Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “If they were in a car, it’s more likely they’d call on their cell phone,” Noah pointed out. “So the sheriff surely must figure the caller was Plain.”

  Everyone around the table got quiet, considering this point. Noah’s mother squeezed Deborah’s hand. “This is all pretty scary, dear, but you did the right thing by calling,” she insisted.

  “You were trying to save the place from total destruction, after all,” Christine agreed.

  Amos, who’d picked up the second clipping, raised his eyebrows. “Here’s where push comes to shove. ‘Friday morning Eli Peterscheim called the sheriff’s office to report that Isaac Chupp, seventeen, of Coldstream along with Kerry Corbett, eighteen, of Eulah, were suspects in the case. When questioned, he did not identify his source of information. The former Bender farm is currently unoccupied, and its new owner could not be reached for comment.’”

  “Preacher Eli’s in hot water with the bishop now,” Roman remarked. “I hope he’ll watch over the buildings on his place, considering that Isaac’ll be none too pleased that his name got into the paper.”

  As Amos passed the clippings to his brother, Noah considered what he’d just heard. “Well, then, Eli took the same sort of risk Deborah did by reporting what he knew to the sheriff, who could do something about it—knowing Bishop Obadiah would be plenty upset with him,” he reasoned aloud. “So while none of us likes it that Eli sent Deborah away . . . maybe he was protecting her as much as punishing her.”

  “That’s not how it seemed to me,” Deborah murmured ruefully.

  “God will make the best of this whole situation,” Rosetta declared staunchly. “We have to keep believing that His justice will be done.”

  “‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,’” Preacher Amos reminded them as he rose from the table. “We’ll leave it in His hands to judge, and to carry out His will.”

  The women and girls began scraping plates while Roman headed outside to start the evening livestock chores. When Phoebe and Laura had gone into the kitchen with stacks of dishes, Noah took Deborah’s elbow. “How about we go fishing this evening?” he asked softly. “It’ll be cool and quiet at the lake, with just you and me.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve not done all that much fishing, you know,” she pointed out. “If you’re thinking to get a gut laugh out of the way I bait a hook—”

  “I will never laugh at you,” Noah declared. He held her gaze, happy to see a spark of interest on her pretty face. “Meet me out on the dock when you’re finished with the dishes. I’ll help Roman with the chores and have your hooks all baited and ready to go. How’s that?”

  “All right. I’ll be there.”

  Noah nodded, aware that his heart was beating in double time. He felt almost as excited as when he’d first asked Deborah to ride home with him from a Singing and she’d agreed. He was determined to re-create the fun they’d had back then. Somehow, he’d think of a way to brighten her life again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Standing beside Noah on the shoreline, Deborah watched attentively as he showed her how to cast her fishing line.

  “A sideways cast is easier than an overhead one,” he said as he demonstrated. “You press the thumb button and then take the rod behind you—like so. Then you whip it forward and let up on the button at the same time. See?”

  As the fishing line whizzed out of the reel, Deborah watched Noah’s bobber and hook sail effortlessly across the water. She hoped she wouldn’t appear totally clueless and awkward when she tried to follow his example. “Dat takes the boys fishing but not Lily and me,” she explained. “He says it’s a guy thing.”

  Noah smiled as he set the handle of his rod into a little tunnel he’d dug in the shoreline mud. “So now it’s a me-and-you thing,” he replied. “Jah, you’re holding it just right . . . keep the rod level when you take it behind you, then you throw it forward and let fly with it—now!”

  Deborah lifted her thumb and watched her red-and-white bobber arc out over the lake. When it plopped into the water even farther out than Noah’s bobber, she squealed with delight. “I think I can do this!”

  “Of course you can, sweetie. There wouldn’t be nearly so many fellows who like to fish all day if it was hard.”

  Queenie got caught up in Deborah’s excitement and let out a few excited woofs as she trotted along the shoreline. Deborah felt a laugh bubbling up from deep inside her. Noah had called her his sweetie, the way he had when they’d been courting. The exhilaration of his praise and her first successful cast was a heady sensation.

  “Look at that,” he whispered, pointing toward the lake. “You’ve got a nibble already! Crank your reel handle to set the line, like I showed you.”

  Deborah’s heart was pounding as she heard the click of the mechanism.

  “Now, wait for the bobber to go under—” Noah positioned himself behind her, placing his hands over hers. “There it goes! Now let’s jerk back real hard to set the hook!”

  As she allowed Noah to assist her, Deborah didn’t know if she was more thrilled about the tug of a fish on her line or about how close Noah was standing to her. It felt so good to have his arms around her again. “And now I reel it in?”

  “Jah, with a slow, steady cranking,” he murmured near her ear. “Oh, look at the way your rod’s curving down! I think you’ve got a big one—but don’t lose him by dropping your rod or getting in a hurry. Let him wear himself out.”

  “He’s really strong,” Deborah breathed. She gripped the handle of the bending rod, watching her line zig and zag in the water as she slowly cranked the reel handle.

  “Don’t lose him, now. Let me grab the net.”

  Deborah held her breath as she reeled the fish closer. When she caught sight of it beneath the water’s surface, her eyes widened and she hung on even tighter.

  Noah planted his feet firmly on the edge of the lake, extending the net toward her incoming fish. “Steady now. Bring him on up here . . . jah, baby! Would you look at this nice trout!” he cried as he scooped it out of the water. “This is the biggest fish we’ve seen since we got here!”

  Deborah gaped at the shiny trout as it writhed in Noah’s net. “So now what do we do?”

  “I’ll put him on a stringer, and we’ll keep him in the lake until we’re ready to quit,” he replied. “Stick your rod in your tunnel, like mine is. Then hang on to the net.”

  Deborah hurried to help Noah, tickled at the fish’s size and how she had to grasp the net’s handle with both hands to keep from dropping it. Noah grabbed the fish’s head and slipped the metal end of the stringer through its gill. Then he gripped the hook to twist it out of the trout’s silver lip. Deborah wasn’t going to say so, but she was glad Noah was doing this part. The fish was watching them with its lidless eye, still flipping and flapping as Noah lifted it out of the net. Queenie came over to sniff at it and shook her head when the trout flipped water in her face.

  “He surely must weigh four or five pounds, and lake trout makes mighty fine eating,” Noah remarked as he lowered the fish into the water. He stabbed the spike end of the stringer deep into the mud and swished his hands in the water. When he stood up, he was grinning like a little kid. “Wow! Was that fun, or what?”

  “Jah, it was,” Deborah replied. Her breath caught when Noah grabbed her hands and squeezed them. “It’s really nice of you to be so patient with me. I—I haven’t been any too cheerful lately, and I know some of the stuff I’ve said hasn’t been what you wanted to hear.”

  Noah’s dark eyes softened as he gazed at her. “You must’ve been scared out of your mind when those guys . . . well, I hope you can put all that fear behind you now, Deborah. You’re safe here at Promise Lodge. No matter how they feel about your situation in Coldstream, we all want you here with us.”

  Deborah’s heartbeat stilled. Clearly, Noah now believed she’d done all she could on the night of the fire, for he wasn’t a fellow to waste words. The idea of being safe among the folks here—three hours aw
ay from the ordeal and humiliation she’d endured last week—made her feel much better.

  “Denki for saying that, Noah,” she murmured. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

  He squeezed her hands once more before he eased away. “Looky there—my bobber’s moving. You must be my gut luck charm, girl.”

  She watched, enthralled, as Noah set his hook and steadily cranked the reel handle. The clench of his firm jaw . . . the steady in and out of his breathing as he concentrated . . . the flexing of his muscular arms and hands, combined with his fresh, familiar scent hooked Deborah as surely as Noah had latched on to a fish. It felt so good to be near him again, to be in harmony and having fun with him.

  “Grab the net and bring it in for me,” he said. “Brace your feet real steady. That’s the way.”

  Deborah scooped the net beneath the fish, yelping as it flipped water on her.

  “A bass this time,” Noah remarked as he set down his reel to help her. “We’ll need to restock the lake before a lot of other folks get here, to be sure we’ve got fish in the future. I think we’re catching such nice ones because nobody’s fished here for a year or two. Gut job with the net. You’re a natural at this.”

  Deborah felt herself glowing. As the evening settled around them and the cicadas began to sing, she felt content to keep casting and watching the bobber, even when she didn’t catch a fish each time. While she hoped to let go of her fear and move on, new thoughts were surfacing as she and Noah stood beside each other.

  “Maybe you were right about Dat trying to protect me,” she murmured. “It didn’t seem that way when he was in such a huff, pointing toward the road. But I got him into hot water by getting mixed up in this business with the bishop’s son, too. I hadn’t thought about how my actions that night would affect anybody else.”

  “You were too busy defending yourself to consider the consequences, by the sound of it. And you had no way of knowing what Isaac might do,” Noah pointed out. “He’s always been a daredevil. And he’d been drinking.”

  Deborah considered this as she thought about what might be going on back home. “It’s still my word against Isaac’s—and with Dat not giving my name, it doesn’t leave the sheriff much to go on,” she remarked. “I was the only witness likely to tell about what really went on at the Bender barn, after all.”

  Noah checked the worm on his hook and cast out again. Then he studied her face. “Tell me true now, Deborah,” he said softly. “I know how embarrassing this is, but—but if Isaac or Kerry . . . if either one forced you to—I’m going to Coldstream to be sure Sheriff Renfro nails them for—”

  Deborah’s eyes stung as she grabbed his arm. Noah was trembling with the intensity of his desire to protect her. “Really and truly,” she insisted, “they were both hinting at that, but the beer was making them clumsy—and mad at me, when I slapped them and hollered at them.”

  Noah exhaled. “All right, then. Sorry. I had to ask.”

  “And now it’s God’s job to see that justice is done,” Deborah reminded him with a somber smile. “If you go back and stir up more trouble, it won’t make Dat or the bishop any too happy.”

  “Jah, you’re probably right. It’s not like I was anywhere near the Bender barn to vouch for what happened that night.”

  Even as Noah’s shift in attitude gratified her, Deborah allowed another silence to settle around them. She cast her line again, thinking carefully about what she wanted to say. If Noah believed her now—trusted her again—did she dare bring up the subject of their broken engagement? Was it too soon to speak of courtship, now that Noah seemed to be in such an agreeable mood?

  Deborah gripped her rod, hoping the words sounded right. “I can understand why you might not want to marry such a troublemaker, after all I’ve stirred up back home,” she whispered. “But I am sincerely sorry I doubted you and—and tore us apart, Noah.”

  He focused on her for a long moment in the dusk. “It’s high time I forgave you for that, too,” he at last replied. “I accept your apology, Deborah and I—I forgive you for ending our engagement.”

  She swallowed hard, her throat so tight she couldn’t speak. Both of them faced the lake, watching bobbers that were becoming harder to see as darkness fell. Deborah realized she’d just received what she’d come to Promise Lodge for, even though their relationship had not yet been fully mended. Noah’s forgiveness was a big step forward, however, and she was grateful for it.

  “After thinking about why you broke up with me,” Noah continued in a tight voice, “I’m not going to court you again, Deborah. I’m not making you any promises until I’m sure I can give you a gut, steady life—if not here in this new colony, then someplace else. Maybe I wasn’t ready to be a husband when you walked away from me. No sense in making the same mistake twice.”

  “I really love it here,” Deborah murmured as fear flooded her heart. Had she received Noah’s forgiveness only to remain without him? It startled her to hear that Noah might consider breaking away from his family in search of employment that would support a wife and kids. Amish men generally settled near their kin, knowing they could depend upon help when they needed it—just as they would be close by in case their parents or other relatives needed them.

  Deborah nipped her lip, praying this new concern wouldn’t make her blurt out unfounded assumptions. Noah seemed calm, however, so Deborah offered what she hoped would be a helpful observation. “I suspect you’re not crazy about Promise Lodge because it wasn’t your idea to come here,” she said. “I can see why you’d feel uprooted—unhappy—because you and Roman had figured on staying at your family’s farm for the rest of your lives. You’ve left everything and everyone you’ve ever known on your mamm’s say-so. Not many guys would be wild about doing that,” she added with a wry smile.

  Noah chuckled softly. “You might be on to something there. I’ll think on it.”

  After they reeled in two more trout, Noah carried their stringer of flopping, wet fish toward the lodge while Deborah handled the rods and the tackle box. Lightning bugs rose from the grass ahead of them, twinkling in the night. As she, Noah, and Queenie headed across the yard to where the lit-up kitchen windows welcomed them, she savored the sheer contentment she’d been missing for so long. She’d really enjoyed learning how to catch fish. And Noah’s forgiveness was a welcome gift.

  They got a round of applause when they showed their catch to Preacher Amos and Noah’s mamm and aunts, who sat on the wide lodge porch sipping lemonade. After she helped Noah clean their catch, Deborah entered her little cabin to prepare for bed.

  It had been quite a day. When she had prayed and slipped between the sheets, Deborah drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face. Surely God was in this place called Promise Lodge, and surely He was watching over them all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rosetta smoothed the quilt she and Christine had just put on the double bed they’d made up. As she looked around the cabin they’d furnished with pieces that had once been in the Hershbergers’ home, she smiled. “These cottages are looking really homey, now that they’ve been painted and repaired,” she said. “How many more do you suppose we should fix up? New residents will probably bring their own furniture, and they might as well use it.”

  “We’ll also have families who come to look us over before they decide whether to move,” Christine pointed out. “For now, I think the four cabins we’ve set up are enough. We have a couple of extra beds in the cellar, if we need to furnish any others.”

  “We already have four new families ready to build homes. That’s so exciting! I suspect they’ll start showing up soon, too.” Rosetta sighed contentedly as she glanced out the front window. “Won’t be long until Deborah and Noah have the rest of the cabins painted and repaired. Maybe they’ll tackle some rooms in the lodge after that.”

  “They seem to be a couple again,” Christine remarked with a chuckle. “My girls were hoping Deborah could help them and Mattie out in the gardens more, but Preach
er Amos made the right decision. She’s a better, faster painter than any of the rest of us.”

  “Jah, I’ve not seen any speckles of paint on the floorboards—which is more than I can say when I use a roller.” When Queenie began barking excitedly, Rosetta glanced out the window. Preacher Amos was riding through the arched entryway sign on horseback, slowing his mount from a graceful canter to a walk as he approached the lodge. “By the looks of Amos’s smile, he found more letters in the post office box. Shall we see who they’re from? It’s time to finish getting dinner ready anyway.”

  The grass felt cool to Rosetta’s bare feet as she and Christine stepped outside. The old maple trees provided welcome shade on this sunny June day, while out in the sunshine the honeysuckle and trumpet vines whispered in the breeze and spread their sweet perfume. When Amos waved at them, his hand held several envelopes.

  “See you inside after I unsaddle Mabel!” he called out. “You’ve got a letter from Coldstream, Rosetta.”

  Christine smiled and linked her arm through Rosetta’s. “It’ll be gut to hear from an old friend—maybe someone who misses us,” she said. “Meanwhile, Amos will be looking for coffee and a snack of some sort. How about if I slice that cinnamon swirl bread you made and put out the cookies we’ll have for dessert while you put the meat loaf and veggies in the oven?”

  “I’ll boil water to brew iced tea, too,” Rosetta replied as they entered the lodge. “Mattie and the girls will be hot after working in the sun all morning.”

  As she and her sister began preparing the noon meal, Rosetta hummed happily. This kitchen was feeling like home to her, and she looked forward to the day when new residents would be sitting at the dining room tables, getting acquainted and talking about the homes they were building—or the apartments the single ladies wanted to rent—and the businesses they would establish. The back door creaked as Amos came in and removed his straw hat.

  “Four new letters today, along with a flyer from the mercantile in Forest Grove. It’s a gut thing that place carries a wide variety of groceries and hardware, since the business district of Promise isn’t much more than the post office and a gas station,” he remarked as he pulled out his chair at the table.