New Beginnings at Promise Lodge Read online

  He gently tipped up her chin with his finger, praying he could restore her sense of perspective. “Let’s remember that you and I are the parents here, Frances. We’re in charge of our families, not the other way around,” he said softly. “Widowed Amish folks usually remarry, so this is a challenge our kids will need to deal with sooner or later.”

  Frances shook her head bleakly. “I’ve thought about this during a lot of sleepless nights, Marlin. You told me early on that if I had doubts, I could call a halt to the courtship. So I am.”

  Marlin’s heart was deflating like a balloon with a slow leak, losing hope with each silent second that passed between them. “Maybe the doctor’s report has depressed you, and everything will look better tomorrow,” he murmured. “How about if I walk you home and we can talk again—”

  “I’ve said what I needed to say. I’ll walk home by myself.”

  When Frances turned toward the door he’d brought her in, on the far side of the barrel shop, Marlin stepped in front of her. “If you use this back door, you won’t have to walk past Harley,” he murmured as he pointed at it.

  Frances blinked. “Denki. Gut-bye, Marlin.”

  Gut-bye. The word tore at his soul as he opened the door for her. It didn’t feel right to let Frances walk home alone, but he sensed his presence—or his desperate attempts to change her mind—might ruin any chance he had of talking with her in the future. With her arms positioned close to her body in slings, she seemed intent on holding herself together, as though she feared falling apart as she walked away from him.

  When she’d stepped outside, Marlin made a last attempt—knowing it was the wrong thing to say. “Frances, may we please keep our options open? I—I love you,” he said as he followed her out into the sunshine.

  She stopped, closing her eyes in exasperation. “You’ve told me that before, and now you’re only saying it to butter me up. Please don’t—just don’t.”

  Marlin’s chest got so tight he wondered if he was having a heart attack.

  That’s what it is, all right—your heart has just been attacked and you have no idea how to fight back. Not that fighting is the answer.

  Marlin watched the retreating figure in the black dress, kapp, and apron with a heaviness he hadn’t felt since he’d lost Essie. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Frances he loved her, but his timing was terrible. She’d lost her husband only a couple of months ago, and she’d lost the use of her arms just a couple of weeks ago. He’d come on to her like a house afire—with the best of intentions, but not a lot of common sense.

  What does common sense have to do with it? You love her, and she crushed you like a bug, man.

  He had no particular reason to go inside again, because working on rain barrels was the furthest thing from his mind, and he didn’t want to deal with Harley’s remarks. When he stepped in to fetch his hat, however, his son was standing just inside the door.

  “Seems Frances has changed her mind,” Harley said with a shrug. “Women do that.”

  “Don’t start with me,” Marlin warned. He crammed his black straw hat on his head and walked quickly outside. He had no idea where he was going, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  * * *

  Frances stood at her bedroom window staring out into the darkness of another restless night, feeling as jagged as the streaks of lightning that flashed across the sky. After Mary Kate had helped her into her nightgown, she and Roman and David had gone to bed in a room down the hall. Frances knew sleep wouldn’t come for her anytime soon, however.

  She deeply regretted the things she’d said to Marlin in his shop and the way she’d treated him. He was a good man, a generous soul, and he would make a wonderful husband—but she couldn’t ignore her tormented heart.

  It’s too soon to go from one husband to the next.

  If she’d expressed her doubts to Marlin, he probably would’ve understood, would’ve given her more time, but in her frustration she’d slammed an emotional door in his face. Frances hung her head, finally free to cry while no one could talk her out of her despondency. She’d always believed in the Bible verse that promised joy would come in the morning, but dark nights of the soul served a purpose. During her forty-seven years she’d rarely passed through the valley of the shadow, yet it seemed a necessary segment of her journey—a time of emotional reckoning and housecleaning.

  A time to face reality. You need to figure out how to pay your bills and make a life without depending on a man—if only so you know you can do it.

  Bishop Monroe and her neighbors might consider that a prideful notion, despite the way so many women at Promise Lodge had shown independent streaks. Frances knew she was being hard on herself—and on Marlin. The Old Order’s marriage-based lifestyle had withstood the centuries because it worked: it guaranteed that widowed women and widowers’ motherless children would be looked after.

  Deep down, however, Frances didn’t want to marry Marlin for the security their relationship would provide. She had the outlandish notion that she would only remarry for love—and that Marlin would surely love her more, respect her more, if she didn’t enter the relationship as a needy dependent.

  And there’s no needier, more dependent woman than one who has both arms bound up in slings, she thought with a loud sigh.

  “Mamm? Can—can we talk?”

  Gloria’s question made Frances brace herself. Had she whimpered or sobbed too loudly without realizing it? Her older daughter hadn’t said two words to her since her outburst when Marlin’s family had visited, so this late-night visit caught Frances by surprise.

  “Jah, we can,” she replied in a hoarse whisper. The last thing she wanted was to waken Mary Kate, who devoted so much time and energy to her during the day.

  Frances remained by the window, wishing her face wasn’t wet with tears—but she couldn’t wipe them away. After a few moments her daughter padded barefoot into the dark room, stopping a few feet behind her. When her daughter didn’t say anything more, Frances finally turned.

  “Is something wrong, Gloria? Can’t you sleep, either?” she asked softly. She reminded herself to rise above her own misgivings, because bless her, Gloria had never been good at reading other people’s emotions.

  The next flash of lightning illuminated Gloria’s forlorn expression. In her long cotton nightgown, with her dark braid trailing down her back, she reminded Frances of the little girl who’d always been less confident and more vulnerable than her younger sister. Frances’s heart softened with sympathy, and she got frustrated all over again because she couldn’t open her arms to her daughter. “Oh, Gloria,” she murmured. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

  Gloria sniffled. “I—I went over to the nursery today, to ask Sam or Simon if I could work for them,” she replied in a stricken voice, “but there were so many customers there, and I—I couldn’t get my nerve up to talk to them. And what work could I do for them, anyway?” she added despondently. “I’d probably just mess up and get fired.”

  Frances’s heart shriveled. Had she been wrong to tell her daughter to look for gainful employment? It wasn’t as though they were destitute . . . yet.

  “Why are you saying we need money?” Gloria asked miserably. “Dat and Uncle Lester’s business has always done well, ain’t so? And Dat wasn’t one to spend money on anything we didn’t absolutely need.”

  Frances sighed and kept looking out the window. Gloria had asked for the truth, so it was time to explain their situation—even though it would probably upset her daughter more. “Remember when we learned Mary Kate was expecting—and we knew how much talk it would cause amongst the congregation in Sugarcreek?” she began softly. “And remember how fast your dat decided to sell out and come to Promise Lodge because of that?”

  Gloria nodded, remaining silent.

  “Well, we took less money for our property there in order to sell it quickly,” Frances explained as gently as she could. “It took most of our money to build this home and reestablish the window busines
s here in Missouri—and then when your dat fell with Amos, and had his stroke, his medical bills took most of what was left. So we don’t have much to fall back on.”

  Frances blinked rapidly. The financial pinch she’d known about for months seemed a lot more pressing—a lot more real—now that she’d told her vulnerable daughter about it. “Until another family buys this place,” she continued sadly, “we might have to sell most of our furniture to get by.”

  That idea sent a tremor of fear through her, but Frances was determined to end on a confident note, for Gloria’s sake. “With the help of the gut Lord and our friends, we’ll be all right,” she insisted. “Your dat firmly believed that, and so do I. We have our faith, and we have our family—”

  “Oh, Mamm, I’ve made you cry,” Gloria interrupted when she finally looked Frances in the face. “I didn’t mean to doubt you. Didn’t mean to bother you with my—”

  “I was already having a little pity party when you came in,” Frances admitted with a shake of her head. “I told Marlin not to court me anymore. I hurt him badly, but I had to say it.”

  She hadn’t intended to bare her soul, but it was the shortest path to the truth. No sense in dancing around the fact that she’d rejected a wonderful man who’d said he loved her even after she’d shut him down.

  Gloria’s eyes widened. “So you’re not going to marry him? Oh, my.”

  Frances was surprised that her daughter sounded sorry about this news, after all the times she’d so strenuously objected to Marlin’s presence. “The time’s not right,” she explained. “I didn’t want to marry him just because he could take care of us, Gloria. I wanted to prove we could make it on our own terms—”

  “Oh, my,” Gloria repeated before nipping her lip. “Well, since I can’t seem to land a job or a husband, and you’ll not be able to work for quite a while yet . . . maybe we should move into the lodge and sell the house, like you said before.”

  Frances’s eyes widened. “What’s happened to change your mind about that?” she asked. “Last I knew, you didn’t want to live amongst those biddy hens—and truth be told, maybe I was being harsh, expecting you to leave our home so soon after your dat’s passing. I’m sorry about that, honey.”

  Gloria shrugged, glancing out the window as she composed her response. “Well, besides needing the money, we—I was just thinking how big and empty this house will feel after Mary Kate and Roman and David move back home,” she said sadly. “It’s not the same here without Dat.”

  Once again Frances ached to embrace her daughter, but her arms remained pinned against her body in their slings. “Jah, you’re right about that part.”

  “It would be easier if you married Marlin,” Gloria said with a sigh. “And it would be helpful if I got married—or did a better job of pulling my weight. But in the meantime, maybe moving to the lodge would take off some of the pressure, ain’t so? At least we’d have friends to eat our meals with. And it wouldn’t be so—so quiet all the time.”

  Frances felt fresh tears dribbling down her cheeks, yet she was smiling. Who could’ve foreseen this switch in Gloria’s attitude? Just the fact that her daughter was giving some serious thought to their situation made her feel more hopeful about their future.

  “Let’s try to get some sleep, and we’ll talk about this again tomorrow,” she suggested. “If we figure out what furniture to sell—and how to do that—we could move to the lodge by the time I’m taking my physical therapy. It’ll give us a target to shoot for. Something to look forward to.”

  “All right. Let’s do it.” Gloria slipped her arm around Frances’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Denki for listening, Mamm. And—and I really am sorry you broke up with Marlin,” she added ruefully. “It was easy to see that you were happy together. I just wish I could find somebody.”

  Frances watched her daughter slip quietly out into the hallway. What had just happened? What had prompted Gloria’s change of heart?

  Her ways are almost as mysterious as Yours, Lord, she thought as she got into bed. It’s anybody’s guess what might happen next, but at least she and I are in this together now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the end of the church service on Sunday, Allen wanted to flee the big meeting room in the lodge. Phoebe had been gazing at him from the women’s side all morning, her blue eyes wide with questions she’d ask as soon as folks got up to prepare for the common meal.

  Trouble was, he didn’t have answers she wanted to hear.

  He’d buried himself in his construction work all week, avoiding her rather than facing her disappointment—but he had nowhere to hide on this sunny Sabbath. Because it was Mother’s Day, long tables had been set up outside under the trees, and folks would spend a leisurely afternoon visiting after they’d finished their meal. Even though he hadn’t joined the church, he couldn’t work today because the two framed-in tiny homes were in plain sight of the picnic tables. Maybe if he slipped out when everyone stood up . . .

  “We’ve got a few announcements before we men serve the ladies their lunch today,” Bishop Monroe said as he smiled at the congregation. “First, the bedding plants along the centers of the tables are gifts for the mothers amongst us, courtesy of Sam and Simon.”

  “And we’d like folks to know that Barbara’s now confined to bed rest as she awaits the birth of her twins,” Minerva put in. “I’m keeping an eye on both her and Bernice for the duration.”

  “She’s feeling fine, though, and would welcome your visits,” Sam added with a nervous chuckle.

  Allen assumed it was Sam, anyway—he had a hard time telling the redheaded Helmuth brothers apart. He couldn’t imagine how stressed those fellows must be, awaiting their first children. Allen was okay with kids once they were walking, talking, and out of diapers, but babies terrified him—and he was pretty sure Phoebe wanted a houseful of kids. Just one more reason to bolt . . .

  “That’s gut to know, and we all share your excitement as you await your new arrivals,” Bishop Monroe said. “We also welcome our newlyweds, Truman and Rosetta, to our gathering today, along with Irene. Sundays aren’t the same when you Wickeys attend your Mennonite service, so we’re glad you’ve chosen to alternate between the two churches.”

  From his pew bench in the center of the men’s section, Allen was glad to see Rosetta’s confident smile across the meeting room. He had some important questions to ask, if he could catch her when she wasn’t surrounded by family and friends . . . so it seemed he couldn’t slip away, after all.

  “Anything else we should know about before the men set out the food?” the bishop asked.

  “Jah, I—I have a question,” one of the ladies piped up.

  Folks looked around to see who’d spoken, until Frances Lehman stood up. Allen felt bad for her, with her arms still hanging in slings.

  “Gloria and I have decided to move to lodge apartments when I’ve started my physical therapy, rather than rattling around in our huge house,” Frances continued. “I’m wondering how we should go about selling the furniture we won’t need anymore.”

  Allen couldn’t miss the way Preacher Marlin’s jaw dropped, or the pain on his face when he leaned his elbows on his knees, as though he was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. What had happened? Folks began whispering as though they, too, were surprised that Frances and Marlin didn’t appear to be a couple anymore.

  “I can help you with that, Frances,” Truman offered after a few moments. “I know an auctioneer who’ll either conduct an on-site sale for you, or he’ll take your furniture and sell it at his auction barn.”

  “We could use some of your pieces—especially bedroom sets—to furnish more of the rooms in the lodge,” Rosetta put in.

  Frances’s expression wavered. “I’d rather sell it,” she said in a faltering voice. “I’m putting the house up for sale, too. If any of you know of a family looking to come here, I’d appreciate it if you’d put in a gut word about our place being ready to live in.”


  The meeting room got very quiet. Bishop Floyd had moved his family to Missouri less than a year ago, so it seemed sad that Frances and Gloria no longer wanted to live in their house now that he was gone. Allen shifted to observe how Gloria was reacting to her mother’s announcement. Her air of quiet acceptance surprised him.

  “I’d sell my place and move into the lodge, too,” Lester piped up, “but I guess I wouldn’t fool anybody if I took to wearing kapps and dresses so I could live there.”

  As laughter erupted around him, Allen was pleased to hear Lester’s lighthearted joke. Lester left very early on weekday mornings to install the windows at the townhome complex where Truman’s company was doing the landscaping, so Allen could understand why he didn’t need a full-sized home.

  Maybe you could cut Lester a deal on a tiny home if he was willing to install the windows and siding himself, Allen thought. He set this idea aside, however, as everyone around him stood up to prepare for the picnic. Like a lot of Amish settlements, Promise Lodge celebrated Mother’s Day by allowing the women to sit and visit while the men did the serving and cleaning up. His best tactic was to busy himself amongst the men, hoping Phoebe would join her mamm and aunts outside.

  He’d barely made it into the kitchen, however, before a slender hand clasped his elbow.

  “Allen, you forgot to pick up your pies this week,” Phoebe said earnestly. She pointed to a metal pie carrier on the counter. “I made two fresh ones yesterday, just for you!”

  There was no avoiding her, because she was standing so close that Allen could smell her clean clothes and fresh scent. He put on an apologetic smile. “I’ve been working hard on those two new homes,” he hastened to explain, “so I forgot all about pie! I can’t possibly eat so much pie myself, so maybe we should set them out today, jah? There’s no such thing as too many desserts at a common meal.”