New Beginnings at Promise Lodge Page 5

  Allen straightened to his full height. “The whole idea behind a tiny home is to get rid of stuff—to live with only the possessions you really need, on a very small scale with a lot of appliances and tables built into the walls,” he replied. “It’s not for everybody. You’ll get a better idea of it when this one’s built and I’m living in it.”

  She nodded doubtfully—although her curiosity was piqued. “That’ll be something to see.”

  “Denki for your help, Phoebe—and for asking questions that show you’re interested in this new project I’m taking on.” Allen flashed her a dazzling smile before he focused on the tiny home’s diagram, smoothing it with his hand. “I have a feeling I’ll be redrawing this diagram on clean paper before I start construction. The last thing I need is a bunch of ants crawling all over everything.”

  Jonathan, the older and taller of the Helmuth brothers, nodded. “That pie goop soaked through where your kitchen and bathroom go, so your dimensions and notes got saturated.”

  “What a waste of gut pie, too,” Cyrus remarked glumly. “If Gloria had left it on the table—and left us alone—I would’ve been on it like a duck on a bug.”

  Sensing the fellows were back to having their own conversation, Phoebe returned to the eck with her dishcloth. Her sister and Deborah had stacked the dishes and were removing the white tablecloth.

  “Somebody spilled coffee, and there’s chocolate frosting smeared over here,” she said, pointing to the stains. “We should check all of the tablecloths and treat the stains while we’re gathering them up.”

  “I’m on it,” Laura said. “A laundry stick and an old toothbrush, coming right up.”

  As Laura headed for the kitchen, Deborah smiled demurely. “I’m telling you, Phoebe,” she murmured, “Allen’s looking you over. You were obviously interested in his diagram, and he’s building homes now—just the right size for newlyweds.”

  “You’re making this up,” Phoebe retorted under her breath. “He’s nice to look at, but he’ll probably never settle down or join the church. Now that he’s gotten his plumbing and electrical licenses, who’s to say he won’t live English—especially if his tiny home business takes off? He certainly won’t be building those for Amish folks.”

  Deborah laughed as she went to clear the next table. “Some days I could be happy in a little house that only took a few minutes to redd up.”

  “Where would you put the baby?” Phoebe challenged.

  With a shrug, the blonde stacked glasses and cake plates in her plastic tub. “Might have to hang a basket from the ceiling and keep her in there. In a house that small, at least I’d always know where she—or he—was.”

  Phoebe shook her head, sensing their conversation was just whimsical wishful thinking on Deborah’s part. She loves the new house Noah and the other men built—just the way she wanted it, she thought.

  With a glance at the three young men, who had their heads together over Allen’s diagram, Phoebe began clearing the table next to the window.

  And besides that, Deborah was so wrapped up in Noah while we were growing up that she paid no attention to Allen. She’s pegged him all wrong. He’ll be gone from Promise Lodge before summer’s end—probably driving his horse-drawn tiny home on wheels.

  Chapter Five

  Marlin inhaled the cool air, taking in the colors of a fiery-bright sunset as he walked home from the wedding festivities with his family. He and Harley and some of the other men had cleared the lodge’s meeting room by stacking the pew benches along the walls, so he was warm from the exertion—ready to relax in his recliner. When Lowell and Fannie spotted Queenie running toward them, they jogged off into the grass to find sticks to throw for her.

  Harley, however, seemed uncharacteristically quiet. As soon as the kids were out of earshot, he cleared his throat. “You were out walking with Frances,” he said in an accusatory tone.

  Marlin sensed he was about to catch an earful, so he reminded himself to remain calm. “She’s been very concerned about Lester’s depression,” he said. “She asked my opinion about—”

  “From what I saw, Lester was the last thing on your minds!” his son blurted out. “You could’ve stayed in the dining room for your little chat.”

  Resentment was rolling off Harley in waves, and Marlin thought carefully before he responded. Minerva remained focused on the road—which could either mean she was keeping her opinion to herself, or that she wanted no part of the uncomfortable conversation her husband had initiated.

  “The dining room was very noisy,” Marlin pointed out. “And Lester could’ve overheard our conversation if he’d slipped around behind—”

  “Maybe it’s Lester you should be talking to,” Harley suggested tersely. “Why would Frances be a valid judge of anyone’s depression? She’s still deep in her own grief—so it’s not the least bit appropriate for her to be out strolling with you!”

  At first Harley’s attitude had puzzled Marlin, but now it was making him defensive. “Who are you to say what’s appropriate for a woman who’s old enough to be your mother?” he asked before he could catch himself. “What’s this really about, son?”

  Harley pivoted so he was standing in front of Marlin, staring him down. Except for his beard, the full face and light brown hair beneath his black hat were the image of Essie’s. He’d grown a few inches taller than his dat, which he often joked about and used to his advantage—but this time he wasn’t teasing. “You have no business looking after Frances Lehman!” he muttered. “Why were you walking her up to the house? From the looks on your faces, you’d forgotten all about Lester—”

  Marlin’s eyebrows rose. From the lodge, his son could’ve seen two people walking on their property, but he doubted facial features would’ve been discernible from that distance, unless . . .

  “—and you were discussing something much more personal—”

  “Were you watching us through binoculars? Spying on us?” Marlin demanded. He crossed his arms, matching his irate son’s stance as he noted the deep color Harley’s face had taken on. Ordinarily his older boy was laid-back and easygoing, but an innocent stroll with Frances had obviously gotten his dander up.

  “Mamm is rolling in her grave! You promised to love her forever, but you’ve forgotten all about her, ain’t so?”

  Marlin took a deep breath to compose his thoughts. Minerva had joined the kids and the three of them were playing with Queenie as they continued toward the house. Her sensitivity was usually a godsend when Harley started talking about his deceased mother, but at this point it was best that she’d left them to this conversation. He needed to address his son man-to-man.

  “I promised to be faithful to your mamm until death parted us,” he countered gently. “And I will love her forever—don’t you dare think otherwise.” Marlin paused, trying to keep his frustration and his deep feelings for Essie in perspective. Some of what he’d discussed with Frances—the part about Lester moving in with her—was confidential, so he continued with caution.

  “I’m sorry it upset you to see me walking with Frances, but as a preacher and a counselor, it’s my place—my responsibility—to listen to her concerns,” Marlin insisted in a low, controlled voice. “Had Amos or Eli or Monroe overheard the way Lester was talking to her as they walked to the wedding, any of them would’ve taken Frances aside to hear the whole story.”

  “That’s fine—because they’re all married! I know what I saw,” Harley countered in a huff. “Why would you consider pairing up with Frances—or any other woman—when you’ve got a home with us, and Minerva’s doing your cooking and laundry? What else could you possibly need?”

  Companionship. A wife who’s mine and not yours.

  Marlin blinked. Until Harley had confronted him, he’d skimmed over how badly he missed having someone to care for, who cared for him, as well. At twenty-three, married to an attractive, affectionate woman, his son had no inkling of the toll loneliness could take on a man who’d lost the love of his life—a
nd this wasn’t the time to set him straight. From his earliest childhood, Harley had adored his mother to the point he’d placed her on a pedestal in his heart. His dat had always come in at a distant second place. The way Harley saw it, no woman his father might consider for a new wife would ever measure up to Esther Kurtz.

  Marlin approached the subject from a different angle, because it was bound to come up again—and because he didn’t want the emotional wildfire Harley had kindled to burn the bridges of their relationship. “I know how close you were to your mamm, and how badly you miss her—”

  “You have no idea!” Harley spat. He turned away, probably to hide tears he considered unmanly. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

  “—and I appreciate the way you and Minerva were willing to move to Promise Lodge so we could have a fresh start—”

  “You’re the one who wanted to get away from the memories of Mamm!” Harley retorted. “I was perfectly content to stay in that house with her furniture, and to eat in the kitchen where she cooked our meals, and to imagine her still being there with us. It was a great comfort to me—not that you cared!”

  Marlin’s eyebrows rose. He’d sensed Minerva, as a new bride, would forever feel she was living in Essie’s shadow, so he’d built the young couple a house at Promise Lodge, where he could reside in the attached dawdi haus . . . so they could all move past their grief and get on with their lives. He’d known Harley had been somewhat reluctant to leave Bloomfield, but he hadn’t anticipated the lingering pain—the bitter vehemence with which his son was speaking to him nearly a year later.

  “I’m sorry, Harley,” he whispered. “And I’m grateful that you and Minerva have shared your home with me. If you feel so strongly about it, maybe you’d be better off seeing if you could buy back the place in Bloomfield.”

  Harley sucked in his breath, his eyes wide. “I’ve thought about that a lot, believe me. But Minerva likes her new house and the friends she’s made here.”

  “I like it here, too. I don’t want to go back—I want to keep moving forward,” Marlin explained gently. “My barrel business is doing well here—”

  “And you did pay for the house and the pastureland for my flock,” Harley put in bluntly. “It isn’t as though I have the money to repurchase the farm in Iowa, even though I’d like to—if Minerva would even consider that an option.”

  Silence filled the space between them. Marlin allowed his son’s thoughts to go where they would, because pointing out that Harley had two strikes against moving back to Bloomfield wouldn’t ease the tension between them. After several moments, he tried again. “What can I do to help you with your grief, son? We all take our own time getting over losses, but your mamm’s been gone nearly three years. It’s not healthy to let your feelings for her keep eating away at your soul.”

  “I don’t want to see you alone with Frances again.”

  Marlin exhaled slowly. He removed his hat and smoothed his hair before replacing it, giving himself time to consider his response. His son had a right to his feelings—but as a father and a widower, he had emotional rights, too. “Setting aside our personal thoughts on this matter,” he began softly, “you surely realize that our Old Order neighbors will expect me to remarry one of these days, because a preacher is to model the behavior he expects from his congregation. In Genesis, God tells us that it’s not gut for a man to be alone—”

  “So you’re ready to get hitched again—is that what you’re telling me? And Frances is available, so she’s the one?” Harley interrupted. “I don’t care about Genesis and these Old Order rules you’re throwing up to me! I don’t like it that you want to replace my mother!”

  Marlin sighed. He saw no immediate way to settle the anger that had sprung up between him and his son—and it saddened him. “You’re jumping to some serious conclusions, considering that Frances and I have only taken a walk together while talking about her brother-in-law’s emotional state,” he pointed out with the last iota of patience he possessed. “You’re in a bit of a state yourself, son, and I hope time and the gut Lord will heal your troubled heart. We’ll talk about this again, hopefully when you can see things more clearly.”

  “Jah, we will,” Harley said without missing a beat. “But don’t count on my vision improving. I saw what I saw.”

  When his son turned and headed up the hill, Marlin was relieved that he was walking in the direction of the sheep barn rather than the house. He prayed that tending his flock would soothe Harley’s soul, even if it didn’t change his opinion about his dat walking with a woman other than his mamm.

  Marlin inhaled deeply, allowing his emotions to cool as the temperature dropped with the setting sun. As he continued up the road, he reminded himself that he’d expected some repercussions if anyone had seen him out with Frances. He just hadn’t figured on their coming so fast or so furiously.

  At least you know where Harley stands on the subject, he thought ruefully. Hopefully, he’ll keep his rancor to himself rather than upsetting Fannie and Lowell. They lost their mother at a much more difficult time in their lives than he did.

  * * *

  “Were you really out with Preacher Marlin?” Gloria demanded incredulously. She was sitting in the porch swing as Frances arrived home from the lodge, her expression a cross between a glare and a pout. “I wondered where you’d slipped off to this afternoon while I was drying dishes. Why would you be interested in him?”

  Frances blinked, taken aback by her daughter’s point-blank questions and her negative assessment of Marlin. Before she could reply, however, Lester came out of the house to chime in.

  “I saw them with my own eyes, Gloria,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Did you strike up such a cozy-looking conversation with Marlin to get my goat, Frances? Is this the thanks I get for offering to take care of you?”

  Frances clamped her mouth shut to keep it from dropping open in utter amazement. How on earth had her daughter and her brother-in-law come to such outlandish conclusions about the walk she’d taken with Marlin? Had Lester been inspiring Gloria’s active imagination with his speculations before she’d gotten home? Even as she searched for words that would explain the true situation—and help the two of them see reason—Frances had a feeling Gloria and Lester were going to believe what they’d already assumed. It was a tricky matter, as well, to explain to Lester that he and his idea about moving in had been Marlin’s reason for asking her to walk with him.

  “If you must know,” Frances began, doing her best to hold Lester’s gaze without bursting into tears, “when Preacher Marlin passed us this morning and overheard your offer to take care of me—”

  “I’m doing the right thing and you know it!” Lester blurted.

  “—it was your tone that made him wonder if your grief was getting the best of you,” she continued doggedly. “He—and everyone else—has noticed the drastic change in your attitude, and we’re concerned about you, Lester.”

  One of Lester’s dark eyebrows rose. “You really expect me to believe that, Frances? I saw the way you were walking toward his house—the way he touched you—”

  “Is that how it was, Mamm?” Gloria asked in a tremulous voice. She rose from the porch swing to go stand beside her uncle. “That’s just wrong! Dat’s only been gone a month and you’re already—”

  “He died six weeks ago today. I’ve missed him every hour of every one of those forty-three days,” Frances retorted miserably. She looked from her daughter to her brother-in-law, despairing of wiping away the accusation on their taut faces. “You’ve got this all wrong—both of you. If Floyd were here, he’d be telling you to think before you spoke to me this way.”

  “But he’s not here. That’s the problem,” Lester said in a rising voice. “I’m trying to be the solution for you, Frances, but instead of talking to me about it like a reasonable adult, you’ve gone running to Marlin, making a play for his sympathy.”

  Frances was too stunned to respond
to such a preposterous overstatement. From where she stood, it seemed Lester and Gloria were blocking the door to her home as though they weren’t going to allow her inside until she admitted she’d been wrong to talk to Marlin and begged their forgiveness. It seemed there was only one direction she could go. She took a step back, grasping the porch post for support . . . wondering if she should spend the night in one of the lodge apartments.

  “Truth be told, Lester,” Frances said in a quavering voice, “it was your solution that alerted Preacher Marlin to your emotional state. You know it’s wrong for us to live together without being married!”

  “So we’ll get hitched!” Lester blurted. “I was doing the decent thing, giving you some time to get over losing Floyd before I asked you—”

  “Hold it just a second,” a male voice behind Frances stated. “Let’s take a gut look at what’s going on here.”

  Relief flooded Frances’s soul as Marlin approached the porch and stopped at the bottom step. It had surely been God’s own timing that the preacher had been going up the road just as she’d gotten caught in the crossfire of Lester and Gloria’s questions.

  “Okay, so what is going on?” Lester demanded. “Half the population of Promise Lodge—not to mention wedding guests from out of town—saw you and Frances strolling to the top of the hill, up to your place!”

  Marlin’s face was a picture of placidity, a balm to Frances’s soul. “So if that many folks saw us walking, out there in the open, we were hardly engaged in some secretive meeting, ain’t so?” he asked calmly. “Apparently, you and everyone else witnessed every moment Frances and I spent together.”

  Frances wanted to cheer. Marlin wasn’t rising to Lester’s bait, and his cool composure was the inspiration she needed to get through this trying moment.

  “Matter of fact,” Marlin went on, “when I heard you declaring that you should marry Frances just now, you reconfirmed the concerns we both have about how well you’re holding up after the losses you’ve suffered, Lester. I was troubled when I overheard the way you were speaking to Frances on the way to the wedding, suggesting you should move into her house—”