New Beginnings at Promise Lodge Read online

  Rosetta beamed at her. “Well, the job I have in mind doesn’t pay—but I’ll put on my thinking cap about some gainful employment for you, too.”

  Gloria glanced at Frances and back to Rosetta. “I’m all ears.”

  “How would you like to be Promise Lodge’s scribe for The Budget?” Rosetta asked. “It’s a weekly task I took on when we first started our new settlement. Now that I’m married and living up the hill—cooking and cleaning house and keeping up with a big garden and my goats—I don’t have as much time to do it.” She shrugged endearingly. “You seem like the perfect person to report our goings-on, and to write the weekly piece in a way that will entice more folks to join us here.”

  Gloria’s jaw dropped. “You think I could do that? For the newspaper that every Plain family in the country reads?”

  “You’d be really gut at that!” Mary Kate put in. “You always have an ear to what folks are doing, and you won spelling awards in school, and—”

  “Are you saying I’m nosy?” Gloria teased. “But I suppose that’s a helpful trait if you’re going to report the news of the neighborhood.”

  “So you’ll do it? I’ll let you see copies of the pieces I’ve sent in, to get you started,” Rosetta said excitedly. “And I know of some responsibilities around the lodge and the grounds you could take on for pay, too. Can you give me a day or two to organize my thoughts on that?”

  Gloria exhaled in disbelief. “Well, jah, if you’re sure I won’t mess up—”

  “Who amongst us doesn’t make mistakes?” Rosetta challenged gently. “My life has changed now that I’m not single and living amongst my renters. If I had a manager, I wouldn’t have to keep an eye on every little thing myself.”

  A manager? Is this my Gloria Rosetta’s talking about?

  Frances shifted in her chair, careful not to let on that she had doubts about her scatterbrained daughter’s qualifications for such a position. Gloria’s eyes had taken on a shine that Frances hadn’t seen in a long while—so why douse the spark Rosetta had kindled with her enthusiasm?

  Rosetta beamed at Frances, delighted by the way this situation was playing out. “Would this be a gut time to choose your rooms in the lodge?” she asked. “If you like the apartments Mattie, Christine, or Maria lived in, you could pack an overnight bag and sleep there tonight! We could get you settled in tomorrow—or we could start work on whichever rooms you wanted, if you choose some that are unfinished.”

  “Let’s do it, Mamm!” Gloria set her desserts on the table and stood up. “We could start a whole new life right this minute!”

  Rosetta slipped her arm gently around Frances’s shoulders to steady her as she rose from her lawn chair. “Sounds like you already have a plan for happiness, Gloria,” she remarked. “That’s the most important qualification any employee of mine could have. Shall we go upstairs and look around?”

  Frances’s head was spinning from all the new ideas Amos and Rosetta had talked about in the past few minutes. “I—I looked at the apartments a while back, and I really liked Christine’s,” she said. “But Gloria might have a different idea about—”

  “If Gloria’s going to be my manager—or even if she decides not to,” Rosetta put in, “she’ll want her own space. Once we decide on her job description, an apartment will be included as part of her pay. How does that sound?”

  “Like a dream come true!” Gloria replied breathlessly. “I’m going upstairs to look around right now!”

  Frances watched Gloria take the porch stairs two at a time before rushing inside, letting the screen door bang behind her. “I can’t recall the last time I saw her so excited,” she murmured. “But are you sure about her being your manager, Rosetta? You didn’t have to come up with a job on the spot, just because she’s looking for work.”

  Rosetta’s eyes sparkled as she gave Frances a gentle hug. “Seems to me she and I were both in the right place at the right time when the right idea came around, jah? If that’s not the hand of God bringing us together, what else can we call it?”

  Frances blinked back sudden tears. “Might just be a miracle.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Exhausted, Barbara clung to her sister’s hand and fought the urge to scream in pain and frustration. “How do women do this again and again?” she asked in a halting voice. “I feel like a wrung-out dishrag after so many hours of pushing and—” She grimaced as another contraction wracked her body.

  “One down and one to go, sister,” Bernice encouraged as she pressed a cool wet cloth to Barbara’s face. “We’ll get you through this. Don’t give up.”

  “You’ll soon forget about the pain and remember this as the most special day of your life,” Mattie said gently. She was holding her swaddled granddaughter, gazing raptly into her tiny face. “You have a perfect baby girl with adorable carrot-colored hair. When I showed her to Sam just now, he was over the moon.”

  “You’re doing fine, Barbara,” Minerva assured her from the end of the bed. “How about if you scoot up against the headboard and try from that angle? Before you know it, this part will be over and your little girl will have a—oh, I see the top of a head! Give another gut push—”

  Somehow Barbara found the strength to bear down again. A wave of euphoria washed over her as she felt her second baby leave her body.

  “Another girl!” Minerva announced. “She looks perfect, too. We’ll get both of you cleaned up and you can take a closer look at the two miracles you and Sam have made. Congratulations, Barbara.”

  “Jah, sister, you did it!” Bernice exclaimed. “Oh, but it’s a big day for the Helmuth family!”

  Barbara heaved a sigh of relief. All she really wanted was a dark, quiet room and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, yet the little wail that rang out near the foot of the bed rallied her.

  Two girls! I have two perfect baby girls and they’ll love each other the way Bernice and I always have.

  She looked at her very round twin sister, gratefully sipping cool water from the glass Bernice offered her. “Hope I didn’t scare you out of going through this,” she murmured.

  Bernice let out a nervous laugh. “It’s a little late for me to back out, jah? Truth be told, my back’s starting to give me fits—the way yours did yesterday.”

  From across the room, Minerva looked up from the baby she was washing. “I’ll check you over before I leave, Bernice. It amazes me, the way you twins conceived and are now giving birth at almost the same time,” she remarked. “If you’ll diaper your wee niece, I’ll tend to your sister so she’s ready for Sam and Simon and your dat to visit.”

  By the time she’d eaten a muffin and had drunk some tea, and Minerva had helped her wash up and change into a clean nightgown, Barbara felt human again. When she was sitting up against pillows in bed, the rush of love that surged through her at the sight of her daughters made her laugh and cry at the same time.

  “Oh, but they’re wrinkly—and would you look at all that carrot-colored fuzz on their heads!” she exclaimed as Mattie and Bernice stood on either side of the bed with the babies.

  The moment she cradled a baby in each arm, gazing at their tiny faces at last, Barbara was filled with a wondrous sense of awe. She gazed from one twin to the other, noting their identical noses and foreheads and bow-shaped mouths.

  “There’s a pretty picture,” her dat remarked as he entered the room behind Sam and Simon. He stopped at the foot of the bed, gazing raptly at her and his new granddaughters. “This takes me back to the day you girls were born,” he said softly. “It’s another new beginning for our family—a whole new generation, praise God.”

  Barbara thought she’d never see the day when her stern, strong father might cry, but he was clearly moved as he stroked the girls’ tiny cheeks. Sam came up and kissed her temple, appearing awestruck yet a little nervous as he looked at his new daughters.

  “Which names did you decide on?” he asked. “We talked about so many that I’ve lost track of which ones we actually chose.
”

  Barbara mentally reviewed the names they’d considered as she studied the two dozing babies in her arms. “Carol and Corene,” she replied. “They seem like a Carol and a Corene to me.”

  “Then that’s who they are,” her husband said. “If you’ve got one to spare, I’d like to get better acquainted.”

  As Sam lifted Corene to his chest, Barbara looked at the happy, eager faces gathered around her—the folks she loved most in all the world—and she knew the meaning of deep, abiding joy.

  She and Bernice had decorated a room that would be the nursery for all three babies. It was situated between the bedrooms they shared with their husbands—but that night she insisted that Carol’s and Corene’s bassinets be placed in the room with her and Sam so she could keep better track of them. What with the sounds of Bernice, who was now in labor down the hall, and checking on her new daughters, Barbara didn’t sleep a lot that first night. But she’d never felt happier or more blessed.

  The next morning as she was feeding Carol in the nursery, Sam sat beside her holding Corene. The loud moans in the adjacent bedroom gave way to a shrill wail. Several minutes later, Simon appeared at the door with a blanketed bundle in his arms. He was exhausted from the long night of Bernice’s labor, yet exuberant.

  “We have a boy!” he announced. “And we’re calling him Caleb.”

  * * *

  After Phoebe carried six hot pies to the table to let them cool, she opened the bakery windows wider. “I’m glad we’re almost done baking for the day,” she said to Irene. “It’s only nine o’clock, but my gutness, it’s hot.”

  “Jah, the rain shower we had in the night made it more humid, too.” Irene pressed her handkerchief to her forehead as she stirred a pot of gooseberry filling. “Maybe we should ask Bishop Monroe about installing a big fan—or even a window-unit air conditioner. It’s only the twenty-third of May. By July, we might not be able to keep working—or we’ll have to cut way back on our orders.”

  “An air conditioner?” Phoebe mused aloud. “Well, the building’s wired for electricity because Maria was a Mennonite—”

  “And I am, too,” Irene reminded her. “I’ll take Monroe a raspberry pie and see if he’ll give his blessing to cooling us down in here. It’s not as though we’ll be running a TV or a computer or anything else that’ll let the outside world into our business.”

  Phoebe propped the door open so the morning breeze could pass through the building—and stopped to stare. Two Clydesdales were hauling a slate blue tiny home—Allen’s tiny home—across the grassy yard in front of the lodge. Lavern Peterscheim and Lowell Kurtz were guiding the huge horses from either side, while Allen walked behind the little house on wheels wearing an expression of sheer exhilaration.

  “What does this mean?” Phoebe asked as she watched the little parade. She’d done her best to keep her disappointment to herself when Allen had hardly spoken to her on Sunday—and when he’d served the pies she’d baked especially for him at the common meal.

  “What do you see, dear?” Irene carried the kettle from the stove burner to the low counter in the kitchen where they put together pies. When she joined Phoebe at the door, she let out a low whistle. “Now there’s a sight you don’t see every day. Where do you suppose Allen’s going with his little house?”

  Blinking rapidly, Phoebe tried not to let her imagination run to all the places he might be heading. If he were leaving Promise Lodge, surely he would tell her—wouldn’t he? “I—I have no idea,” she replied with a hitch in her voice.

  Irene slipped an arm around Phoebe’s waist. “I have a feeling there’s been some trouble in paradise, but I don’t want to butt in,” she said sympathetically. “Allen’s a gut-hearted young man, but he’s seemed skittish lately. Hasn’t even come to claim his pies. Is he running scared, with a case of cold feet?”

  Running scared . . . cold feet. Phoebe thought back to the delightful day she and Allen had spent in Forest Grove—the day she’d spotted the perfect place for the home she so badly wanted to share with him.

  “Why would he be scared?” she asked sadly. “I told him I was going to ask for the land Mamm was giving me, so he could move his construction equipment there—so he could have a shop. I thought he’d be happy to have more work space, now that he’s building those two new—”

  “Well, that might explain it,” Irene murmured with a shake of her head.

  “What’d I do?” Phoebe whimpered. “I was only being generous—and I was so excited because nobody had spoken for the land that overlooks the lake. It’s the perfect place for a house—”

  “And after one date you were seeing yourself in that house with Allen, ain’t so?”

  Phoebe swiped at her tear-filled eyes. “I thought that’s what he wanted, too. I—I felt like things were getting serious between us. After all, we’ve known each other all our lives.”

  Irene smiled gently at her. They watched for a few more moments, as the massive horses hauled the tiny home across the road and between the big garden plots where Mattie’s vegetables were growing. “I suspect he felt you were getting a little ahead of him, dear,” she explained. “Men like to feel they’re the providers. They want to have everything in place—a house to take a bride home to—before they pop the question.”

  “But Allen has a house!” Phoebe protested, pointing as the back end of his tiny home disappeared from their view. “I was offering him a place to park it! And now he’s taking it somewhere else before Truman’s had a chance to build a road to my land.”

  “Your land,” Irene echoed as she returned to the kitchen. “No matter how gut your intentions are, dear, if Allen went along with them he would always be aware that he’s parked on your land.”

  Phoebe blinked. Had she been too hasty, asking Mamm for a parcel of ground? Had Allen interpreted her invitation to work on her land as an expectation that they would marry soon?

  That was your intention, wasn’t it? You’ve been dreaming of your wedding day ever since he kissed you.

  Phoebe sighed. Why hadn’t she anticipated Allen’s reaction? All her life, she’d known that men did the proposing and the providing, yet she’d gotten so excited about the perfect plot of ground that she’d rushed ahead and done things her way. She hadn’t considered that Allen might think she was putting the cart before the horse, or manipulating him into marriage.

  He probably feels you’ve one-upped him, latching on to property when he doesn’t own any.

  “Maybe I have some fences to mend,” she murmured as she headed back to the worktable.

  Irene smiled as she opened bags of frozen blackberries to make more filling. “Fence mending is a skill we all have to work at from time to time,” she said gently. “It doesn’t get any easier as you get older—or get married—but we have to keep trying. Thinking you love someone doesn’t mean a thing if you don’t put that love into action.”

  As Phoebe rolled a ball of dough into a circle to form a piecrust, she hoped Irene had it right. The best ideas often came to her when she allowed her thoughts to wander while her hands worked with dough, so she hoped she’d know what to do about Allen by the time she’d finished the day’s baking.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Marlin halted his rig near the Lehmans’ front porch on Tuesday afternoon, he had a sinking feeling the ride to the clinic was going to be very uncomfortable. Frances stood on the top step staring at him as though he’d grown horns.

  “Preacher Amos told me he was driving me to my appointment,” she said stiffly.

  “Amos and Mattie are helping with their three new grandbabies today,” Marlin said as he stepped down from the buggy. He smiled at Frances, hoping his good news would soften her resistance to riding with him. “Barbara had twin girls yesterday, and early this morning, Bernice had a little boy—Corene, Carol, and Caleb are sure to keep the Helmuth and Troyer tribe hopping for a while.”

  “Everything went well, then?” she asked.

  Marlin stopped at t
he bottom of the porch steps. Frances looked pale and listless in her black cape dress and kapp, and he yearned for the sight of her smile. For the hundredth time, he wished he could make Frances’s slings disappear—just as he longed to restore her faith in him. He’d been preparing himself for the chance that the doctor wouldn’t free her from her constraints today, sensing Frances would sink even lower into depression if that’s the way her appointment went.

  “The two new mamms are doing well,” he assured her. “And from what Minerva’s told me, all three babies are perfect—and she’s exhausted, after tending to their births for about thirty-six hours straight.”

  Frances’s eyes widened, a sign that she was at least listening to him and sympathizing with Minerva.

  Marlin extended his arms. “How about if I help you into the rig and we’ll be on our way?” he asked lightly. “I’ve been praying long and hard that the doctor will let you start your therapy today, knowing you’ll feel so much better.”

  Frances lowered her gaze, paying close attention to the stairs as she descended them. “High time,” she muttered. “I can manage fine, denki. I’m sorry Amos has inconvenienced you by asking you to take me. I can ask Roman to drive me—”

  “I’m happy to take you, Frances,” Marlin insisted, searching for words that would make her feel more comfortable. “Even if you don’t want me to court you, we can still be friends, ain’t so? We’ve been friends since we came to live at Promise Lodge, after all—even while Floyd was alive.”

  Frances appeared too focused on stepping into the rig to reply. She’d grown accustomed to keeping her balance even though she was unable to grab hold of things, and although Marlin had hoped for an excuse to steady her, he admired her fortitude. She placed a foot on the step, sprang into the rig, landed on the padded seat—and scooted to the far side of it—without his assistance.

  Marlin got in and took up the lines, making the best of a difficult situation. After a couple of futile attempts to start a conversation, he let Frances gaze out the window for the rest of the trip to the clinic in Forest Grove. The clip-clop, clip-clop of his horse’s hooves punctuated the uncomfortable silence and made the humidity seem more intense. As Marlin blotted his sweaty neck with his bandanna, he was aware of how frustrated Frances must feel because she couldn’t wipe the dampness from her brow—but he didn’t dare offer to do that for her.