These words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.
‘‘Who a person is—how they conduct their lives—will influence a child for righteousness,’’ Julia had said.
Who I am is going to have more of an effect on people than what I say. At least till they can understand. If they ever do. Esther breathed a prayer for strength to carry out her responsibility as a new believer both at home and in the community. And for submitting to her husband, as unto the Lord. She felt a renewed compassion for Zeke, which she believed had been graciously given her from God.
Still, Julia had forgotten to take into account that another spirit was at work in this house. An opposing one, Esther thought as she patted Essie Ann, waiting for the wee burps. She pondered Zeke’s resistance to her study of the Bible, before she sent Laura and the boys upstairs to get ready for bed.
Sitting quietly in the rocking chair, she stared at the day clock on the wall, wondering where Zeke had taken himself off to on such an inclement night. She cherished the nearness of her infant, realizing how much she missed Julia and Irvin—the helpful comments and their devotional times, their children and hers listening to the stories and the prayers.
Ach, I daresn’t think backwards. . . .
Any minute now Zeke would return. She must brace herself emotionally and hope she would not be wounded by his piercing words. Nor his increasingly rough treatment of me.
Had she not been holding her baby, she might’ve allowed a bit of pity to seep from her soul. It was best she not give way to tears, although it was difficult to understand how one could be banned from the ‘‘fellowship,’’ simply due to embracing the whole truth of the Word of God. She had already tried to argue this with the brethren and with Zeke, to no avail. Now it was time for her to live out her walk with the Lord in a non-condemning manner, hoping to win them by her witness, in word and deed. She must let her light shine before the men who wished to rule her ability to choose Jesus Christ as her Lord and Master.
Sighing, she made her way up the long staircase, weary at the thought of the separateness that awaited her. It was not easy to sleep in the cold and distant bedroom at the end of the hall, as she had been doing since returning. Separated from the darling children who’d shared the Rancks’ attic with her, all of them together snug and safe. And separated from Zeke, as she would be each night for the rest of her life, though it was not what she would have chosen, given a say.
Chapter 22
Ben was surprised when Zeke appeared at the door of his apartment. ‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘Come on in.’’
Zeke stepped inside and Ben asked if he wanted some coffee or something else hot to drink. ‘‘Always coffee, jah.’’ Zeke stood in the sitting area and looked first at the couch, then the leather chair.
‘‘Sit wherever,’’ Ben said.
Ambling over to the chair, Zeke sat with a groan, as if older than his years.
Ben was still puzzled as to why Zeke would track him down here at home, but he didn’t ask. And when the coffee had finished percolating, he chose one of his largest mugs to fill with the dark brew for Zeke. ‘‘Sugar or cream or both?’’ he asked.
‘‘Always black.’’
Once Ben was settled on the sofa with his own coffee mug, Zeke began to talk about one injustice after another. He rambled, seemingly upset at ‘‘the liberals,’’ and Ben found it curious that Zeke had access to current events.
Ben waited for him to bring up the death of his brother again, as blunt as he’d been at the mud sale, but Zeke didn’t go there. What he seemed to be working toward was a different sort of request: a wood-splitting workday. ‘‘I’m needin’ some help to clear out trees damaged in the snowstorm. You got time?’’
Ben smiled, hoping his relief wasn’t too evident. ‘‘I’ll make the time. When?’’
‘‘Tomorrow’s good—after you’re done with work?’’
Ben paused, knowing Annie would be waiting for him up the road from her house, as usual. ‘‘I could help you for several hours in the morning, before I head for work.’’
Zeke grinned. ‘‘Jah, ’tis even better. Come on over for breakfast, then. That’ll be your pay.’’
‘‘Sounds fine. Thanks.’’ Anything for a home-cooked meal, he thought.
Zeke sat and talked a bit longer, mostly about his being under the weather due to the recent cold snap. ‘‘This winter’s been too long. Nearly endless, it seems.’’
Ben floundered for the right words. ‘‘Who knows, maybe you’ll feel better when spring comes. . . .’’
‘‘I doubt that.’’ Zeke shook his head. ‘‘Guess a body oughta get used to losin’ a part of himself . . . sooner or later.’’
Zeke quit talking, and Ben understood he was thinking again of his long-dead brother.
A hunting hound barked at the hint of first light in the eastern sky, and early risers all around Paradise estimated how many bales of hay were left in the barn.
Ben drove to Zeke’s place carefully, aware of ice patches on the road. He said to come for breakfast. But it certainly seemed like an imposition as Ben made the turn into the narrow driveway leading to the house, dark except for a light in the kitchen.
When no one answered his several knocks, he listened at the door and heard a teakettle squealing and a baby doing the same. Inching the door open, he found the kitchen in disarray. Oatmeal was boiling over from one pot on the stove, and Esther came rushing in with the howling baby in one arm and the smallest boy pulling on the hem of her apron.
‘‘Ach, Ben . . . it’s you,’’ she said, handing him Essie Ann, still small at just two months old. ‘‘Glad you let yourself in.’’ She leaned down to pick up John, whispered something in his ear, and then set him back down. Hurrying to the stove, she removed the pot of oatmeal. ‘‘As you can see, it’s been quite a mornin’.’’
‘‘I don’t need to stay if—’’
‘‘No . . . no, you’re here, so have yourself a nice hot breakfast.’’ She said Zeke had been called to help the neighbor but would be back any minute.
He felt strange alone in the kitchen with Zeke’s wife, but the three children lessened his uneasiness.
‘‘Goodness me,’’ Esther said, looking over at him holding the baby. ‘‘I daresay you’ve got a gentle way with little ones.’’
He, too, had just realized Essie Ann had stopped her wailing. ‘‘This happens at home, too, when my sister and family visit. Their baby son, well . . . does he ever have a set of lungs!’’
‘‘And you calm him, no matter his temper?’’ asked Esther.
He nodded. ‘‘I’m sure it’s just a fluke.’’
Esther laughed, leaning down to swipe a washcloth across John’s face, then using the same cloth on Zach’s mouth. ‘‘Well, I think it’s right fine that a young man should have such a soothing effect on an infant.’’
He grinned at Essie Ann, who was looking up at him.
‘‘Seems she remembers you,’’ Esther said before walking into the next room and calling up the steps, ‘‘Laura, hurry down, now.’’
He chuckled. ‘‘Nobody remembers much about the day of their birth.’’
Esther returned, fanning her face with her apron, while pointing Zach and John toward the table. ‘‘I daresay you should think ’bout having yourself a dozen or so young’uns.’’ She looked over at him again. ‘‘Sit anywhere ’cept the head of the table.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’ He sat to the right of the head, across from the boys, who were eyeing him now.
‘‘That’s Mamma’s place,’’ Zach said. ‘‘Or was.’’
Ben rose quickly.
‘‘No . . . no. That’s quite all right,’’ Esther said, motioning him back down. ‘‘I won’t be sittin’ at all.’’
A curious look cross
ed Zach’s face, and he turned quickly to look at his mother, who was heading across the kitchen again to call for Laura. ‘‘Mamma sits alone ev’ry meal now,’’ Zach whispered.
Ben wondered what that was about.
‘‘Dat never says why,’’ Zach said, clamming up when his mother came back into the room.
‘‘Here, let me put Essie Ann down for a nap,’’ Esther said, taking the baby from him. ‘‘She woke up mighty early this mornin’.’’
‘‘Jah, and she cried a lot in the night, Mamma,’’ Zach volunteered.
‘‘Colicky some,’’ Esther replied.
Little John sat still, just staring at him. Ben tried to engage him by wrinkling his face into comical poses. At last John spoke. ‘‘You . . . our cousin?’’
Zach laughed. ‘‘No, you Bensel . . . this is the harness shop man. Mr. Ranck’s friend.’’
‘‘I not silly. He’s Cousin Nate,’’ insisted John, squinting now at Ben.
Esther carried over a large bowl of oatmeal. ‘‘This here is Ben Martin, boys. You’ve met him before.’’
‘‘Jah, Laura says he’s the one with the smoothest peach stone in the whole wide world,’’ Zach said.
Ben was amused.
‘‘Ever see Dat’s collection of old peach pits?’’ Zach asked.
‘‘Boys . . . now, that’s enough. Mr. Ben’s not interested in suchlike.’’
But Ben found their chatter refreshing.
Soon Laura joined them at the table, sitting next to John and looking bright-eyed. Her parted blond hair shone beneath her white head covering, exactly like Esther’s.
‘‘Where’s Dat’s bag of peach stones?’’ Zach asked, leaning forward, directing the question to Laura.
Laura shrugged. ‘‘Guess they upped and walked off.’’
‘‘Well, you’ve seen ’em. I haven’t.’’ Zach resumed his attention to his breakfast plate, going for the jellied toast before the oatmeal.
‘‘Best be askin’ Dat.’’ Laura drank nearly half her milk and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ‘‘Where is he, anyway?’’
‘‘Bessie next door was fixin’ to have her calves,’’ Esther said, coming over to survey the children’s plates.
‘‘Aw, I want to go ’n’ see.’’ Laura frowned.
‘‘Me too,’’ said Zach.
‘‘Jah, and me do, too,’’ said John, poking his chubby chest.
‘‘Well, now, Dat can take all of you over yonder here ’fore too long.’’ Esther poured more milk for Laura. ‘‘Now yous need to stop talkin’ Ben’s ear off and eat.’’
‘‘Oh, I’m enjoying this,’’ Ben piped up.
‘‘You come from a big family?’’ Esther asked somewhat shyly.
‘‘Four younger sisters.’’
Zach found that funny and made his eyes bug out. ‘‘All girls, puh!’’
‘‘Aw, Zach,’’ said Esther.
‘‘It’s not so bad havin’ two of us round here,’’ Laura said, glancing over at Essie Ann in the cradle.
‘‘Well, at least one ain’t so lippy just yet,’’ Zach said, smiling at Ben as if they shared a secret, man to man.
‘‘No, but the baby’s got a fierce cry,’’ Laura said, ‘‘which means she’ll be frank enough someday.’’
‘‘Like Mamma?’’ Zach said.
Esther laughed out loud, shaking her head, then turned 253 back to the wood stove.
What a fun-loving bunch, Ben thought, wondering what was keeping their father.
Ben and the children had finished off most of the oatmeal and jellied toast. Esther, never having sat once, was already frying eggs for the boys and Zeke, offering an egg or two to Ben, as well.
Ben politely declined, not accustomed to eating so heartily at dawn. He was relieved to see Zeke as he entered, and raised his chin in greeting as Zeke came in and sat down.
‘‘Glad you went ahead,’’ Zeke said, explaining how he’d helped his neighbor deliver a calf. ‘‘Always fascinating.’’ Zeke looked at Esther just then, and she hurried over with a platter of freshly cooked eggs.
‘‘I s’pose yous offered the blessing?’’ Zeke said, looking straight at the boys.
‘‘I did this time,’’ Zach said.
‘‘Jah, he led the silent prayer,’’ Esther said, rumpling his hair.
‘‘My good little man,’’ Zeke replied.
Ben accepted another cup of coffee while Zeke downed his meal, but Esther hovered between the stove, the table, and sink, even now that Zeke was here and all of them had been served.
What’s up with that? Ben wondered. And why does she sit alone at mealtime? Everything else about the family had seemed surprisingly normal this morning. And though he knew it was none of his business, he felt glad Esther and the children had reunited with Zeke.
With Annie frequently disappearing to see Ben, Louisa had more time to spend with Sam. Still, she was getting antsy. Here it was already mid-March and she wanted to start making some money again, if not for the sake of paying additional room and board to Barbara Zook, then for her own sense of self-esteem. She wasn’t a slacker, and she missed the income from selling her paintings through the local gallery.
She had been eyeing section B—‘‘Local’’—of the Lancaster New Era, the newspaper at Julia’s. The Lancaster Museum of Art, downtown, was of most interest to her. Eileen Sauders, the owner of the art gallery on Route 30, had been talking about an April event—the Spring Art Walk—which was to include some of her own acquisitions in a regional show, sponsored by the museum.
Louisa was also beginning to feel the need to extend herself, to give back something to this community she had come to respect, something even more than attending quilting bees and canning frolics here in Paradise, although that was important, too. She decided to apply for a position teaching art to younger students.
By keeping her days free for delving into the Amish culture she so enjoyed, she could spare a few evenings a week, passing on her love of fine art to children. This would not impinge on her seeing Sam, either. Besides, with the plowing and planting season coming soon, he would become rather scarce, as he had already warned her.
When she really thought about it, she knew she couldn’t resist putting down a few roots here. Although it was beyond her ability to imagine how her romance with Sam could possibly move forward, Louisa realized she was trying on the Plain life in her head. Not playacting, as she had been doing all these past months, but seeing how it fit her— for real.
She tried to be attentive at Preaching services, but the sermons were in Dutch. And seemed pointless. She soaked up both Annie’s and Sam’s perspectives, noting that neither had joined the church as of yet. She even listened more closely when Annie’s grandmother, Mammi Zook, talked in the quiet of the evening. She enjoyed the quaint and interesting way Mammi’s Dutch and English became mixed together while doing needlepoint and cross-stitch. Mammi seemed almost too eager to have Louisa sit with her in the small front room of the Dawdi Haus.
When a voice mail showed up on her Palm, saying the museum contact person wanted to interview her ASAP, Louisa let out a little whoop of joy. Quickly she thought better of celebrating, since she hadn’t told Annie yet, waiting to first see how things went. She’d gone so far as to apply online in order to keep from having to ask to borrow Julia’s car. Until now.
Louisa knew she ought to bounce the whole thing off Annie before moving ahead. It wouldn’t be fair to reintroduce the world of art, not now when Annie was looking ahead to the beginning of her baptismal instruction classes next month. Annie had managed to stay away from her artistic passion to date—at least Louisa believed she had— and she didn’t want to interfere in any way with the plan Annie and her father had worked out. She didn’t know exactly how Ben Martin fit into that equation, and Annie hadn’t said much lately about her love life.
That night, after playing three games of checkers with Mammi Zook, Louisa laid out the whole plan to Annie upstairs.
&n
bsp; ‘‘You mean it, Lou? You’re gonna get a job here?’’ Annie’s eyes lit up.
‘‘Don’t get the wrong idea,’’ she insisted. ‘‘It’ll be for only six weeks this summer . . . after I get back from Denver.’’
Annie frowned. ‘‘You’re still thinking of going home for Easter?’’
‘‘I’ve already told my parents, so no turning back.’’
‘‘Well, jah. I can see that.’’ Annie’s mood quickly returned to elation, and she asked if Lou had called the museum back.
‘‘I wanted you to know first,’’ Louisa said.
‘‘Even before Sam?’’
Louisa smiled. ‘‘Anyone ever tell you you’re trouble?’’
‘‘All the time.’’
Louisa guessed Ben had been teasing Annie. ‘‘So . . . what’s new with you and your beau?’’
Blushing, Annie replied, ‘‘I need to borrow some fancy clothes.’’
‘‘You what?’’
‘‘Just a perty skirt or dress . . . something ’specially modest.’’
Louisa pounced. ‘‘Well, let’s get you out on the town, girl. Time for some new threads? I say we go shopping!’’
Annie grimaced. ‘‘Now listen . . . I’m not askin’ for attention. I just need to have something to wear out . . . well, in the modern world every so often.’’
‘‘In Ben’s world, you mean?’’
A poignant silence filled the room, and Annie sat there on her bed like a stone statue, unflinching, looking down at her hands.
‘‘Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.’’ There. She’d released her friend to protect her private thoughts and plans. But the silence was telling.
We’ve both lost our heads . . . and our hearts.
Annie’s request for a modern outfit came because Ben had purchased tickets to the musical Behold the Lamb at the Sight and Sound Millennium Theatre for the Saturday afternoon following Easter. ‘‘I haven’t decided yet if I’ll take down my hair, though. And I don’t know ’bout my Kapp, either,’’ Annie said a few days later.
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