The Preacher's Daughter by Beverly Lewis Page A

you’d finally have the chance to study art.’’
    Annie shook her head. ‘‘No, no, this is a bad idea.’’ Such education smacks of headiness and high-mindedness . . . frowned on by the People. ‘‘I don’t have a scholarly bone in my body.’’
    â€˜â€˜That’s where I think you’re wrong. You know I believe in your work. This is a wonderful opportunity for you. It’s a fine magazine; Irvin and I have read it for years.’’
    â€˜â€˜Well, it may be good ’n’ all, but that’s not what I’m concerned ’bout.’’
    Julia’s face grew more serious. ‘‘What, then?’’
    Annie gritted her teeth, but she felt sure Julia knew already. ‘‘Bein’ found out—this place here where I work and all. I wouldn’t want anything to change, wouldn’t want my father to know what I’m doin’.’’
    â€˜â€˜Honestly, Annie, you’re taking a risk every time you come up here. But you haven’t joined the church yet, so why’s this such a concern?’’
    Julia had a point. ‘‘Still, I haven’t made my decision on that.’’
    Julia reached out a hand. ‘‘In your heart you’re just not sure, Annie. . . .’’ She paused, tears welling up. ‘‘Maybe the Lord has something more for you.’’
    Annie inhaled slowly. She knew what Julia believed—that a person could know the Lord in an intimate way, as she liked to say. Annie sighed. ‘‘I’ve never said I wasn’t going to make my church vow. If it weren’t for my art it would be ever so easy . . . I might have already. But my first love tends to get in the way.’’
    Julia nodded. ‘‘I know you want to improve and keep working on your craft, getting better with each painting, just as Irvin and I see you doing every time you come here.’’
    She offered her thanks, grateful Julia hadn’t pushed with all her talk of salvation, as she had in the past. ‘‘You’ve been so kind to me, and I appreciate it. Really I do.’’
    Julia’s bright eyes held Annie’s gaze. ‘‘What’s to lose if you let me submit your painting to the contest? I’ll even pay for the fee.’’
    I’ll never win anyway, thought Annie.
    â€˜â€˜Pretty please let me do this for you?’’ Julia entreated. ‘‘At least for a chance to have a few pointers from an instructor.’’
    Annie suddenly thought of Louisa. ‘‘My pen pal is comin’ to visit, and she’s an instructor, but that’ll have to be kept quiet, I’m thinkin’.’’ She went on to say how Louisa even held exhibits for her students and was doing so this very week.
    â€˜â€˜Well then, if you should happen to win the prize, your artist friend could go along with you to the classes. Maybe so?’’
    â€˜â€˜I don’t know. . . . I can’t see myself taking classes out in public. Besides, as I said, there’s no way on earth my painting can possibly win.’’
    Knowing Julia as she did, she would be trapped right here in the attic today unless she agreed. Even if she didn’t, Julia might simply snap the picture with her fancy camera and send it off on her computer—by something called email, which both she and Louisa knew all about—and submit her painting anyway.
    She rose and went to look at the image once again. Closing her eyes, she cleared her vision. Then, opening them, she attempted to look at her own work through different eyes. She had in mind that her paintings should have a purpose, but just what she didn’t know. Surely it was not to vent her anger over Isaac’s long-ago disappearance? I must forgive whoever took Isaac away. . . .
    â€˜â€˜All right, dear cousin,’’ she whispered, ‘‘if you must. But