Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Deborah closed her eyes over a crispy chicken thigh that was still warm. Her heart swelled with Mattie and Rosetta’s can-do attitudes, the firm belief that they’d made the right decision when they’d sold their farms to start a new life. “Have you had any response to your ad in The Budget?” she asked as she buttered her bread. “Some of the folks in Coldstream are still surprised at how quickly you left, saying maybe you leaped before you looked.”

  Mattie and Rosetta exchanged a smile that suggested they’d heard this sentiment before. “We Bender sisters have stuck together through thick and thin by the grace of Jesus,” Mattie replied without a moment’s hesitation. “He wouldn’t steer us wrong.”

  “And with Mattie and Christine losing their men, and our parents passing on to their reward last winter,” Rosetta took up the thread, “we all thought it best to look forward rather than letting our losses hold us back. ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions,’ the Bible tells us. Our lodge and cabins aren’t as grand as God’s dwelling place, but with His help we’ll create a little section of Heaven in this old campground for folks who need to set down new roots.”

  That would be me, Deborah mused as she bit into her chicken again. She was happy to let the two women keep talking so she didn’t have to reveal her predicament yet.

  “The letters are coming in, from folks interested in buying plots of our land,” Mattie replied as she checked a pan of something in the oven. “Amos has called a few of them, and we think we’ll see new families by the end of June if they can sell their farms quickly.”

  “That’s only a few weeks away,” Deborah murmured.

  “We’ve got a lot of fixing up to do before then,” Laura remarked.

  “But we’ll have plenty of time to chat about our plans for Promise Lodge and show you around while you’re here,” Rosetta said. “How’s your family, Deborah? What’s the news from Coldstream? While we don’t regret leaving some of the recent goings-on behind us, we sure do miss our friends.”

  Deborah swallowed hard, her half-eaten chicken thigh poised in front of her face. No matter which question she addressed, these two women wouldn’t want to hear her answer. “Oh, you know how it is,” she hedged. “Things don’t change a lot in Coldstream from one day to the next.”

  Mattie frowned doubtfully.

  Rosetta raised an eyebrow. “Why is your face telling me something different from your words?” she asked. “Has there been more trouble, Deborah?”

  The bruise on Deborah’s neck throbbed. Before she could reply, Preacher Amos Troyer came in through the back kitchen door, followed by Roman Schwartz, Mattie’s older son. The minister’s bearded face lit up in greeting. “I heard we had a guest,” he said as he headed toward one of the large stainless steel refrigerators. “Welcome, Deborah.”

  “And thanks for these brownies,” Roman said as he set her tin on the counter. “Too bad we didn’t save enough for you ladies.”

  “We’ve just asked Deborah what’s been happening in Coldstream,” Mattie said as her gaze intensified. “And I’m guessing it’s not so gut.”

  Deborah was cornered. Sooner or later these dear friends would receive the bad news in a letter from someone, so there was no point in stalling. “The um, barn on the Bender home place burned down.”

  When Rosetta and Mattie grabbed for each other’s hands, Deborah sighed. She’d been here less than an hour, and already she’d distressed half the people she’d seen.

  “Dat built that barn when he and Mamm moved onto the place, when they were first married,” Mattie recalled sadly. “In the winter when the leaves were off the trees, I could see it from my kitchen window, across the fields.”

  “Jah, more than sixty years it sat on our hill, like a guardian angel for the farm,” Rosetta said with a hitch in her voice. “I’m awfully glad our parents weren’t alive to witness this.”

  “Why do I suspect Chupp and his English buddies were involved?” Roman muttered. “Their names came up after Aunt Christine and Uncle Willis’s barn caught fire. And with the new owners not yet living on the Bender farm, those guys probably figured they could hang out there and no one would be the wiser.”

  “Don’t go repeating gossip as gospel, Roman,” Mattie said sharply. “It’s one thing to have our suspicions, but another thing to speculate about these fires without knowing the facts.”

  “After catching Isaac snooping around at my place a while back,” Preacher Amos joined in, “I tend to agree with Roman. And although I stood firm against getting the county sheriff involved when the Hershbergers lost their barn—and the man of their family,” he added with an apologetic glance at Phoebe and Laura, “I felt we gave the bishop a very convenient opportunity to look the other way. Every time his son’s name has been connected to trouble, Obadiah has claimed that Isaac’s in his rumspringa—sowing his wild oats—so he’s exempt from the rules church members must follow. That’s the main reason I left his district.”

  Deborah knew quite well how Obadiah Chupp covered for his errant son. She had also understood why her father, Preacher Eli, had decided that her missing kapp, her tumble-down hair, and her muddy, scraped knees told of activities too sinful to speak of in front of her younger siblings. So he’d sent her away. . . .

  “And what have you heard about the fire, Deborah?”

  Rosetta’s question brought Deborah out of her painful thoughts. How much did she dare reveal? Would these friends accuse her of overstepping the rules—taking matters into her own hands by calling 9-1-1—the way Dat had? Would they send her packing if they knew what Isaac and his redheaded friend, Kerry, had done to her? She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to humiliate herself again, either.

  “It was Isaac,” she murmured.

  “See there?” Roman crowed. He grabbed glasses from the cabinet so Preacher Amos could pour them some cold tea. “If we were still living in Coldstream, maybe we’d have caught Isaac with—”

  “It’s best that we moved on,” his mother insisted, silencing him with a purposeful look. “We thank God that Rosetta’s horses, goats, and chickens were out of the barn and here with us, and that the house was spared. It was, wasn’t it?” Mattie asked in a strained whisper.

  Deborah sucked in a deep breath, hoping the topic of conversation would remain on the Benders’ property rather than on her, personally. “Jah, the house is fine, and so are the other buildings.”

  “And for that we give thanks,” Rosetta replied as she quickly wiped her eyes. “I feel bad for the family who bought our farm, though.”

  “Something tells me the men will hold a barn raising for the new owners, like they did for the Hershbergers,” Preacher Amos remarked.

  “But how many times will they do that?” Laura blurted. “It’s just wrong if Isaac Chupp’s causing these fires and—and nobody’s holding him responsible.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Preacher Amos agreed. “We must keep our Coldstream friends in our prayers, asking that God’s will be done—and that His justice be carried out, as well.”

  Deborah quickly finished her snack. She felt bad for Laura and Phoebe as memories of that fateful night brought grim expressions to their dear faces: the Hershberger family had returned from an uncle’s funeral last November to discover their barn in flames. Other men from around town were rushing over to help put out the fire, but as Willis Hershberger was urging his frantic horses outside, one of them had kicked him into the flames. Part of the barn had fallen in on him, and there’d been no way to save him.

  “Is this a gut time to look around Promise Lodge?” she asked the girls in a hopeful tone. “Or, if you’ve got work that needs doing, I want to help.”

  “But you’re company, Deborah,” Laura protested. “Sure, we’ve got more garden to plant, but—”

  “This is me you’re talking to,” Deborah teased as she rose from her chair. “Those seeds will go into the rows faster with six hands than with four.”

  “And maybe if you’re out ther
e where Noah can see you, it’ll put him in a better mood,” Phoebe suggested as they rinsed Deborah’s dishes. “He’s been mighty cranky since he left you behind in Coldstream.”

  As they headed out the back door, Deborah’s brow furrowed. “But I was the one who broke off the engagement, remember?” she murmured. “I’ve already asked for Noah’s forgiveness—begged him for a second chance. But he turned me down flatter than a pancake.”

  “Ach, that’s not so gut,” Laura stated.

  “I thought he was missing your company enough that he’d reconsider,” Phoebe remarked. “He’s hardly been talking to anybody. Goes through each day with a black cloud hanging over him.”

  Isn’t it just like Noah not to talk about what’s on his mind? Deborah thought as they approached the cabin nearest the lodge. A few bright new shingles stood out on its green roof and a new coat of chocolate-brown paint made it appear fresher than the other cabins down the row. It was small, yet she hoped it would be a haven where she could pull her life together again—

  Unless the truth is more than these folks will tolerate.

  Phoebe swung open the door and gestured for Deborah to go inside. “We figure to have new families stay in these cabins while their homes are being built,” she explained. “Everybody’ll eat in the dining room and get to know each other while they settle in.”

  “We’re living in the lodge, along with the Schwartzes and Preacher Amos, until enough men arrive to start building houses,” Laura piped up. “From our room, we can see Rainbow Lake and the pasture where the cattle graze—right, Mamm?”

  Christine Hershberger snapped a curtain rod into its bracket and turned. Her slender face brightened and she rushed over. “Look at you, come to visit us here in Promise!” she said as she embraced Deborah. “Nothing’s so sweet as the face of a longtime friend.”

  “It’s gut to see you, too. You’re making such a nice new home here,” Deborah replied as she returned the hug. The longing in Christine’s voice told her to keep the conversation light. No need to reveal the tragic details about the fire at the Bender place yet.

  Christine, however, eased away to gaze into Deborah’s eyes. “I couldn’t help overhearing the bad news when your voices drifted out the kitchen windows,” she murmured. “While I would love to visit our friends in Coldstream, I doubt I’ll ever go back there. I—I couldn’t bear to see another burned-out barn. It’s best for us to remember the Bender farm—and our own place—as they were in better days.”

  “Oh, Mamm, we didn’t mean to upset you,” Phoebe insisted as she slung her arms around her mother and Deborah.

  “We’ll focus forward, like you’ve told us to,” Laura said staunchly. She joined their huddle and shared in a collective sigh that filled the little cabin.

  Deborah realized then that her recent tribulations were an ant hill compared to the mountain of misery the Hershbergers had climbed these past several months. “Whatever I can do to help, you tell me, all right?” she insisted. “We’ve shared so many things over the years—the fun stuff as well as the work—and I’m ready for some more of those gut times. Nobody makes me laugh the way you three do.”

  Their grateful smiles told Deborah she’d said the right thing. Maybe you can give as much comfort to Laura, Phoebe, and Christine as you were hoping to receive. Maybe you were led here to be a blessing.

  Deborah gazed around the homey one-room cabin. A lingering lemony scent suggested a top-to-bottom cleaning. Two cozy old chairs flanked a simple table, with a braided rug between them on the wood plank floor. The double bed was made up with a colorful quilt and fresh sheets. Through an open door, she saw a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and a shower. The cabin reminded Deborah of the one her family had rented during a family reunion in a state park.

  “This is really cozy,” she murmured. “If you’ve got new families coming in, though, I don’t want to be in the way when—”

  “This is you we’re talking about!” Laura interrupted. “You’ll never be in the way, silly goose. This is the smallest cabin—too cramped for a family with kids. So stay as long as you want!”

  “Let’s show you around. Then we can catch up on what’s going on back home while we plant a second patch of sweet corn,” Phoebe suggested. “With all the time it took to move here, we’re late planting some of our vegetables for the produce stand. But it’ll all work out—especially with you helping us, Deborah.”

  As her friends showed her the rest of the cabins and the grounds, Deborah’s spirits lifted. The Hershbergers were hoping she’d stick around Promise Lodge for a while, and she had no doubt that she could be useful. Everywhere she looked, walls needed painting and windows needed curtains and floors needed scrubbing.

  When the three of them reached Rainbow Lake’s freshly mowed shoreline, several frogs hopped into the water. The lake sparkled with sun diamonds as it lapped gently around an old wooden dock that extended toward its center. A fish jumped out of the water and splashed back in. As the trees swayed in a refreshing breeze and Phoebe pointed out the overgrown apple orchard they hoped to revive, Deborah felt the tension easing out of her shoulders. Everything about Promise Lodge seemed so peaceful, so welcoming, that she dared to believe she might recover from being cast out of her home.

  A movement caught her eye near the entry to the grounds, where Noah was leading his Belgian from the plot he’d finished plowing. Even from this distance, he appeared forlorn, lacking the exuberant energy Deborah recalled from their childhood and courtship.

  I did that to him. I had no idea how much he loved me.

  Deborah sighed. How could she convince Noah to forgive her, to trust her again? And where could she go if he didn’t?

  Chapter Three

  At supper that evening, Noah focused on his ham and beans to keep from looking at Deborah. It was no accident that his mamm and aunts had seated her directly across the table from him, probably figuring he’d get lost in her green eyes and gaze at the glossy brown hair she’d tucked neatly beneath her kapp, the way he used to. He buttered a square of corn bread, considering where he’d go after he’d finished eating. Someplace she wouldn’t follow him, pleading again for his forgiveness and affection.

  “Noah, now that you’ve finished plowing the produce plots,” Preacher Amos said, “I’d like you to putty the windows in the cabins and then paint the windowsills. You’ve got a steadier hand with a trim brush than I do.”

  “Jah, I can do that,” Noah replied as he drizzled honey on his corn bread.

  “And, Deborah, your dat once told me you’d made quick work of painting the kitchen and bedrooms at your place,” Amos went on from the head of the table. “If you could help us out by painting the cabins’ interior walls while you’re here, I’d really appreciate it. I’ve got rollers and paint all ready to go.”

  When Noah glanced up, he couldn’t miss Deborah’s pleased expression. Was she tickled because Amos had complimented her, or because the preacher was arranging for her to work alongside him? Noah’s temples pulsed when he clenched his jaw against a protest.

  “I’d be happy to help,” Deborah replied with a lilt in her voice. “Mamma has always said that Dat taught me how to paint when I was a kid so he’d never have to do it again.”

  As laughter rang around him, Noah’s frustration rose. Everyone had conveniently forgotten how Deborah had humiliated him. Rejected him. Beside him, Roman reached for the bowl of wilted lettuce with a chuckle. “There’s no escaping her, little brother,” he murmured near Noah’s ear. “You might as well make your peace with her.”

  Noah glared at him. “Who asked for your opinion?” he muttered.

  As the chatter continued around the long table, Noah quickly finished his supper and excused himself to tend the livestock chores. At least the horses, Christine’s cows, and Rosetta’s goats wouldn’t mock him as he filled their water troughs and put out their evening feed. When he stepped down from the lodge’s porch, Queenie met him eagerly with her rubber ball, so he
threw it hard, releasing his pent-up tension. Watching his dog chase the ball and catch it after the second bounce made him feel better, so when she brought it back to him Noah lobbed it down the driveway again.

  A distant high-pitched yipping made him stop to listen. Coyotes. Dusk was falling, and they were on the prowl—reason enough to put Rosetta’s chickens into the shed along with the goats. When he’d fed and watered all the stock, Noah took his rifle from behind the barn door and went out to the edge of the woods where they’d stacked their firewood beneath tarps. He fetched some cans from the recycling bin and spaced them across the top of the woodpile.

  Ping! Ping! Ping!

  Noah shot without having to think about it, watching the cans fly with rhythmic precision. At the sound of distant female voices, he turned to watch his cousins bid Deborah good night on the lodge porch before she went to her cabin. When a lamp flickered in her window his heart quivered, but another round of target practice restored his resistance to her presence. She would be getting ready for bed . . . and as early as the sun rose on these summer mornings, he should be heading inside, too. He strolled to the lake and sat on the dock for a while, however, scratching Queenie between the ears as the frogs began their nightly chorus.

  When Deborah’s lamp went out, only two squares of pale yellow light remained in the lodge windows. The darkness deepened into a velvety indigo spangled with stars. Noah breathed easier, relieved that this eventful day had finally ended. Once again the coyotes called to each other, sounding closer now. Although his mother didn’t like having Queenie in the house, he decided to slip her into his room. His Border Collie was feisty and fast, and she would dutifully defend the livestock, but she was no match for predators if they outnumbered her.

  “Come on, girl, let’s go in,” he murmured as he started toward the lodge.

  When Noah reached the porch, he saw Roman leaning against a support post, shadowed by the dense trumpet vines. Even in the darkness, it seemed clear that his brother had been waiting for him. “You’re not planning to use that gun on our guest—or to scare her off—I hope,” he teased.