Annie’s stomach began to gnaw and rumble during the final hour of the second sermon on Christmas Day, and she couldn’t resist breathing deeply to get a whiff of the roast and all the fixings warming in the bishop’s old black cookstove. Each family remaining for the special dinner had also brought along a tempting dish. Some brought more than one. She only knew of a few who would be heading home for their own family dinners, so there would be a big crowd staying put at the bishop’s big farmhouse today.
Smelling the delicious food, she was more than ready to hear from Deacon Byler, who rose to announce the location of the next meeting, as was customary. Then he continued. ‘‘Our brother Rudy Esh, along with our sister Susie Yoder, plans to marry next month, along with several other couples.’’
Annie paid close attention, although the words did not register immediately. Yet she had been expecting this ‘‘publishing’’ of the wedding news for some time now . . . and here she was, on Christmas Sunday, witnessing what might have taken place for herself and her former beau. They’re thick on each other, so they ought to marry, she told herself.
Next thing, Susie’s father walked to the front and stood before them, announcing that a January tenth wedding—‘‘on Tuesday’’—was to take place for his daughter. ‘‘Those of yous sixteen and older are invited to attend the wedding service at our place.’’
In no time at all, Rudy will be a married man. Annie realized at that moment she was quite all right with the announcement. She actually had pleasant thoughts for the couple . . . not feeling regretful at all. Thankfully so.
Following the preaching service, Jesse situated himself among the group of older men just inside the barn, waiting for several of the younger men to move the benches around in the house, creating long tables for the common meal. He glanced up and noticed Zeke Hochstetler hurrying across the snow toward him.
Will he cause a scene on Christmas Day yet? Jesse wondered.
He anticipated what he would say if Zeke threatened to go to Bishop Andy with his malarkey. Truth was Jesse hadn’t bothered with Zeke’s request at all. It made no sense to speak to the bishop when he knew precisely what Andy would say. What’s done is best left alone, he thought.
Zeke came right up to him and asked if he could have ‘‘a word’’ with him, and Jesse nodded, stepping out from the group, none of the men taking much note. ‘‘What’s on your mind?’’ He almost slipped and said son, which would have been a bungle.
‘‘I’ve been wonderin’ where you’ve been.’’ Zeke looked right at him. ‘‘I thought we had an understanding,’’ he muttered.
Jesse wouldn’t stir the fire by making an offhand remark. Instead he said, meekly as possible, ‘‘It’s best all round to leave it be.’’
Zeke grunted. ‘‘No, I’m not going to rest till something’s done. If you can’t get the bishop to move on this, then I will. And I won’t wait.’’
‘‘Well, I see no need for anything rash.’’
Looking around, Zeke’s jaw was set in a dogged clench. ‘‘Where’s the bishop now? I’ll talk to him myself.’’
‘‘I’m tellin’ ya, Zeke, this is unnecessary.’’ He reached out a hand.
Zeke brushed him away. ‘‘Isaac’s dead, and I want the murderer caught.’’ Lowering his voice as he looked around, he said, ‘‘I want some justice for the blood of my brother.’’
Jesse heard the misery seeping out. There was no getting around it, Zeke was unable to manage his grief or the knowledge of the boy’s death. ‘‘Ain’t our way, and you know this. We don’t press criminal charges . . . or any for that matter.’’
‘‘Well, this is the exception to that rule!’’ Zeke’s words were biting now, and his eyes glowed with pain.
‘‘It’s best if we not bring the English world into our own. It is imperative.’’
But Zeke continued to urge, only for Jesse to put him off. ‘‘It is always best to err on the side of obedience. And that is my final answer,’’ Jesse said. ‘‘It is Christmas Day, Zeke. Let’s rejoice together in the advent of God’s son.’’
Downtrodden as ever he’d looked, Zeke turned and clomped back through the snow, away from Jesse. Will he bend his will and come under? Jesse could only speculate, quite concerned that Zeke might do something foolish. Something to jeopardize all of them.
Louisa had charged up her Palm on Friday at Julia’s, and by keeping it turned off since then, she had enough power to place several Christmas calls. She was hesitant to use it within earshot of Annie’s church friends, all of them still hanging out at the deacon’s place following the Preaching service. She’d kept the device tucked away in her dress pocket during the service, aware of the lump in the cotton fabric.
While the other women were preparing for the common meal, Louisa stepped out onto the porch and speed-dialed her home. She was relieved when her dad answered. They talked casually, and he did not once mention Michael’s name this time. ‘‘We miss you, Louisa, but hope you’re having a good Christmas there.’’ Then, when he’d said ‘‘Good-bye, dear,’’ he put her mom on the line, and even she was not pushy. They’ve backed way off, she thought while her mom rattled off about this function and that they had attended. ‘‘How are you, Louisa?’’
‘‘I’m doing well.’’ A safe answer. ‘‘Thanks for the Christmas present. . . . I didn’t buy any this year . . . needed a break from the mall scene. And, well, that whole shopping nightmare.’’
‘‘We thought you might need a new watch, dear.’’
‘‘It’s beautiful,’’ she replied. But I won’t wear it here. She wondered if this was her parents’ way of alerting her that it was time to get over her little fit and return home.
‘‘Thanks for thinking of me.’’ She wanted to be polite. Well, she did, and she didn’t. The purchase of the diamond-studded watch was not the best choice for one who wished to loosen her grip on material possessions.
‘‘Are you eating healthy food?’’ Mother asked.
‘‘Straight from the moo to you.’’
Mother actually laughed into the phone, almost too loudly, too freely. And then Louisa realized why. They had been drinking, probably a few too many glasses of wine with Christmas dinner. Dinner alone . . . just the two of them, and why? Because their only child had abandoned them. Perfect reason to get sloshed!
‘‘I hope you both have a Merry Christmas,’’ she said.
‘‘You have a nice time there, too, Louisa . . . with your Amish friends.’’
‘‘Well, bye, Mother.’’
‘‘Good-bye, dear.’’
Wow, Mother didn’t fight to keep me on the phone. Weird. New tactic?
She didn’t know, and she really didn’t care to analyze the conversation to death. Instead she called Courtney and was oddly relieved when her friend didn’t answer. Somehow she knew Courtney would give her grief about jumping ship. She left a cheerful Christmas greeting on her voice mail and disconnected.
Then she pulled her sleeve back and looked at her simple watch with its plain brown leather band. She calculated ahead five hours from eastern standard time, assuming Trey probably wouldn’t be having supper yet at six o’clock his time.
Annie stepped onto the porch, startling her.
‘‘What on earth?’’ Annie said, eyes blinking and very serious. ‘‘Best not be takin’ any chances.’’
She’d pushed her limits. ‘‘Oops, sorry. . . .’’ Not wanting to cause further alarm in Annie, she eyed the area of the springhouse and set off tramping through the snow to the more private spot.
Louisa checked for Trey’s current cell number, stored in her incoming list of calls. It was the polite thing to do to call, to thank him. A dozen roses of that quality—roses that actually opened beautifully—didn’t come cheap.
He surprised her by answering on the second ring. ‘‘Trey here,’’ he said, sounding nearly British.
‘‘Hey, merry Christmas. It’s Louisa.’’
‘‘Well, it’s great to hear your voice.’’
‘‘Yours, too.’’ It certainly was, and she was quite glad she’d found a quiet spot to chat. ‘‘The roses were so gorgeous . . . well, I mean they are. Thanks.’’
‘‘I had the hardest time tracking you down, girl. What are you doing in Amish country?’’
She laughed. ‘‘So you must’ve called my parents?’’
‘‘Your mom told me about the wedding. I’m truly sorry, Louisa.’’
‘‘Don’t be. I’m having a blast here . . . sorting out some head junk.’’
‘‘So, let me get this straight . . . you ran away from the wedding altar to go and hang with your Amish pen pal?’’
‘‘Uh, close.’’
‘‘Which part?’’
‘‘I didn’t exactly bail at the altar.’’ She paused a moment. ‘‘Let’s just say I would’ve been out of my mind to take that plunge.’’
‘‘I can’t say I’m disappointed,’’ he stated, followed by an awkward pause. Then—‘‘I understand you’re living in an old drafty farmhouse . . . probably not much different from the old digs I rent. Man, the winters chill straight to the bone here.’’
She smiled into the phone. ‘‘Yep, I wake up to the sound of peacocks, roosters, and cows every morning. Bet you can’t believe that.’’
‘‘It is surprising, Louisa . . . knowing you.’’
Not wanting to go there, she quickly asked, ‘‘How’s the art business?’’
‘‘Booming . . . you’d be surprised. Actually, you wouldn’t.’’ He paused. ‘‘I hope you’re still painting—you have the magic, girl.’’
‘‘Well, I don’t know about that,’’ she said, beaming inwardly.
‘‘I do have a buyer for my work, though, here in Lancaster County.’’
‘‘At a gallery?’’
‘‘Yep.’’
‘‘Sold anything lately?’’
She gladly filled him in, and he responded with the enthusiastic support she remembered so well.
‘‘Well, let’s keep in touch, okay?’’
She warmed to his words. ‘‘You have my cell number now, but I don’t have electricity here at Annie’s. I charge up twice a week down the road.’’
He chuckled, that deep and jovial laugh she’d always enjoyed. ‘‘I hope you’re kidding.’’
‘‘Actually, I’m not.’’
‘‘Really? No electricity?’’
‘‘None.’’
‘‘Running water?’’
‘‘Some.’’
‘‘This is interesting. Too bad you’re not a writer. You could turn this funky experiment into a novel.’’
She let out a little laugh, feeling terribly vulnerable . . . the way his voice gave her goose bumps. ‘‘I just might, at that. But it’s really not an experiment. It’s a most needful thing.’’ She’d picked up on this phrase at Julia’s one day and liked it. Trying it out now seemed both strange and truthful somehow.
‘‘Merry Christmas, Louisa. Terrific connecting with you.’’
‘‘Same here. And a happy New Year, too.’’
‘‘I’ll call you soon.’’
‘‘Bye.’’
She scarcely noticed how rough going it was getting through the snow back to the house or how she’d begun to shiver. All she wanted to think about was the fantastic conversation she had just had with a most amazing guy, who, it seemed clear, was still interested in her.
I forgot to ask for his email address. She laughed at herself, questioning her own motives. No, I won’t chase him, she decided.
Jesse sat enjoying his second dessert of carrot cake in Deacon Byler’s kitchen, where a number of the older men had lingered following their Christmas feast.
He bit the inside of his cheek as he noticed Zeke making his way toward him, this time with Esther in tow. What’s this? Has he already blabbed the secret to his wife?
‘‘Esther here has somethin’ to say,’’ Zeke said, not pulling any punches.
Jesse got up from the table and motioned for them to follow. Where could they go for privacy with a houseful of people? He eyed the stairs and headed there.
When the three of them were shut away in the smallest of the upstairs bedrooms, Zeke blurted out, ‘‘Esther, go on . . . tell the Preacher what you did.’’
The young woman blinked her pretty blue eyes incessantly, cradling her swollen stomach. She looked at her husband, then back at Jesse, clearly nervous. ‘‘I . . . well, it’s awful hard to explain.’’
Jesse was moved with sympathy and touched her elbow, guiding her to the only chair in the room. ‘‘Rest yourself,’’ he suggested, and she quickly did so.
‘‘Now, go back and start at the beginning.’’ Zeke kept his distance, standing near the door.
‘‘I’ve known a few Mennonites since I was a little girl,’’ Esther said. ‘‘But this one lady, not so far from us, well . . . she’s always been kind to the children and me. Seems to seek me out . . . as a friend, Julia Ranck does.’’ She continued, reciting the various occasions she had encountered Jesse’s own kinfolk.
Zeke became impatient and raised his voice. ‘‘Get on with it, woman. Tell what wrong thing you did!’’
Esther immediately looked down, biting her lip. Jesse had a hankering to interfere, once again aware of the intense conflict between the two. But he waited, his heart entirely too soft to this lily of a woman who had often spent hours with Annie under his own roof.
‘‘It’s just this. Only this,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I’ve found the Lord, at long last. Or maybe I should say He’s found me.’’
‘‘We are all followers of Christ and His church,’’ Jesse replied.
She was shaking her head now. ‘‘I’m not talking ’bout man’s rules.’’
Zeke spoke up, ‘‘She’s fallen for this like a boulder in a fish pond, Preacher.’’
Jesse indicated with his hand that Zeke should calm down and be quiet. But when Zeke continued to rant, Jesse knew he had a larger dilemma on his hands. Not only was the man itching for conflict, he had more than one ax to grind. Jesse must firmly address the issue at hand and hope, it being Christmas, that Zeke’s urgency for hunting down Isaac’s killer might diminish.
Esther spoke again, eyes bright with tears. ‘‘I believe what my friend Julia reads from the Scriptures. I’m not ashamed to say I’m a follower of the Lord Jesus.’’
Zeke snorted a laugh. ‘‘See? Didn’t I tell ya, Preacher?’’
‘‘I see no reason to ridicule your wife.’’ Jesse turned to Zeke, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘‘Well . . . go ahead. Ask her!’’ Zeke was close to shouting, rebuffing him. ‘‘Ask her if she’s saved.’’
Before Jesse could do so, Esther was bobbing her head. ‘‘I have nothin’ to hide . . . and nothin’ to lose, neither one. I’ve given over my sins—my very life—to the Lord. I’m redeemed by His blood.’’
All kinds of buzzers were going off in Jesse’s head. He had only once encountered such a problem with a church member. Embracing an alien belief, he thought, suddenly feeling less merciful. ‘‘Well, now, ya know declaring yourself saved is the most prideful thing a person could possibly do, don’t you, Esther?’’
Zeke nodded his head fiercely. ‘‘Oh, she knows, all right. She’s testin’ ya and she’s mighty good at it.’’
Apparently there was no limit to Zeke’s smart-aleck approach. ‘‘I’ll be talkin’ with Preacher Hochstetler and Deacon Byler on this,’’ Jesse said, presently feeling the need to distance himself from the couple.
‘‘Well, and while you’re at it, be sure ’n’ see Bishop Stoltzfus ’bout that other important matter we discussed,’’ Zeke demanded.
Jesse held his peace, but what he truly wanted to do was to cut loose on the younger man. But he squelched the impulse for a full-blown confrontation with their mouthiest church member. ‘‘You’ll be hearin’ back from me—both of yous.’’ But he had no intention of squabbling with the bishop.
Turning toward the door, he opened it and walked as confidently as he could muster into the hallway and down the stairs.