On Friday Annie made haste to Cousin Julia’s. Once her work was done, she would have more time this afternoon to paint, since she’d finished up every piece of ironing last Tuesday. Still holding out hope for Louisa’s visit, she thought of her present painting in light of her friend’s artistic achievement. Far as she could tell, the scene depicting the setting of the kidnapping was her best work yet. All that was left was the highlighting of tree trunks and branches, as well as making sure the sunbeams skipped off the creek water as it made its way past the old bridge.
I want Louisa to see it, thought Annie.
As she walked, she thought of all the places she wanted to show her friend, but most of all she wanted to share with Louisa her private little artist’s sanctuary. She’s heard all about it in my letters . . . and she’ll keep my secret, for sure!
When Annie reached the Ranck home, she caught sight of James and Molly playing ‘‘horsy and buggy’’ in the side yard, where James had his little sister tied to a cardboard box, with the rope ‘‘reins’’ in his hands. Molly appeared to be quite a lot better, and Annie was glad of it.
‘‘What’s that you’re doin’?’’ she called to them. ‘‘Seems to me Molly ought to be the one riding in the carriage, and James, you could be the big strong horse.’’
That got big smiles from both children, and right away James began untying and switching the horse and driver. ‘‘Molly’s bumps aren’t so itchy no more,’’ he said, pointing out several on his sister’s arm to show Annie.
‘‘Jah, I can see that.’’ She stood there, watching James work the knots out of the slender rope he’d put around Molly’s little arms. ‘‘You must think you’re Amish today, both of ya.’’
‘‘That’s right,’’ Molly said, eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘‘We’re just like you.’’
‘‘But you never bring your father’s horse and buggy over here, do ya, Cousin Annie?’’ James never even looked up at her, just kept untying the rope.
‘‘By the time I hitched up, that would take a good thirty minutes, so why not just walk over here in the same amount of time?’’ she explained.
‘‘Or you could hop in a car, like we do, and get here even quicker.’’
She tousled his hair, thinking he was mighty smart for his little britches. ‘‘Jah, there’s a lot of things one could do, I ’spect. But we Amish do what we do for a reason.’’
‘‘What’s that?’’ Molly said, obviously glad to be free and on the other side of the box now, holding the reins big as she pleased.
‘‘Well, we obey our church rules. And, besides, it’s much better for us to walk when we could be riding. Even better is to hitch up horse and carriage than to drive a car. It keeps us slowed down some . . . not in such an awful hurry.’’ She thought she might be stepping on some toes, so she stopped right there. After all, the Rancks were as fancy as anyone around here, being Mennonite and all.
‘‘I wish we had a horse and a buggy,’’ James said, moving his head as if he were a prancing steed.
The grass is always greener, she thought.
James was off running now, with Molly behind him, hurrying to keep up. She smiled over her shoulder at them . . . so adorable. She thought again of Rudy and what a fine father he might have been. But he was off going to singings and taking someone else home, and rightly so.
Refusing to fall into a quagmire of self-pity, she hurried toward the house and got right to work redding up the children’s rooms upstairs. Then she set about cleaning the large bathroom, thankful not to have that chore to do at home. With an outhouse, there was much less upkeep, she decided, although there were plenty of times, especially in the winter, when she would have liked to close the door on herself and the large tub Daed brought into the kitchen from the shed, where she and Mamm got the Saturday night bathing routine started. At least she was usually first or second, not nearly as grimy as the boys and Daed always were. Of course, she and Mamm often took sponge baths in the privacy of their rooms, using a large washbowl and a kettle of hot water. Same thing her grandparents had to do, because they were too frail to get in and out of a tub anyway. The boys and Daed would slip out to the makeshift shower in the barn and rinse off every other day, though they complained of it being cold as ice in the wintertime. Still, there was nothing worse to Annie than feeling dirty.
She and her sister-in-law Sarah Mae had often had conversations about such things. And now, Sarah Mae and Jesse Jr. and their children lived in a farmhouse with two large bathrooms— approved by the ministers, because they were merely renting the place. Occasionally Annie had even hitched up the team and gone over to enjoy their bathtub in the heat of the summer, soaking away the cares and soil of the day. Sometimes, too, Sarah Mae let her use her very own bubble bath, which was a special treat.
Ach, no! She was nearly aghast at the thought of Louisa, who was used to taking as many as two showers a day. Oh, goodness! Shouldn’t I write and tell her?
But she would do nothing at all to discourage Louisa from coming, if Daed allowed it. Annie found herself grinning. Louisa might just wish she’d never longed for the simple life!
Exhausted from precious little sleep, Esther felt her muscles beginning to relax now as she tucked in both Zach and John for, hopefully, a long afternoon nap. Little John had awakened with an asthmatic attack at midnight, and she had held him while sitting up in the rocking chair in his room, making sure he was breathing. Making sure his struggling cries would not awaken Zeke, too.
Now she sat on the double bed, reaching over to put her hand on John’s tiny forehead. ‘‘Close your peepers,’’ she said to both boys, and they blinked their eyes shut obediently.
Sitting there, she gazed down fondly at them, nearly like twins in looks, and so close in age, but quite different temperamentally. Zach was similar to big sister Laura as a young one, easygoing and anxious to please. Baby John, on the other hand, was restless and more apt to have upset stomachs, like Esther herself was these days. He had started out quite frail due to his breathing problems—a predisposition to upper bronchial problems, the Strasburg pediatrician had told them early on.
She realized how awful small her little boys looked in their big bed. ‘‘Sleep tight,’’ she whispered, absently touching her abdomen, where yet another baby grew. She left the door open enough to hear John should he begin to wheeze again.
Sighing, she tiptoed to her bedroom, in desperate need of rest before Laura arrived home from school. The thought of standing and making supper was beyond her at the moment, and she dismissed it till later. She wished she might simply slip into her nightclothes and sleep soundly, dead to this world, and absolutely irresistible was the urge to do so. Yet she shuddered at the thought of making herself too vulnerable. Two other times she’d done so, but no longer. These days she kept all her clothes on, including her long apron, even on the hottest summer day during a rare short nap. Today would be no exception.
She turned to close her door but thought better of it, still on edge from last night’s frightful spell. Not knowing if their wee boy would live to see the light of day had caused her an ongoing heartache. Yet he had, and she attributed his recovery to the inhaler she kept near for such alarming occurrences, although five months had passed since the last episode. What a true relief the rather long reprieve had been. Still, her heart feared there might come a day when she would merely sleep through his nighttime attack.
But, no, she had some confidence that young Zach would be aware, sharing the same bed, and come to get her help. On the other hand, her husband, once asleep for the night, was out so soundly that not even a lightning strike could shake him awake. She knew this to be true, as he’d slept through a deafening thunderstorm not so many years back, their barn hit by lightning in the night. In some ways, her husband’s unusually deep slumber was a blessing, but in the case of their youngest, it was a tremendous point of ongoing concern.
She walked to the window and sat on the small cane chair, one her father had made for her hope chest the year before she met Zeke. I miss you, Pop, she thought, wishing her father might have lived to see the births of Zach and John, and the new little life she was now carrying. She had never forgotten his grandfatherly delight over Laura, as a brand-new babe, despite the fact Esther knew he suspected baby Laura too hearty an infant to be called premature. But he and Mamma had never questioned that, were never outwardly skeptical.
She had yet another reason to wish Pop had survived his heart attack. A terribly selfish one. Even so, had he lived, she wondered if even he would have seen fit to help her, since all men were considered ordained of God, the sovereign head of their families. And, invariably, what they wanted they got, no questions asked. She’d never had the nerve to ask another married woman, not even Mamma, only silently observing those whose expressions were consistently cheerful and those who were merely marking time, as she was.
Waiting for my number to be called, she thought woefully, staring at the woodshed and the outhouse beyond. Why was I born a woman? She was convinced if she were a man she would not treat anyone—human or beast—the way Zeke treated her. But, of course, that was a futile thing to ponder. Truth was, the Creator-God had seen fit to make her a woman. A woman whose needs were ignored by a man who did lip service to cherishing her but who never once considered her hopes and wishes. Such thoughts made her feel terribly guilty, as though she were going against everything she knew she was called to do—under God and man. Submission is my only choice.
Since childhood, she had been taught compliance, observing it in action. It spilled into all areas of their lives, including acquiescence to the ministers, who ruled as they deemed best. So the façade of peace saturated the community, but she knew better.
Hearing John’s sudden cries, she rose and went to him. As if by some punishment for her lamentable contemplation, her time of rest had been cut short.
Not to awaken Zach, she went around the side of the bed nearest the wall and picked up whimpering John. She carried him to her room and closed the door.
Walking the length of the room, she felt too weary to calm him. ‘‘Shh, I’ve got ya . . . Mamma’s right here,’’ she said, fighting her sad little tears as she held him near.