New Beginnings at Promise Lodge Page 9

  What would it hurt to order a pie for Dat as a way of thanking him for his time? And pies for Marlin and Monroe, while he was at it? He had a few minutes before Ruby and Beulah would be putting the noon meal on the table, anyway.

  As Allen approached the bakery, he inhaled appreciatively. When he stepped inside, the two long tables covered with freshly baked pies made his stomach rumble—and the sight of Phoebe did something funny to his insides, too. She wore a dark blue kerchief over her blond bun and her face was pink from the heat of the ovens as she deftly swept the floor behind the front counter. Irene was spooning fruit filling into a large lidded container. The two of them worked in a companionable silence that suggested they’d had a busy, successful day.

  When Phoebe caught sight of him, her smile lit up the whole building. “Allen!” she called out. “What do you think of our day’s work? All of those pies are going to the bulk market and the Skylark Café in Forest Grove this afternoon!”

  Allen stepped closer to the tables, pretending to inspect the pies. They’d been baked in disposable aluminum pans, and some of them had lattice tops while other crusts had leaf-shaped slits cut out of them. About a dozen butterscotch and dark chocolate pies awaited a whipped cream topping. It took all of his strength not to grab a pie and dig into it with his fingers.

  “I’m impressed,” he admitted. “You ladies have baked a whopping lot of pies today, and every one of them looks perfect.”

  “Phoebe does the crusts and I do the fillings,” Irene put in cheerfully. “I have a feeling I’m going to collapse tonight after we deliver all those pies, but it was a wonderful-gut first day.”

  Allen nodded. “You’re taking them in a wagon? Won’t the jostling make them shift around—and maybe break the crusts?”

  “Irene’s got a van, because she picks up friends to take to church on Sundays,” Phoebe replied. “We’ll fold down the back seats for today, but we’ll have to figure out a way to stack them if our orders increase.”

  “What if I built you some pie shelves?” Allen asked on an impulse. “It wouldn’t be that difficult to make them square, say, five or six pies deep—or whatever you think you could lift without their being too heavy.”

  Irene and Phoebe gazed at him as though his idea had just won first prize at the fair. “Wow, that would be perfect!” Phoebe exclaimed.

  “We’ll buy your materials and pay you for your time,” Irene insisted. “We decided from the get-go that we won’t maintain a business based on the gutwill of our friends.”

  A smile eased across Allen’s face. “What if I tally up what those shelves cost and take my pay in pies, over time?”

  “You’re on! What kind of pie do you like?” Phoebe grabbed a scratch pad and scribbled something across the top of it. “We’ll set you up with a standing order for—what? One or two pies a week?”

  “Let’s shoot for two,” he said, already tasting the pleasure of cutting into his own private pie each evening. “And what kind? Surprise me. I never met a pie I didn’t like.”

  Phoebe’s laughter filled the little bakery. “If you say that, you might end up with two or three kinds of fruit filling in the same crust, left over from what we’ve baked for the restaurants,” she teased as she scribbled on her pad. Then she looked at him, winking. “But for you, Allen, we’ll set back the first pie we make so it’ll be ready whenever you come by for it. Will Mondays and Thursdays work?”

  “Jah, Fridays are going to be really busy, what with stocking the store and the restaurant in Forest Grove for the weekends,” Irene put in with a nod. “We’ve already decided to take Wednesdays and Saturdays off—and Sundays, of course. Life’s too short to be cooped up in a hot kitchen more than four days a week, no matter how successful we get.”

  “You ladies are amazing,” he murmured. He wanted to approach the counter, to stand closer to Phoebe and chat a bit longer—except he didn’t want Irene to think he was flirting with her partner. “I’ll have your pie shelves made before your big delivery on Friday. Is that your black van parked behind the lodge? I’d like to measure the back with the seats down.”

  Irene nodded. “It’s unlocked, whenever you want to take your measurements. Denki for offering to build us those shelves, Allen!”

  “We believe in paying it forward, so we’ll bake your first pie tomorrow,” Phoebe put in.

  Allen nodded, suddenly aglow with goodwill. “May I receive some of my pay as a pie apiece for Bishop Monroe, Preacher Marlin, and my dat? They were a great help today. My tiny home went together in just a few hours.”

  “It’s all finished?” Phoebe asked. “Now that would be something to see!”

  Allen swallowed hard. How had he known this young woman for most of his life yet never realized how pretty she was—or how huge and blue her eyes were? “I still have to install the door and do the shingles, the detail work, and the painting,” he clarified, “but the building’s together and the roof ’s on. It’s an amazing little place, if I say so myself.”

  “We’ll have four pies ready for you tomorrow,” Irene put in kindly. “I think it’s exciting that so many of us here are creating new jobs—with the help of our friends. We accomplish so much more as a community than we ever could if we were going it alone.”

  “You’re right about that,” Allen said. He sensed he’d better leave before he gawked at Phoebe any more or said something stupid. “Denki again. I’ll let you get back to your work—and congratulations on getting so many pie orders!”

  As he stepped outside, he took a deep breath to settle himself. Why did he feel so exhilarated, like a can of soda pop that had been shaken? Allen started across the lawn toward the lodge with a sense that the sun was shining more brightly than usual in a cloudless sky that was the exuberant blue of a morning glory. Beyond Noah and Roman Schwartz’s homes, Rainbow Lake shimmered serenely—tempting him to stretch out on the dock to catch some rays and listen to the lapping of the water, except that he was excited about finishing his new home. On this first day of May, Promise Lodge felt like the absolutely perfect place to be.

  When Allen spotted Cyrus and Jonathan—and Gloria—standing outside his tiny home, his euphoria came to an abrupt halt.

  He sighed. Even from a distance, his friends’ expressions told him Gloria was pestering them about something—or trying to ingratiate herself so one of them would ask her for a date. Allen almost felt sorry for her. She would never possess the poise or the common sense and self-control that came as second nature to Phoebe.

  Since when are you so high on Phoebe?

  Allen laughed, at himself mostly. He kept walking toward his home, figuring to rescue Cyrus and Jonathan. As he passed the cabins closest to the lodge, he winced at Gloria’s shrill, insistent voice.

  “So, are you guys doing really well at Sam and Simon’s nursery?” she was asking them. “Look at all those cars and buggies in their parking lot!”

  “We move a lot of inventory,” Cyrus responded, edging away from her.

  “Matter of fact,” Jonathan put in, “we should probably get back to work—”

  “Allen!” Gloria called out when she spotted him. Her eyes widened flirtatiously. “Looks like your tiny home business is off and running! Are you getting any orders for them yet?”

  Allen sensed an ulterior motive behind Gloria’s bright smile and questions. “I’m going to live in this tiny home while I work out the kinks and construct a couple more display models. Why do you ask?”

  His direct question startled Gloria into momentary silence. As she looked away, he was afraid she might start crying to play on his sympathy.

  “I need a job,” she murmured miserably. “Mamm says if I don’t come up with an income by the end of the week, she’ll move us into a lodge apartment and sell our house. Isn’t that the most horrible idea you’ve ever heard?”

  Allen exchanged a questioning glance with Cyrus and Jonathan, who seemed as surprised by Gloria’s outburst as he was. “Considering some of the low-rent pl
aces I lived while I was going to plumbing and electrical school,” he replied calmly, “an apartment in the lodge sounds pretty homey. That aside, I think your mamm has to consider all her options.”

  “Jah, we’re mighty glad to be renting cabins and to have Rosetta for a landlady,” Cyrus put in. “For a bit extra, she includes our meals and our laundry.”

  “The Kuhns take gut care of us, too—like a couple of maidel aunts would,” Jonathan remarked.

  Gloria planted her hands on her slender hips. “Don’t you get it?” she demanded. “My own mother is forcing me out of my home unless I can make some money! You could be paying me to fix your meals and wash your clothes! Or—or you could put in a gut word with Sam and Simon so I could hire on at the nursery.”

  Jonathan and Cyrus seemed at a loss for a response, so Allen decided to bring this deteriorating conversation to an end.

  “What sort of work would you do for the Helmuths, Gloria?” he asked. “Your best bet would be to speak to them yourself—to tell them your qualifications and the experience you’ve had working with plants and trees, or with customers.”

  “You guys are all alike!” Gloria blurted out. “Mean and—and clueless. You don’t care a fig about what happens to me, or you’d—you’d take care of me!”

  Gloria stalked off across the lawn in another of her snit fits. Allen sighed, feeling sorry for any unsuspecting fellow who might fall for her looks and marry her before he knew what he was getting into. Gloria reminded him of a little terrier—cute, but always yapping about something, and likely to bite anyone who suggested something she didn’t agree with.

  “That’s the first I’ve heard about Frances wanting to sell her property,” he remarked as he followed Gloria’s progress up the road. “Unless another family moves to Promise Lodge soon, she might not have much luck with that.”

  “She’s more likely to sell her place than Gloria is to get a job,” Jonathan said with a shake of his head. “I’m not even going to mention her idea to Simon or Sam.”

  “And we all know better than to let her cook or do laundry for us,” Cyrus said. He glanced at the little house on wheels, smiling. “We really should get back to work. Just wanted to tell you how cool your new place is looking.”

  “Jah, we’d just stepped inside it when Gloria showed up. We knew better than to get trapped inside with her,” Jonathan put in with a knowing nod. “We’ll catch you later, Allen.”

  Allen nodded, watching his two friends jog past the lilac bushes that formed a boundary between the nursery’s back parking lot and the yard where the cabins sat. As he screwed the hinges of his door into place, he wondered how Gloria’s dilemma could be resolved—but within moments he was envisioning Phoebe instead. She seemed to succeed at every project she undertook, whether it was the painting she’d done inside people’s homes and the lodge or establishing a pie shop with Irene. While Gloria created crisis and drama at every turn, Phoebe attracted positive progress.

  Phoebe attracts you, Troyer. What are you going to do about that?

  Allen smiled, humming as he hung the door. If he played his cards right, building portable shelves and accepting his payment in pies might become the happiest arrangement he’d made in a long while.

  Chapter Nine

  “Look at all these pies we’ve baked this morning!” Phoebe said as she and Irene placed eight more on the table to cool. “We did fine yesterday, but I think we’ve perfected our system now. The baking went faster and smoother today—”

  “And I’m not nearly as tired as I was yesterday at this time,” Irene remarked gratefully. “After lunch, we’ll put the plastic domes and labels on these and deliver them—and tomorrow’s our day off!”

  Phoebe laughed as she slung her arm around Irene’s shoulders. “You had a fine idea, taking a day midweek to do something other than bake. Which four pies shall I set aside for Allen?”

  Irene studied their selection of fruit pies and cream pies, chuckling. “Truth be told, dear, I think you could bake one of your shoes into a pie and Allen would be gazing at you so intently, he wouldn’t notice.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding? When we were kids in school, he didn’t say so much as hello to me—didn’t even see me,” she recalled. “But I know better than to mess with his dessert. At our common meals after church, he’s always chosen two slices of pie before he fills his plate.”

  Irene smiled knowingly. “You’re not a schoolgirl anymore, Phoebe,” she pointed out. “And you’ve obviously been paying attention to his habits even though he considered you invisible. But he’s got his eye on you now.”

  Phoebe waved her off. “Nope, trust me. If we were baking bread or helping the Kuhns with their cheese business, he wouldn’t have come in yesterday,” she insisted. “It’s all about the pie.”

  “Time will tell.” Irene stepped closer to the pie-covered table. “I suggest you choose this lattice-top cherry, and this apple with the streusel topping, and—and a lemon meringue, and a gooseberry,” she said as she pointed to each one. “That’ll give him plenty of choices, far as which pie he keeps and which ones he gives away.”

  Phoebe carried each of the pies Irene had chosen to the counter. “Before we deliver our pies this afternoon, we should check our supplies,” she suggested. “Now that we have a better idea of how much we’ll be baking, we can order our ingredients more efficiently.”

  Irene laughed out loud. “Change the subject all you want, missy,” she teased. “Allen’s going to find every possible excuse to come into our shop, and I see some romantic buggy rides in your future—among other things.”

  Phoebe went behind the counter to start cleaning up. “Not if Gloria has anything to say about it!”

  Irene shook her head good-naturedly as she began putting flour, sugar, and aluminum pie pans back into the cabinets. When the countertops were spotless and the floor had been swept, they headed to the lodge for lunch with Ruby and Beulah. It felt good to sit down to a macaroni casserole and the green salad the sisters had made before they’d started the day’s work in their cheese factory.

  “I’ll fix our lunch tomorrow,” Phoebe offered, “since you ladies were nice enough to look after us as we started our baking business.”

  “How’d it go today?” Ruby asked as she spooned casserole onto her plate. “Beulah and I could already smell your pies when we fetched milk from Christine’s barn first thing this morning.”

  “We like to start early—and we’re finished baking for the day,” Irene replied with a satisfied smile. “It’ll be fun to see how many of the pies we took in yesterday have sold—”

  “And fun to collect our checks from the bulk store and café owners for today’s pies!” Phoebe put in with a chuckle. “Irene wins the prize for insisting that we only bake what we’ve taken orders for.”

  Beulah nodded as she poured dressing over her salad. “I can see you two make a fine team. It’s gut when one partner has experience and the other one has youthful exuberance and energy.”

  “That’s why you and I succeed at selling our cheese and honey, sister,” Ruby put in with a chuckle. “You’re older and wiser, while I’m young and cute.”

  “Jah, something like that!” Beulah crowed as they all shared a good laugh. “That’s not gray hair tucked up under your kapp, it’s tinsel, right?”

  After they’d all eaten second helpings, Phoebe washed the dishes. It felt good to be done with her day’s main work by one o’clock. By two, she and Irene had put the plastic domes on their pies and were heading to Forest Grove.

  When they entered the bulk store, Phoebe was speechless. The display rack was empty! All twenty of their first day’s pies had sold, and the owner, Elvin Plank, handed Phoebe a price list along with a check for the fresh pies they’d brought.

  “When folks saw that a couple of local Plain gals had made those pies, they flew out the door yesterday!” he said with a big smile. “I’d like you to bring us thirty on Thursday, and I’d better have t
hirty-five or forty on Friday to get us through Saturday when we’re the busiest. I hope it’s all right that I’ve offered you some discounted prices for your fruit and other baking supplies, now that we’re doing business together.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened when she noted the regular retail price of the various ingredients they used, and the lower amounts Elvin had written beside them. “You’ve deducted ten percent—”

  “And over time, that saves us a bundle,” Irene put in quickly. “This is very generous of you.”

  Elvin glanced over toward the woman who was running the cash register. “My wife, Dorcas, couldn’t resist buying one of your rhubarb pies yesterday. She said it was the best she’d ever tasted—flaky, tender crust and plenty of filling. We’ll be recommending them to our customers, believe me.”

  After she and Irene bought the ingredients for more pies, basking in Dorcas’s praise as she checked them out, Phoebe nearly floated out of the store. “Was this an amazing delivery, or what?” she exclaimed. She removed the ten pies they’d baked for the Skylark Café before they loaded their groceries into the back of Irene’s van.

  “Amazing doesn’t half cover it,” Irene replied. She threw her arms around Phoebe and hugged her tight. “Denki for asking me to be your partner, dear. I feel like a new woman, even if I’m a tired woman!”

  Phoebe rested her head on Irene’s, sighing gratefully. “I couldn’t have done any of this without your knowing the people to call and how we should organize our business,” she pointed out. “When we get home today, let’s figure out how to work more pies into our schedule while we keep making them just as gut as folks say they are.”

  * * *

  Allen fastened the final bolt that held his foldaway kitchen table to the wall, and then raised and lowered it a couple of times to be sure it worked the way it was supposed to. As with a lot of the features in his tiny home, the table—large enough to seat two—could be tucked away when he wasn’t using it. A place for everything and everything in its place would be his motto once he moved in, because there wasn’t room for anything extra, or for accumulating any clutter.