‘‘Well, what would you like to do?’’ he asked.
‘‘Let’s go walkin’ somewhere.’’
‘‘We could drive over to Park City Center . . . have ice cream, ride the carousel. How’s that sound?’’
‘‘I like your idea, Ben.’’
‘‘I like you, Annie.’’ The echo of his words and the emotion behind them was quickly imprinted on her heart.
Chapter 27
Annie was almost grateful for the unexpected turn of events, happening upon Daed as she and Ben had earlier, because Ben treated her to a most exciting evening. She noticed only a handful of Mennonite women the entire time they walked the corridors of the pretty mall.
Later, when it was time to return home, Ben waited till there was not a single light flickering from her father’s house before turning off the car’s headlights and creeping halfway up the drive. Then he caught her off guard and gently reached for her hand.
After his tender good-bye kiss, she pulled her hairpins out of her pocket and began to pin up her long locks. ‘‘I had such a good time,’’ she said. Quickly she opened the glove compartment and found her black bonnet.
‘‘Ever ride on a carousel before?’’ he asked.
‘‘Never, but it was wonderful, I must say.’’
‘‘We can do it again.’’ His eyes were drawing her back to his arms.
‘‘Jah, that’d be right nice sometime,’’ she said, resisting her feelings. ‘‘Well, I’d better go in.’’ She offered a smile, then opened the door and stepped out of the car. ‘‘Good night, Ben.’’
Heart pounding now, she hoped against hope her parents were soundly asleep. She made her way around to the back of the house, heading quickly for the kitchen door of the Dawdi Haus. She let herself in and inched her way through the kitchen silently, then to the stairs.
If I can just make it to my room without anything creaking. She held her breath and removed Lou’s fancy boots. Cautiously she tiptoed up the steps.
She might’ve missed him altogether had she not glanced toward the small sitting area between her room and Dawdi and Mammi’s. A rustle in the darkness—not a sound, but a feeling. Someone was definitely sitting near the window.
‘‘Annie . . .’’
Her heart caught in her throat. She was less than a yard from her own room. Pulling her long coat closed, she wished to hide the suede boots in her hand . . . her feet and legs nearly bare in Lou’s flesh-colored hosiery.
Dare she dart into her room, close the door, simply refuse to talk?
Daed must not see me this way. . . .
‘‘Annie,’’ her father said again stiffly. ‘‘You will begin your baptismal instruction, as planned.’’ Then a glimmer of light from a match as he lit a lantern.
The single beam revealed her treachery. If only I’d worn my dark stockings. . . .
But there was something terribly amiss. Why was he waiting for her?
‘‘Come here to me, daughter.’’
Now she could see him, sitting tall in the old cane chair, a quilt folded on the slats behind him. He was fully dressed, and, no doubt, put out at having to wait up for so long. An early riser, he preferred to go to bed not long after sundown most evenings.
She made her feet move forward, holding the beautiful boots behind her back, ever so glad for her long coat, though it was not fully buttoned.
‘‘I saw you today . . . with Ben Martin.’’
‘‘When?’’ she asked, feeling stupid.
He rose suddenly. ‘‘Do not continue your pretense!’’ His voice boomed over her, filling the room. ‘‘And without your Kapp yet . . . your hair down—a disgrace! If it’s not one thing with you, it’s another.’’
She froze in place, biting her lip.
‘‘I order you never to see the Englischer again!’’ With that he picked up the lantern and carried it out of the room. Down the stairs he went, with no effort to restrain his footsteps.
Never see Ben?
She breathed in and held it, till her lungs nearly gave out. She remained standing there with locked knees in the blackened room, aware of Mammi Zook’s muttering to Dawdi in the next room now, asking him in Dutch, ‘‘What the world is goin’ on?’’
Quickly, lest she encounter yet another fuming relative, she dashed into her room and closed the door.
Too ill and forlorn to attend Preaching service, Annie stayed in bed, covers piled over her head, lifting them every so often to breathe a bit before relishing the darkness beneath yet again.
She did not care to see the light of the day, nor did she wish to eat breakfast with the family. Her barn chores could be done by one of her brothers. Or Daed, for that matter. If he was going to cut her off from Ben, then she would simply lie here till it was time for them to come and bury her. That’s how she felt, but she knew, eventually, she would get up, wash, and dress. But not for the Lord’s day, and not for any particular reason except to be up and combed and wearing her clothes. Plain once again.
She waited till the house was hushed and drained of people to make a hasty search for any stray brothers. Then she returned to the Dawdi Haus, to Mammi’s little gas-run refrigerator. Hungry in spite of her grief, she made two pieces of toast and a cup of hot tea.
Sitting at her grandparents’ small table, she realized not a soul had come to either check on or inquire of her. Well, maybe they had. Hiding beneath the covers had worked, apparently. Or had Daed already told them what she had done? And now she was alone with the place to herself till midafternoon, when they’d all return for milking.
She recalled Ben’s wonderful smile and the adoring way he looked at her, his consideration in helping her into the car and the careful way he drove. She felt so protected with him. She could still feel the press of his lips on hers, the tickle in her stomach even now at the thought of being nestled in his warm embrace. Is this love . . . when you long to be with someone beyond any good sense?
‘‘Oh, Ben . . . I already miss you,’’ she whispered into her warm tea.
She finished eating, then cleared off the table. She quickly washed and dried her plate and utensils, few as there were, and put them away for Mammi Zook.
Then she went to her room again, found some stationery, and curled up in bed. ‘‘This is for you, Daed,’’ she muttered angrily. ‘‘And for all the People.’’
She began to write her farewell letter.
Dear Ben,
I will make this short, since it is a waste of time and paper to write something that doesn’t make sense to me. Yet I should’ve seen this coming. (How could I have expected anything different?)
My father did recognize me with you yesterday and has demanded that I not see you ever again. It pains me so. I never wanted to think this day would come. Truly, I didn’t! I wanted only to think of you . . . of us.
So long, Ben. It seems impossible to say good-bye. Yet for the sake of my family . . . and my future . . . I know I must.
Yours,
Annie Zook
Ben was overjoyed to receive his mom’s phone call the following Tuesday, saying she’d located his birth certificate. ‘‘Here it is,’’ she said into the phone. ‘‘Benjamin David Martin . . .’’
‘‘That’s great, Mom. Send it by overnight mail.’’
‘‘Well, it would be nice if you came home,’’ his mother said. ‘‘You could pick it up then.’’
‘‘Sure, I’d love to come home—for a visit. But I’m not sure when that’ll be. So just pop it in the mail . . . I still need it to get a Pennsylvania driver’s license. Then I can finally open a checking account here, get a bit more established.’’ He didn’t know why it pleased him, this phone call from home.
My birth certificate, at long last . . .
After he hung up, he wandered outside to pick up his mail. The day was warm, and the faint scent of spring wafted on the breeze.
He did not recognize the handwriting on the single letter mixed in with the usual junk mail. He was ti
red, having stayed up late both Saturday night, after dropping Annie off, and then again last evening, burning the midnight oil online with his sister, Patrice.
Then he’d stared into the darkness, lying awake and weighing plans, ways to attempt, at least, to make things work with Annie and her family, unable as he was to discard his deep affection for her.
When it came down to reality versus hope, he guessed he was on the losing side. To be audacious enough to think Annie would leave behind all that she knew, and seemingly enjoyed, to be with him? He assumed he was treading on very thin ice.
But our love . . . it’s real. We can make it work.
He grabbed the remote and switched to Fox News, ready to catch up on the world. He had begun to feel incredibly isolated here. At times he loved the area—particularly when with Annie—yet at others he barely tolerated its smallness.
Reaching for the letter, he tore it open with his finger, not bothering to use the opener in his desk drawer. He saw his name and began to read the first line, only to scan down to see Annie’s signature at the bottom.
No! he groaned inwardly.
He read the entire letter, brief as it was, then pressed it to his forehead.
Impossible to say good-bye. Yet she had written those very words.
Reading it again, he shook his head. Torn and hurt as she obviously was, he would not fight her decision. He’d caused Annie Zook enough trouble.
Standing, he walked to the window and back, running his hand through his hair. ‘‘I’ll bow out and give her time— some space—to figure out what she wants.’’
He could only imagine what was going on at the preacher’s house . . . and in dear Annie’s heart.
The next day, after locking up the tack shop, Ben drove to Irvin’s, hoping to catch him before he left to visit a supplier. But upon arriving, Julia said he’d just missed him and invited him in for coffee. ‘‘You look pale, Ben. Are you ill?’’ she asked, treating him like a big sister might.
He assured her he was fine.
‘‘Well, would you like some chicken soup?’’ She seemed to think food could fix anything.
‘‘No, I really shouldn’t stay.’’ But he was already in the door and moving toward the kitchen in a fog. He sensed Julia’s ability to calm his nerves, although he was not the sort of person to tell just anyone his problems.
He sat down at her table, and soon James and Molly came to show him a favorite book. When they scampered back to the living room, he said, ‘‘I know this may be sudden . . . well, it is.’’ He paused, gathering his wits. ‘‘I don’t want to spring this on Irvin, but I do need to return home. Very soon.’’ He stopped again, wishing this weren’t so difficult. He would miss his work and the good pay. ‘‘I need to give my notice today, Julia.’’
She tilted her head in the usual way, eyes filled with understanding, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that was why folk liked to be around her. Julia seemed to know how to let you off the hook and wasn’t into the control thing like so many women seemed to be.
‘‘Irvin would want to say good-bye and wish you well,’’ she said. ‘‘I know I speak for him on this.’’ She took the portable phone out of its cradle and offered it to Ben. ‘‘Would you care to tell him yourself? He has his cell phone with him, I believe.’’
He accepted the portable phone, though he might have used his own cell. There was no turning back. He would exit Annie’s life and spare her any further pain. The best thing for all concerned.
Irvin answered his call promptly, and Ben felt as though he were going through the motions. Swimming in a haze of lost causes, lost dreams.
Irvin asked him to stay on at the tack shop for at least two weeks, so he would have time to hire someone to take his place. Ben understood and agreed, not wanting to shirk his duty. He was thankful Irvin had given him the excellent job in the first place, entrusting him with a lot of responsibility.
‘‘All right. I’ll stay until you find a replacement,’’ Ben agreed.
When he hung up, he accepted a second cup of coffee, glad for the nice distraction of Julia’s children. He enjoyed their playful expressions, their need to push their own interests— books, toys—into his lap or onto the table before him.
Julia cooked supper, seeming to take care not to disturb him. Every now and then she reminded the children that ‘‘Ben isn’t a playmate.’’ He might have been amused were he not so immobile. He felt unable to push through the blur of where he and Annie had been and where they were now. In a short time, they’d gone from enjoying many hours in each other’s company to absolutely zero.
Julia asked if he would like to stay for supper, but he declined gratefully. He must figure out how to get out of his lease, if possible. If not, he’d have to make arrangements to sublet.
He remembered his manners. ‘‘Is there anything I can help you with before I go?’’
‘‘As a matter of fact, there is.’’ Julia said there were a few things Esther Hochstetler had left in the attic room. ‘‘Would you mind bringing them downstairs for me?’’
‘‘I’ll do you one better,’’ he replied. ‘‘I’ll haul them over to Zeke and Esther.’’
‘‘Well, I appreciate that,’’ Julia said, returning to the stove. ‘‘And I know Esther will be glad for them.’’
Upstairs in the small room, he stood in the center of the attic space and struggled with his loss of Annie. Buck up, he told himself, realizing he would miss not only her, but also Irvin and Julia and their children . . . not to mention the good men coming and going at the harness shop.
I made a foolish mistake, falling in love. . . .
He sat on the only chair in the room, head bowed. After a time, he straightened and noticed a long, rectangular item in the corner, propped up between the wall and the bureau.
Getting up to look, he saw that it was a frame, tightly wrapped in brown packing paper. The name Zook was written in the corner with a felt-tip pen. Curiosity tugged at him, and he found himself opening a loose corner. He peered inside, intrigued to see part of a painting. He knew he was snooping, yet he removed the small strip of tape and saved it, then carefully unwrapped the entire large piece.
He stared at the painting inside—a haunting, yet remarkable rendering of the covered bridge on Belmont Road . . . the cluster of trees, and the stream below. ‘‘This is the very image. . . .’’ He could not believe how perfect a likeness the artist had created as he scrutinized the beauty of brush stroke on canvas. Unbelievable!
Opening his wallet, he extracted the folded copy he’d carried since Christmas. Smoothing it out, he studied it closely. ‘‘They’re identical,’’ he murmured.
Wondering who the artist was, he searched for a signature in the bottom right-hand corner. Finding it, his mouth dropped open. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘‘Annie Zook . . . you do have your secrets.’’
No wonder her eyes saw all things beautiful.
‘‘She’s really good,’’ he said, wondering why Annie had never told him of her talent.
Wanting to stare longer at the superb work, yet knowing Julia might wonder what was keeping him, he began to wrap the paper around the frame again, even placing the tape exactly where it had been before.
Satisfied the painting was positioned just as he’d first found it, he stepped back and shook his head. ‘‘No wonder . . .’’ He turned to look out the window, at the fading sky. ‘‘Annie, it was you. You brought me here.’’
Chapter 28
Soon after morning milking, but before breakfast was served, Esther went to check on Essie Ann, down the hall in her crib, when she thought she heard weeping. But how could that be? Laura was out feeding the pigs just now, while Zach watched over John in the kitchen, the two playing quietly together. Not another soul was in the house, except for her sleeping baby.
Or so she thought.
The nearly eerie sound continued and she felt compelled to go and stand by Zeke’s bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Ins
ide, Zeke was muttering and whining to himself like a child fussing over having been harshly disciplined.
Well, for goodness’ sake, she thought, wondering what was troubling him.
Listening in on the peculiar exchange—in essence, what it was—Esther was stunned. Zeke was saying he most certainly deserved to be shunned now, just as his wife was. ‘‘If the men of God knew my sins, they wouldn’t think twice on it.’’ Here he stopped, and a kind of sad and despairing wail poured out of him. ‘‘I know now what happened. . . .’’
She swallowed hard, and it was all she could do to stand still and not let her feet take her right in there, right now, and comfort the poor man.
Zeke continued his odd dialog, switching to take the side of one of the preachers. ‘‘What do you have to say for yourself, Ezekiel? You pray more . . . nothin’ changes. You can’t keep strikin’ Esther, frail thing.’’
Zeke moaned again. ‘‘It’s rippin’ out my insides . . . who I am. Who I’ve always been . . .’’ He paused. ‘‘Nothin’s as it seems. Nothin’ at all.’’
Trembling, she moved closer to the door and peeked through the sliver of an opening. There Zeke sat, on the bed they had always shared before her shunning, rocking back and forth, his big hands covering his face and part of his beard. ‘‘With pride comes shame,’’ he said. ‘‘Ach, one wretched sin begets another and another. Ain’t so, Lord God?’’
Esther hadn’t the slightest notion what he meant, and she inched back, afraid. She took in a slow, long breath. O Lord in heaven, help us!
Zeke had been strangely quiet the past few weeks, so Jesse thought it might do them both good to stand out in the barn and talk, now that spring was in the air.
Too early for straw hats yet. However he had seen a horde of bees droning over some dried-out wood at the neighbors’ yesterday. Birds, including a few barn swallows, were back in the neighborhood, starting with the first robins two weeks ago, and the finches just today.
But it was the stubborn way the new grass had begun to shove its way up through old thatch that told him warmer weather was near.
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