“You should keep your son at home where he belongs,” Preacher Amos countered. “We’ve seen what the Coldstream paper reported about the fire on the Bender place, and we’ve heard Deborah’s account of what Isaac and his friends were doing there that night—and now he’s come all the way to Promise Lodge to get his revenge against her. It only confirms the wisdom of breaking away from your district, Obadiah. We pray each day that you’ll come to see what’s going on right under your nose and deal with it, rather than turning a blind eye.”
“‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor, ’” Obadiah intoned as though he were warming up to give a blistering sermon.
“‘He that hath ears to hear, let him hear,’” Amos shot back before the bishop could continue.
Noah and the girls stood in the cabin’s doorway to watch the conversation, which was escalating into a shouting match. It went against their most basic Old Order beliefs for members to speak to each other this way, to vent frustration and anger rather than showing patience or giving the benefit of the doubt.
But nobody here doubts what has really happened, Noah thought as he felt his muscles tightening. “I’ve seen enough,” he murmured. “It’s probably best if you girls stay here until the Chupps have gone.”
As Noah started across the yard, it appeared his aunts were agitated enough to break the silence that was expected of women in situations such as these.
“Wait just a moment,” Rosetta insisted. “We’re not finished talking about false witness until you see the letter your wife wrote, Bishop. I’ll fetch it.”
“Bertha wrote no such letter!” Obadiah cried as Rosetta hurried up the porch steps and into the lodge.
“Fine. You can tell us who did write it,” Noah’s mother chimed in. “Somebody from Coldstream wasted stationery and a considerable amount of time telling us how sinfully we’ve all behaved—”
“And it’s a pack of lies,” Aunt Christine put in. She crossed her arms, daring to hold Obadiah’s angry gaze. “I have an idea who really wrote it, but I want to hear what you think, Bishop.”
Noah suddenly realized that his mother and aunts had made a good point yesterday, about Bertha Chupp not being the type to write a lengthy letter to women she’d seldom spoken to. And when Isaac stopped squirming in the grass and protesting, Noah wondered if the bishop’s son could’ve written the letter. It seemed unlikely, however, that Isaac could’ve composed such adult-sounding sentences. And why would he have written to Rosetta instead of to Deborah?
The screen door banged shut behind Rosetta as she returned to the gathering and handed the letter to Obadiah. “Is this your wife’s handwriting?”
The bishop sneered as he snatched the pale blue pages from Rosetta’s hand, but his eyes widened as he scanned the first page. His graying U-shaped beard fluttered in the breeze beneath his sweat-stained straw hat as he turned the page over and kept reading.
Noah saw a familiar white van parked down by the arched entry sign to the campground. He waved at Dick Mercer, who did a lot of driving for Plain folks around Coldstream, and then he went to stand beside Roman, near the women. Obadiah reached the end of the letter. His mamm, his aunts, and Amos remained silent, waiting for the bishop to speak first.
Obadiah cleared his throat. “While my wife and I have discussed our concerns about the way you people left our church district, Bertha would never write such a letter—”
“So who did?” Amos interrupted tersely. “Do you understand now why I called you about these accusations?”
“And why I called you to come fetch your son after he attacked Deborah today—again?” Noah’s mother demanded.
“Maybe we should ask Isaac who wrote it.” Aunt Christine stared sternly at the young man who lay on the ground wrapped in her curtain fabric. “Did you listen to your parents’ conversations and write down what they’ve been saying about us—maybe adding in some drama to make us angry?”
“Have you practiced copying your mother’s penmanship, to make us believe she wrote this letter?” Rosetta asked in a rising voice. “How often have you forged her signature or—maybe you started out when you were still in school with notes to Teacher Catherine, excusing yourself from class, eh?”
Isaac’s eyes widened in his paint-splotched face, but he quickly resumed his usual defiant demeanor. “Why would I waste my time writing to an old maidel like you when it’s Deborah who needs to be set straight about calling the—”
“And how did you know it was addressed to Rosetta?” Preacher Amos interrupted him. “No one has mentioned that—except you.”
“Grab his feet,” Noah muttered to his brother. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Roman nodded. Without a word, the two of them scooped Isaac from the ground, placing their arms beneath his shoulders and his knees. As they walked awkwardly toward the van with Isaac slung between them, Obadiah and the others continued their strained conversation near the lodge. But the bishop had lost some of his bluster.
Isaac gawked at Noah and Roman in disbelief. “You can’t believe I wrote that—you’ve got to unfasten these stupid bungee cords and—”
“We don’t have to do any such thing,” Roman said coolly.
“I figure if your dat unwraps you, you can answer his questions about what you were doing way out here in our colony—and maybe about what you really did on the night of the fire,” Noah explained. “Don’t mess with Deborah again, understand me? Next time we’ll deal with you the old-fashioned way—an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”
Isaac stopped his squirming. His eyes narrowed. “Do you really think I can leave her alone?” he asked in a throaty voice. “She’s addictive, man. And now that I’ve had a taste, I’ll find a way to come back for more . . . because she wants me, too.”
“I don’t think so,” Noah retorted. “Not after you grabbed her neck and threw her into that ditch and then left her.”
“That’s what she told you?” Isaac asked with a derisive chuckle. “She’s a sly one, Deborah is. She was putting on that innocent act for me, too—until I got into that ditch with her. Jah, I grabbed her neck, because I had to hang on for dear life.”
The pictures running through Noah’s mind made him stop breathing. He roughly shifted his grip on Isaac’s shoulders as he and Roman lumbered closer to the van. “You are so full of—”
“You think so?” Chupp challenged. “She was crazy for me, Schwartz. Kissing me and calling out my name—but then, I doubt you’ll ever be able to bring out that side of her, now that she’s been with me.” He laughed again, louder this time. “There’s only one word for Deborah Peterscheim. Wildcat.”
“And the word for you is dreamer. Not to mention liar and loser,” Roman retorted, jostling Isaac as he got a better grip on his bound legs.
Noah focused on the remaining distance between them and the white van, too disturbed to say any more. He was glad to see Dick Mercer hurrying around to open the van’s hatchback.
“Here’s where the baggage goes,” the driver remarked as he folded down the back seats. “No need to get paint on my upholstery. And I hope the Peterscheim girl is doing all right. I was . . . rather concerned when I drove her out here.”
“Deborah’s stronger than we ever suspected,” Noah replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He shoved Isaac’s feet out of the way and shut the hatchback with a loud whump. “Give her family our best, will you? Tell them she’s making herself right at home in Promise.”
“Happy to do that.” Dick glanced back toward the lodge, and they saw that the bishop was striding their way, looking none too happy. “You fellows take care. I’m sure it’ll be an interesting three hours back to Coldstream.”
Obadiah glared at Noah and his brother, got into the front seat, and slammed the van door. As he headed back down the lane with Roman, Noah felt relieved that their uninvited guests were departing. What he’d seen and heard since he’d returned from the mercantile had given him plenty
to think about.
“Do you suppose Obadiah’s going to make Isaac ride all the way back to Coldstream with those bungee cords around him?” Roman asked as they started back toward the lodge.
“I really don’t care,” Noah replied. “But if Isaac comes back here, we’re calling the sheriff.”
He hoped his voice expressed all the disgust and irritation Isaac had inspired, rather than his fears about what the bishop’s son claimed he’d done with Deborah. Try as he might, Noah couldn’t rid his mind of the images . . . Deborah writhing in the ditch with Isaac, in passion rather than pain—
Are you sure Deborah’s making herself at home in Promise? What if she’s here only because she has nowhere else to go?
Noah caught sight of Deborah coming out of the cabin she and his cousins had been cleaning. He told himself not to believe what Isaac had insinuated about her. Surely he knew his former fiancée better than Chupp ever would. He’d accused her of being sweet on Isaac earlier, yet that purple handprint on her neck had imprinted her with lingering guilt even as it faded from her skin. Deborah had convinced him with her eyes and her words that she had no feelings—except negative, regretful ones—for the bishop’s wayward son.
Hadn’t she?
What if her dat had it right? What if Preacher Eli sent Deborah away because he saw through her sob story—believed that she’d invited the trouble she’d gotten into?
There’s only one word for Deborah Peterscheim. Wildcat.
Noah exhaled loudly. Instead of going back to the lodge with Roman to talk to the others, he headed toward the shed. It felt like a fine time for some target practice.
* * *
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
Deborah watched the cans fly off the top of the woodpile in rapid succession, sensing she should leave Noah alone. It was just as well. Now that the Chupps had left, her legs and arms felt rubbery from the ordeal she’d endured. While she and Laura and Phoebe were helping with supper preparations, Deborah allowed them to carry the conversation—which was mostly about Isaac, Kerry, and the bishop of Coldstream. They were aghast at the sheer nerve of the two boys, and at how Obadiah Chupp had refused to acknowledge his son’s role in the fire, his attack on Deborah, or as the author of that awful letter.
But Deborah’s thoughts remained worrisome. What if she was a magnet for trouble? What if today’s surprise visit was only the first, because the two boys didn’t feel they’d gotten even with her? Considering all the sheds and animals, and the vegetables that were now growing in straight, green rows, it wouldn’t take Isaac and Kerry long to destroy the progress her hardworking friends had made at their new home. Deborah had no trouble imagining Christine’s cows and Rosetta’s goats being frightened out of the barn—or left inside it after the boys set the hay on fire. Or they could drive a car through the garden plots and lay them waste within minutes, all to get back at her.
After everyone sat down to supper and prayed, Preacher Amos smiled at Mattie. “We got lumber today, and your produce stand will be built by the end of the week,” he assured her. “Noah’s going to make you a sign that’ll hold slats, each of them with the name of a vegetable that’s for sale on any given day.”
“So we can change out the slats as the season moves from the early salad greens into tomatoes, sweet corn, and melons,” Noah’s mother said as she smiled at Phoebe and Laura. “Now that the gardens are growing so well and the stand’s going to be built, I’m getting excited! One of our dreams is about to come true!”
The platter of hamburger patties smothered in fried onions made a second round, along with the bowls of macaroni salad, fruit gelatin, and green beans, but Deborah was still picking at her first serving. Across the table, Noah seemed determined not to make eye contact with her.
What did his change in attitude mean? He’d seemed so talkative—so protective—after he’d returned from town to find that Isaac and Kerry had come after her, yet now he was stewing in the same moody silence she’d witnessed when she’d first arrived at Promise Lodge. Deborah had admired Noah for taking action—for trundling Isaac out to the van while Amos and the others had continued bickering with the bishop.
But after that he’d gone sour. What had happened while he and Roman were carrying Isaac to Dick’s van?
Most likely, you’ll have to pry the story out of him. Deborah didn’t have the energy for that this evening. And she didn’t want to bother anyone else with her concerns—not when they were enjoying Christine’s fresh apple pie, served with scoops of the ice cream Amos had surprised them with.
“You’re awfully quiet, Deborah,” Phoebe remarked as they began scraping the plates. The men had gone outside to tend the livestock, so the women had begun talking about tomorrow’s meals and the work they needed to do in the garden and around the house.
Deborah shrugged. “I’m just wrung out from our uninvited guests,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “Everything happened so fast, once Isaac and Kerry came into the cabin. I’ve had about all the drama I can handle for a while.”
“We did have our share of excitement,” Christine replied as she carried dirty dishes over to the sink. “But wasn’t it wonderful, the way we all came together and handled our emergency without any assistance from the men? I don’t feel nearly so helpless now, like I did after Willis died and left the girls and me to fend for ourselves.”
“Glad to hear it, Sister,” Mattie chimed in. “If nothing else, we’ve learned a lesson today. Until Isaac’s been taken down a peg or two—caught by somebody who can make him behave responsibly—we need to watch out for each other. Especially now that he’s got a car.”
Deborah made an effort to chat, but when she turned in for the night, her concerns returned. Rosetta had suggested that she should start sleeping in one of the rooms in the lodge, but Deborah didn’t want the others hovering over her, feeling sorry for her. Everyone had agreed that Queenie should sleep in the cabin with her, and Deborah felt safer with Noah’s alert dog for company.
“But what if those boys come back?” she murmured as she gazed into the Border Collie’s bright eyes. Deborah sat on the side of her bed, stroking the dog’s soft face. “I know you’ll bark if they show up, Queenie, but . . . it’ll be my fault if they hurt you or ruin things around here to get back at me. That’s not fair to these folks, after they’ve so generously taken me in.”
Queenie nuzzled her hand and whimpered sympathetically. Then she curled up on the rag rug, her sigh suggesting that it was time to get some sleep.
Deborah extinguished the lamp and settled into bed. The night songs of crickets and frogs suggested that all was as it should be, that peace had returned to Promise Lodge.
Hearing is one thing, but believing is another, she thought as she tried to find a comfortable position. It took her a long time to fall asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
“I thought you and Noah worked everything out while you were fishing the other night,” Rosetta remarked as she shook out a wet magenta dress. “But at breakfast you both looked like you’d been chewing on lemons again.”
Deborah smiled in spite of how low she felt. She was helping Rosetta with the laundry while the other women were weeding the gardens. The steady whack-whack-whack of hammers out by the road announced the men’s progress on the produce stand. “Who can tell what’s on Noah’s mind?” she murmured as she took a wet green shirt from the laundry basket. “I’ve given up trying to figure him out.”
“Oh, don’t throw in the towel!” Rosetta arranged the dress on a plastic hanger so the polyester-blend fabric would dry without wrinkling. Then she hung it on the short clothesline that spanned the end of the porch. “You two are meant for each other—truly—if only you’d keep talking instead of turning your backs when you get miffed about every little thing.”
Deborah’s eyebrows rose. The main clothesline Amos had rigged up for them extended between the end of the porch and the roof of the chicken house. She cranked its big pulley to send a row
of shirts out of her way and bring a clear stretch of line within reach. As she hung the green shirt with wooden clothespins, she considered what Rosetta had said. “Is this the voice of experience I’m hearing? I never knew you to get crossways with anybody, let alone a man.”
“That’s because you’re too young to recall my dating days, before I decided my purpose in life was to look after the folks,” Rosetta replied pertly. “Before I got engaged to Tim, I had my eye on Denny Coblentz, and I dated Paul Lapp for a long while, too. But other girls caught their attention, and after Tim died and Mamm got hurt in a buggy accident, I knew where my time and efforts would be better spent.”
Deborah took the opportunity to steer the conversation away from herself. She shook out a blue shirt until it snapped. “Were you ever sorry you didn’t marry? I mean, not to be nosy or anything—”
“Once I realized that God was showing me the way He wanted me to go, I didn’t second-guess Him.” Rosetta smoothed a cape over another hanger and hung it beside the dress it matched, smiling as though she had a secret. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t look at men,” she clarified. “But it all worked out the way it was supposed to. Now I’ve got a nice new life here—a dream of providing apartments for other unattached women—and the fellows I once fancied are married with families now.”
“Not Truman Wickey.”
Rosetta’s laughter echoed under the porch roof. “Jah, he’s a nice guy and he’s gut-looking, for sure. But I don’t see him changing from his Mennonite faith any more than I intend to leave the Old Order,” she said with a shrug. “We can be friends, though—just like you and Noah can be friends even if you’re not courting again. Yet.”
Deborah sighed. She should’ve guessed Rosetta wouldn’t let her off the hook so easily. “I don’t know what sort of bee’s gotten under Noah’s bonnet. But I’m thinking that, for the gut of everyone concerned, I should go stay with my cousins in Eulah. I’d thought about going there when Dat put me out, but—”
“And what brought that on?” Rosetta demanded. The wet dress she’d picked up puckered in her grip. “We’re all so glad you’re here, Deborah. And it’s not only because Noah needs to be near you so he’ll come to his senses.”
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