Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  After Rosetta put the meat loaf and vegetables in the oven, she grinned with anticipation as she joined Amos in the dining room. “Oh, I’ve looked forward to hearing from folks in—”

  When she saw the return address, her eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t figuring to hear from Bertha Chupp, though. She never had much to say to me, until after the folks died. Told me I should be baking pies to entice men to date me—as though I had dozens of single fellows my age to choose from.”

  Rosetta tore the envelope open and removed two folded sheets of pale blue stationery, which were covered from edge to edge with lines of tight, precise handwriting. She scowled as she skimmed the first page. “My word, this letter’s so full of vinegar, I could pour oil on it and dress a salad,” she blurted. “Not that anyone would find it fit to eat.”

  Christine looked up as she set a small plate of cinnamon bread in front of Preacher Amos. “Why would Bertha waste time and paper being snippy—and to you, Rosetta? What’d she say?”

  Inhaling deeply to settle her nerves, Rosetta debated about whether to read such a mean-spirited message aloud—except it made reference to all of the Bender sisters, not just to her. “All right, here goes,” she said in a strained voice. “‘Rosetta, I held my tongue when I heard you and your kin were pulling out of Coldstream, but someone needs to point out the error of your ways and set you straight about a few things. How dare you sell your farms to English rather than giving your Amish neighbors a chance at your land? Now the church district has big holes in it—’”

  “Well, there’s her first mistake,” Christine interrupted tersely. “We asked if they wanted the land—”

  “But the ones I spoke with couldn’t come up with enough cash anytime soon,” Preacher Amos chimed in as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “Some of the folks in Coldstream are like family to me, but I refused to take a big loss on my property just so somebody local could buy it.”

  “Same here,” Christine said. “Mattie and I were downright offended at a couple of offers the men living on either side of us made. They thought that because we’re widows, we wouldn’t know they were undercutting the value of our land and houses.”

  “Oh, it gets better,” Rosetta muttered before she continued reading. “‘Not only does your selling out cast a bad light on Obadiah’s leadership of the Coldstream church district, but you and your sisters have gone far astray by presuming to start up a new colony without asking his permission—and without having the leadership of a bishop who will guide you in laying the proper groundwork to form a congregation of God’s true church.’”

  “Never mind that you’ve got an ordained preacher taking charge of that part,” Amos remarked.

  “‘Not only was Mattie out of line, enticing Preacher Amos to leave the district that God chose him to help lead,’” Rosetta continued in a rising voice, “‘but you women have behaved in a sinfully prideful way, taking up your own pursuits rather than marrying, as the Bible says the weaker sex is meant to do.’”

  Christine frowned. “Jah, I’m getting weaker by the moment listening to Bertha’s claptrap, too. What brought this on, I wonder?” she asked as she got the dinner plates from the cupboard. “She rarely strung two sentences together around me while I was a married woman tending my family, but now. Mercy.”

  Preacher Amos sighed as he dunked a cookie into his coffee. “Bertha has incorrectly implied that Mattie lured me away from Coldstream with improper words or behavior—and I resent such a slur on Mattie’s character. I made my own decision to leave, for many reasons.”

  Rosetta, who’d been skimming the remainder of the letter, nearly ripped it into shreds—except she felt Amos and Christine should bear witness to the unsettling words Bertha Chupp had closed with. “‘I find it equally disturbing that Deborah Peterscheim has run off rather than facing the consequences of her wayward, improper behavior the night of the fire at your parents’ place. I suspect she’s hiding herself amongst you liberal, misguided folks, heedless of the havoc she’s wreaked upon this town and of the shame she’s heaped upon her family.’”

  Christine’s eyebrows rose. “Let’s not forget that Bertha’s son played a part in—”

  “Oh, she’s getting to him,” Rosetta said, shaking her head sadly. “‘Isaac tells me Deborah broke up with Noah Schwartz a while back, so I also suspect she’s worming her way into his good graces again, under false pretenses. My son was appalled when Deborah came around to see him on the sly while she was still engaged to Noah, so here’s a word to the wise: she’s trouble, that one. Noah—and the rest of you—should take her lies with a grain of salt. Send her home, where she belongs. Deborah should confess her sins before the congregation she has wronged and face the discipline she deserves.’”

  A little sob made Rosetta turn toward the doorway. Her heart shriveled. How long had Deborah and Noah been standing in the kitchen? “Oh, kids, I’m so sorry you heard Bertha Chupp’s vicious letter,” she said ruefully. “Don’t think for a second that any of us believe what she’s saying.”

  “But why would Isaac accuse me of sneaking over to see him?” Deborah was struggling to be strong but her voice wavered. “What if he’s been telling other lies to folks around Coldstream—maybe that I was to blame for the fire and—and that I made that phone call after I set it, to mislead the sheriff? That’s how twisted Isaac’s thinking gets sometimes.”

  Rosetta’s mouth dropped open. “No one would believe such lies about you, Deborah! Nor do we need to waste any more time considering the falsehoods Bertha’s written about the rest of us.” She hurried into the kitchen to throw the letter in the trash.

  “Don’t think for a minute I believe any of Bertha’s gossip, either,” Noah insisted as he grabbed Deborah’s hand. “I’m going back to Coldstream to set those people straight. If the bishop’s wife is writing that sort of letter to Rosetta, I don’t even want to think about what she’s telling everyone there about us.”

  “I’m calling the Chupps right now!” Christine said as she strode toward the phone in the pantry. “If anyone deserves discipline and needs to confess, it’s the bishop’s wife—”

  “Wait just a moment, folks.” Preacher Amos rose from his seat and gazed at them all with his deep brown eyes. “Let’s not forget how the Bible warns against lashing out in the heat of the moment. Deborah’s dat and I have both preached on that passage from the book of James—the one that says we should be quick to hear, but slow to speak and slow to anger because the wrath of man doesn’t work toward the righteousness of God.”

  Rosetta took a deep breath. Everyone else in the room got quiet, considering what Amos had said about reacting in anger. “Truth be told, I can’t imagine Bertha spending the time or effort to write me such a letter,” she murmured. “It does make me wonder what sort of talk is going around Coldstream, however.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Amos replied. “Do any of you know what her handwriting looks like? Before now, we’ve not had the occasion to receive letters from anyone in Coldstream.”

  Rosetta shook her head, wondering what Amos might be thinking. Christine and Deborah indicated that they’d never seen Bertha’s writing, either. It wasn’t as though the bishop’s wife had been one to share recipes or anything else she would have written.

  “I’ll call Obadiah,” Amos said as he walked across the kitchen. “The bishop needs to know about this letter and to ask his wife some questions about it.”

  Preacher Amos tapped in the number on the wall phone and waited while the Chupps’ message machine played its recording. “Obadiah, this is Amos Troyer. We’ve received a disturbing, rather malicious letter from Bertha, which contains a number of false accusations against Deborah Peterscheim and all of us who sold our property in Coldstream,” he said calmly. “If you or your wife have bones to pick with any of us, you’re welcome to come to Promise Lodge and discuss these issues with us face-to-face. I felt you should know about this letter because I fear for your wife’s soul if she’s spre
ading the same sort of gossip about us around Coldstream. We wish you God’s blessings and His peace.”

  The preacher hung up. “How did I do? It’s not our place to make threats, but I will not tolerate any further interference from the Chupp family.”

  Deborah nodded. “If we let Bertha’s words rile us up, we’re not behaving any better than she did when she wrote them.”

  “You’re right,” Rosetta agreed as she went to the silverware drawer. “Promise Lodge is a place of peace. We have no use for such nasty gossip as Bertha’s—which convinces me yet again that we did the right thing when we left Coldstream. Let’s get on with our day, shall we?”

  When Mattie, Laura, Phoebe, and Roman came in for dinner, Rosetta mentioned the letter she’d received, but she didn’t show it to them. What good would come of repeating Bertha Chupp’s inflammatory remarks?

  “Of all the families we know in Coldstream, why do the Chupps always seem to rub us the wrong way?” Laura asked. She poured glasses of iced tea for everyone before drinking one herself to cool off.

  “I’m glad we’ve got better things to do than responding to Bertha’s gossip—and pleased that you called Obadiah to that effect, Amos,” Mattie said. When she’d set the platter of meat loaf on the table, they all took their seats. “I’m thankful for the way the rain has made our garden plots grow these past few days, and grateful for gut, honest work—and for the family and friends who share these things with me.”

  “Amen to that,” Preacher Amos said. “As we thank God for this wonderful food, let’s also put in a word for the Chupps. They’re in need of prayer and healing, I believe.”

  Rosetta bowed her head. Lord, we are grateful for Your many gifts and for this food. Give us the grace to continue on this path You’ve led us to at Promise Lodge. I ask Your special blessings on Deborah—and Noah—as she deals with another hurtful message from folks in Coldstream. Deliver us from evil. Thy will be done.

  After everyone ate and the kitchen was cleaned up, the others went back to their tasks in the cabins, the barn, and the garden plots. Rosetta’s soap had hardened in a big rectangular pan in the mudroom, so she sharpened a knife and began to cut along the lines she’d scored into the soap’s surface after she’d poured it. The fragrance of the mint and lavender oils she’d used lifted her spirits. Even after listening to the letters from more people who planned to come to Promise Lodge, however, she couldn’t get Bertha Chupp’s words out of her mind. Something told her to retrieve the letter from the wastebasket.

  Rosetta wiped some crumbs and splotches off the pale blue paper. The handwriting resembled that of many women she knew, but she still wondered why the bishop’s wife had written her such an unsettling letter.

  She stuck the folded sheets into the drawer with her soap-making supplies. Amos and Mattie have it right. Our work and our dreams bless us here, and we shouldn’t sink to Bertha’s level by answering in a spirit of spitefulness. Promise Lodge is a place of peace. Here, we plan for happiness.

  Rosetta smiled. As she stood each rectangular bar of soap on end on an old window screen to dry completely, she imagined the new friends who would soon be coming to the lodge. She thought about getting better acquainted with Truman Wickey, too, and seeing him again sometime soon. It was best to focus forward and to leave the past behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, Noah sat between Preacher Amos and Roman on the wagon seat, driving to Forest Grove to fetch lumber and other supplies they needed to build the produce stand. As Buck clip-clopped along the county highway, the breeze made the silver maple leaves shimmer in the morning sunlight. Queenie sat behind them in the wagon, her tongue lolling from her mouth as she watched for squirrels and other animals in the woods. He couldn’t recall such a picture-perfect day—at least not since he’d moved to Promise. Or was he feeling better about life, in general, because he’d made his peace with Deborah?

  “Noah, it’s gut to see you smile,” Amos remarked. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten how.”

  Noah’s lips twitched. “Deborah and I have talked things through. I told her I’d not be courting her again—not just yet, anyway. But we’ve mended our fences.”

  “Ah, forgiveness,” the older man said lightly. “The gift that blesses the giver as much as the receiver. Do I have that figured right?”

  “Jah. You tried to tell me and I finally got it,” Noah replied. He tugged on the leather lines to slow the Belgian for an upcoming curve.

  “But you’re not going to court her? What’s the deal with that?” Roman quizzed him. “Once upon a time, the two of you were all but married, planning a home and a family—”

  “And that’s where it gets sticky,” Noah interrupted urgently. “How am I to afford a house now? And the land to build it on? Back in Coldstream, Preacher Eli was taking me on welding jobs and I was building up a trade and a reputation. I don’t see that happening out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Preacher Amos stroked his silver-shot beard as he considered this. “You and your bride could start out in one of the cabins,” he suggested. “The tradition of living with one set of parents or the other for a year probably isn’t practical for you, but a cabin would keep you close to us while you save up to build your own house.”

  Noah sighed. “Deborah and I agreed long ago that we didn’t want to live with her family, because the quarters are pretty close in the Peterscheim house,” he said. “And now that Mamm doesn’t have plans to build another house—well, I’ve always wanted to provide Deborah a home of her own, anyway. But I can’t see how I’ll ever earn enough to do that if I stay in Promise.”

  Roman and Amos exchanged a startled look before focusing on Noah. “Where would you go, then?” his brother demanded. “Back to Coldstream?”

  “Maybe you’ve not been in this area long enough to see the possibilities,” Preacher Amos insisted. “We’ve all been awfully busy since the move, and we haven’t really found our way around yet. But I’ll tell you this, son,” he continued earnestly. “Your mamm would be deeply hurt if you went somewhere else to start your family. She’d be lost without you, whether she’d say so or not. She’s looking forward to grandkids, too.”

  “Jah, I’ve heard about that,” Noah murmured.

  “I have to admit that you’ve come in handy for rebuilding some of the dairy equipment and welding the broken water pipes since we’ve moved,” Roman remarked with a chuckle. “There was a time, when we were kids, that I wondered if you’d ever be worth the trouble you caused me, but I’ve changed my tune. You’re a gut man to have around, little brother.”

  Noah let out an exasperated sigh. “But living rent-free and taking my pay in meals won’t buy me the home place I’m hoping for,” he told his brother. “I need steady work—and soon—or I’ll be as old as Amos before I can marry Deborah.”

  “Hey! Don’t go calling me old,” the preacher teased, elbowing Noah good-naturedly. “I see your point, though. It was the same for me when I was starting out in carpentry work. A lot of fellows could swing a hammer in Coldstream back then, and I had to make my own opportunities . . . branch out into the surrounding towns and get my name and my work known amongst the English.”

  The preacher was only a few years older than his mother, but Noah still had trouble imagining Amos Troyer as a young man with girlfriends—and a full head of hair. “So, you were dating Mamm back then, right?” he asked, partly to steer the conversation away from himself. “What happened that you didn’t marry her?”

  A faraway look overtook Amos’s weathered face. “It wasn’t for lack of gut intentions, because I was crazy about Mattie all through school,” he murmured. “But your grandfather, Walt Bender, had different aspirations for his eldest daughter, and Marvin Schwartz had already bought the place just down the road from them.”

  “So Dat won out because he had property?” Roman asked. “What did Mamm say about that?”

  “Not much,” Amos replied with a short laugh. “She wa
s an obedient daughter, and her respect for her parents’ wishes overrode her feelings for me—which might explain why she’s not much for obeying any other man these days. Got a mind of her own, Mattie does.”

  Noah steered the Belgian quickly through the intersection and onto the shoulder of the state highway so the cars behind them could get around the wagon. “See what I’m saying?” he protested. “When we lived in Coldstream, I was thinking to build Deborah a house near the fence between us and the Hershberger farm, so I’d still be on the home place. But now . . .” He let his sentence trail. It did no good to keep complaining about the recent changes in his life.

  “Don’t give up on it. Keep believing God’s got a plan for you, Noah, and your job is to find it and follow it,” Amos mused aloud. “Takes some of us two or three tries before we get it right. Nothing would make me happier than to see you and Deborah settling into a place at Promise Lodge. I’ll see what I can do to help that happen.”

  Noah’s eyebrows rose. Preacher Amos sounded ready to do more than pray for the home Noah wanted so badly. In his mind he could see Deborah on the front porch of a tidy white house, and he could envision the arched rose trellis she’d always wanted, too. When they’d left for Forest Grove, Deborah had already been up on the ladder painting the inside of cabin eight. She was such a hard worker, kind and gentle—and truth be told, he’d never stopped loving her, even after she’d jilted him.

  But he’d decided not to say any more to Deborah about marriage until he could give her the life she deserved. He’d disappointed her during their first courtship, and he hoped never to endure such gut-wrenching heartache again.

  Noah steered Buck into the parking lot of the Forest Grove Mercantile. Maybe he could find a simple gift in the store that would put a smile on her pretty face....