The Englisher

by Beverly Lewis

  He clicked his cheek as Betsy trotted down Belmont Road, heading north. His noontime dinner of fried chicken sat heavy on his stomach as he made his way to Hochstetlers’.

  He wondered how Zeke was getting along with his headstrong woman. He figured it wouldn’t be much longer and Esther would give in to the demands of the Ordnung. Whatever had gotten into her recently was clearly dangerous.

  He turned his thinking now to the task that lay before him, feeling mighty responsible, considering his big push to return Esther to Zeke’s precarious nest.

  Zeke stared at the neighbors’ barn telephone, clutching it till his knuckles turned white. He’d run all the way here, compelled by an urgency that had been mounting all day. Slowly he lifted the receiver to his ear and dialed 911.

  A woman’s voice came on the line, and he said right quick, ‘‘Send the police to my house at once.’’

  ‘‘Please state your name, address, and phone number for verification, sir.’’

  He managed to eke out the requested information, having to peer at the number printed on the telephone.

  ‘‘What is the nature of your emergency?’’

  He began to weep. ‘‘My brother . . . Isaac Hochstetler is dead. He’s . . . dead, and too young to die.’’ He choked back heaving sobs.

  The woman attempted to calm him, or at least he thought that was why she spoke in such measured tones. But he was beside himself. ‘‘So you best be gettin’ the police out here, and quick.’’

  ‘‘How did Isaac die?’’ came the dreaded question.

  He stammered a bit, then inhaled sharply, dropping the phone and letting it dangle and sway on its cord. Wiping his face with his paisley blue handkerchief, he stumbled back up the road to his house.

  Jesse spotted fresh tire tracks in a stubble-filled cornfield to the east. Curious, he followed the tracks with his eyes, craning his neck as the horse pulled the carriage past. He had occasionally given some thought to the faster, less strenuous work a tractor could offer. Even if he had the funds for that type of equipment, he couldn’t justify entertaining such thoughts for longer than a few seconds, if at all. Truly, being a minister stymied much inventive thought.

  For a moment he understood something of Annie’s inner struggle, her desire to create. Surely that was inventive as well. He was convinced, however, once she gave her lifetime vow of submission to the church and the Lord God— once she settled into marrying, too—she would forget her foolish penchant for drawing and painting. He could not deny his daughter’s great talent, as Barbara regarded her ability, but he would not go so far as to agree that Annie had a God-given gift.

  Looking at the sky as he neared the Hochstetler farm, Jesse was in tune with the change of season. Winter was beginning to shed her long woolens for the fluttery skirts of spring. He’d thrilled to the softness of the soil in Barbara’s garden plot, surprisingly ready to be spaded up and set to hand plowing. He’d even seen two earthworms already hard at work aerating the black soil.

  ‘‘Gee,’’ he commanded the horse. Zeke’s black watchdog wagged his tail near the turn into Hochstetlers’ driveway.

  Right away Jesse spotted the police car parked near the backyard.

  Now what’s Zeke gone and done? He clenched his teeth, and his palms broke out in an unexpected sweat.

  Debating whether or not he wanted any part in this— Should I simply turn around and head home?—Jesse sat there, his brain suddenly clouded. If the bishop had been the one pulling up to Zeke’s place just now, this might be a different story.

  What happened next made him flinch. Up ahead, coming out of the barn, was Zeke, flanked by two police officers.

  ‘‘Ach, no . . .’’ Jesse whispered, dropping the reins.

  His mind flew to Esther. Where was she? Had her husband lost all sense of control and blackened her eye this time? Slammed one of the children against a wall? Worse?

  Or had Zeke told them what he knew about Isaac’s remains?

  Jesse climbed out of the carriage, patted his horse’s rump, and walked to where the driveway ended and the sidewalk began.

  ‘‘All right, then,’’ he heard Zeke say, nodding, as he followed the man and woman in uniform to the waiting car. Zeke made eye contact with Jesse but only for a second. Then he bowed his head.

  Jesse shuddered, but he removed his hat and approached the police in spite of himself. ‘‘I’m Zeke’s minister, Preacher Zook,’’ he said. ‘‘What’s the trouble here?’’

  The tall, blond officer might have passed for one of the People, with his scruffy start of a beard. ‘‘We’re taking him in for questioning,’’ the young man replied, glancing over at Zeke, who was now sitting in the backseat of the patrol car.

  Jesse scratched his head. ‘‘Well, now, you sure this isn’t some mistake?’’ He tried to catch Zeke’s eye again. ‘‘We Amish aren’t at all interested in getting the outside world mixed in with our own. I’m sure you understand.’’

  The policeman nodded. ‘‘I’ve heard as much.’’ He motioned for Jesse to move away from the car with him. Then, standing near the house, he lowered his voice. ‘‘Between you and me, I’m not exactly certain what we’ve got here . . . but I can guarantee one thing: We’ll get to the bottom of it.’’

  ‘‘I’d be glad to take him off your hands,’’ Jesse said.

  ‘‘Meaning what?’’

  ‘‘I’ll take him on home with me. Keep him away from the family until he cools off. . . .’’

  The officer looked at him sharply. ‘‘Are you implying the man is violent, sir?’’

  Ach, no. Now what have I said? Jesse hurried to explain.

  ‘‘I’m just tellin’ you, I’ll be responsible for him. Look after him . . . see what’s what.’’ Jesse was much too shaken to convey the sort of confidence the dismal situation required.

  ‘‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. When a man makes a call like Mr. Hochstetler did, my partner and I can’t ignore it. He’ll most likely be detained a few hours, if he cooperates fully.’’

  Jesse frowned, wondering what Zeke had told them. Jesse knew he best be making another attempt to keep the pot from boiling over. Nothing good could come of hauling Zeke off to the English world. ‘‘I’m willin’ to come along to town, for that matter, if it would help,’’ he said, not sure what good that would do. But it sounded accommodating, and he was all for that.

  ‘‘We can handle this.’’ The policeman stepped back. ‘‘Now if you’ll excuse me . . .’’

  No, no . . . stop him.

  Helpless to do more, Jesse watched as the car pulled forward, turned around, and headed toward the road.

  What a pity I didn’t arrive sooner.

  Suddenly it struck him—Esther might need him.

  He hurried around the house and stood at the back door, leaned his forehead against it, aware of his pounding heart. He called out to Esther, ‘‘Anybody home?’’

  ‘‘Ach, Preacher Jesse,’’ she said when she came to the door, babe in arms. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘‘They’ve taken my husband away.’’

  He followed her into the kitchen, where she laid Essie Ann in her cradle and hurried Zach and John into the front room. ‘‘Don’t forget your toys,’’ she said softly, although there was an obvious unraveling to her voice. It was clear her emotions were ragged.

  ‘‘Are you all right, Esther?’’ He saw no marks on her face, nothing to indicate a scuffle.

  ‘‘This ain’t what you think, Preacher. Zeke took himself down the road to the neighbors and called the police. Oh, I just don’t understand.’’

  ‘‘What did he tell them?’’ He led her to the table to sit.

  She sighed and rested her head between her hands. After a time, she looked up. ‘‘I heard only bits and pieces.’’ She fumbled for a handkerchief in her dress sleeve. ‘‘Something about knowing where someone’s bones are buried. I thought he said Isaac’s. . . .’’

  Jesse groaned and stared at the tablecloth. The
checked pattern made him dizzy—nauseated.

  ‘‘What’ll happen to him?’’ she whispered, eyes dull.

  Once the world comes rushing in . . .

  He’d heard of Plain communities wracked by such things as crime and police involvement. The Mount Hope, Ohio, shootings during the harvest some years back was one case in point.

  Quickly now Jesse regained his sense of duty. ‘‘I don’t know a lot about the English world, Esther, and neither do you. We’ll have to do the best we can, that’s all.’’ We’ll have to keep our noses clean, too, he thought, not wanting to be mixed up with whatever things Zeke might say under interrogation.

  Zeke knows I buried those bones!

  ‘‘I’m awfully scared, Preacher. Honest, I am.’’

  Looking at Esther’s sorrowful face, he realized, quite unexpectedly, that he was breaking the rules of her shunning.

  ‘‘I’ll see if Barbara might come stay the night,’’ he offered. This poor woman shouldn’t be alone after such a day—shunned or not. He could not allow more pain to fill her eyes. ‘‘I’ll go ’n’ fetch her straightaway and return shortly.’’

  ‘‘Kind of you’’ was all Esther said, wringing her hands.

  He walked to the back door, and when he turned briefly, he saw that she was still seated like a stone, her eyes fixed in a vacant stare.

  Later that afternoon, Esther searched outside for Laura, who had taken herself off to the outhouse but not returned in a reasonable amount of time, as Zeke always demanded of them.

  When Laura was nowhere to be seen, Esther headed quickly to the barn. There, the late afternoon sun shone through slats in the wall, creating ribbons of light on beds of straw. She found Laura sitting on the edge of one of the hay holes, her little legs dangling through. ‘‘What’s-amatter that you’re up there all by your lonesome?’’ she called gently.

  ‘‘Mighty scared, Mamma.’’

  Esther was glad to have found her. Truth was, Esther was terrified, too. Not for the reason Laura was, probably, but she felt ever so helpless, worried what might become of Zeke.

  ‘‘I want us to stay with Auntie Julia again,’’ Laura said, her voice muffled.

  ‘‘Aw, honey-love, I’m right here.’’

  ‘‘Still, can’t we go back?’’

  Of course she misses Irvin and Julia, Esther thought sadly. The Rancks’ home represented a deep and settled kind of peace for Laura. For all of us. Galatians referred to it as ‘‘fruit of the Spirit,’’ and Esther longed for such a life. With Zeke out of the house, perhaps we’ll enjoy a few hours of serenity. Yet she knew she should not relish the thought of Zeke’s absence.

  ‘‘Mamma?’’ Laura’s small voice brought her back.

  ‘‘Well, darlin’, I don’t see us goin’ much of anywhere,’’ she replied. ‘‘There’s oodles to do around the house.’’

  And there were the pigs. Zeke’s herd required plenty of work, and between herself and what little help Laura could offer, especially now what she was at school most of the day, Esther felt she might have to hire some help. With what money, she didn’t know. Either that or register a plea with Preacher Jesse for some assistance from amongst the menfolk. This is awful bad timing my being shunned and all. What if Zeke is gone for a long while?

  Even her older brother would be reluctant to assist them, and she would definitely need help with the sows pregnant, or ‘‘in pig,’’ as Zeke often said.

  She assumed her mother would come to check on them—bad news traveled fast—hopefully offering smiles and hugs, at least for the children.

  ‘‘I have an idea, dear one,’’ she said. ‘‘Why don’t we ask the Lord Jesus to take care of Dat?’’

  ‘‘Jah, let’s.’’ Laura’s hair bun was coming loose as she inched slowly down into the hay hole. ‘‘I want to jump,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Well, I may or may not catch you, depending how you fall,’’ Esther warned her, glad the conversation was changing direction.

  ‘‘Then I best not try. I wouldn’t want to break my leg and be a burden to you.’’ Laura rose quickly and walked to the door leading outside, then came around to return through the lower barn door. ‘‘There now. I’m all done bein’ gloomy.’’

  ‘‘Well, even the dear Lord was drauerich—sad.’’ She began to tell Laura the story of Jesus’ good friend, Lazarus, who had become sick and died. As they walked to the pigpen, preparing to water and feed the swine, she wished she could hurry through the sorrowful part to the happy ending.

  Fact was, Laura would want to know what had happened to her father today. And the schoolyard grapevine might help out with that all too quickly for Esther’s liking, although she wouldn’t mind knowing something more herself. Whatever came, she’d not soon forget this day and Zeke’s absurd muttering in the bedroom. Oh, Lord Jesus, will you hover ever near?

  Chapter 29

  The day after Zeke was taken away by the police, Jesse hurried out the back door at Bishop Andy’s and climbed into his carriage. Together the ministers, including the bishop, old Preacher Moses, and the neighboring bishops, had gathered to hash over Zeke’s latest attention-getting stunt. The People, as a whole, were sure to get beat up in the media, they feared. Bishop Andy did not berate Jesse for being unable to dissuade the police from taking Zeke into custody, but the disappointment was evident in his aging eyes.

  The consensus among the brethren was to lay low for the time being in the hope the police would soon realize Zeke was not in his right mind. But if the investigation spread to exhuming Isaac’s remains and questioning the People . . . none of them had any idea what would happen then. The police had indicated that Zeke would be held only a few hours and released but he had yet to return. So what could have gone awry? Not even Esther had received word.

  What’s Zeke thinking, calling the police? Jesse wondered.

  Back on the road now, the gentle, humdrum sway of the carriage up London Vale Road settled Jesse’s frayed nerves, offering a sort of reassurance. A body could rest away the cares of the day, the week, and even longer perched in a horse-drawn carriage, letting the air hit his face. At once he felt sorry for the moderns who rode around in cars, completely enclosed. ’Specially this time of year when the air’s fresh as a pasture filled with wild flowers, he thought. And Zeke, stuck in a jail, of all things!

  Suddenly he thought of Yonie, riding around in a car like an Englischer. He’d heard of the vehicle for some time but had never laid eyes on it. He hadn’t let on just how upset he was, and he would continue to hold his peace. He wished Yonie would grow up and quit dabbling in the world.

  Annie, too.

  For the time being, Jesse would turn a blind eye to Yonie’s rumschpringe and hope Annie was altogether free of her sinning days. Not even her mother has noticed any new artwork all these months, he thought, and was glad of it. And word was, Irvin’s tack shop employee had given notice— planned to return to Kentucky here before too long. If not for Annie, Jesse would be sorry to see Ben Martin go. A right fine and helpful fellow. Still, better that Ben was out of the picture for good.

  Jesse reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of salted peanuts, enjoying the snack as he headed to the smithy’s for a visit. On the ride, he thought again of Barbara’s remarks this morning. She had come away from spending the night with Esther and the children worried sick. The way Esther had talked, Julia Ranck might just up and fill the void by taking Esther again under her wing.

  Esther’s memorizing and poring over Scripture, Barbara told him.

  He cringed, staring at the cows leaning their heads out of the fence by the side of the road.

  You get one fire put out, and there’s always another.

  Truth was, he should try and stamp out this salvation message before it spread. And it could. He knew too many bishops who’d lost a good portion of their members to evangelists and Bible thumpers. He mustn’t let that happen here.

  Annie placed the suitcase on her bed and opened the lid. Sh
e couldn’t believe what Mamm had whispered to her about Zeke last evening before hurrying to spend the night with Esther. Zeke in jail? There had to be some mistake. Still, it felt somehow providential that Esther was alone without her husband just now.

  Looking up, Annie saw Mamm standing in the doorway. ‘‘I need to leave home,’’ she said with as much determination as she could muster.

  ‘‘Oh, Annie . . . no.’’ Mamm lowered her head.

  ‘‘I’m a humiliation to my family.’’

  ‘‘Haven’t we been through this before?’’ her mother reminded her. She came in and sat on the spare bed that had been Lou’s.

  No, Annie thought to herself. This time was far different. She was not leaving because of her inability to resist art. She had besmirched herself, abandoning one of their sacred symbols, her head covering, instead of wearing it as the Scriptures instructed. She’d allowed her long hair to go uncovered, revealing it fully to a man who was not her husband.

  And never will be.

  According to her father, there were more transgressions on the record of Annie’s life than she cared to consider.

  ‘‘I’ve made up my mind, Mamm. I’m goin’ to stay with Esther . . . to help with the pig farm and all.’’

  ‘‘Are you sure?’’

  ‘‘Esther can use the help, and Daed can’t stand the sight of me.’’

  Mamm didn’t contradict her. ‘‘Does Esther know you’re comin’?’’

  ‘‘Well, no . . . but—’’

  ‘‘Ach, you best be thinkin’ this through. She’s banned from the fellowship, for pity’s sake.’’

  ‘‘Well, in many ways, so am I.’’ Annie set about packing her dresses, nightclothes, Kapps, and her small box of straight pins, as well as her best stationery and Lou’s letters— all of the things she had brought with her when she and Lou moved over to the Dawdi Haus bedroom last year.

  ‘‘You know Esther can’t care for the children and the farm by herself for long,’’ Annie went on, neatly folding her clothes. ‘‘You said you might even try ’n’ help her some, Mamm.’’