After a bit more conversation, the men started for home, some of them in buggies and some of them walking to enjoy the pleasant April evening. Gabe strolled alongside his dat, once again immersed in his thoughts about how the Amish—their music and their conversations alike—never changed. Folks in the older generations were determined that anyone over the age of eighteen should be married and raising a family, and they never tired of matchmaking.
Gabe would never say it aloud, but he sometimes envied Pete Shetler the relative freedom of working at the pet food factory, living in his own apartment, and driving an old pickup. Remaining in rumspringa had some advantages that Gabe had given up when he’d joined the church, probably sooner than he should have.
“Maybe you should head over to the Helfing place and take a shine to one of the twins, before Pete does,” his father suggested. “Or there’s Jo Fussner, who’s a fine cook, or—well, gutness knows you’ve been working with Lydianne and the Miller gal for years, and nothing’s come of it.”
Gabe let out an exasperated sigh. “How many times have we had this conversation, Dat? And how many times have I said I’ll know the right girl when I see her?” he snapped. “End of conversation.”
Chapter Five
Bishop Jeremiah’s kitchen was filled with fresh energy as everyone took seats around the table on Wednesday afternoon. While the others helped themselves to cookies and coffee, Regina slipped her rental agreement form onto the stack in the center of the table, desperately hoping no one would quiz her about its details or the artist she’d named Hartley Fox. Despite her earlier misgivings, she was all in, committed to a space where she would display—and hopefully sell—her work. There was no backing out now.
As Martha Maude entered the kitchen with her daughter-in-law, Anne, along with two other women, the attention shifted to them. “Lenore will be going in on our quilt shop, and Rose will be selling her candles there, too,” Martha Maude said as she gestured for them to sit down. “With all that merchandise, we’ll need two slots in the corner opposite the Flauds’ shop so we’ll have plenty of display space—which means we’ll pay double rent, of course.”
Regina smiled as the two new participants sat down. Lenore Otto had moved to Morning Star from Cedar Creek, and she lived with her daughter, Leah, and her son-in-law, Jude Shetler, who was Bishop Jeremiah’s brother. She created quilts with bolder colors and patterns than many Amish women used, so Regina was pleased that she wanted to offer her unique work at The Marketplace.
“Hey there, Rose, have a seat,” she said as she pulled out the chair to her right. “I think your new candle business will be a great addition to our shops!”
Rose had moved to Morning Star with her little girl, Gracie, when she’d married Matthias Wagler. She was in the family way, due in the fall, and she glowed with health and happiness. “I was so excited when Martha Maude asked if I’d be interested,” she said. “The four of us can take turns running our shop—much more manageable for me, come time to welcome this wee one,” she added as she curved her arm around her modest bump.
“I’ve also brought the completed rental form from the father and son who own Wengerd Nurseries, over by Queen City,” Anne put in as she placed it on the growing stack. “We’ve known Nelson and Michael for years, and they’ve agreed to maintain the window boxes and any other plantings we may want around the building. Come summer, they also want to participate in produce auctions.”
“That’s great!” Jo exclaimed. “If lots of vegetables—and flowers—are displayed outside the building, they’ll draw in folks who’re passing by on the road.”
“Glad to hear it.” Bishop Jeremiah sat down at the head of the table, nodding at everyone. “The two preachers and Deacon Saul went with me yesterday to speak to the Clementi family and look at the stable. They feel confident that this project is on the right track, and that it’ll be a worthwhile investment for our church district.”
“Dat’s on board, too,” Gabe put in as he handed the bishop a copy of his sketches. “We’re donating several of these collapsible tables and chairs for the refreshment area—and any group events we might schedule—so I have a feeling that very few folks in the congregation will vote against our project. The fellows in our shop are talking about The Marketplace already, pleased that we can build the new schoolhouse on that property with the percentage we’ll collect on sales. They see it as a win-win situation.”
“And I’m calling it a win-win-win,” Bishop Jeremiah said. “We’ll have the shops, we’ll be supporting the new school, and I’ve convinced Pete to move to the Helfings’ dawdi haus, away from Higher Ground. He wants to keep his night job at the pet food factory, but he knows he’ll have to prioritize his time so the stable’s ready several days ahead of June first. This’ll be a big step forward in steering my nephew back onto the Amish path.”
Marietta looked less convinced. “Today’s the first of May, and we haven’t heard a word from Pete about moving in—”
“So do you really think he’s going to?” Molly finished.
The bishop sighed. “My nephew has always kept his own schedule. He’ll show up when—”
Outside, a big engine rumbled and then backfired loudly. Through the window, Regina saw a black pickup lurch to a halt in the driveway. A muscular blond fellow slid out of it—along with a golden retriever, which barked excitedly and ran around him in circles.
“He’s here,” Regina announced softly. “And he’s got a big—”
Boisterous barking filled the front room as the door flew open. “Riley, stop!” Pete called out. “You’ve got to behave yourself when—”
The rowdy dog had already planted his large paws on the kitchen table, however, right next to the cookie plate and Bishop Jeremiah. By the time Jo had snatched the goodies away from Riley, Pete was entering the kitchen.
“Sit down, boy!” he commanded. “Get away from that table right now, Riley!”
Jeremiah slipped his arm around the retriever. “Riley, sit,” he murmured.
Riley obeyed immediately. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he gazed adoringly at the bishop.
Pete brushed his shoulder-length blond hair back from his face as he looked around the table. He was wearing a snug black T-shirt with the logo of a rock band on it, along with faded jeans and lace-up work boots. Aromas of grease and cigarettes came in with him, as though he’d recently spent some time at the pool hall. “Sorry I’m late—”
“Take a load off, Pete,” Gabe said, pulling out the empty chair to his right. “Your new landladies were just wondering when you were moving in.”
Pete maneuvered the chair so its back was against the table between Gabe and Glenn and then straddled it. He grinned at the Helfings as though his good looks and charm would make up for any inconvenience he’d caused them. “How about now? All my stuff ’s in the truck.”
Regina thought the twins did a fine job of controlling their exasperation.
“We’ll get you moved in after the meeting,” Marietta said with a frown. “But when we agreed to let you stay at our place, we didn’t know—”
“You have a big dog,” Molly stated sternly. “I’m informing you right now that Riley won’t be allowed on the dawdi haus furniture—”
“And you’ll have to keep him away from our noodle shed, or the health department will be shutting us down,” Marietta said without missing a beat.
“And we can’t be stepping in any poop,” Molly added.
Pete’s eyes widened as though their demands were unreasonable. “Anything else?”
“We’ll think of something!” Molly blurted.
Everyone else burst out laughing, and Gabe slapped Pete playfully on the back. “You’ll have to toe the line now, buddy—but we’re glad you’re here,” he added emphatically. “Say, Dat and some of the guys at the shop are wondering about installing solar panels on the roof of the stable to run the lighting and the kitchen equipment.”
“And we’ll all need plug-ins—al
ong with those gadgets to swipe customers’ credit cards,” Glenn put in.
Folks got quiet. No one had considered the possibility of using solar power.
Pete thought for a moment. “Depending on which way the building’s situated—”
“It faces north,” Bishop Jeremiah said.
“Well then, we could install solar panels on the south side of the roof,” Pete said with a nod. “I assume there’s already electricity to run the stable’s lights. But if you’re wanting to stay Amish and not use that, you might want a gas backup along with your solar power.”
“Let’s keep our options open until the renovation gets underway,” Bishop Jeremiah suggested. He handed Pete a sheet of paper. “Here’s the sketch of how we’d like the shops to be arranged in a U around a central open area. Does that seem feasible?”
Pete glanced at Jo’s drawing. “Depends on where the supports and the weight-bearing walls are located. We can reconfigure whatever’s in place,” he added, “but it’ll take longer if we have to do that.”
Nodding, Bishop Jeremiah pressed on. “Once the congregation votes to buy the property on Sunday, several men will probably be interested in helping with the work. You’re in charge, Pete,” he insisted, “so it’s your call whether or not you accept their assistance. And it’s on you to complete the renovation a week before our June first opening date, so our shopkeepers can set up their spaces. Jah?”
Defiance glimmered in Pete’s brown eyes, as though he’d had all the bossing he could handle. “Today’s May first—and the vote on buying the property isn’t until the fifth,” he noted as he looked at the bishop’s wall calendar. “That’s not much time to work, considering I have a full-time job.”
“We’ve talked about this, Pete,” Bishop Jeremiah stated, holding his nephew’s gaze. At forty-one, he was younger than most bishops, but he had a presence about him that couldn’t be denied.
Pete rose from his chair. “I’m outta here,” he muttered. “Let’s go, Riley.”
After the front door slammed behind him, folks at the table stared at one another. Outside, Pete’s pickup rumbled to life. He roared out of the bishop’s lane, and his tires squealed as he raced down the paved road.
Martha Maude cleared her throat. The hair beneath her kapp was silver-gray, but there was nothing elderly or submissive about her demeanor. “Jeremiah, you’ll be finding someone more dependable to do our carpentry work.”
Chapter Six
As Gabe joined the men gathering outside Elam Stoltzfus’s home before church, all the talk was about The Marketplace—how quickly the plans were coming together, as well as some speculation about whether Pete Shetler would be the lead carpenter.
Everyone liked Pete, and they believed he had the skills to do the stable’s renovation. But they agreed that it was time for him to grow up and accept adult responsibilities.
“We all feel bad that Pete grew up with a dat whose brain disease turned him violent and shattered his family,” Jude Shetler said of his nephew. “But we’ve been helping him as best we can—and at twenty-eight, Pete’s long past the acceptable age for clinging to his rumspringa and his freewheeling bachelor ways.”
Gabe wasn’t surprised by Jude’s remark. Still single at twenty-seven, Gabe was the target of similar remarks—except he’d joined the Old Order nine years ago. He’d been courting a girl at the time, so church membership had been a necessary step toward marriage. After she’d changed her mind, Gabe had often wondered if he’d locked himself into the Amish lifestyle too soon.
But he could never admit his secret doubts or yearnings. It was too late for that.
After the men and women had settled themselves on their respective sides of Teacher Elam’s front room, Gabe sang the first phrase of the opening hymn to set the pitch and the tempo. As the congregation joined in, Bishop Jeremiah, Preachers Ammon and Clarence, and Deacon Saul removed their hats in one sweeping motion. Shortly after that, the four ordained leaders left the singing congregation to gather in another room, where they would decide which Bible passages Deacon Saul would read and who would preach the service’s two sermons.
As they began the fifth verse, Pete slid onto the end of the bench next to Gabe and Glenn. His black broadfall trousers and white shirt appeared clean but rumpled. His blond hair was still wet from his shower.
Gabe flashed Pete a thumbs-up, noting his taut expression as he grudgingly joined the singing. The two of them had been friends since their early grades in school, when Pete had come to live with Jeremiah and his wife, Priscilla, before she’d passed. Pete’s dat, Jacob Shetler, had contracted Lyme disease, and it had advanced into a brain infection that had turned him so violent, Bishop Jeremiah had had Jacob committed to a care facility. Jacob had died there several months later and Pete’s mamm had remarried. Pete had been dead set against leaving Morning Star to live in Indiana with a stepfather he didn’t get along with—so he’d stayed with Jeremiah and Priscilla until he’d moved out on his own.
No one really knew how much emotional and physical abuse Pete and his mamm had suffered at the hands of his dat. At the very least, Gabe figured his longtime friend deserved his continued support, and a chance to do the carpentry work he was so skilled at.
During the second hymn, the church leaders returned to the front room and hung their hats on the wall to signal that the worship service was about to begin. Bishop Jeremiah’s eyebrows rose when he caught sight of Pete, who warily held his uncle’s gaze—as though the two of them had recently exchanged some tough words.
All signs of discord eased from the bishop’s face, however, as he rose to begin the service. “May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you on this Sabbath day, the fifth of May,” he began in his resonant voice. “Let us never forget that we’re here to worship God and to submit to His will.”
Gabe believed the Morning Star district was particularly blessed to have Jeremiah Shetler as its bishop, because he had a positive, relatively progressive attitude. He could set aside his personal preferences to embrace the wide variety of personalities he dealt with—yet church members knew they were expected to uphold the tenets of the Amish faith, without exception. Pete would receive no special treatment because he was Jeremiah’s nephew.
As Preacher Clarence rose to deliver the opening sermon, Gabe sighed to himself. Clarence Miller spoke in a singsong voice that lulled folks into a daze as he meandered from topic to topic, so after about ten minutes Gabe found himself gazing absently between the older men’s heads to the women’s side of the room.
Red was nodding off. Her head drifted lower and lower until she jerked and sat upright again—and the cycle repeated. Gabe chuckled. What might keep a quiet mouse like Regina Miller from getting her rest? Did she stay up late into the night reading romance novels? Was she a light sleeper, easily awakened by traffic noise?
And how did she come to know the guy who painted those amazing nature pictures? He doesn’t live here in town . . .
The remainder of the prayers, hymns, and the second sermon that Preacher Ammon Slabaugh delivered went by a lot faster because Gabe was speculating about his reclusive redheaded employee. Red had been very quiet during the most recent meeting at the bishop’s house—had she turned in a rental form for her artist friend? It occurred to Gabe that he went for days at a time without talking to her because she worked in the staining room, which was enclosed to prevent sawdust from drifting onto the wet furniture. Before they’d become involved in developing The Marketplace, they’d had little in common, it seemed.
Maybe Red had a date with that artist last night! All this time we’ve thought of her as a quiet, unassuming maidel when she might really have an English boyfriend—which is totally forbidden!
Gabe stifled a laugh. It was far more likely that Red and Lydianne had gone out for Saturday night supper together, considering that they preferred talking to each other during breaks rather than to the male employees.
“May God bless us and keep us
and make His face to shine upon us,” Bishop Jeremiah intoned in his benediction. “Amen.”
Folks sat up taller, anticipating the Members Meeting—and the vote about buying the Clementi property. Deacon Saul rose to speak, gazing first at the men and then at the women.
“At our previous meeting, some of you had reservations—and rightfully so—about buying the Clementi place on such short notice,” he began. “Jeremiah was excited about acquiring the property, so he’s asked me to report our findings today, to present a second opinion, as it were.”
Folks around the room nodded. They respected Saul Hartzler, not only because he was in charge of the district’s finances but because he was one of the foremost businessmen—Plain or English—in Morning Star.
“After Ammon, Clarence, Jeremiah, and I looked that stable over closely and walked the pastureland,” Saul continued, “we concluded that the property is well worth the asking price, and that it would be a suitable place to set up rental shops and to build our new schoolhouse. We have also studied Jo Fussner’s proposed floor plan—and in answer to Martin’s request for a commitment from potential shopkeepers, we have already received seven signed rental agreements.”
Saul paused, allowing folks to absorb what he was saying. “Because two of those renters want double-sized spaces, and we’re asking forty dollars a month in rent,” he continued, “those nine stalls would bring in three hundred sixty dollars each month. Assuming these shopkeepers stay for a year, that total rent would be four thousand three hundred and twenty dollars—and in addition to that, our church district will receive ten percent of the shops’ gross sales. The committee is proposing to call this project The Marketplace, and they’ve already devised an advertising plan.”
Bishop Jeremiah rose from the preachers’ bench to stand beside Saul. “Does this satisfy your need for more commitment, Martin?” he asked as he gauged the congregation’s reaction to Saul’s report. “Does anyone else have any questions before we vote on whether to buy the property?”
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