Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Again, I’m really sorry this happened. I’ll keep you posted, dear,” Jessica said. She glanced around at the people who were carrying sacks and merchandise. “Wow, this marketplace is really hopping! I’m going to take a look around while I’m here—and what a great table!” she added, pointing to the piece displayed beside the Flauds’ shop. “Do you know this Gabe fellow? Do you suppose he’d build me a desk with an irregular walnut top like this, for my office?”

  Regina pointed through the doorway. “See those two men talking at that dining room table? Gabe’s the younger one—and the other guy’s his dat, who just got home from the hospital and probably shouldn’t be here,” she added with a chuckle. “You can’t keep a gut man down.”

  As Jessica entered the Flauds’ shop, Regina took a last longing look at the coffee table and headed into Jo’s bakery. She hadn’t had time to eat lunch, and she suddenly craved some encouraging, levelheaded company as much as some comfort food. It was no surprise that Jo’s glass display cases were nearly empty, but Regina took heart when she saw Jo lifting a large rectangular pan from the oven.

  “Is that something really yummy and chocolate, I hope?” Regina said as she stopped at the counter.

  Jo laughed as she carefully lowered the pan to the butcher-block worktable. “Brownies—with chocolate chips!” she replied. “I’ve gone through so many cookies in the commons today, I baked these to get us through the afternoon. So what’s up, Regina? You look ferhoodled.”

  Regina nodded at her perceptive friend. “On the one hand, I’ve sold a lot of embroidered towel sets—not to mention a tablecloth and eight napkins,” she replied. “But I just now learned that my house hasn’t sold because the couple’s loan didn’t go through.”

  Jo’s eyes widened. “Could you just keep it?” she murmured excitedly.

  “That was my first thought,” Regina agreed. “But we both know Uncle Clarence won’t change his mind.”

  Jo fetched a knife and a metal spatula. “Sounds like a fine time for a warm brownie and a cold glass of milk—which is in my fridge,” she added with a nod in that direction. “If you’ll pour, I’ll bring our treats to that table in the corner. Chocolate makes everything feel better, ain’t so?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As Gabe jotted notes for the flawed-top desk Jessica Mayfield had just ordered, his mind raced. Was it God’s will at work? Just as he’d overheard Red through the slatted wall, telling Jo her house deal had fallen through, Red’s Realtor had handed him her business card. Could he be holding his ticket to a happily-ever-after?

  If you buy Red’s house—surprise her with it—she’ll love you forever!

  The idea had come at him so fast, so unexpectedly, he had to get out and walk around to keep from exploding with excitement. They didn’t have any customers at the moment, so his dat was stretching out on the bed in the corner of the shop, more fatigued than he would admit. Gabe flashed him a smile.

  “I’ll be back in a few, Dat,” he said. “How about if I bring us something fresh from Jo’s shop, for after your nap?”

  Dat waved him off. “Just resting my eyes. If anybody comes in, I’ll be on them like a duck on a bug.”

  Chuckling, Gabe strode out into the commons area. He saw that Jo and Red were still chatting over their brownies and milk. The treats smelled amazing, but he didn’t want to go near Red for fear he’d give away his plan for sweeping her off her feet. He kept walking, past the Helfing twins’ noodle shop and the Hartzlers’ quilting store, which were all busy. He saw that the last customer was leaving Glenn’s woodworking shop.

  Gabe stopped outside to observe his friend, who’d returned to The Marketplace much sooner after his wife’s passing than anyone had expected. Glenn seemed to be holding up pretty well—while he was around other folks, anyway—but Gabe couldn’t miss the weary droop of his shoulders or the deep shadow of sorrow that overtook Glenn’s face as he dropped into one of his unique birch rocking chairs.

  After a few moments, Gabe entered the shop. “Hey there,” he said, pulling another birch rocker alongside Glenn’s. “Are you sure you want to be here today? Lydianne can handle things if you want to go home—”

  “It’s not much of a home without Dorcas,” Glenn put in with a sigh. “My folks are trying very hard to rise above it—to keep the boys busy and keep my spirits up—but I can’t be in that house without seeing my wife making dinner at the stove, or picking up the front room. I kept waking up last night, hearing her voice.”

  Gabe blinked back a sudden tear. It seemed like the wrong time to hint about his happy plan for buying Red’s home. “That’s got to be tough,” he mumbled for lack of anything more inspiring to say.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Glenn smiled a bit. “You know what else I hear, though? Those songs you and the other fellows sang at the visitation,” he continued in a brighter voice. “Your singing really lifted me up. Your music is such a gift, Gabe, and you have a way of leading us to share the best of ourselves whenever we sing with you.”

  Gabe blinked. He recalled the night he’d been standing beside Dat’s hospital bed and Saul, Matthias, and Bishop Jeremiah had eased his troubled heart—even though they’d been singing for his father. “That’s quite a compliment, Glenn—”

  “What if we men formed a little musical group?” Glenn’s expression brightened as he considered his idea. “We could sing at reunions or picnics, or even for folks who’re sick. If you’d take charge, I bet Saul and the rest of our Friday night group would agree to perform now and then. It would give me something to look forward to, you know?”

  As Glenn held his gaze, Gabe felt deeply moved—led by the Spirit to accept his best friend’s challenge. “I would look forward to singing together more often, too, as a replacement for times when I used to play my guitar,” he said eagerly. “Let’s do it! We can mention it to the other men tomorrow at church—although you’ll have to do the talking.”

  Glenn let out an exasperated sigh. “Sometimes shunning causes more problems than it solves,” he muttered. “I’ll be glad when your bann’s over, Gabe.”

  “Me, too.” Gabe rose from his chair. “I’d best get back, in case Dat’s taking more of a nap than he expected. He didn’t stay home today for fear he’d miss some gut gossip, you know?”

  Glenn’s laughter seemed like a good sign to Gabe as he left the wood shop—and the idea of performing songs with his male friends had struck a chord within him, too. As he passed the noodle shop, Red was surrounded by customers admiring her embroidered towels, and that pleased him, too. When he entered Flaud Furniture, his father was seated at their worktable in the back with a small plate of brownies in front of him.

  “Jo’s fresh goodies smelled so gut, I couldn’t sleep,” Dat teased.

  Laughing, Gabe took the other chair as he snatched a brownie. “You’ve got to help me, Dat.” He spoke softly so Jo wouldn’t overhear him through the slatted wall. “Red’s house is up for sale again, and I want to buy it for her! Can you go in with me on a down payment—like, first thing Monday morning? That will make her sparkle, jah?”

  Dat’s eyes widened. “The original deal fell through? This is a mighty sudden turnaround in your thinking, son, so—”

  “I just overheard the news about half an hour ago,” Gabe explained urgently. “I—I’ve come to realize that Red’s got her priorities in order, and that I want to be with her. She makes me sparkle.”

  His father took his time chewing a bite of his brownie. “Does Regina know about your feelings for her, or are you springing this purchase on her as a surprise?” he asked cautiously. “What if she doesn’t go along with your plans, Gabe? You’ll have made a huge investment, and you might be stuck living in that house all by your lonesome.”

  “We’ll take up where we left off! Red and I got really close after we were shunned together, and—and I love her, Dat,” Gabe added softly. He gazed into his father’s eyes, pleading for understanding as he’d never needed it bef
ore. “I’ll be offering her a much better life than she’ll have at Clarence’s, after all.”

  After his father finished his brownie, he reached for another one. Gabe’s pulse was pounding. Even though Dat might have a point about Red needing to know how he felt about her, buying her home seemed like such an obvious solution to most of the dissatisfaction that had plagued them both of late.

  “When you and Red come to me and say you’re courting, I’ll consider putting some money on that house,” his father replied after an agonizing pause. “After all, if you two marry, you could live at our place until you can build her a house on a plot of land—or you could buy a place from an Amish family that’s leaving the district. The church leaders would consider that more acceptable than repurchasing her house in town, you know.”

  Gabe bit back his disappointment. He didn’t know of any families planning to move away—and his heart was already set on living in Red’s cozy little home.

  Check your bank balance—maybe you can put enough money down to keep somebody else from buying the place.

  Gabe sighed, because the bank wouldn’t reopen until Monday morning. His father had always paid him a minimal salary for managing the furniture factory, but he’d never pressed for more money because the business would be his someday—and because, as a single fellow living at home, he hadn’t been concerned about accumulating cash.

  But he knew better than to pester his father about the matter. Martin Flaud said what he meant and meant what he said—and Dat had finished his brownies, so he was eyeing the bed again.

  “Well, it’ll all work out, I guess,” Gabe whispered impatiently. “God is gut.”

  “All the time,” his father chimed in as he headed toward his nap.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sunday morning, after an uncomfortable meeting with the preachers while the rest of the congregation sang the opening hymns, Regina and Gabe were the last folks to enter the Waglers’ front room for the church service. Following the Old Order way, Regina sat on a folding chair to one side of the preachers’ bench, facing the congregation with her head low and her hand covering her eyes. This was by far the most painful part of shunning—being silently scrutinized by folks she’d known all her life, as a reminder of how her sin had separated her from the community.

  This must be how zoo animals feel while visitors gawk at them.

  Gabe had taken the folding chair on the opposite end of the preachers’ bench, but Regina didn’t glance in his direction. After enduring Preacher Ammon’s terse questions about her sense of repentance during their meeting before church—and hearing Uncle Clarence state that she’d be moving to his place by the end of the week—she knew better than to give the church leaders any more reason to chastise her.

  The Waglers’ front room was smaller than most, and the humid July heat felt even more oppressive because Regina felt she was on display—an example of the misery that awaited members who strayed from the well-paved path to salvation. All during the three-hour service, she longed for the simple comfort of sitting among her maidel friends. As they sang the final hymn and Bishop Jeremiah gave his benediction, Regina couldn’t wait to leave. She and Gabe were excluded from the fellowship of the common meal.

  “Folks, we’ve had a request for a Members Meeting,” the bishop announced. “I’ve been asked to suggest the possibility that Gabe and Regina might be reinstated to full membership today rather than waiting another two weeks.”

  Regina’s head jerked up. When she stole a glance at Gabe, she wondered why he didn’t seem surprised by Bishop Jeremiah’s statement—but the flicker of hope in her heart was soon squelched.

  “Out of the question!” Preacher Ammon blurted.

  “Jah, we’ve been plenty lenient as it is, shortening their bann to four weeks rather than six,” Deacon Saul pointed out.

  Uncle Clarence scowled. “You should’ve brought this matter to our attention at our meeting before church, Jeremiah. This is highly irregular!”

  All heads turned when Martin Flaud rose from his place, his face alight with a mission. “I’ll speak to this because it was my idea,” he said, gazing around the crowd. “While I was in the hospital with too much time on my hands—thinking how I’d regret it if I didn’t live to reconcile with my son—I decided that our way of shaming and shunning members is the opposite of what we should be doing. Why do we turn a cold shoulder to those who have strayed?” he asked earnestly. “Shouldn’t we be encouraging our members—especially our young adults—to stay, rather than giving them the silent treatment? How does that reflect Christ’s commandment that we love one another?”

  Regina held her breath. She’d witnessed a miraculous change in Martin’s behavior—health-related, as she understood it—yet she hadn’t expected him to speak out so openly against the age-old Amish ways.

  “We’re showing them tough love, Martin,” Deacon Saul replied without missing a beat.

  “Jah, Regina and Gabe have known all their lives that members of the Old Order are forbidden to paint and to play musical instruments,” Preacher Ammon pointed out sternly. “They accepted such limitations when they joined the Amish church.”

  Bishop Jeremiah held up his hands to bring the conversation under control. “I’ve done as Martin asked, by bringing up his request,” he said as he focused on the congregation. “We’ve heard the preachers’ opinion, so what do you folks want to do? Do you wish to vote on ending Gabe and Regina’s bann—or continue it for two more weeks?”

  After a short silence, Drusilla Fussner raised her hand. “What’s the point of having our Ordnung if we change its rules for every little thing?” she asked gently. “If we end Gabe and Regina’s bann just because Martin wants us to, we’ll soon be making so many exceptions to the Old Order ways that we might as well be Mennonites, ain’t so?”

  Several folks in the room nodded, whispering among themselves. Even though she was disappointed, Regina appreciated the way Jo’s mamm had worded her observation—and she wasn’t surprised that the other members agreed with her.

  “Seems we’ve made our decision and we’ll stick by it,” Bishop Jeremiah observed. He glanced at Regina and then at Gabe. “We’ll proceed two Sundays from today with your reinstatement. For now, I wish you well as you continue on your paths toward reconciliation and rightness with God.”

  Regina didn’t have to be told twice. Avoiding eye contact and conversation, she made a quick exit down the side aisle, which was the fastest way to the Waglers’ front door. It was a relief to be dismissed from the common meal, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the remarks people were bound to make about Martin’s attempt to change the age-old way Amish congregations chastised their errant members.

  Once outside, Regina slowed her pace to avoid becoming overheated. As she walked from one shady spot to the next alongside the road home, recalling the difficult meeting with the preachers before church, one stern voice stood out in her mind: We’ll see you at the house by Friday, Regina. You’ve stalled long enough.

  She grimaced. Why did her uncle always make her feel like such an encumbrance—such an inconvenience?

  If you told Aunt Cora the sale of your house fell through, could she convince Uncle Clarence to let you stay in it a little longer?

  It was a useless question, however. As the intense afternoon heat pressed down upon her, and the issues of her shunning and her relationship with her uncle weighed her down, she was ready to burst into tears. Determined to hold her composure until she reached the privacy of her dear little house, Regina rounded the corner of Maple Lane and started to jog, gritting her teeth against a sob—

  And then she saw Gabe sitting in one of her porch chairs.

  * * *

  The wretched expression on Red’s face made Gabe want to rush to her, wrap her in his arms, and never let her go. He didn’t want to push her too fast, however, or assume that she would immediately welcome his attention—not to mention his exciting idea for their future. After all, their last conve
rsation had been more than an endless week ago, when she’d sent him away—believing that he no longer wanted to be Amish, and that he wanted her to live English with him.

  “Hey there, Red,” he murmured as he rose to greet her. “Tough morning, jah? I was pleasantly surprised when Dat and the bishop spoke in favor of ending our bann early—except now things feel even touchier because folks have rejected any chance for change.”

  She stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, eyeing him cautiously. “The whole point of shunning is to make us sorry we’ve sinned—to point out how alone we’d be if we didn’t repent,” she remarked with a hitch in her voice. “We’re not supposed to like it.”

  Even as he resented the Old Order’s insistence on shunning, Gabe deeply admired Red’s willingness to accept the consequences of painting her beautiful pictures and then lying about it.

  “While we’re on the topic of forgiveness and reconciliation,” he began, praying for the right words, “I came here because I offended you when I suggested we leave Morning Star to live English, and—and I’ve changed my mind. Changed my ways, Red,” he added in a rush of emotion. “Please, can you forgive me? Please, can we be friends again and talk about it, honey-girl?”

  A sob escaped her. Then it was as though the levee on a flooded river gave way, and Red began to cry as if she couldn’t stop. Gabe didn’t have much experience consoling women, but it seemed right to descend the stairs with his bandanna in his hand.

  “I’m sorry for what I said last week,” he continued softly as he gently blotted her wet face with his handkerchief. “And I’m sorry your uncle is being so hard-nosed about making you move to his place. But—I’ve got a solution for that!” he blurted, even as he sensed he was racing ahead at exactly the wrong time. “I’m going to buy your house, honey-girl! We can live here—get married and keep this place as ours!”

  Red’s eyes widened, yet Gabe sensed it was more out of shock than gratitude.