Her friends stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second head.
Molly’s brow puckered. “How could we run a store on this side of town—”
“—while we were making our noodles in our shop at home?” Marietta finished doubtfully.
Regina appeared more positive, yet she shook her head. “Would Bishop Jeremiah allow that? He’s always preaching about how we should keep our businesses to a manageable size. When some of our men have talked of expanding their shops, he’s reminded them that bigger isn’t better.”
“Are you talking about us running such a place?” Lydianne asked with a frown. “How would we pay for the property, much less the repairs it needs?”
“And what makes you think a handful of maidels could manage a bunch of shops?” Marietta chimed in again.
Jo planted her fists on her hips, grinning despite her friends’ very reasonable objections. “What makes you think we couldn’t?” she challenged. “We manage quite well without husbands, ain’t so? We’ve been supporting ourselves for years, so we certainly have the smarts to keep a joint business afloat—especially since Lydianne’s a bookkeeper. I think it would be great fun to run a marketplace!”
“Puh! Your mamm would never go along with that!” Regina teased.
“Jah, I can already see Drusilla shaking a finger at you,” Molly agreed as she shook her own finger. “And I can just hear her saying ‘No gut will ever come of such an outrageous idea, Josephine Fussner! Who ever heard of unhitched women doing such a thing?’”
Jo laughed along with her friends at Molly’s imitation of her mother. “You’ve got her pegged,” she said, even as she gazed wistfully at the stable. The weathervane on the center cupola had lost its rooster, and enough boards were missing that she could see daylight on the structure’s other side. Even so, she could imagine the building glowing with fresh paint. She could hear the voices of shoppers who’d be delighted to discover the products Plain folks from the Morning Star area would display in their tidy open booths.
“We’ve got our homes and our work—not to mention the Gut Lord and our church family to sustain us—and we get by just fine,” she continued in a voice that tightened with unanticipated emotion. “But haven’t you ever wanted to do something just for the fun of it? Something new? Whatever happened to sayings like ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’—and Bible verses like ‘with God, all things are possible,’ and ‘I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me’?”
Her friends got quiet. The four of them stood beside her in a line along the fence, gazing at the forlorn stable and the pasture covered with clumps of green weeds, yellow dandelions, and the occasional pile of dried horse manure.
Regina finally broke the silence. “You’re really serious about this.”
After a few more moments of contemplation, Lydianne squeezed Jo’s shoulder. “I can see how opening shops might be fun, but—”
“It sounds crazy and impossibly expensive,” Jo admitted, “and it would take an incredible amount of carpentry work and elbow grease and commitment and organization, but I just thought—”
As her voice trailed off into a frustrated sigh, Jo gazed at the long barn with the three cupolas along the top of its roof. “Without a house on the property, I can’t think many folks will want to buy this place. It would be such a shame to tear the stable down—”
“We know plenty of men who could fix it up,” Regina said, “but why would they want to?”
“—and maybe it’s just me,” Jo continued softly, “but come springtime, when Mother Nature puts on her pretty fresh colors, I wish I could take on a whole new appearance, too—like the rebirth Bishop Jeremiah preached about on Easter Sunday. I long ago accepted that I’ll never have a husband or kids, but some days I long for something different. Something more. You know?”
Her four closest friends did know. For one reason or another, each woman believed marriage wasn’t an option for her. Jo didn’t regret her unwed state, yet the way Marietta sighed when Molly hugged her angular shoulders, and Regina gazed into the distance, and Lydianne pressed her lips together told Jo that sometimes they, too, grew weary of their solitary state . . . and a future that held little opportunity for change.
Even though Plain maidels enjoyed a few more freedoms than their married friends, their faith placed limitations on them. They weren’t allowed to train for careers or travel to faraway places or break out of the mold of conformity. Amish women who’d been baptized into the Old Order knew their place—and they were expected to stay there.
Jo turned to continue on their walk. “Well, it was an interesting thought, anyway.”
* * *
For the next few days, however, Jo couldn’t let go of the idea of a marketplace. She was so engrossed in her vision—even thinking up possible names for the new shopping area—that she planted rows of onion sets where Mamm had intended to put the hills for the zucchini and summer squash.
“Josephine Fussner, what’s gotten into you?” her mother demanded in exasperation. “You might as well be living on another planet, for all the response I’ve gotten from you lately!”
After she endured a talking-to about the garden chart Mamm had drawn, Jo headed into town to do the week’s shopping—and to pay a visit to Bishop Jeremiah Shetler. If the leader of their church district refused to go along with her idea about refurbishing the old stable, she would put it out of her mind and move on. It was a big stretch, thinking the property could ever be brought up to the glowing images she’d seen in her daydreams.
And yet, as they sat in wicker chairs on his front porch, Bishop Jeremiah listened patiently as Jo described her ideas for shops—and about how she and her four friends would manage the place. She hadn’t exactly gotten full agreement from Lydianne, the Helfings, or Regina, but she felt the bishop would be quicker to approve if she presented an organized business plan, which she’d devised over the past few days.
“Wouldn’t it be something if we transformed the Clementi stable into shops where local folks could sell what they make?” Jo began excitedly. “It would take a lot of work, but can’t you imagine Amish stores along three of the walls, with an open central area where shoppers could gather at tables and enjoy homemade refreshments? With some fixing up and a fresh coat of paint—maybe some colorful shutters and flower boxes at the windows—it could become a big attraction for Morning Star, don’t you think? If we rented out the shop stalls, we could make money for our church district.”
The bishop sat forward, as though Jo’s last sentence had snagged his attention. “Jah, I saw that the Clementi place was up for sale,” he said, “and I can tell you’ve given your idea a lot of thought, Jo. Who do you suppose might want to rent space in this new marketplace?”
Jo blinked. Instead of waving off her dream as something only a silly, impractical maidel would come up with, Bishop Jeremiah was nodding as he listened to her. He was a patient, forward-thinking leader—younger than most bishops, with dark brown hair, expressive brows, and a matching beard. His deep cocoa eyes seemed to search the soul of whomever he was talking to.
Jeremiah’s steady gaze made Jo answer carefully. “The Helfing twins could sell their homemade noodles. Mamm and I could expand our baking and produce business—and sell those refreshments I mentioned—”
“And what does your mother say about this?”
Jo laughed when she caught the twitch of the bishop’s lips. “Well, Mamm doesn’t know about it yet. I figured if you wouldn’t go along with our idea, there was no reason to mention it to her.
“But think about it!” she continued brightly. “We have a lot of local folks who make toys and furniture and such! Maybe Martha Maude and Anne Hartzler would want to sell their quilts, and maybe the Flauds would put some of their furniture in a booth—and we could advertise for more Plain crafters from this area! We could have the marketplace open only on Saturdays, so nobody has to mind a store all during the week. That would really cut into a fami
ly’s daily life.”
Bishop Jeremiah stroked his closely trimmed beard. “What about the land? There’s about five acres with the stable, and we’d have to maintain it somehow.”
Jo hadn’t thought about the pasture, but she hated to admit that when the bishop seemed sincerely interested in her idea. “What if we used it for our annual mud sale—or even for big produce auctions in the summer, like other Amish districts have?”
This was an all-or-nothing proposal, so Jo gathered her courage as she presented the idea that would make it or break it. “Truth be told, I’m hoping our church district will use the land somehow, because while we maidels could organize the shops, we have no way to pay for the property or for rebuilding the stable. Maybe the church would help with that part, too.”
After giving the bishop a few moments to contemplate her proposal, Jo held his gaze. “I’m asking for a lot, ain’t so? And maybe nobody but me will see any benefit to this marketplace. But I had to ask.”
Bishop Jeremiah’s smile brought out the laugh lines around his eyes. “If you don’t ask, you probably won’t receive,” he pointed out. “If you don’t knock, who will know to open the door for you?”
When the bishop rose from his chair, Jo took this as her cue to leave—yet she felt greatly encouraged. “Denki for listening,” she said as she stood up. “I appreciate the way you’ve heard me out, because some men wouldn’t have given my idea even a minute’s consideration.”
Jo immediately wondered if she’d sounded too critical, too much like a maidel with a habit of complaining.
The bishop chuckled, however. “Some folks—men and women alike—pass over new ideas because they’ll have to put out extra effort or change their habits to make their dreams a reality,” he remarked. “I’ll pray over what you’ve told me today, Jo, and we’ll see what happens. When you skip a little stone across a lake, you never know how far the ripples might travel.”
photo: Tom Piper
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Charlotte Hubbard is the acclaimed author of Amish romance and fiction that evokes simpler times and draws upon her experiences in Jamesport, the largest Old Order Amish community west of the Mississippi. Faith and family, farming, and food preservation are hallmarks of her lifestyle—and the foundation of all her novels. A deacon, dedicated church musician, and choir member, she loves to travel, read, try new recipes, and crochet. A longtime Missourian, Charlotte now lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, with her husband and their Border Collie. Please visit Charlotte online at www.CharlotteHubbard.com.
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