’ he said. ‘‘You hear anything ’bout it?’’

  Ben wouldn’t come right out and say Annie told him. ‘‘Yeah, someone mentioned it.’’ He paused, observing this man who continued to exhibit all the signs of being a loner—or lonely. He didn’t know which it was, though he knew full well that Zeke’s wife and kids were still staying with Irvin and Julia.

  ‘‘Well, there’s not much goin’ on this time of year, ’cept for mud sales . . . and a few checker games, like I said,’’ Zeke said.

  ‘‘Anyone play chess around here?’’

  ‘‘I do, but I shouldn’t.’’

  ‘‘Certain games aren’t acceptable?’’

  Zeke’s eyes grew suddenly darker. ‘‘In a manner of speaking, no. The fact that it’s a war game . . . well, chess causes problems with some of the brethren. Same with playing cards in some of the more conservative circles. Most don’t even know why it’s forbidden. Just is.’’ He walked across the shop to examine one of the larger harnesses.

  ‘‘You mentioned mud sales. I’m curious about that.’’

  Zeke turned and broke into a full grin. ‘‘Why, they’re auctions—sometimes twenty or more auctioneers at once. Some on the back of hay wagons or flatbed trucks . . . some on a makeshift stage in a pole barn quilt room . . . and all to raise funds for our local volunteer fire companies. Last year’s sale raised a whoppin’ fifty thousand dollars.’’ With a fleeting glimmer in his eye, Zeke continued. ‘‘Lots of them take place outdoors, under a big tent. The ground can get mighty squishy with mud durin’ the spring thaw.’’

  ‘‘So . . . that’s how mud figures in.’’ Ben laughed.

  ‘‘If you ever go, I’d recommend you get yourself some old work boots.’’ Eyeing the ones Ben had on, Zeke said, ‘‘Some that are a mite worse off than them there.’’

  Ben smiled. ‘‘I’ll keep that in mind.’’

  ‘‘First big one’s comin’ up here ’fore too long. ’Bout two weeks from now, over in Honey Brook on Firehouse Lane. Heard it starts at eight-thirty sharp.’’

  Ben was interested. ‘‘What things are auctioned?’’

  ‘‘Oh, just everything. Livestock, farm supplies and tools, sometimes brand spanking new pine staircases, rings of Lebanon bologna, manure spreaders—I’ve seen as many as seventy handmade birdhouses. But if it’s the chicken corn soup you’re after, go early, ’cause the four hundred gallons the womenfolk bring is usually half sold out by nine o’clock of a morning.’’

  Ben detected Zeke’s almost jovial change of attitude. ‘‘Next time you come, if you let me know when, I’ll bring along some home-brewed coffee,’’ he offered.

  ‘‘All right.’’ Zeke’s mouth turned into another quick smile, then straightened again. ‘‘Do they have farm sales down where you hail from?’’

  ‘‘Thoroughbred auctions. I helped a lot at the county fairgrounds in Central City, every third Saturday. Quite a showing of tack, equipment, and fine horses . . . all to raise money to help locate stolen and missing horses.’’

  ‘‘What kind of person steals a horse?’’

  Ben nodded. ‘‘I know . . . it’s crazy.’’

  Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, Zeke’s otherwise ruddy face turned pale. ‘‘I daresay there are some wicked folk in this ol’ world.’’

  ‘‘Can’t argue that,’’ Ben said, looking up to see Preacher Zook pulling up to the side door with his horse and carriage. ‘‘We’ve got company.’’

  Zeke spotted the preacher and immediately raised his hand to wave at Ben. ‘‘Best skedaddle,’’ he said over his shoulder. ‘‘Be seein’ ya!’’

  ‘‘Hatyee,’’ Ben called.

  Zeke turned suddenly, an odd smile on his face. ‘‘Ach, now, ya speak Dietsch?’’

  Ben was confused. ‘‘Why, what’d I say?’’

  ‘‘ ‘So long.’ That’s what.’’

  Ben shrugged it off. ‘‘Must’ve picked it up . . . working around all these Amish farmers.’’

  ‘‘Jah, s’pose.’’

  Ben waved again, watching as Zeke stopped to greet Jesse Zook before heading outside.

  Ben inhaled deeply and stood as tall as he could, glad for the boots he wore today. ‘‘Hello, Preacher! What can I do for you?’’

  Jesse Zook made his way toward the counter. ‘‘Oh, I’ve come for two black hames and the rosettes.’’ He glanced over his shoulder at Zeke. ‘‘Do ya often see Zeke round here?’’

  Ben had a strong feeling the preacher was checking up on Zeke. It wasn’t his place to squeal on the man who seemed in need of a friend. ‘‘Oh, Zeke was just saying he’s counting the days till the first mud sale.’’

  ‘‘Oh, jah. That one’s a doozy. You should go, just for the experience if you’ve never been.’’

  Ben was glad for the preacher’s seemingly genuine ease. ‘‘I think I just might.’’

  Jesse seemed to mentally agree, although he appeared to be somewhat distracted. ‘‘What was it I said I was here for?’’

  ‘‘Hames, sir.’’ Ben led the older man to the wooden boxes filled with hundreds of harness accessories.

  Esther was much too nervous to meet with her husband alone, even though she was residing in the safety of Irvin and Julia Ranck’s home. She had confided her greatest fears to Julia, expressing what a frightening thing it was to be so displaced. Julia kindly agreed that she and Irvin should definitely accompany Zeke upstairs to meet his newest daughter.

  Twenty-day-old Essie Ann lay sleeping soundly in her arms. Esther made an attempt to will her heart not to beat so hard, gazing at her beautiful baby girl. ‘‘Your dat’s comin’ up here to meet ya,’’ she whispered in the pink little ear. ‘‘He loves ya so. . . .’’

  Well, she was ever so sure Zeke did love their wee babe Essie—or would. She just didn’t know for certain how much Zeke loved her. Not after raising a hand to her. Not after she’d run off to Rancks’ to have his baby. Run off and never told Zeke where she could be found . . . secretly hoping he wouldn’t find her at all. Yet he’d tracked her down all the same. Came right out looking for her at Julia’s, after the horse went trotting over to Irvin’s tack shop instead of heading on home the way she thought for sure it would. Had it not been for Ben Martin, Zeke might not have figured out where she and the children were staying for quite some time.

  But now she was about to present little Essie Ann to him. The sound of voices downstairs put Esther on edge all the more. Ach, my life might’ve been easier if I’d never gone to that first singing seven years ago. . . .

  Mamma had been hesitant about having her go that September evening, the first Sunday following Esther’s sixteenth birthday, pleading with Dat to think hard about having their daughter stay home for a few more months . . . ‘‘till she’s older.’’
Worries plagued Mamma for a full week before the barn singing. ‘‘Seems a body ought to know when her daughter’s ready to be out alone with a boy nearly all night,’’ Esther overheard her mother telling Dat. But Esther’s father wouldn’t hear of it. Sixteen was the ‘‘appropriate’’ age when such things were expected to take place. Tradition reigned.

  Esther remembered fretting over what to wear and had ended up choosing her plum-colored cape dress, which her mother said made her blue eyes look even bluer, her ‘‘perty golden hair’’ fairer.

  She met Ezekiel Hochstetler that night, a boy from Honey Brook, who some of the other youth whispered was ‘‘too far away from the Paradise church district to be included.’’ Yet there he was, participating in the activities, along with the pairing up. Ezekiel took one long look at Esther and made it clear he had to have what he saw, and there was no turning back for either of them.

  She let herself breathe deeply now, in and out slowly, so as not to awaken the little one who slept peacefully—innocently—on her lap.

  I must be calm. Must smile convincingly when I see Zeke again. Oh, dear Lord, I must.

  Chapter 7

  Louisa, Annie, and Courtney stopped at the food court for cookies and a warm soft pretzel at Auntie Anne’s Cafe in the Rockvale Square Outlet mall. Annie was still waiting in line for some hot cocoa, not the smooth espresso mochas Louisa and Courtney had chosen. ‘‘We’ll grab a table,’’ Louisa told Annie, motioning for Courtney to join her.

  On the way to the table, Courtney said, ‘‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but I think you probably suspect it already.’’

  ‘‘What’re you talking about?’’ Louisa sat down.

  Courtney’s eyes were blinking too fast. ‘‘Let’s see . . . how do I put this?’’

  ‘‘Just say it.’’