The Preacher's Daughter (32 page)

I won't turn my back on this wondrous thing,
she determined in her heart, unsure what the ramifications might be for her precious children. Not taking into account Zeke's husbandly needs and wishes, she must follow the shunning requirements, and what a pleasant respite . . . at least for a time. Zeke would surely hold her to the
Bann,
imposed by his own will and the church's. She shook her head, aware of the irony.

Esther held her stomach, so large now she could not see her own knees, let alone her ankles. A wave of sudden sadness, beyond the pronouncement of an impending permanent shun, was the stark realization that this child she was carrying would be her very last. And in her despondency, she prayed it might be a girl. If so, she would name her Essie, after her own lost innocence. That is, if Zeke deemed it acceptable.

When Louisa checked her voice mail, she was dismayed to hear Michael's voice.
Again!
Only this time he said he was booking a flight to Pennsylvania for this week—didn't say what day he planned to arrive—only that he was indeed coming.

‘‘Oh, this is so lame!'' she said while she hung out in the barn with Annie, who was inspecting the bridle and other parts of the many harnesses, in response to her father's request.

‘‘What's lame?'' Annie asked.

Sighing, Louisa groped for the right expression. ‘‘All right. It's the pits,'' she said. ‘‘Michael's determined to bust his nose in here and talk turkey.''

‘‘Himmel, not
that
!'' Annie smirked. But then she must have realized the gravity of the situation.

‘‘He says he has a new angle he wants to present in person.'' She wanted to have a royal fit—pull out her hair bun or throw something. But if she looked Plain, she ought to act it.

Annie looked at her stunned. She obviously didn't get it. ‘‘Well, why'd you say he could visit? Tell him to stay home.''

Lou shook her head. ‘‘He left all this on my voice mail. Michael's like that. He doesn't wait for an answer . . . just barrels his way through.''

‘‘Honestly, I like a man like that,'' Annie said, surprising herself. ‘‘But is there anything he can do or say to change your mind, Lou, really? And if not, then it's a waste of money and time.''

‘‘Nothing will change my mind.''

‘‘Tell him to stay put, then.'' Annie could talk big. Louisa wondered if Annie would actually have done this if Rudy had decided to pull out all the stops after their breakup.

‘‘Sure, I can do that. For the zillionth time,'' Louisa said. The last thing she wanted was Michael walking around here on Annie's turf. The thought of it made her livid, like it might desecrate the soil or worse. ‘‘I hope my Palm has enough power left for me to call him.''

‘‘If not, we'll go 'n' get some quick-like. We'll take Daed's fastest horse and the buggy and head straight to Cousin Julia's.''

Louisa saw through Annie's suggestion. ‘‘By way of the harness shop, right? Hey, I know what you've got on
your
mind.''

Annie blushed crimson, shaking her head all the while.

‘‘I see right through you, Annie-girl.'' She was amused now. ‘‘I guess it's time for me to check out the harness shop dude for myself.''

Annie blinked fast, and then gave a frown. ‘‘Dude?''

‘‘Well, he'd have to be one if he's a modern boy hanging out at a tack shop, right?'' She wasn't about to check the power on her cell now. ‘‘Come on, let's get going. I have a call to make!''

Chapter 32

M
ichael picked up immediately, and Louisa sensed he was at work.

‘‘I want you to listen to me.'' She sucked in a deep breath.

‘‘Hey! I'll be seeing you soon, Louisa. We can talk face-to-face.'' He was not listening. He was railroading his way over her, the way he presented closing arguments in court. ‘‘No. The answer is no, even though you never bothered to ask,'' she said.

‘‘What's wrong, babe?''

‘‘Don't you get it? I'm done. We're finished. Cancel your trip.''

‘‘So . . . you've already hooked up with someone else?'' This surprised her.

Immediately she thought of Trey . . . but that was so strange it was a sort of nothing on her radar screen right now. The fact was she'd found what she had craved: freedom to live her life.

She glanced over her shoulder at Annie, who was helping Julia in the kitchen. ‘‘It's not about another guy, which is really none of your business anyway.''

He went silent on her, but she braced herself for the come- back. Definitely, there would be one. But
no,
she wasn't going to brace and she would not wait. ‘‘I'm going to hang up now,'' she said. ‘‘Good-bye, Michael.''

Click!

Almost too easy,
she thought, congratulating herself. And she knew Annie would be proud of her for standing her ground.

Ben followed the scent of woodsmoke, going to the door of the shop to look out. A quarter mile or so away, near Irvin's house, a lone Amish buggy was parked in the driveway.

Certainly he had work to do, but his feet were firmly planted as he waited and watched, curious to see who might emerge from the Rancks' door.

The phone rang a moment later, and he turned reluctantly. Answering, ‘‘Rancks' harness shop,'' he carried the portable phone over to the door and stood there, watching.

Paying attention to the broken English of the decidedly Amish customer on the line, he made a mental note. ‘‘I'll check on that order right away, sir. Have yourself a fine day,'' he said and hung up.

Fine day, indeed
.

It was then that the horse began to rear its head, and one by one, the small pickets from the fence began to fly into the air. ‘‘He'll rip it to pieces,'' he muttered.

Grabbing his jacket, he hurried out the door. He considered driving the car over but quickly changed his mind, thinking the engine might scare the horse further.

Forget that,
he thought, running across the wide field.

Annie heard the horse making a racket and excused herself from the kitchen, where she and Julia had been organizing all the lower cupboards and shelves while Louisa checked her email.

‘‘Well, what's going on out there?'' Julia asked.

‘‘I'll go see.'' Annie said as she dashed to the door.

There, down on the driveway, the harness shop ‘‘dude'' was attempting to steady her father's horse, and doing a fine job of it, surprisingly so. He had a hold of the reins and was stroking the horse's long nose and apparently talking to him, as well.

He's got a right gentle way,
she thought, heading down the stairs to thank him.

‘‘Hullo, again,'' he said before she could say it first.

‘‘Well, now, looks like you just spared Cousin Julia's fence. Maybe she won't have to replace the whole stretch of it . . .'cause of you.''

He nodded, extending his hand. ‘‘Glad to help. Any time.''

She shook his hand, aware of his strength. ‘‘Thanks ever so much.''

‘‘I'm Ben Martin . . . and you are?''

‘‘The preacher's daughter.''

He handed her the reins, ignoring her impertinence. ‘‘This is one feisty horse,'' he said with a sly grin. ‘‘So then, you have no name?''

‘‘Perty much,'' she said. And had it not been for Louisa coming down the back steps right then, Annie might've stood there wondering what forthright thing to say next, to keep this fellow's eyes from lighting up like an English Christmas tree every time she even uttered a word. But here came Lou, waving to them and smiling for all she was worth. ‘‘This is my good friend Louisa . . . she's decided she likes goin' by Lou, though. Say hullo to Mr. Ben Martin.''

‘‘Nice to meet you, Lou,'' said Ben, nodding politely.

‘‘Same here. You're not from around here?''

‘‘Good ol' Kentucky's my home. Fine horse country . . . you may have heard.''

Annie had noticed the slight southern twang and was intrigued by the thoughtful drawl of his words. ‘‘Well, what brings you to God's country?'' she asked.

That brought a laugh all around. Then, Ben seemed to focus his attention on her once again, which made Annie feel peculiar. ‘‘It's a long story how I ended up here, but for now I need to get back to the shop. Need to keep the customers satisfied.''

She smiled, relieved to see he wasn't going to stand there and stare at her all day. ‘‘Cousin Irvin always says, ‘The customer is king.' ''

‘‘And I agree. Nice meeting you both,'' he said, then turned to leave, patting the horse and whispering something to the animal before heading across the field back to the harness shop.

‘‘Now there's a hottie if I've ever met one,'' Louisa whispered as the two of them stood watching him go.

‘‘Oh, you and your English slang.'' She wondered if Louisa was at all intrigued by the newcomer. If so, too bad she'd decided to dress Plain while here.
Because Ben must surely assume she's Amish like me!

So . . . she wants to remain anonymous!
Ben was intrigued by such an outspoken girl and Plain, at that. He hadn't been in
such
a hurry to return to the shop. He'd used it as an excuse to hightail it back to privately consider the spark that had ignited when he touched the preacher's daughter's hand.

He wanted to see the Zook girl again. But he wondered what dark-haired Louisa was thinking . . . looking as if
she'd
like to go with him to Starbucks.

He knew he would probably second-guess this thing to death. No doubt the girl who made his heart pound like a jackhammer was probably already engaged. Nothing was ever this easy. . . .

Getting back to work, he decided to dismiss his ridiculous notions. What would an Amish girl want with an outsider anyway?

They quarreled bitterly prior to retiring for the night, Esther pleading with Zeke not to raise his voice lest the ranting rise to the ears of their little ones who were supposedly asleep. But Zeke kept insisting she must ‘‘give up her silly little game.''

‘‘My devotion to God has nothin' at all to do with playing a game.''

But, sadly, at the end of their disagreement, Zeke was more concerned about being without her in their bed. ‘‘Your punishment is mine, too,'' he stated fiercely, his fists clenched.

Her head throbbed with the knowledge of his anger. By her sheer ingenuity she managed to get away from the stinging words that spewed forth near endlessly. It wasn't that she lied to do so, not at all, for she surely
was
nauseated, even concerned with her baby coming in a few weeks. The stress of his confrontation was terribly taxing, and she needed a reprieve quickly. So she told him she must get some rest . . .‘‘lest the baby come early.'' This seemed to help the situation, although he was surly all the way up the stairs.

His punishment, indeed,
she thought, settling into the small bed in the corner room of the house.

Pulling up the layers of quilts, she knew that yet another punishment for her was the way the cold crept into this particular room, far from the heat source below them on the other side of the house. The lingering fires of the cookstove were located in the center of the kitchen, the warmth rising to the large bedroom where Zeke would sleep now, alone. And the only portable propane heaters they owned were situated in the children's rooms. Rightly so.

It was her darling children who encompassed her every dream this night, away from her marriage bed. First Laura, her oval face beaming with joy over the cuddly kitties she cradled in her arms, sparing them from a swift death. Then it was Zach and John pulling on a thick rope, laughing so hard they cried as they tugged . . . pulling . . . straining in their play. In helpless haziness, she was very aware of her dear threesome, and the baby growing within, in the vignettes of her many dreams.

Later in the deep of night, when she dreamt of her littlest boy struggling to breathe, she wakened with a start, sitting straight up in bed, wringing wet with perspiration.

Listening, she heard whimpering.
Am I still sleeping?

Gingerly she raised her swollen self out of the foreign bed, rising as if in slow motion, unable to feel her bare feet on the floor at first. Then the familiar smarting—the sting of cold shot straight to the bone.

She moved about, attempting to locate her house shoes with her awkward feet, and quickly lit the lantern, keenly aware of Laura's small voice, calling . . . pleading for help.

Zeke sleeps through everything,
she thought, shuffling herself along the long hallway, following the sound of Laura's voice.

‘‘Mamma! Come help . . . Mamma, do come quick!'' Laura called softly, having been programmed not to holler.

Then it was Zach's pitiful voice she heard. ‘‘Where
are
you, Mamma?''

The children knew better than to ever knock or call at the door of the main bedroom, lest they pay dearly for it.

Finally she stood at the door of Zach and John's room. What she saw made her gasp. There on the bed, being looked after by both his older sister and brother, was sweet little John, arms out at his sides . . . a frightening blue-gray pallor on his tiny face, evident in the lantern's light.

Oh, dear Lord, let him be alive!

She rushed to his side as fast as her weighted body would allow, and she leaned her ear down to his pale lips. Horrified, she began to press her own mouth over his, gently blowing a stream of her breath into him.

‘‘Where were you, Mamma?'' Laura's face was wet as she clung to her. ‘‘I was callin' ever so long.''

Again she breathed for her wee son. And yet again. She could not simply let him slip away.