New Beginnings at Promise Lodge Read online

  She fell into step beside him, looking between some of the bushes toward the Helmuths’ nursery. “It’s gut to see those rows of sapling trees and bushes Sam and Simon have planted since they arrived. Makes me want to get some spirea or snowball bushes to plant around the house, to cover the foundation.”

  “Our place could use a little landscaping help, too,” Marlin remarked as he started across the yard behind the lodge. “Most of us have been so busy getting our businesses and homes established, we’re just now thinking about flowers and shrubs. Even so, it’s a wonderful thing to step out onto the porch and see so many of these lilac bushes and forsythias that have surely been here for decades, judging from their size.”

  “Credit goes to Truman and his crew for trimming these bushes, as well as the underbrush that had taken over the orchard,” Frances said. She pointed toward the fenced pasture ahead of them, laughing when a black-and-white border collie jumped to its feet. “There goes Queenie, keeping Harley’s sheep away from the fence. I hope your son doesn’t mind that Noah’s dog thinks she’s in charge of his flock.”

  Laugh lines crinkled around Marlin’s eyes as he followed the dog’s progress. “Harley considers Queenie a full-time shepherd he doesn’t have to pay—and she’s gut insurance against coyotes.”

  Frances chuckled as the woolly sheep turned as a group to trot toward a different section of the pasture in response to Queenie’s herding. “Is there anything as lovely and peaceful as sheep in a springtime pasture?” she mused aloud. “Every time I see those ewes with their lambs, I think of the twenty-third psalm.”

  “It’s a sight that centers me—makes me right with the world again—whenever I feel myself getting unduly anxious about a problem, or about Lowell and Fannie,” the preacher put in reverently. “It’s different, raising my two youngest without Essie. Minerva’s patient with them, but she’s not their mamm.”

  “And she’s only six or seven years older than they are,” Frances observed. “She’s with them in the classroom, though, so she spends a lot of time with them.”

  As they passed alongside the pasture, the grassy ground gradually rose up the hill that led to the Kurtz place, and to Bishop Monroe’s new home. Frances had only been to this section of Promise Lodge once, when she and Floyd had been deciding which acreage they wanted for their own. The property looked different with a two-story cream-colored house on it, as well as a single-level building with a green metal roof that housed Marlin’s barrel factory. He seemed to have set aside his thoughts about his younger children, so she let the subject rest.

  It was a pleasure to walk in the sunshine and fresh air without having to hash out any more details about family members. She and Marlin topped the hill, walking at an easy pace while covering a lot of territory. They stopped at the top of the next rise.

  “Here’s a sight I never tire of,” Marlin said, gesturing toward a spacious pasture surrounded by a white plank fence. “Church leaders in the Iowa district we came from would consider Bishop Monroe unduly extravagant, when it comes to those huge red barns he’s built for his Clydesdales—not to mention the pretty penny he paid for that fence. But you can’t argue with the way he did his property up right, so the clients who buy his horses and have them trained here believe he runs a top-notch business. Which he does.”

  Frances nodded, gazing at the massive brown horses with the white hooves that grazed serenely beneath the trees. “I suspect your Lowell and Lavern Peterscheim love every minute they spend working for the bishop, too—even when they’re mucking out the stalls in those big barns. It’s nice that those two boys have become such fast friends since you moved your family here. Before you came, Lavern was the only young fellow that age at Promise Lodge.”

  “Lowell and Lavern are in horse heaven when they’re around the bishop’s Clydesdales,” Marlin agreed. “Monroe allows the boys to handle and ride the horses some, too, after he’s gotten a day’s work out of them. It’s gut for both of them to have a boss that’s not their dat, and it’s giving them a taste of trades besides the barrel making and blacksmithing they’ve been around all their lives.”

  Marlin gestured for Frances to turn around. “And this is the panoramic view you have if you’re the bishop,” he said lightly. “Promise Lodge property spreads as far as the eye can see. If he took a notion to, Monroe could stand here and watch the comings and goings of just about every family in his district.”

  Frances clasped her hands, amazed at the view. “There’s the orchard, and Rainbow Lake, and Preacher Eli’s smithy, and Christine’s dairy cows—and Rosetta’s goats are grazing along the fence behind the Kuhns’ cheese factory!” she exclaimed, pointing as she noticed each detail. “And look at the way our homes shine in the afternoon sunlight!”

  Frances shaded her eyes with her hand, enthralled with what she saw. “I had no idea how much land Mattie’s planted for her produce stand,” she remarked, gazing at the evenly spaced rows of vegetables emerging from the dark soil. “It doesn’t seem you and I have walked such a long distance, yet from here, the lodge and the entryway sign at the road look like part of a toy village.”

  “We’ve come a long way,” Marlin remarked softly. “I’m glad you’ve walked with me, Frances. Our community has taken on even more of a glow because I’m seeing it through your eyes.”

  Frances focused on Ruby’s stacked white beehives in the orchard, not daring to look at Marlin. The tone of his voice made her pulse thrum with an unusual sense of energy, as though the preacher had something on his mind besides the view.

  We’ve come a long way.

  Determined not to imagine any romantic undertones Marlin hadn’t intended, she reminded herself that she’d agreed to this walk so she could air her concerns about Lester. It was too soon to be enjoying the company of an attractive, unattached man—

  But you’d be hard-pressed to find a nicer fellow than Marlin, the voice in her head countered.

  Frances blinked. She was suddenly aware that a lot of time had passed since she’d slipped away from the kitchen. “You know, I should probably head back,” she said in a rush. “By now, the other ladies will be wondering where I’ve made off to—”

  “Jah, you’re probably right,” Marlin said with a sigh.

  “—and there’ll be no end of explaining to do when they realize you’ve left the party, too,” she continued. “And if Lester figures out that we’ve gone for a walk—”

  “Then maybe he’ll come to realize that you have your own life, and you have options,” he interrupted gently. Marlin briefly squeezed her shoulder before heading toward the road that led back to the lodge. “If anyone asks, you were expressing your concerns about him and I was giving you some preacherly counsel. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, unless you make it their business.”

  Frances slowed her stride, letting his words sink in. Anyone who might be out looking for her could see that she and Marlin were walking two or three feet apart, so why had she become anxious about what people would think? “You’re right,” she murmured. “I—I didn’t mean to turn into a nervous Nellie.”

  Marlin chuckled. “You’re right, too, Frances. People will talk—and we’d better be ready for that.”

  Chapter Four

  Later that afternoon, as Truman and Rosetta’s guests from Coldstream and Cloverdale began heading home, Phoebe paused in the kitchen doorway with her empty plastic dishpan. Clusters of folks still sat at a few of the tables farthest from the kitchen, but it wouldn’t be rude to clear the dishes and utensils the crowd had used after the newlyweds had cut their wedding cake. On the dessert table, one center tier of a chocolate cake remained. A large wedge had been cut from it and a few plated slices of cake sat nearby—and its rich, mocha buttercream frosting was calling Phoebe’s name.

  “All right, girls, you can do as you please,” she said to her sister Laura and Deborah Schwartz, who were going to help her clear the dining room. “I see a chance for a second slice of that fabulous cake and I�
��m going for it—before anybody else gets the same idea!”

  Deborah’s eyes lit up. “We have been on our feet and working all day—”

  “And my first slice of cake was a lot smaller than I’d hoped for,” Laura put in as she set her dishpan on the nearest table. “Let’s do it. We can sit at the eck and pretend we’re in a wedding party.”

  Phoebe laughed, quickly clearing the frosting-smeared plates, forks, and crumpled napkins from the raised table in the corner. Within moments the three of them were perched on chairs that overlooked the roomful of long, white-draped tables, with plates of cake in front of them. She closed her eyes over her first mouthful of sinfully delicious cake, allowing the mocha frosting to melt over her tongue.

  “I’m going to have Ruby bake this cake at my wedding,” Laura announced with a wistful sigh.

  “Why wait until you get married?” Deborah asked. “We’ll have birthdays and other special occasions, after all. Like maybe . . . a baby shower.”

  “Jah! Bernice and Barbara will be having their wee ones in June,” Laura put in excitedly. “We’ll have to start planning their party soon.”

  Phoebe cut into her cake again, wondering how to express the question that had been tickling her imagination lately. She and Deborah had grown up together in Coldstream, and she’d noticed a certain glow about her best friend lately—after suspecting Noah Schwartz’s bride had been sticking close to home because she didn’t feel well. “Something you’re trying to tell us, Deborah?”

  The blonde beside her giggled. “Matter of fact, there is! You can plan for a party early this fall, if Minerva has predicted my September due date accurately.” Minerva Kurtz acted as the community’s midwife as well as the children’s teacher.

  A rush of joy made Phoebe drop her fork to embrace Deborah. “I guessed right! Congratulations!”

  “Oh, but this is exciting news!” Laura chimed in as she hugged Deborah from the other side. “Are we allowed to share this, or is it your little secret for a while longer?”

  Deborah wrapped her arms around them. “Noah and I told our parents last night, so it’s official. Mamm and Mattie had already figured it out, of course, but they were nice enough to let us have our moment and announce our happy news to them.”

  “You’re eating for two, so you need another piece of cake,” Laura said as she rose from her chair. “And I’m getting myself another piece to celebrate. Phoebe?”

  “Sure—since you’re already up.” Phoebe laughed at their overindulgence. “Deborah deserves an announcement party, ain’t so? We should get the ladies together and start crocheting for you and the Helmuth sisters soon,” she added.

  Male voices made her glance toward the lobby, where Allen Troyer was standing with Cyrus and Jonathan Helmuth, who’d come to Promise Lodge to help Sam and Simon run their nursery. The three of them entered the dining room, and after exchanging greetings with the older folks who were still chatting, they headed for an empty table.

  Allen watched Laura carry three plates of cake, a smile lighting his handsome face. “Looks like we got here just in time to nab the girls’ leftovers—if we hurry,” he said to his friends. He focused on Phoebe, pointing to the table nearest him. “Will it be okay if we sit here? I’ll even clear these dishes and take off the tablecloth, if you want.”

  “Fine by us,” Phoebe replied. The three young men spent a lot of their spare time in the lodge, probably because their cabins were very small—and because the Kuhn sisters saw to most of their meals. “Consider yourself warned, though. The ladies in the kitchen—one in particular—might draft you to help wash dishes.”

  Allen’s smile said he knew to whom she was referring. “She can try, but we three guys will be too engrossed in business to be lured away.” He held up a roll of paper he’d had under his arm, and then quickly moved the dishes and the tablecloth to the far end of the table. When Cyrus and Jonathan joined him with the platter that held what was left of the chocolate cake, they all sat down.

  Deborah leaned closer to whisper in Phoebe’s ear. “There you go, girl. Allen’s mighty fine, and those Helmuths are pretty cute, too—all of them working gut jobs,” she pointed out. “I’m thinking you and Laura might be ringing wedding bells soon.”

  Phoebe waved her off, paying more attention to the cake her sister was handing her than to Deborah’s suggestion. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they’re all going into Cloverdale to visit Maria’s new bakery,” she remarked with a shrug. “They thought she was the cat’s pajamas—”

  “Puh! Maria has nothing on you,” Deborah protested. “Just saying.”

  “I get dibs on Cyrus,” Laura murmured as she resumed her seat at the table. “But who knows? Gloria may sweep him off his feet—”

  “Or knock him over with a pan of her brick-bat brownies,” Phoebe teased. She slapped her face playfully. “But that was a mean thing to say—and here she comes.”

  Like a bee to a blossom, Gloria Lehman buzzed from the kitchen and headed straight for the table where the fellows had settled. She was balancing a glass pie plate on one hand and held a spatula in the other, smiling so brightly—so hopefully—that Phoebe felt a little sorry for her. No matter how many times Allen told Gloria he wanted nothing to do with her, she kept coming back for more.

  “I bet you guys are ready for a snack, jah?” she asked sweetly. “I saved you back some pie! There’s cherry and chocolate cream and blackberry and—oh! What’s this you’re looking at, Allen?”

  With a resigned expression, Allen glanced at the young woman who’d come to hover over him and his friends. “We’ve got cake, denki,” he pointed out.

  “Jah, I don’t have room for even a bite of pie,” Jonathan put in.

  Gloria paid no attention to their rebuffs. She was avidly studying the large piece of paper they’d unrolled on the tabletop, holding the pie plate at her shoulder. “This looks like a diagram of a house—but it’s only got one room?” she asked with a confused frown. She pointed with her spatula. “What’s this circle?”

  “The toilet,” Cyrus informed her brusquely.

  Gloria let out a huff. “You don’t have to get so testy about—oh!—”

  Phoebe winced as the pie plate slipped from Gloria’s hand and landed facedown on Allen’s paper. All three young men sprang from their chairs, exasperated. Allen plucked the spatula from Gloria’s shaking hand and stopped Jonathan before he could lift the pie plate.

  “If you steady the plate, Cyrus and I can pick up the diagram and flip it over so the—the mess—stays in the pan,” he suggested quickly. “Seems better than trying to pick up all that loose, gooey pie.”

  With a wail, Gloria ran for the kitchen door. Phoebe fetched the dishcloth in her plastic tub. “Why did I figure something like this would happen?” she murmured to Laura and Deborah. “If it weren’t for bad luck, Gloria would have no luck at all.”

  “She brings it on herself,” Laura remarked with a shake of her head. “Let’s finish our cake and clear the tables. That little episode ruined my party mood.”

  Phoebe wrung out the wet dishcloth and approached the guys’ table. After Cyrus had rolled both ends of the diagram, Allen deftly slipped his hand underneath the pie pan—and with one smooth move, the three of them flipped everything over. When Cyrus lifted the paper, splotches of cherry, chocolate, whipped cream, blackberry filling, and piecrust were clinging to it, but most of the pie remained in the plate. After Jonathan moved the glass pan, they spread the page on the table again.

  “Well, it’s colorful,” Cyrus remarked with a shake of his head.

  “At least the damage is all in one spot,” Allen muttered as he carefully lifted loose pie fillings with the spatula and dropped them into the pie pan. “If you guys have any idea how I can get that girl to stop pestering me, I’m all ears.”

  “Will this help?” Phoebe asked, offering him the damp cloth. She glanced at the precisely drawn sketch of a rectangular structure, complete with dimensions and lines where windows an
d a door would be. “I’m really sorry she messed up your work, Allen. This looks like a new project you’re building, jah?”

  Allen scraped off the last of the mess and accepted the dishcloth. “Not just a new project, but the new business I’m starting,” he replied. “It’s a tiny home. They’re all the rage amongst folks who don’t want to live in regular-sized houses anymore—and if you put wheels on them, you can move them from place to place.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “A tiny home? How tiny are we talking about?”

  “This one’s about three hundred sixty square feet,” he said as he dabbed the paper with the cloth. “It’s got a main room with a small kitchen area and bathroom at one end, and the bedroom is in a loft—and above that there’s a small storage area.”

  “Think of it as cutting a Plain family’s front room in half, and arranging all your stuff in that space,” Jonathan explained. “Or, it’s about the same size as one of the cabins, except the space is vertical.”

  Cyrus glanced around them. “You could probably park three or four tiny homes in this dining room, jah?” he asked. “That blows my mind, but from what I’ve read, single folks are building these structures for a lot less money than a house would cost them. I think you’re onto something big, Troyer.”

  “Or not so big,” Allen quipped. “I can’t see Plain families living this way, but a lot of English who want to go green with a smaller footprint are embracing this idea. So I am, too.”

  Phoebe could only shake her head at what she’d heard. She decided to focus on the more practical issue rather than asking what a footprint had to do with a house. “But where do you put your kitchen table and your bedroom furniture and—and your family?”