The Preacher's Daughter by Beverly Lewis Page B

I’ll be payin’ the fee.’’
    Julia hurried to her side. ‘‘Oh, this makes me so happy! Wait till I tell Irvin. He’ll set up some lights in here and we’ll use the digital camera until we get it just right.’’
    â€˜â€˜Best not let the word slip out,’’ she reminded her. Constantly she felt she was repeating herself about this secret . . . this beloved place. ‘‘Promise?’’
    Julia nodded, pushing the paper in front of Annie’s nose once again so she could sign her name. Once that was done, she grinned at her. ‘‘You won’t be sorry. I just know you have a very good chance!’’ Then she disappeared down the steps.
    Annie leaned against the far wall, looking at the painting, at the swing hanging from the tree. She stared so hard at it, for a split second she thought it had moved slightly, but that was impossible. The painting was as real to her as her memories of her childish bond with the missing boy.
    She hoped Louisa might not be troubled if ever she were to hear what had happened. But Annie knew she would not be able to keep the tragic story from her good friend, especially when she showed Louisa this painting. We won’t visit this spot right away, she thought. No sense starting things out on the wrong foot!

Chapter 12
    L ouisa wondered when she might have the opportunity to recharge her smart phone, since Annie’s family lived without electricity. She took her time going over her address book and calendar, making note of the date, Saturday, November 12, and checking on the weather forecast while riding in a cab from the Harrisburg airport to Lancaster County.
    A red letter day. Paradise, here I come!
    She called home to let her mom know she had arrived safely and then put her cell phone away. Glancing at her laptop in its case, she wondered how often she would get to use it, wanting to keep in touch with her art students by email. Some by instant messaging. She longed for a less complicated life, but she could not leave behind her ability to communicate, which was essential to her work—even if Mother’s voice had been cold when Louisa let her know she had arrived safely. At least she hadn’t pulled the martyr routine . . . yet.
    Louisa wished now she hadn’t given out Annie’s mailing address. Too easy for letters from home to reach me. . . .
    Looking out at the farmland whizzing by, she replayed Michael’s outrage at her supposedly ‘‘playing runaway bride for effect . . . nothing more,’’ as he so angrily had said. Mother, of course, had had her say, as well. Interestingly, though, her dad had not voiced displeasure, but his squinted eyes had exposed his annoyance.
    As for the pre-wedding expenses, Louisa had offered to pay her parents back, over many years’ time. At least the next twenty or so . But Mother would not hear of it, most likely because she assumed Louisa might snap out of it and return to Michael’s waiting arms. To put that belief to rest, Louisa insisted on canceling everything herself, from the Brown Palace reservations to the white stretch limo.
    At this moment, she felt more relaxed than she had in months, and much of it had to do with Annie putting out the proverbial welcome mat. She was bemused as to how the Zook family could have possibly understood her wishes, that she needed a clean break from Michael, not to mention some distancing from her parents, as well as hoping to infuse herself in the simple life for as long as possible. Annie’s open-ended invite proved once again her opinion that she and her Amish pen friend were on similar wavelengths, having shared rather confidentially in their letters.
    Leaning her head back, she spotted a billboard for the Rock-vale Square Outlets. Discount malls abound even in Amish country. . . .
    But most alarming was seeing firsthand precisely what Annie had been writing about for years, that the