Annie was bursting at the seams to share with Lou her sudden yearning—to frame her painting. But Omar was at the reins, having been kind to offer to drive them to Julia’s. This will have to wait, she decided, trying to picture what such a large canvas would look like professionally framed.
And she couldn’t wait to see the choices of beautiful frames. Of course she would be taking her chances at being seen out in the English world, but far as she knew there were scarcely any connections between herself and the fancy life here in Lancaster County. Next to none.
She kept still and listened to Omar and Lou chatting about upcoming farm sales, which Omar—and Yonie, especially—were always happy to talk about.
‘‘What sort of things are sold at auction?’’ Lou asked.
‘‘You name it . . . it’s there.’’ Omar was keeping a straight face, but Annie knew he was smiling inside. Anytime anyone wanted to talk about the sale of cattle, mules, driving horses, shovels, rakes, and all kinds of farm equipment, Omar was more than willing. ‘‘You oughta come along sometime. It’d be quite an experience.’’
‘‘I’ll say,’’ Annie spoke up. ‘‘An all-day thing, with baked goods, quilts, and such for sale, and just like Omar said, everything under the sun, truly.’’
But not a speck of fine art, Annie thought.
By the time they arrived at Julia’s, Annie could scarcely keep mum. But she waited till Omar had turned the horse and carriage around and headed toward the road before saying what was on her mind. ‘‘I want to tell you something, Lou.’’
‘‘What’s up?’’
‘‘I’d like to buy a frame for my painting.’’
‘‘Hey, that’s a terrific idea!’’
‘‘You don’t think I might be seen there with it, do you?’’
Lou shook her head. ‘‘I’ve never noticed any Amish people in that gallery. So . . . go for it.’’ She opened the side door to Julia’s house.
‘‘All right, then. I’ll do it today . . . if Julia will take me.’’ Annie stepped inside the house, and right away she heard Laura Hochstetler’s voice. ‘‘Well, what the world?’’ she whispered, going to investigate by peeking around the corner.
There in the cozy nook off the kitchen sat Esther’s children with Julia, James, and Molly. ‘‘Well, hullo . . . we’re late in coming today,’’ Annie apologized first thing.
‘‘No problem at all,’’ Julia said. ‘‘As you can see, I have some houseguests.’’
Goodness’ sakes! Has Esther suffered the last straw? Has she left Zeke? Annie went to Laura and touched her pretty hair, then leaned down to talk to her and Zach. ‘‘Looks like you had a nice lunch . . . here with Auntie Julia.’’
Laura smiled up at her, no worse for the wear. ‘‘That’s just what Mamma calls her, too.’’
Poor little children. Annie stood up, thinking what an odd situation she was observing. How will Lou occupy herself while I clean? But she did not say what she was thinking, that the attic studio was surely off limits now. Instead, she asked, ‘‘Is Esther resting?’’
Julia came over and guided her into the small front room, speaking in soft tones. ‘‘Oh, Annie, dear Esther needs our prayers . . . and some good rest, too.’’
‘‘Well, I’ll get the housework done right quick,’’ Annie said. ‘‘And get out of your way.’’
‘‘I’m glad you and Louisa came when you did. Is it all right with you . . . can you get the children tucked in for naps?’’ Julia explained she had a quick errand to run, out on Route 30, not far from Paradise Lane.
Right where I’d like to go! Her face must’ve dropped with disappointment, because Julia asked, ‘‘Annie? Did I say something wrong?’’
‘‘Ach, no . . . not at all. It’s just . . . well, I have an idea . . .’bout my painting.’’
‘‘Oh, that reminds me! With Esther coming, I almost forgot.’’ Julia looked mighty pleased. ‘‘Irvin’s copy of the new issue of the Farm and Home Journal arrived today. Come look.’’
Annie felt every possible emotion, from elation to sadness, as she held the small magazine in her hands. ‘‘This scene, by Pequea Creek . . . it just looks so real,’’ she said softly, feeling as though she could fall right into the cover—my own painting! — and be right there, standing where she had so many times over the years.
Louisa paused at the window in what Julia always called the ‘‘front room,’’ watching Annie carry her original painting, wrapped carefully in many pieces of newspaper, out to Julia’s car. Julia lifted the trunk and the two of them lifted the ‘‘Obsession’’ painting inside.
She’s hung up on that place . . . and the secrets behind it, Louisa thought.
Sighing, she hoped her friend might not freak under the pressure of her own enormous secret.
Whim or not, she’s painted herself into a corner. . . .
She went to look in on the children, who were soundly asleep in two different bedrooms, except for little John, whom Esther had taken in with her. Then she wandered to the kitchen, where she sat at the sun-strewn table with her sketchbook and a handful of colored pencils. Annie had indicated, in whispered tones, to avoid going to the attic to work today. That will definitely have to wait, she’d told her, and Louisa agreed. But it wasn’t as if Annie’s secret was secure anymore. The second hand on Annie’s life clock was moving fast toward midnight.
Louisa turned her focus to her drawing, deciding to sketch Trey’s handsome face from memory, only doing more of a caricature than the real thing. Casually she gave him a black Amish hat and brown beard, smiling at the juxtaposition of his modern attitude—evidenced by the wry grin and the charisma in his eyes—and the imposed plainness.
After a while, she rose to get some tap water at the sink and happened to glance out the window. She saw an Amish man rushing toward the side door. Bent forward, he was either angry or coming for help.
Zeke? she wondered. Thinking back to her only visit to Esther’s house, Louisa couldn’t recall what Zeke looked like. She’d only caught a glimpse of him before he disappeared into the barn. Besides that, the untrimmed beards and identical attire Amish men wore gave them the illusion of sameness.
In a few seconds the man was pounding at the side door. She felt nervous, being the only person fully awake in the house. Should I even go to the door?
She shoved her fear aside and walked through the little sunroom-sitting room, past the mud room, to the side door.
‘‘Oh, I wish you’d have brought along the magazine,’’ Miss Sauder, the gallery owner, was saying in response to Julia’s cheerful prompting.
‘‘Well, it’s back home on the lamp table,’’ Julia said quickly, looking at Annie. ‘‘But you have my word . . . she’s a very good artist.’’
Quite embarrassed, Annie spoke up. ‘‘I’m interested in seeing some frames.’’ She looked down at her painting all wrapped up, hidden from view.
The woman smiled kindly. ‘‘Come with me, I’ll show you what we have in stock, as well as what can be ordered.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ Annie said.
‘‘Tell me again about your first-place award, please.’’ The owner directed her question to Annie, but Annie deferred to Julia, since she seemed to derive such joy from sharing the news.
By the time Julia had described the contest in great detail, Miss Sauder was setting Annie’s unwrapped painting up on a tall easel. She stood back and looked at it from all angles. ‘‘I’ve seen this place . . . I know I have,’’ the woman said.
Annie glanced at Julia. ‘‘You have?’’
‘‘Oh my, yes.’’
‘‘It’s north of here, just down the slope from London Vale covered bridge,’’ Annie told her.
‘‘My sister and her family live a short distance from there.’’ The woman turned to Annie and surprised her by asking if she might ever consider selling it. ‘‘I believe I may have a buyer for it, even now.’’
Annie didn’t have to think twice. ‘‘Why, no. It’s not for sale.’’
‘‘Do you have other work, perhaps?’’
The question took Annie by surprise. ‘‘I do . . . but I think I might need some time to think on that. It’s very nice of you to ask.’’ Talking about selling something with her name on it gave Annie a dreadful sinking feeling. Like she was doing something unforgivably wrong indeed.
When the woman placed on the long counter the frame samples— traditional woods in classic and antique styles, composite moldings, and aluminum frames in twenty colors—Annie considered each one carefully. With Julia’s good help, and taking up quite a lot of the owner’s time, the three of them came to an agreement upon the best frame to ‘‘enhance the feeling of mystery,’’ as Miss Sauder said.
Jah, mystery, Annie thought. If only she knew. . . .
Louisa stood at the door, looking into the face of the man who said he was Ezekiel Hochstetler, who babbled on about his horse and carriage having been returned by a young man. One Ben Martin. Evidently the horse had made the turn into the long lane leading to the harness shop, and Ben recognized the newly made harness as one he had created for Zeke himself. ‘‘That’s why I’m thinkin’ you’ve got yourself some visitors here,’’ he said, frowning.
Before she could answer, Zeke turned and spit tobacco juice out the side of his mouth. ‘‘I need to see my wife,’’ he said.
‘‘She’s asleep . . . can you return later?’’ Louisa felt she ought to say this, not knowing the real reason why Esther and her children had suddenly shown up here. She suspected something was quite wrong though, for a pregnant Amish woman to come with three children in tow, and a rather large overnight case, as well.
‘‘No . . . I’m here now. I want to see Esther.’’ He raised his voice slightly, his face growing ruddier. ‘‘You’re Annie’s friend from Colorado, ain’t so?’’
‘‘That’s right.’’
He shook his head, his mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘‘I don’t understand why you want to dress like the womenfolk round here.’’
‘‘I don’t see how that’s anybody’s business but mine.’’
‘‘Look, missy. . . .’’ He shoved his foot in the door and pushed his way inside. ‘‘Now, how about you get my wife for me!’’
Her heart was pounding as she eyed the portable phone in the kitchen. Moving away from the door, she rushed to it, snatching it up. ‘‘Stay right there . . . I’m calling the police!’’ she told him. She began dialing: 9-1-1.
Zeke backed up and shook his head, waving one of his hands in surrender. ‘‘No . . . no, that ain’t necessary. Put your telephone away.’’ He eyed the sofa. ‘‘I’ll sit over there while you go and tell Esther I’m here. I won’t cause no trouble.’’
She aborted the call but gripped the phone nevertheless, wondering what this man might be capable of. ‘‘I will call the cops, if you even twitch an eyelid.’’
He went and sat on the couch, and she scrutinized him to determine if he could be trusted here in the house. She wasn’t entirely convinced, but she found it startling when he turned to look at the lamp table. He let out a gasp, and she witnessed a cloud of sudden horror cross his face. He had reached for the magazine featuring Annie’s painting on the cover.
She couldn’t just stand there worrying that he might notice Annie’s name printed in the lower right-hand corner. He was preoccupied now, though glowering at the magazine. Quietly she slipped away to the small back bedroom.
The door was cracked enough to peer into the room, and what Louisa saw took her breath away. Esther was resting peacefully with her little boy. Such gentle souls, no doubt having endured verbal abuse—if not worse—from the contemptuous man in the living room.
There’s no way I’m disturbing her!
Tiptoeing back to the living room, she found Zeke with his hands over his face. ‘‘I’m sorry, but your wife is asleep, and little John is resting quietly, too,’’ she said softly. She didn’t care to have a ruckus on her hands, so she went promptly to the front door and opened it. ‘‘Why not return when she’s expecting you? Tomorrow, perhaps?’’
He looked up at her, his eyes shooting darts. ‘‘You don’t understand.’’ His voice was much too loud. ‘‘I want to talk to my wife, Esther. I need her back home.’’
Want . . . need. Big difference, she thought.
She wouldn’t push too many of his buttons, because this guy was clearly a control freak. She had encountered enough people like this, and now she felt more certain than ever that Esther and her children had needed to escape from him.
‘‘Good-bye,’’ she said, glad for the phone still in her hand.
‘‘Esther!’’ He planted himself in the middle of the room and hollered. ‘‘If you hear me, I mean to take you home with me. Ya hear?’’
‘‘No . . . get out!’’ Louisa raised the phone as a threat but intended to use it.
He caught her meaning. ‘‘Well, little missy, I’ll be back!’’ He trudged out the door.
‘‘I think you’d better stay away,’’ she called after the brute.