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  After giving the bishop a few moments to contemplate her proposal, Jo held his gaze. “I’m asking for a lot, ain’t so? And maybe nobody but me will see any benefit to this marketplace. But I had to ask.”

  Bishop Jeremiah’s smile brought out the laugh lines around his eyes. “If you don’t ask, you probably won’t receive,” he pointed out. “If you don’t knock, who will know to open the door for you?”

  When the bishop rose from his chair, Jo took his action as her cue to leave—yet she felt greatly encouraged. “Denki for listening,” she said as she stood up. “I appreciate the way you’ve heard me out, because some men wouldn’t have given my idea even a minute’s consideration.”

  Jo immediately wondered if she’d sounded too critical, too much like a maidel with a habit of complaining.

  The bishop chuckled, however. “Some folks—men and women alike—pass over new ideas because they’ll have to put out extra effort or change their habits to make their dreams a reality,” he remarked. “I’ll pray over what you’ve told me today, Jo, and we’ll see what happens. When you skip a little stone across a lake, you never know how far the ripples might travel.”

  Chapter Two

  As the final prayer of the Sunday service ended, Regina Miller opened her eyes. She reached for the Ausbund under her pew bench. Across the room on the men’s side, Gabe Flaud sang the first phrase of the concluding hymn in his clear, melodious voice to establish the pitch and the tempo.

  I could listen to Gabe sing all day, Regina thought as she joined in with the others.

  She would never tell Gabe that, of course. Five days a week she worked as a finisher in the furniture shop his dat owned, staining and varnishing the dining room and bedroom sets the male employees built in the factory. Gabe was the foreman and he was single, but he looked at Regina as though she were a fixture in the shop—just one of the boys. She’d heard rumors that he dated English girls despite the fact that he’d joined the Old Order, yet the church leaders had never called him on it.

  He’s way too adventurous to give a mouse like me a second glance, she mused as she looked at the stained hands holding her hymnal. Why do I waste my time thinking about him? Must be that springtime thing Jo was talking about, wanting something different—something more—in my life.

  Regina had a more compelling reason for not entertaining notions about Gabe, but it was a secret she didn’t dare think about during church. God was undoubtedly displeased with the part of her life she kept hidden away. She’d probably be inviting a visible sign of His judgment—perhaps a lightning bolt shooting through the roof to strike her down—if she allowed her mind to wander to her sinful pastime while she was supposed to be worshipping Him.

  Regina sang louder, focusing on the words. As the congregation plodded through the thirteenth verse at the methodical pace with which they sang their hymns, Regina’s stomach rumbled loudly. She often wondered what had possessed the Amish songwriters of the sixteenth century to ramble on at such length.

  Beside her, Jo Fussner rolled her eyes as they began verse fourteen. Regina stifled a laugh. In front of them, Lydianne Christner rubbed the small of her back while the Helfing twins leaned into each other and began to sway subtly to the beat. The five of them often joked about having calluses on their backsides from a lifetime of endless Sunday services—it was another detail that bound them together as the maidels of Morning Star, a bit of irreverent humor they shared only among themselves.

  Regina and her friends let out a sigh of relief as the final note of the hymn died away. When Bishop Jeremiah stood to give the benediction, they bowed their heads to receive his blessing. The five of them took their Old Order faith seriously, even if they sometimes muttered about its inconveniences.

  “I know you’re ready to devour the common meal,” the bishop said after the benediction, “but I’m calling a Members Meeting. An opportunity has presented itself in the form of property that’s gone up for sale.”

  Regina’s eyes widened. Had the old stable caught the bishop’s eye? If he’d decided to buy the land for himself, he wouldn’t be bringing it up at church—yet she couldn’t imagine Preacher Ammon Slabaugh or her uncle, Preacher Clarence Miller, buying that dilapidated building or the pastureland surrounding it.

  “You’re all familiar with the Clementi place at the edge of town,” Bishop Jeremiah continued, “and I’ve heard an intriguing idea about how the stable might be turned into shops where our members and other Plain folks could rent space to sell their wares, as well as a suggestion to use the pastureland for mud sales, produce auctions, and other events.”

  Regina elbowed Jo. “You talked to the bishop?” she mouthed in amazement.

  Jo’s tight, hopeful expression confirmed Regina’s assumption.

  “When I approached our preachers and Deacon Saul, they hesitated—until I suggested that our church could collect a commission from the shops’ sales, which would go toward building a new schoolhouse,” the bishop continued as he looked out over the crowd. “Preacher Ammon pointed out that we often run short of parking space at our mud sales—”

  “Are you saying our church district would buy the property?” Elva Detweiler asked loudly. She was hard of hearing, and she spoke as though everyone else was, too. “Won’t that deplete our emergency aid fund?”

  “Why would we waste money rebuilding that rickety old stable when we could build a new one cheaper?” Gabe’s dat, Martin Flaud, challenged.

  “What with that big Plain gift shop just down the road in Willow Ridge, why would we open the same sort of store here?” Gabe asked.

  Bishop Jeremiah held up his hands for silence. “I’m pleased that you’re questioning this idea, rather than rejecting it flat out,” he said. “I’m surprised the Clementi family doesn’t want more money for this property. They’re hoping to unload the place quickly to settle the estate, and because we could pay cash up front, they’ve agreed to accept less than their listing price. Deacon Saul feels it would be a gut investment—”

  “Jah, I’d sell my pastureland for twice as much,” Saul Hartzler chimed in from the preachers’ bench. “We wouldn’t be out anything but some grass seed to make it look better. Mowing it before mud sales and auctions would be the only other maintenance.”

  “I’m in favor of refurbishing the stable rather than tearing it down because the main structure is basically sound, and we wouldn’t have to replace much wood,” Preacher Ammon replied to Martin. “It also has a character about it you don’t see in modern-style stables.”

  “I’m hoping to hire my nephew Pete to do that carpentry work for us,” the bishop said with a knowing smile. “Maybe it’ll set him onto a straighter path than working at the pet food factory. And maybe it’ll get him to church more often, too.”

  Regina and several other folks chuckled. Pete Shetler was in his late twenties, seemingly stuck in perpetual rumspringa. He tended to frequent the pool hall after working the night shift, so he sometimes came to church wearing clothes that reeked of grease and cigarettes.

  “I also believe English shoppers will flock to a quaint stable with cupolas on top, and colorful shutters and flower boxes—not to mention plenty of parking space,” Bishop Jeremiah continued, painting them a bright picture. “And because our shops would be individually operated by folks selling their own products, only on Saturdays, I don’t think we’d be competing against the Simple Gifts store in Willow Ridge.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out and you’re ready to put money on the table, Bishop. So why’re you bringing this up to us?” Elva asked. “We pay you such a princely sum, you can surely afford it on your own.”

  The room erupted in laughter. Because Amish bishops serve without pay, Bishop Jeremiah was laughing the loudest of all.

  “The preachers, Deacon Saul, and I are bringing this matter before the congregation because we see it as a possible way to support the construction of a new schoolhouse—to replace the current one, which is becoming too c
rowded,” Bishop Jeremiah replied patiently. “We could even build it on the new property, where we wouldn’t face flooding like we had last spring.”

  Several parents of school-age children nodded. They all recalled the terrible mess they’d had to clean up—and the days of school the scholars had missed—because several inches of water from the Missouri River had inundated the little white building.

  “Is there more discussion, or shall we vote about whether to buy the Clementi property?” the bishop asked.

  Martin Flaud quickly spoke up. “With all due respect, Jeremiah, I can’t imagine that you will take charge of these shops—or that you came up with the idea for them. Who’s going to manage this place?”

  “Jah, and who would rent space there?” Gabe chimed in. “No sense in proceeding with this purchase unless several folks are willing to invest themselves in making it work.”

  Regina held her breath, noting how intently Jo was focused on the bishop—probably concerned about having to convince the local men that her plan had merit. The idea Jo had blurted on the spur of the moment during their walk last Sunday had become a full-blown business possibility in a very short time, mostly because Bishop Jeremiah seemed sold on it.

  When Lydianne, Molly, and Marietta turned to look at Regina and Jo, their faces were lit with hopeful excitement—as though Jo’s idea suddenly felt more appealing because it had a chance to succeed.

  “One of the first names that came to my mind as a potential renter was yours, Martin,” Bishop Jeremiah replied. “You and your employees produce some of the finest furniture I’ve ever seen, yet your showroom’s too small to do it justice. What would it hurt to display some pieces where new customers could run their fingers over your glossy tabletops and picture one of your beautiful bedroom sets in their homes?”

  Regina’s eyes widened at the bishop’s praise. Customers had no way of knowing that she and Lydianne did most of the staining and finishing at the Flauds’ factory, yet she and her friend took pride in giving each piece all the time and attention it deserved before it left the workroom.

  “And what about you, Glenn?” Preacher Clarence asked. “The wooden toys and rocking chairs you handcraft would be a big hit at a Saturday marketplace. I see these shops as something akin to a flea market, except the items would all be new, top-notch Amish products instead of antiques or estate sale stuff that vendors have hauled from one place to another.”

  Jo chuckled under her breath. “Who knew your uncle would ever get so excited about shopping?” she whispered.

  “I had no idea any of these men would support your plan,” Regina murmured. “The bishop’s really enthusiastic about this!”

  “He’s being smart about it, too, keeping my name out of it,” Jo remarked softly.

  Meanwhile, Glenn Detweiler had stood up to survey the crowd. “All right, I’m in!” he exclaimed. “I’ve sold several things through the consignment shop in Willow Ridge, but I’d much rather attract shoppers to Morning Star! Who’ll join me?”

  Regina and Jo sucked in their breath, and the Helfing twins turned to look at them. “Can you believe this?” Molly whispered. “Your idea for saving the stable is taking off like a shot!”

  Without warning, Marietta rose to her feet. “We Helfings will rent a booth to sell our noodles,” she declared.

  From a couple benches in front of them, Martha Maude Hartzler—Deacon Saul’s mother—stood up, too. “This sounds like a fine opportunity to get some of my quilts out of the closet and sell them—”

  “Amen to that,” Saul put in with a roll of his eyes.

  “—and I’d be delighted if any of you other quilting ladies would join me,” she continued.

  “What a great idea!” her daughter-in-law, Anne, chimed in. “I’m already feeling inspired to make some new quilts to sell!”

  As three other women waved their hands above their heads, Regina got caught up in the energy that filled the room. Folks were whispering excitedly, looking around to see if anyone else might volunteer, while a dangerously daring thought came to her mind.

  Don’t even think about it! Don’t you dare say a word! Regina’s inner voice warned.

  Beside her, Jo stood up. “You know, Mamm and I could sell a lot more baked goods and produce at a stall in this marketplace than we do at our roadside stand,” she stated as she focused on Bishop Jeremiah. “Maybe we could even sell refreshments to the shoppers! I’d be willing to organize and manage this endeavor—perhaps instead of paying rent on a shop?”

  “And I’ll keep the books!” Lydianne put in as she, too, rose from her seat. “And if you Flauds decide to rent a space, I could help you oversee it.”

  “Wait just a minute, Josephine!” From the second row, Drusilla Fussner stood up to face her daughter. “I’m busy enough with our baking and gardening—and redding up the dawdi haus for tourist rentals—without you piling more work on me. This sounds like some crazy half-baked scheme that blew in out of nowhere, and I want no part of it!”

  Jo clasped her hands in front of her. “I understand your concerns, Mamm, and I’ll assume the additional work it’ll take to maintain a stall at the new marketplace,” she said calmly. “I see this as a way to increase our income while we also support a new school building—by donating a percentage of everyone’s sales,” she added for clarification. “It was never my intention to force you into this. We’ll discuss it more when we get home.”

  “Jah, you bet we will!” Drusilla clucked.

  As Jo’s mamm sat down, Regina caught a conspiratorial sparkle in the bishop’s eyes.

  “I think the new marketplace will be in gut hands if Jo and Lydianne manage it,” he said as he looked out over the congregation. “Does this make you feel better about acquiring the property, Martin? As your bishop, I intend to keep an eye on how things are done. I’m greatly encouraged by the enthusiasm folks are showing—”

  “Put Flaud Furniture down for a double-sized stall, maybe in a corner so we’ve got more room,” Gabe called out. “I’m all for trying something new—and meanwhile we’ll be funding the schoolhouse. Seems the least we can do, as one of the largest family businesses in Morning Star.”

  Regina counted on her fingers. Five stalls had already been spoken for.

  If Martha Maude can sell the quilts that’re stacking up in her closet, why can’t you empty out your attic the same way?

  Regina’s cheeks went so hot, she thought her freckles might pop off. She hoped Jo wouldn’t notice how antsy she was getting as these forbidden thoughts raced through her mind.

  This is a bad idea! How can you possibly hope to pull this off ? Imagine the consequences if anyone finds out—

  Even as the warning voice in her head was wailing like a fire siren, Regina stood up to speak before she lost her nerve. “I’d be willing to help Lydianne staff the Flauds’ stall, and I’ll help Jo with the organizational stuff, too,” she began in a halting voice. “And I have a—a friend who’s looking for a place to display some of his pieces. So that’s already six stalls we’ve accounted for.”

  “That’s all well and gut,” Martin objected, “but why are we rushing into such a major undertaking before we’ve thought this through? Why don’t we call another meeting after church in a couple of weeks, and see some signed agreements from folks who’ll commit to renting stalls? And why don’t we make sure Pete’s willing to do the carpentry work—or get other men to say they’ll rebuild that stable? And why don’t we see some concrete plans from our volunteer managers concerning rental contracts and how they’ll advertise this marketplace?”

  Bishop Jeremiah smiled as though Martin had played into his plans. “Excellent ideas,” he said. “How about if all the interested parties meet with me after we’ve eaten our lunch, and we’ll set a time to discuss the nuts and bolts of making this marketplace happen? We’ll report back to the congregation in two weeks.”

  “I like that idea, Martin,” Deacon Saul chimed in. “You and I know that a business needs a plan if
it’s to succeed.”

  Regina agreed with Saul, because his carriage shop employed even more Amish men than Flaud Furniture and was the most lucrative Amish business in Morning Star. The new marketplace would only succeed if the entire community stood behind it—and it would fail if Martin or Saul spoke against it. Several folks were nodding as the meeting adjourned. The women rose to set out the food for the common meal.

  As they headed toward the kitchen, Jo nudged Regina with her elbow. “So who’s this friend, Miss Miller?” she teased.

  “Jah, Regina,” Molly joined in from behind them. “What juicy secrets have you been keeping from us?”

  Regina’s throat closed up. Already she was paying for her impulsive decision, and she suddenly needed to concoct a plausible story that wouldn’t get her into deep trouble. “It’s no one you know,” she insisted. “Just a—a guy I met a while back who was looking for a place to display his nature paintings. He might not even agree to rent a space—”

  “Do you suppose we should allow English to participate?” Marietta asked as they entered the kitchen.

  “Unless we have more Plain shopkeepers than we have space for—and unless the bishop thinks English items are a bad idea—I’d hate to limit renters this early,” Jo replied. “It would be gut to offer a variety of merchandise, especially if this man’s pieces sell well and bring in a lot of commission. Funding a new schoolhouse was Bishop Jeremiah’s idea, and I’m glad he thought of it!”

  “Jah, the marketplace takes on a higher purpose if some of the proceeds are dedicated to such a worthwhile project,” Lydianne agreed. “Did you see how everyone was nodding, agreeing that we need a bigger schoolhouse in a safer location?”

  Relieved that her curious friends’ conversation was no longer focused on her, Regina busied herself with filling water pitchers at the kitchen sink. It was only moments later, however, that her aunt Cora was at her elbow to take the filled pitchers.