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  “Jah, we need a reliable carpenter committed to renovating the stable in time for our June first opening date,” Martha Maude said loudly.

  Pete stiffened. He scowled, looking away from the women’s side, where Martha Maude sat near the front.

  Bishop Jeremiah picked up some papers from the preachers’ bench. “Pete realizes our opening date is approaching very quickly, so he has signed a contract for installing the plumbing, the restrooms, and the electricity required by the health department, as well as some solar panels. He will also lead a construction crew, which will include volunteer carpenters from the congregation, to refurbish the stable’s main structure,” the bishop announced. “Glenn Detweiler has also signed a contract to head up the interior finishing work, in lieu of six months’ rent on his shop. We don’t usually require contracts for such things, but we felt folks might be more comfortable seeing these agreements in writing.”

  “We Flauds and some of our furniture crew will be helping,” Martin put in. “And as you know, Martha Maude, we’re also providing the tables and chairs for the central refreshment area—because we believe The Marketplace will benefit our church and the entire Morning Star community.”

  “That ought to shut her up,” Pete muttered.

  Gabe elbowed him playfully. “Hey, we all want this to work out—and we’re glad you’re still in on it,” he added softly.

  Pete shrugged, frowning. “I get tired of the Hartzlers throwing their weight around just because they’re the wealthiest family in the district,” he shot back under his breath. “I’ll uphold my end of this bargain, but you’d better keep Martha Maude—and Saul—out of my hair. I won’t tolerate them watching my every hammer stroke or telling me my work doesn’t suit them.”

  “Not to worry,” Gabe murmured, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “Dat and Glenn and I will be working right alongside you. We’ve got your back, buddy.”

  “Jah, and I’m glad you’re to be the foreman,” Glenn put in, leaning in front of Gabe to focus on Pete. “Saul builds a fine carriage, and his money comes in handy for the expenses a project like this requires—only he’s a man you can work for but not with. That’s the way some of his employees tell it, anyway.”

  Gabe nodded. “He told Dat he’s had an influx of orders for buggies and wagons this spring, so I doubt he’ll spend much time around the site anyway. It’s all gut, Pete,” he added with a smile. “You’ll do us proud.”

  Meanwhile, folks around them were murmuring as Martha Maude and a few others looked at the contracts. When Bishop Jeremiah called for a vote, the ayes bounced along the rows of the men’s side like a rubber ball and did the same as the women expressed their opinions. A big cheer erupted when the district’s youngest member—Gabe’s teenaged sister Lorena—spoke the final vote in favor of The Marketplace. As folks rose from the pew benches, talking and laughing, a new sense of energy filled the big room.

  When Gabe saw Red and her friends heading toward the kitchen, he turned to Pete. “How’s it going, living at the Helfing place?”

  Pete rolled his eyes. “It’s a gut thing I still have a full-time job and that Riley goes with me,” he replied. “At ten months, he’s still got a lot of puppy in him, so he’s full of energy. Molly gave him what-for after he snatched one of her dresses off the clothesline on Friday.”

  Glenn laughed. “At least he didn’t go after her underwear, jah?”

  “I suspect the twins are hanging their skivvies indoors now that I live there,” Pete replied with a shrug. “Or else they don’t wear any.”

  As the three of them laughed together, Gabe felt some of the tension draining from Pete’s attitude. “So how’s the breakfast they cook for you? What’s their dawdi haus like?”

  “The food’s okay—and seeing how my uncle has paid my rent ahead, the price is right,” Pete remarked. “It’s putting a cramp in my style, though. Living alongside two maidels is different from having an apartment where nobody was aware of my comings and goings. It beats living with Uncle Jeremiah and Mammi Margaret, though,” he added emphatically. “That was the alternative he offered me if I didn’t sign the contract.”

  Gabe had wondered if there was more to the story behind the contract than Bishop Jeremiah had mentioned. Pete was old enough to go his own way, however, so Gabe was surprised that Bishop Jeremiah thought he could control his nephew’s lifestyle . . . unless Pete was too broke to get by without his uncle’s help.

  Regina was standing in the aisle, waiting for Lydianne, so Gabe set aside his musings about Pete. “Hey there, Red!” he called out. “Did you convince your artist friend to rent a stall at The Marketplace?”

  Her eyes widened as though the question had startled her. “Jah, I—I turned in his form at the meeting.”

  She seemed eager to get to the kitchen to help set out the meal. Gabe felt compelled to ask more questions about this English guy she might be dating, so he followed her closely along the crowded aisle. “I’m looking forward to meeting this fellow,” he said. “His paintings are so lifelike—”

  “Oh, I doubt you’ll ever see him,” Red put in quickly. “He—Hartley’s very shy. He doesn’t like to be around when folks are talking about his work.”

  Hartley? What kind of a name is that? Sounds like a rich English snob, Gabe thought. He noticed how Red’s auburn bun was quivering beneath her kapp.

  “If he hears any criticism, he curls up in a ball and can’t paint for days,” Red continued with a shake of her head. “Artists are sensitive that way, you know.”

  “Who could possibly criticize the way he paints?” he asked in a puzzled tone. “I’m no expert, but those pictures you showed us Wednesday were—well, they seemed like perfection on paper. His subjects appeared almost better than the real thing.”

  Regina’s head swiveled quickly. When she looked at him, her hazel eyes were wide and her mouth was an O. “I’ll tell him you said that,” she whispered.

  Gabe was suddenly aware of how close Red was standing—and how, when she hurried forward with the other women, he wished she hadn’t seemed so intent on setting out the meal.

  “So this artist’s name is Hartley?” Glenn asked from behind him. “Do you suppose that’s his first name or his last name? I’m curious about him—and about how Regina knows him.”

  “I have no idea,” Gabe replied as he watched Red disappear into the kitchen. “You know as much about this guy as I do.”

  But I intend to find out more.

  * * *

  Regina clutched the baskets of bread she was carrying to the tables, hoping not to drop them and call more attention to herself. Her cheeks felt so hot, they surely had to be blazing red.

  Perfection on paper.

  Never had she heard such glowing remarks about her work—but then, she hadn’t shown it to anyone since she’d completed her art classes years ago. She had to get a better grip on her emotions, and she had to keep track of what she told folks about her imaginary artist, Hartley Fox.

  This wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t rented a space in the stable—and if you weren’t lying to cover up your secret.

  Gabe was setting up tables on the far side of the front room, and Regina made sure not to look at him. She remained among the other women before the meal and sat among her maidel friends, who were happily chatting about how they’d organize the bookkeeping and keep track of commissions when The Marketplace opened.

  Jo seemed especially excited about their dream coming true. “I think I’ll keep the larger items—like loaves of bread, and pans of cinnamon rolls, and cakes—in the shop on display racks,” she said, “and I’ll serve separate items like cookies and pastries out in the center area. I’ll have to keep a big pot of coffee hot—”

  “You should get one of those thirty- or sixty-cup coffee makers like we’ve seen in the bulk store,” Marietta suggested. “The bishop says we’ll have electricity—”

  “And that way folks could serve themselves at a coffee counter,” Molly put in
. “It would leave you free to serve your goodies and collect all the money you’re going to make!”

  Jo waved the twins off. “Let’s don’t count our cash before it’s in our hands,” she said with a laugh. “We have a lot of logistics to figure out between now and June first.”

  Regina sighed inwardly. Her girlfriends had asked a few casual questions about Hartley, but they had no idea how many answers she had to make up before her shop opened, or how she’d have to control her facial features whenever she talked about him.

  When she got home, Regina went up to gaze at the paintings hanging on the strings that crisscrossed her attic—and at the many bins of her older pictures. How much should she charge for her work? Which pictures should she take to the shop first? How would she keep explaining to her customers—and her friends—that she was selling these paintings on behalf of an artist who was too reclusive to face his customers?

  Lord, I know You don’t approve of what I’ve set myself up for, but I hope You’ll help me keep my stories straight so I can earn a lot of commissions for the new schoolhouse, Regina prayed earnestly. And then I hope You’ll guide me out of this web of deception before anyone—especially me—gets caught in it.

  Chapter Seven

  On the following Saturday, Jo convinced her mamm to ride to the stable with her to see how its reconstruction was progressing—and to help with the snack and the lunch the churchwomen were serving the construction crew. When Jo first caught sight of the stable, she sucked in her breath. The rumble of generators and the zap-zap-zap of nail guns filled the air as she drove their wagon through the open gate. Riley bounded out to greet them, barking exuberantly.

  “Look at all the men up there! They’ve removed the old shingles and they’re already putting on the new roof,” she said excitedly. “They must’ve gotten an early start.”

  “Hush up! Stop that barking!” Mamm cried out, pointing at the golden retriever.

  Riley’s face fell, but he sat down quietly and let them drive past him.

  Jo’s mother gazed up at the men silhouetted against the morning’s bright sky. “Some of those men are awfully old to be climbing around like monkeys,” she remarked. “If somebody falls and gets hurt—”

  “Let’s figure that Pete has assigned the elderly, unsteady fellows to jobs on the ground,” Jo said quickly. “See? Glenn’s dat and Martin’s older brothers are at the side of the stable, shoveling the torn-off shingles into that wagon. Everyone here’s excited about this project, Mamm, so let’s be excited with them, shall we?”

  Her mother shook her head as she determined that Reuben Detweiler and the Flauds—all of them in their seventies and eighties—were indeed cleaning up the debris. Jo parked beside the other flatbed wagons, where women were setting out a midmorning snack.

  “Fine,” Mamm muttered as she stepped down, “but I’ll never understand why the church wants to take on all the responsibility of running shops in this old place. What if you can’t get rid of the smell of horses and manure? Who’ll want to buy all those pastries you’re planning to bake, Josephine?”

  Sighing inwardly, Jo focused on the smiles of the friends who’d already arrived. “Hey there, Anne! And Rose, it’s gut to see you this morning—and you too, Gracie!” she added as Rose’s blond daughter ran up to her.

  “We baked brownies and sticky buns—and for lunch later, Mamma made a big ole pot of chili,” Gracie blurted out. “And I helped!”

  “Of course you did, sweetheart,” Jo replied. “You’re the best helper ever—and we’re glad your mamm’s going to sell her candles in your mammi’s quilt shop, too.”

  “She says I can help in the store—until I get to start at the new school!” Gracie, who would soon turn six, beamed like the sun. “It’s gonna be so much fun, Jo.”

  “Jah, it is. I loved school,” Jo agreed as she took two pans of coffee cake from a box on the back of the wagon. She glanced at her mother, happy to see that she’d struck up a conversation with Martha Maude. After she cut the warm coffee cakes into large squares, she pulled the big cooler full of lemonade to the edge of the wagon and arranged some cups, plates, and forks near them.

  Cora Miller, Preacher Clarence’s wife, rang a cowbell to get the workmen’s attention. “Come on down for coffee and treats,” she cried between blasts of their air drills.

  As the men on the roof clambered down their long extension ladders, a few other fellows emerged from inside the stable. Glenn, Preacher Ammon, and Teacher Elam brushed cobwebs and sawdust from their hair as they approached. Jo noticed dark circles under Glenn’s eyes and wondered if his wife—or baby Levi—had kept him up most of the night.

  “Here’s apple cinnamon and chocolate zucchini coffee cake,” she offered. “Rose brought sticky buns and brownies, and there’s plenty of coffee and lemonade. Looks like you fellows have made great progress this morning.”

  “Shoo! Get away from this food!” Jo’s mother said, stomping her foot as Riley approached with a hopeful look on his face.

  Glenn smiled as he lifted a large square of chocolate coffee cake onto a plate. “We hauled all the old hay out of the loft earlier this week, and we’ve swept out the entire interior,” he said as Ammon and Elam nodded. “I suggest you put your office and some storage room upstairs, so the main floor will have more space for shops.”

  “Jah, the loft floor’s solid, and you’ll have a window or two up there,” Preacher Ammon remarked as he poured coffee. “Wouldn’t take much to put up a few walls and doors so you could close that area off.”

  “It would keep you warmer in the winter, too,” Elam added. “And shoppers couldn’t wander into your office.”

  Jo liked that idea. “I’ll ask Lydianne what she thinks when she comes for the lunch shift.”

  Pete, Gabe, and the other men who’d been on the roof joined them, talking and laughing as they loaded their plates. Jo was pleased that so many men had come today, because they all worked well together—and because The Marketplace would be ready for its grand opening. When Reuben stepped up to the cooler with his cup in one hand and a big brownie in the other, Jo pressed the spigot lever for him.

  “What’s Elva doing today?” she asked as he watched the liquid rising in his cup.

  “Whatever she wants!” he replied without missing a beat. The men around them burst out laughing. It was a local joke that Reuben lost few opportunities to get out of the small dawdi haus at Glenn’s place, where he and his outspoken wife lived.

  After Reuben gulped his lemonade, however, he sobered. “Truth be told, the wee one was fussy last night,” he said softly. “Elva’s looking after him and Billy Jay today while Dorcas gets some rest.”

  “Dat and I will head home in another hour or so to help her out,” Glenn put in wearily, but then he brightened. “Before I leave, though, would you come inside and show me how you want things arranged? We can pace off the area for the shops and put down some markers so the rest of the crew knows what’s going on if I can’t be here all the time.”

  “We’ll do that whenever you’re ready, Glenn!” When Jo saw her mother nearby, she slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Would you like to go in with us, Mamm? It’ll give you a better idea about—”

  “It’ll give me a nose full of dust and dirt, and I’ll be sneezing the rest of the day,” Mamm objected. “I’m not setting foot in there until the shops are ready to open—and even then, Josephine, I’ll not be working in your bakery.”

  “Jah, so you’ve told me,” Jo murmured patiently. “I’ve got ideas about who might help me—but meanwhile, Glenn, I’ll give you all the help I can this morning.”

  About fifteen minutes later, the men were tossing their plates and cups in the trash, thanking the women for the snacks. When Jo started toward the stable with Glenn, Preacher Ammon, Elam, and Martha Maude joined them—and so did Anne, Rose, and little Gracie.

  “It’ll be gut to get an idea of how much display space we’ll have,” Martha Maude remarked. “What with Lenore O
tto joining us, we’ll have quilts from the three of us, as well as tables and shelves for your candles, Rose.”

  “If we have room, we could put a quilting frame in the shop—or just outside it,” Anne suggested as they all approached the stable doors. “I think folks would enjoy watching us work when we have a few spare minutes.”

  “What a great idea!” Jo agreed.

  “And it’ll help us keep up with our quilting so we’ll have more pieces to sell,” Martha Maude pointed out. “Our closets might empty out faster than we anticipate!”

  As they stepped into the large building, Jo stopped to look all around her. The men had cleared a lot of debris and old straw since she’d sketched her floor plan, and with only the stalls remaining in place, it was much easier to picture how The Marketplace would take shape. She felt deliriously excited, even though a lot of work was still ahead of them.

  “Can we reuse these sturdy beams and partitions?” she asked, running her hand along the top of a stall. “If we could clean up this wood—”

  “We’d save a lot of money, and it would preserve the look of an old-fashioned stable,” Glenn said with an enthusiastic nod. “If we follow your plan of having the shops in a U around three of the walls—mostly open, except for the stall dividers between them—and we put down some easy-to-clean flooring and paint the wood and the walls to freshen them up, that’s all we’d really need to do, ain’t so?”

  “Let’s keep it simple,” Martha Maude agreed as she walked partway down the center aisle. “This stable’s a lot bigger inside than I’d imagined, so even the painting will cost us some cash. Will it look . . . underwhelming if we only have seven shops in here?”

  Jo shrugged. “We have to start somewhere. I really like your idea about renting out the center space for parties—”

  “Maybe, if store owners in town see how much room we have,” Rose put in eagerly, “they’ll rent space for some of their merchandise, too. Matthias might want to sell his leatherwork and saddles here.”