Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 5

  Annabelle pressed her lips together as she grasped the big glass pan that held a ham and hash-brown casserole. Had Phineas become a thief? If his reestablished remodeling business was doing as well as he’d implied earlier, why would he need to steal from the folks who’d welcomed him to this community?

  She didn’t like the way her suspicions were rising like yeast rolls in a pan, warmed by the heat of her friends’ speculation and her own doubts about the man her husband might have become. Annabelle remained quiet as she and the other ladies set out the bacon, cinnamon rolls, casserole, and a bowl of canned peach halves before taking their places at the table. As always, the women sat on one side and the men faced them. When they bowed their heads for a short, silent prayer, she sensed Phineas was watching her rather than saying grace. Annabelle closed her eyes tightly.

  Lord, we need Your help keeping this situation in perspective, she prayed fervently. Help me to separate the truth about Phineas and his reason for being here from the way my suspicious imagination tends to run amok.

  As she passed the platter of cinnamon rolls to Gloria, Annabelle couldn’t miss the pink spots in the girl’s cheeks—because Cyrus was gazing intently at her from across the table. Her heart lightened. Watching a romance blossom between these two young adults would provide a welcome diversion from the issues she and Phineas would be dealing with over the next few days—starting as soon as breakfast was over, most likely.

  Annabelle sighed at the thought of the tactics her husband might use to lure her away from the friends and the comfortable life she’d found at Promise Lodge. As the rest of the food was passed and Jonathan and Cyrus focused on their breakfast, an uneasy silence settled over the table. At the sound of the front door opening, however, everyone looked toward the lobby.

  Bishop Monroe stopped in the dining room doorway, removing his black straw hat. “Gut morning, folks!” he said. “Quiet as it was, I didn’t want to interrupt your prayer.”

  “Come in, Bishop, and have a seat!” Beulah called out.

  “I’ll bring you a plate and you can join us!” Ruby put in as she rose from her chair. “We’re just starting to eat.”

  Was it her imagination, or did Bishop Monroe quickly assess the tense situation and flash her a wink? Annabelle was grateful for his timely appearance.

  “Christine’s already fed me,” he remarked as he pulled out the empty chair next to Phineas, “but who am I to refuse a warm cinnamon roll? We fellows figure to finish shingling the roof on Allen and Phoebe’s new house this morning, so I’ll burn it off, right?” he teased.

  Monroe offered his hand to Phineas. “You can join us if you’d like, seeing’s how you’re a man of the trade.”

  Phineas returned the bishop’s grip. “I’m impressed with the homes you’ve built here,” he said, “and the view from the one you’re working on is probably the best of any at Promise Lodge. But I have business to attend to this morning, with Annabelle.”

  “I can understand your priorities,” Monroe put in smoothly. He accepted the plate Ruby brought him, and then he took his time choosing a cinnamon roll from the platter. “We at Promise Lodge also have priorities, Phineas, and one of them is to provide our residents with a place to live in a community that adheres to the tenets of our Plain faith. If I understand correctly, you’ve chosen to leave the Old Order, and you’re here to convince your wife to forsake her baptismal vow, as well. Do I have that right?”

  The dining room rang with absolute silence. Annabelle wondered if everyone else at the table could hear the rapid pounding of her heart as she waited for Phineas to respond.

  “That’s correct,” he muttered. “Although I don’t see that it’s any of your business, what I discuss with my wife.”

  “Ah, but it is,” Monroe said without missing a beat. He paused with his cinnamon roll partially unwound, holding Phineas’s gaze with his deep green eyes . . . eyes that didn’t threaten, but didn’t back down, either. “Any time someone intends to lead one of my members away from the salvation of our Lord, it’s my job—my highest calling—to intervene. If Annabelle were choosing of her own accord to go back on the promise she made to God, that would be a different matter—but I would still do everything in my power to talk her out of it.”

  “I have no intention of leaving the Old Order,” Annabelle stated softly. Bishop Monroe’s stalwart support had given her the strength to speak up, but even so, she clasped her hands in her lap so no one could see them trembling. “If Phineas wants me back, he’ll have to return to Amish ways—if he hasn’t already burned his bridges by jumping the fence.”

  Phineas smacked his fork on the table, leaning forward. “You’re still my wife, Annabelle, and we’re together forever,” he whispered tersely. “I love you, and I’m trying to provide you a better life by—”

  “Gut morning to you, folks! Can someone here direct me to Monroe Burkholder, the bishop of this beautiful community?”

  Annabelle gasped, startled by the sonorous male voice that had interrupted her husband’s tirade. She’d been so intent on Phineas and Monroe’s exchange that she hadn’t heard the front door open, but there was no missing the man who stood in the dining room doorway. He was as burly as Bishop Monroe but not quite as tall, and he exuded an air of confident competence as he removed his broad-brimmed black hat. Had he been listening to their conversation for a while, or had he walked in unaware of the unfolding drama?

  “I’m Monroe Burkholder,” the bishop said as he rose from his place at the table. “You’re in time to join us for some breakfast if you’d like—”

  “And I’d be pleased to accept your invitation!” the stranger said as he approached them. “I’ve been driving for several days to reach Promise, Missouri, and it’s gut to finally arrive. I’m Bishop Clayton King from Paradise, in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and I’m here on behalf of the Council of Bishops.”

  Annabelle blinked. Why would a bishop come such a long way in a horse-drawn buggy rather than hiring an English driver, as she had? But more to the point, why was he here? Paradise was a mere hop, skip, and a jump from where she and Phineas had lived in Bird-in-Hand—less than a five-mile drive—so for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he’d come to summon the two of them back home.

  The tightening of her husband’s jaw suggested that he was wary about this bishop’s arrival, too. But as Bishop Clayton chose the empty chair on Monroe’s other side—which happened to be at the head of the table—everyone forgot the tension that had been building like thunderheads before the newcomer had arrived.

  “What can I do for you?” Monroe asked as he shifted the platters and casserole pan so their guest could fill the plate Ruby was setting before him. “You’ve come a long way to find me when you might’ve called or written a letter instead.”

  Bishop Clayton inhaled deeply as he spooned a large amount of the steaming ham and hash-brown casserole onto his plate. He was a handsome fellow. His ebony hair, streaked with silver at his temples, feathered back from a full, boyish face framed by a well-trimmed black beard. Annabelle tried not to be obvious about staring at him, wondering if she’d ever seen him back home—until Clayton glanced up and locked his gaze with hers.

  His chocolate-brown eyes made her quiver. Annabelle’s cheeks went hot and she quickly looked down at her plate, hoping no one had noticed her reaction to the newcomer, whom she was certain she’d never met. She would’ve remembered such a striking, magnetic man had she ever seen him around Lancaster County.

  “My purpose at Promise Lodge is best carried out in person,” Bishop Clayton said as he chose the largest remaining cinnamon roll on the platter. “At a recent meeting of the council, your community was a topic of much conversation. After careful study of your weekly columns in The Budget, dating back to last year when Rosetta Bender submitted the very first one describing how she and her sisters founded your community by acquiring a former church camp, we’ve been extremely concerned about the progressive path you’ve followed—a path
we fear is leading you away from God’s purpose rather than toward His everlasting salvation,” he added in a sonorous voice that filled the dining room.

  Monroe stared at King, his cinnamon roll forgotten in his hand, as though he was waiting for the man beside him to drop the other shoe.

  Bishop Clayton’s dark brows rose expressively when he met Monroe’s gaze. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

  Chapter Six

  Gloria stopped running water into the sink when Beulah beckoned her and Ruby and Annabelle into the mudroom, away from the dining room door. Cleaning up after breakfast had been their reason for leaving the table—not to mention the escalating tension Bishop Clayton was creating.

  “Gloria, you’d better alert Rosetta and her sisters about this visitor who seems determined to undermine everything they’ve accomplished at Promise Lodge,” Beulah whispered. “I don’t dare call them on the phone, for fear the men will hear me.”

  “Jah, and see if Preacher Amos and Preacher Eli can come over here to help Monroe,” Ruby suggested, glancing over her shoulder toward the dining room. “I hate to bother Marlin the morning after his wedding—”

  “But he’d want to know what’s going on,” Beulah insisted. “Just do your best to let folks know what’s happening.”

  Annabelle sighed. “Bad enough that Phineas got our suspicions up first thing this morning,” she muttered. “Now this new fellow’s saying we’re on the path to perdition. If he’s a bishop from Paradise, you’d think I would’ve run across his name in all my years of living right down the road.”

  “Scoot along now, sweetie,” Beulah urged as she opened the back door for Gloria. “We’ll keep busy in the kitchen, so the men don’t get suspicious about how quiet we are.”

  Gloria slipped outside, her thoughts racing. Parked in the grass near the lodge, Bishop Clayton’s black buggy glimmered in the sun—and so did his sleek bay Thoroughbred with the black mane and tail.

  For a horse and rig that have traveled all the way from Pennsylvania, they sure don’t look dusty from the road, Gloria thought, but she had more important matters to concentrate on. Rather than running to the Wickey place on the hill—because the men might spot her through the dining room window—she headed toward Bishop Monroe’s house to speak with Christine. The sisters could notify each other without Bishop Clayton being the wiser.

  As she reached the road, she spotted the man she most needed to see. “Amos!” she called after him as he crossed his back lawn. “Amos, wait up!”

  The preacher turned, smiling at her as he adjusted his tool belt. “Gut morning, Gloria! You’re starting the day at a run, it seems.”

  “We’ve got a stranger at the lodge, and you need to meet him,” she explained as she jogged up to him. “His name’s Clayton King, and he’s a bishop from out east who’s come to tell us we’re way too progressive. He’s at the lodge with Bishop Monroe and Phineas, saying that Rosetta’s columns in The Budget have prompted his visit—”

  “Easy now,” Amos said, gently grasping her shoulder. “Where’s he from again?”

  Gloria sucked in some cool morning air to settle herself. “Lancaster County—says the Council of Bishops has sent him here—”

  His forehead puckered. “Sounds a bit odd—but I’ll catch Eli before he climbs up to the roof at Allen’s house,” he said. “We’ll head on over to see what’s cooking.”

  “I’m on my way to warn Christine and her sisters,” Gloria said. “We suspect this guy intends to read us the riot act about how the women here have their say about things.”

  Amos laughed. “Denki for letting me know what to expect—especially since I was the first man who let the Bender sisters have their way about settling this place.”

  Gloria set off again. The next place up the road had been her home before she’d moved to her lodge apartment, but Gloria didn’t want to barge in on her mamm and Marlin. At the curve sat her Uncle Lester’s place, but he was installing windows in a community west of Forest Grove this morning, so she kept going. As she jogged farther up the road, Bishop Monroe’s red barns and pastures came into view. His Clydesdales were peacefully grazing in the lush green grass, and Daisy was observing them from beneath a tree.

  As Gloria approached the Burkholders’ tall white house, she saw a figure in blue wielding a hoe. “Christine!” she called, making a beeline for the garden.

  The woman turned, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Gloria! What’s so urgent that you’ve run all the way over here?”

  Gloria slowed as she approached the patch scattered with pumpkins and squash, where Christine was hoeing the weeds between the vines. Her heart was thudding rapidly. “We—we thought you ought to know—about the bishop who showed up this morning,” she said between gasps. “He’s come from out east to—to make us mend our progressive ways!”

  Christine gripped her hoe handle. “Take a minute to catch your breath, sweetie. You’re not making any sense.”

  Gloria inhaled more air and released it. “His name’s Clayton King,” she continued when she could speak again. “He’s from the Council of Bishops—and they’ve read Rosetta’s columns in The Budget—and they think we’re headed to hell in a hand basket.”

  Christine’s eyes widened. “Is that so?” she asked with a little laugh.

  “He was discussing it with Monroe when I left the lodge,” Gloria continued. “Beulah thought you and your sisters would want to be forewarned.”

  “Let’s get you some lemonade,” Christine suggested, slinging her arm around Gloria’s shoulders. “I’ll give Rosetta a call—”

  “Amos and Eli are on their way over to give Monroe some support,” Gloria put in as they started toward the back door.

  Christine’s eyebrow rose. “You don’t think Monroe can handle this fellow on his own?”

  Gloria considered her answer for a moment. “There’s something about Bishop Clayton that you just don’t argue with,” she replied. “Monroe was already in the thick of things with Phineas when Clayton walked in, so the tension was cranked up pretty tight by the time I left.”

  “Ah. Sounds like my husband’s got more on his plate than a second breakfast. But we’ll handle it.” Christine held open the door and gestured for Gloria to enter the kitchen. “Help yourself to the lemonade in the fridge, and there’s a cookie plate on the counter. Rosetta’s phone’s in her kitchen, so chances are gut she’ll pick up right away.”

  Gloria nodded, watching Christine cross the yard toward the white phone shanty at the road. When Rosetta had married a Mennonite, she’d come into several conveniences—such as a phone inside her house and electrical appliances—but she kept in close contact with her sisters. Rosetta still owned the lodge building and the cabins behind it, and as Gloria poured a glass of cold lemonade she realized that all of these details would soon come to Bishop Clayton’s attention.

  No doubt their guest would give Monroe quite a dressing-down for allowing Rosetta to marry a man who wasn’t Amish—which was the most controversial decision their bishop had made since he’d arrived.

  As Gloria bit into a soft, fresh chocolate chip cookie, she realized that her dat, the previous bishop, would never have condoned such a union. Even though he’d liked Rosetta a lot, Bishop Floyd would’ve shunned her if she’d gone through with her wedding to Truman Wickey. He was a bishop who’d upheld the same Old Order faith his forebears had held dear, without making allowances for more modern times.

  But a lot of things have changed since Dat passed.

  A wave of sadness washed over Gloria at the memory of her deceased father. She sighed and took another cookie from the plate. How did Dat feel about Mamm getting remarried—and about the new position Gloria held as the manager of the lodge apartments—as he looked down on them from heaven?

  Gloria smiled. Without thinking about it, she’d chosen a sweet, spicy oatmeal cookie with a drizzle of icing—Dat’s favorite treat. It seemed like a sign that he surely must be with her i
n spirit.

  Maybe you could lend us a hand here, Dat. You always said we could ask for assistance from God and the cloud of witnesses who surround us in this life. All of a sudden, we seem to have more than our share of complications because two men have shown up out of the blue.

  And while you’re at it, Gloria added as she savored another bite of the cookie, give me some advice about Cyrus. He’s been here several months, yet he’s just now figuring out that I exist. What’s going on with that?

  By the time Christine emerged from the phone shanty, Gloria felt greatly refreshed. Dat had been right. Maybe if she spent more time in prayer, she’d be more focused and less vulnerable to the ups and downs of daily life. “You reached Rosetta, jah?” she called out.

  Christine nodded. “Matter of fact, Mattie was helping her sort through the quilts Truman’s mamm has stashed away over the years,” she replied. “But she said that could wait. If Bishop Clayton gets high-toned about the way we run things, Rosetta thought we’d be too hot and bothered to need blankets, anyway!”

  Gloria laughed out loud. Rosetta’s humorous remark sounded typical of her positive outlook.

  “We sisters are going to meet at Mattie’s produce stand and make our entrance together,” Christine went on. “It’s better if our visitor knows whom he’s dealing with straightaway. By that time, Amos and Eli will have arrived, as well. Shall we head down the hill?”

  Gloria nodded and fell into step with her. “Denki for the lemonade and cookies,” she said. “When I got downstairs this morning and saw that Phineas was already watching Annabelle like a hawk—and then Clayton King showed up—I didn’t eat much breakfast.”

  “Men can have that effect on our appetites,” Christine remarked as they walked down the road. “All teasing aside, however, we’ll need to listen carefully to this King fellow. If we’ve attracted the attention of the bishops out east, we might be in for more criticism and more high-level guests in the future. A lot of church leaders won’t want their congregations—especially their women—getting any wild ideas about the way we’ve worked things to our advantage here.”