‘‘He’s my best friend’s husband. I’ve known him since Essie, I mean Esther, first met him,’’ Annie said. ‘‘He’s a hardworkin’ farmer—raises pigs.’’
‘‘He’s a curious fellow, but I like him. A man of few words, though. He drops by the harness shop quite often.’’
‘‘Nice of you to spend time with him.’’
As if no one else wants to? Ben considered.
Annie offered no more about Zeke. And Ben guessed he shouldn’t ask why Esther and her children were staying at the Rancks’, suspecting a good enough reason.
Glancing at Annie, he gripped the steering wheel. But Annie held his gaze now, too, and it was all he could do not to simply stare back at the most engaging girl he’d ever known. Pretty and innocent all rolled into one unique package.
The silence was thick.
At last, he said, ‘‘What do you know about the covered bridges in the area?’’ He knew he should’ve been more specific.
‘‘Which ones?’’ she asked.
‘‘The long red one, over on Belmont Road.’’
‘‘Well, I know plenty. What do you want to know?’’
Here they were already traveling the road leading to Annie’s father’s house. Should he pull over? If she protested, then he would continue on. But if she said nothing, he would buy himself extra minutes.
Tremendously aware of her presence, he raised his hand from the gearshift and let it come to rest at two o’clock on the steering wheel, turning off the road slowly. When the car rolled to a stop and she did not speak up, he believed he had not offended her.
‘‘Did something, well, out of the ordinary occur there?’’ he asked.
‘‘I didn’t know for certain just what all the upheaval in the community was ’bout that bridge—not when I was little, I mean.’’
‘‘Do you mean something bad happened?’’
She nodded slowly.
Had he stumbled onto a painful topic? Had there been an accident here or . . . worse?
‘‘Can you tell me more?’’ He turned to face her.
She sighed heavily, as if the telling were too difficult. ‘‘I best not say more.’’
‘‘Sure, Annie. I understand,’’ he said. But he didn’t.
Then she surprised him and reached for the handle. There were tears on her face as she opened the door and stepped out.
What have I done?
Leaping out of the car, he hurried to catch up with her, stumbling through the remnants of snow and slush. ‘‘Annie . . . wait!’’
She kept walking, fast. Not looking back, she slipped and nearly lost her balance several times.
‘‘Annie . . . I didn’t mean to—’’
‘‘Nee, no, it’s not your fault.’’ She stopped to look at him. ‘‘I never should’ve told you a thing. It was ever so wrong of me.’’
Exactly what did she say? He still was perplexed. Reaching out, he touched her black shawl. ‘‘I’m sorry, Annie. Whatever I asked about that bridge . . . I would never want to hurt you.’’
She looked at the ground, eyes downcast. ‘‘I don’t know why it still pains me so.’’
What does? He refused to ask. His curiosity had done more than enough damage.
‘‘Please, let me take you all the way home. It’s too cold for you to walk. Too dangerous.’’ Fact was, it was bitterly cold now and the sun was sinking fast.
He reached out to her yet again, hoping she might understand the gesture as merely an offer of apology.
But she surprised him when she accepted his help, her small mittened hand slipping into his own. ‘‘I really shouldn’t, but . . .’’ She stopped midsentence, then began to walk with him toward the car, still clinging to his hand as they picked their way back through the frozen muck.
‘‘Hold tight, Annie,’’ he said. ‘‘I won’t let you fall.’’
She gasped lightly, stopped walking, and stared at him. ‘‘What?’’
Startled, he asked, ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
She looked confused but seemed to shake it off. ‘‘Oh, nothing, Ben. Just a trick of my imagination, prob’ly.’’
He smiled, hoping his fondness for her wasn’t too obvious. ‘‘It’s icy, that’s all.’’
Her eyes were fixed on him again, as if she hadn’t heard, as if she were suddenly deaf. A frown shimmered on her brow, and she blinked back tears.
What’s with this girl?
‘‘Come, let’s get you home,’’ he said.
Chapter 9
Once Ben had gotten her safely back into the car, he drove Annie closer to her house. She thanked him warmly for the ride and waved good-bye before heading up the road toward the turnoff to the driveway. She was glad Ben had agreed to let her out some distance from her house. No sense worrying Mamm or anyone who might be observing.
Confusing as it was, she would not erase her memory of having spent this forbidden time with Ben. She refused to berate herself and deliberately kept looking forward as she walked, even when she heard Ben calling to her.
He called again, and lest she be as rude as Lou’s Denver friend, she turned around. Ben had gotten out of his car again and was motioning to her. ‘‘What is it?’’ she asked, her heart leaping.
‘‘Annie . . . would it be possible for me to take you to dinner sometime . . . say, this Friday night?’’
Oh, she wanted to accept, but first she must calm her breathing. ‘‘Well . . . I . . .’’
‘‘We could meet at a restaurant if that would suit you better,’’ he offered quickly.
She shook her head, sighing, unable to control how she felt. Oh, this is just so hard!
He stood there looking at her, waiting for her answer. ‘‘Or I could meet you—anywhere you say.’’
No, I shouldn’t . . . I can’t.
He stepped toward her, eyes bright with hope.
I’ll regret it if I agree, she thought, I just know it. But she surprised herself and said, ‘‘Well, I ’spose just once, maybe.’’
His handsome face lit up like a streetlight. ‘‘Where, Annie?’’ he asked.
‘‘Up the road a ways, but wait till after dusk,’’ she said. ‘‘Is that all right?’’
He was nodding his head to beat the band. ‘‘That’s perfect. I’ll see you Friday!’’ Then, turning, he hurried back to his car.
Annie headed toward her father’s house, willing herself to slow her pace. She mustn’t slip and fall flat on her face here in the road with Ben watching, no doubt, as he drove past. And she would not second-guess this most peculiar situation to death. Still, it was a terribly dangerous place to put herself, seeing him again.
She sighed, wondering what would happen if ever someone were to see her with Ben. She’d had every intention of taking baptismal instruction next May. Now, though, nearly everything was topsy-turvy in her head. Not that she would go back on her word about her art, but Ben Martin certainly had not been a part of the handshake agreement with her father. She’d never considered him at all in the promises she’d made. And yet, how could she possibly prepare for becoming a member of the church now?
Ach, the wonderful-good feel of my hand in his!
Hurrying toward the house, she noticed the spot where the scarecrow had been but was no longer. What the world happened to it? She scanned the area, knowing for absolute certain it had been standing right there where she was looking . . . at the edge of the garden. Had the wind blown it down? But there had been no fierce gales recently. The thought that someone had come in the night and carried it off, the way some farm tools were known to disappear, bothered her terribly. She could not understand why she felt so traumatized when things seemingly walked off and were never returned. To assume certain things were permanent fixtures—such as the scarecrow she and her younger brothers had constructed last spring—was clearly a mistake. She thought of Zeke, poor man. He must surely be experiencing similar feelings, what with his wife and children gone from the covering of his house. And
yet, far as she was concerned, Esther’s leaving was his own terrible fault. Puh! Zeke was not the kind of man she would ever care to marry.
Her thoughts leaped swiftly back to Ben, and she decided then and there he was nothing at all like Zeke Hochstetler. Of course, she would never know that for certain, because she would never let herself fall in love with an Englischer.
Making the turn around the side of the house, she heard one of her brothers calling from the back door. ‘‘Hullo, Annie! ’Bout time you got yourself home.’’
She looked up and there was Yonie, sporting a worldly haircut. What on earth? Her favorite brother looked just like the fancy city boys over at the outlet shops. ‘‘What’s that ya did to yourself?’’ she said, heading up the steps.
‘‘Got me a haircut, is all.’’ He was grinning.
‘‘What’s Daed gonna say?’’
‘‘Nothin’.’’
‘‘You’ll catch a tongue-lashing. You’ll see.’’ She pushed past him and waited for him to close the storm door on the porch.
‘‘I already talked to Daed. He didn’t seem to mind.’’
‘‘Well, he must be blind, then.’’
‘‘Not blind neither. And thanks to the grapevine, he knows plenty about the car I bought.’’
‘‘You did what?’’ She stared at him. ‘‘Well, little brother, what’s come over you?’’
‘‘I’m havin’ me a fine, gut time, that’s what. I’ll join church whenever I’m good and ready. Not before.’’
‘‘And you’re still seein’ Dory Zimmerman,’’ she said, flabbergasted. ‘‘Does our father know about that?’’
‘‘Not unless you broke your promise and told.’’
She shook her head. His ongoing relationship with the newspaper carrier’s daughter wasn’t for her to criticize. Still, she was miffed. ‘‘I did no such thing, Yonie. You know better than to accuse me thataway.’’
‘‘Well, good.’’
She hung her shawl on the wall hook, then bent over to pull off her boots. ‘‘Seems to me there’s a double standard round here,’’ she muttered softly.
‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘Just never you mind.’’ Annie looked carefully at Yonie’s hair cropped above his ears and parted on the side. She could not believe Daed had merely disregarded the deed. How could he not care one iota about Yonie looking as if he’d stepped out of a fancy barber shop like the one over in Strasburg, which was probably where he’d gone? And the even bigger issue—Yonie’s having a car and brash enough to fess up to the preacher about it!
Who does Yonie think he is?
It wasn’t what her brother had done that bothered her no end, it was Daed’s reaction to it. That is, if Yonie was being straightforward.
She shook her head, truly perplexed.
How is it I have to give up my drawing and painting, and my brother can own a car and drive it to court his worldly girlfriend? Something’s awful wrong with this.
She felt like blowing her stack and might have if Mamm hadn’t called her to come and set the table for supper.
‘‘You seen Yonie’s hair?’’ she whispered to her mother after Yonie left the outer porch.
Mamm glanced at her. ‘‘Be careful not to judge, Annie.’’
‘‘Judge? Well, look at him!’’
‘‘Oh, I’ve looked, believe me.’’
‘‘And did you say anything to him? Did Daed?’’
Her mother shook her head and raised her finger to her lips, intending to shush her. ‘‘Don’t make a big stink out of this.’’
Well, I’ll see about that.
‘‘It’s not one bit fair.’’ She pushed the utensils onto the table.
‘‘Sure, it ain’t . . . but this is the way your father wants to handle it. So best be keepin’ your nose out.’’
‘‘So I’m guessin’ being born a boy has more advantages,’’ she muttered, hoping Mamm hadn’t heard her once she’d let the careless words slip. Right this minute it was awful easy to ponder dear Esther’s plight . . . her constantly being under the thumb of a hardhearted husband. Jah, the difference between a man and a woman round here is altogether maddening!
When she had finished helping in the kitchen, Annie rushed next door to the Dawdi Haus and upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Lou for the time being. She opened the door, cautious as always, since Lou’s arrival had brought with it darling Muffin, the ever-smiling Russian Blue cat. ‘‘Kitty, kitty,’’ she called, and he leaped off Lou’s bed and came running to her.
She reached down to pick him up and carried him to the chair where she sat and petted him, talking softly the way she liked to do. ‘‘You sweet little thing. If all the barn kitties could see the special treatment you get just ’cause your fur is such a perty blue-gray, I’m sure they’d all be clawin’ their way in here.’’
Muffin’s elfin eyes alternated between half mast and squinted shut as he lay in her lap, his paws tucked under his plump little chest. His purring brought her a welcome sense of calm, even though she was not going to let the sun go down before talking things out with Daed. ‘‘Judgin’ or not, I have to know what’s what!’’
Louisa found Courtney at the Gap outlet—one of Courtney’s favorite stores—trying on a pair of jeans. Louisa recognized her black spiky-heeled boots visible beneath the dressing room door. ‘‘When you’re finished, we need to talk,’’ she said.
‘‘Maybe you need to, but I’m done,’’ Courtney answered through the door. ‘‘I’m leaving tomorrow night.’’
‘‘Well, your mission wasn’t accomplished, and you can tell Michael I said so.’’
‘‘Actually,’’ Courtney said, poking her face out, ‘‘to put it to you straight, I’m glad for Michael you didn’t go through with the wedding.’’
‘‘Well, that makes two of us,’’ Louisa shot back. ‘‘Have a good trip home. And keep my name out of your conversations with your new boyfriend.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘You heard me.’’
‘‘No . . . that’s where you’re messed up, Louisa. He loves you. I promise you.’’
Promise all you want.
‘‘I’ve gotta get going,’’ said Louisa. ‘‘If I don’t see you before you leave, have a smooth flight. I know how bumpy things can get near Denver.’’
‘‘Hey, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me the whole visit.’’
Yeah, maybe so. Louisa hesitated, realizing she was probably right. ‘‘Well, then, good-bye.’’
With that Louisa hurried through the store toward the exit. Now, to call a cab and catch up with my real friend.
But before Louisa reached the door, a chenille sweater caught her eye. Christmas red. Do I dare try it on? Still upset over Courtney, she pulled it off the rack, removed it from the hanger, and went to find a mirror. Before coming to visit Annie, shopping often had a way of numbing life’s disappointments for her. Maybe she needed a good dose of splurging right now.
Holding the sweater beneath her chin, she saw how perfect it was with her coloring. Mother always said I looked splendid in red, she thought, wondering why that memory had surfaced now.
Oh, why not. I’ll try it on. But she wouldn’t wear a red sweater here. Not after having dressed Plain for this long. She didn’t want to offend Annie and her family.
Even so, she was mesmerized by the soft feel, the alluring color. What would it be like to wear normal, modern clothing again? she thought while heading to the dressing area. Would I begin to crave more fancy attire? The finest clothes money can buy? She sighed, feeling the old pull.
Returning to the back of the store, she saw Courtney standing in front of the three-way mirror, checking out her reflection in a pair of flared jeans and a plum leather jacket, price tags dangling. Courtney looked up and was obviously surprised to see her still there, let alone carrying the red sweater.
‘‘Well, look at you,’’ she scoffed. ‘‘Change your mind about being Amis
h?’’
Louisa’s cheeks suddenly felt warm.
‘‘I thought you were heading out.’’
Louisa nodded. ‘‘I was.’’
‘‘Hey, that would look chic over the cape part of your dress,’’ Courtney taunted.
‘‘Wouldn’t it?’’ Louisa held it up for effect, feeling a bit catty herself.
A clerk appeared, looked her over—up and down—and frowned. ‘‘May I help you, miss?’’
‘‘Jah,’’ Louisa said, then groaned.
Courtney rolled her eyes and wiggled her fingers in a mocking wave. ‘‘See you in the next life.’’
‘‘Whatever that means.’’
Over her shoulder, Courtney called, ‘‘It means, plain Jane, that you’re coming back as a full-fledged Englisher next time. I hope.’’
Louisa felt lousy. This visit was a bomb from the get-go.
‘‘Bye,’’ she whispered, watching Courtney hurry back to 109 her dressing booth.
Turning, Louisa spotted a mannequin with a lovely tan moleskin skirt and cream-colored blouse. ‘‘Nice,’’ she said, hurrying to inspect it. My suede boots would look so great with this!
The same dumbfounded clerk asked if she needed assistance, and Louisa thought again of Courtney, still fuming. ‘‘I’ll try on this outfit,’’ she said. ‘‘Size two, please.’’
The clerk found the items and led Louisa back to the dressing rooms. Stopping outside the booth where Courtney’s bare feet and hot pink toenails were now visible, Louisa paused, gathered her resolve, and said, ‘‘Hey, Court, I really want to apologize.’’ She felt weird talking to the door.
The door opened and her friend grimaced.
‘‘Look, I’m sorry,’’ Louisa said. ‘‘Okay?’’
‘‘What for?’’ Courtney shrugged coolly. ‘‘You’re following your heart, right?’’
‘‘But I hate this tension between us.’’
‘‘So return to Denver with me. Make everyone happy.’’
‘‘I can’t do that.’’
Courtney scratched her head dramatically, then looked up. ‘‘Michael didn’t want me to say anything . . . but since you’re so stubborn, I guess I will anyway.’’
The Englisher Page 8
