The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  Jerome glanced at the stove. “Bring those eggs over,” he said, “and a bottle of catsup, too. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve doctored up eggs.”

  “Well, surely not from Hannah’s kitchen.” Mandy had eaten his wife’s delicious meals enough times to know he’d married a wonderful cook.

  Jerome was grinning now. “I do remember your first attempt at cookin’ back when. Who could forget that?”

  “Oh, but I was only eight when Mamma said she wanted more help in the kitchen.”

  “Jah, but it didn’t take, did it? Not like with Arie Mae.” She knew he meant it in a good-natured sort of way. Even so, Dat never had pointed out her cooking snags.

  She gave him the burnt eggs and catsup, and joined him at the table. “Some people are just born gut cooks.”

  Jerome bowed his head, and she did the same, praying the silent rote prayer they’d both learned as youngsters. As was their tradition, he cleared his throat, said amen, and then started into the eggs and toast on his plate.

  It felt strange to sit there with her brother taking Mamma’s old spot. Mandy looked at her own plate—the toast and yogurt and fruit—and realized she’d lost her appetite.

  He glanced at her across the table. “Better eat something that sticks to your gizzard.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said. “You came by to talk about the finances, right? You’ve been handling the books?”

  He nodded his head, and she noticed his brown beard was a shade or two darker than his light brown hair. “Mamma was slowin’ down some,” he began. “She just wasn’t as strong as she’d always been, yet she didn’t want the family to know. But her keepin’ the Kauffman girls on here . . . and Arie Mae, too, should have provided an inkling that she needed plenty of help.”

  Mandy took a sip of coffee. “Did she see a doctor?” she asked, spreading jam on her single piece of toast.

  “Mamma did things her way, ya know.”

  “Was she still taking all those minerals and herbs?”

  Jerome nodded quickly. “Far as I’m concerned, she took too many. And she was always goin’ over to see that herbalist . . . not a medical doctor, really, just someone to fork out a pile of money to, I daresay. Mamma once suggested Hannah go and see that there fella, too, but I put my foot down on that right quick.”

  “Hannah was feelin’ poorly?”

  “Oh, a while back . . . she’s fine now.” Jerome finished his burnt eggs and catsup and asked for another piece of toast.

  Mandy had practically forgotten how the menfolk here expected to be served at the drop of a hat, but she rose and went to do his bidding. Meanwhile, she took a look at the egg pan and decided it needed a good soaking, so she placed it in the deep sink and ran water over it. “Why on earth did Mamma name me as heir for the inn?” she blurted, returning to the table with the toast. “I mean, she knew I couldn’t cook worth anything.”

  Jerome reached for his coffee mug. “’Tis a mystery.”

  “She never said why, then?”

  Jerome folded his hands on the table and gazed at her. “Why not just look on this as a blessing, Mandy.”

  She should have known he’d say that. “I may not deserve it, but I’ll sure do my best to earn it.” I’ll prove myself worthy.

  “Attagirl.”

  She speared a piece of fruit. “I haven’t done any bookkeeping outside of my personal finances, but I’m a fast learner.”

  “You’re right frugal, ain’t so?” He removed the keys to the inn from his work pants and put them on the table. “And I’ll continue to help with the books, at least for the year. Which reminds me: You won’t have any legal paperwork to sign till after the full term’s up.”

  “Once the place is mine,” she said softly, studying him. “If all goes well, jah?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re welcome to look over my shoulder. . . . I won’t mind one bit,” she added. “Or Hannah, if she has time to drop by.” Mandy ate another piece of fruit. “Have you wondered why Arie Mae wasn’t Mamma’s choice? Or one of you boys?”

  Jerome wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If I wanted to spin my wheels on somethin’, it wouldn’t be this. No point in it.”

  “Puh!” she teased, shaking her head at him.

  “At least you still have a sense of humor, even if you are lookin’ mighty English.”

  Mandy decided now was the right moment to make her plan clear. “You know there’s only one reason I’ve come back. I was pretty content living out there in the world . . . though I’m not really very fancy.” She lightly touched her hair bun and smiled, hoping he noticed she’d worn a conservative skirt and blouse. “I’ve never owned high heels or yoga pants.”

  At that, he smiled. “I think you’re gonna do just fine here.”

  Won’t be forever, she thought.

  Jerome got up and went to the drawer where Mamma kept the ledger, and carried it back to the table, where he opened it to the present month, explaining that she would be expected to pay herself each week, just as she would the Kauffman girls and the stable hand, Karl Lantz. “You’ll have more money to go around if you don’t ask Arie Mae back to help, but more of the work will fall on your shoulders.”

  “I intend to hire more help,” she said. “Mind if I call you if I need advice?”

  “Well, you can ring up the barn phone, but I’m not that far away, even on foot.” He paused, eyes blinking. “Do ya plan to keep your car?”

  “I hadn’t considered selling it. Why?”

  A pained look crossed his face. “Just wondered.”

  “I might need it to run errands.” Truthfully, there was no way on earth she would give up her car now. Having wheels saved so much time.

  “Don’t forget Ol’ Tulip and Gertie are out yonder, and the family carriage is in fine workin’ order . . . if you’re so inclined.”

  It was more than a suggestion; it was a blatant hint.

  “And I’ll drop in now and then to see how things are goin’,” he said. “Early Monday mornings work well for me.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” she agreed. She was glad he lived but a half mile away. “Tell Hannah and the children hullo. I sure hope to see all of yous sometime. That goes for Danny, Joseph, and Sammy and their families, too,” she added, wondering when she might see her other brothers.

  “Church is bein’ held just up the road this Sunday,” he said. “They’ll all be there.”

  She was surprised he’d bring this up. “I really haven’t thought that far yet.”

  “Might want to make it your priority, Mandy, since ya need gut help to replace Arie Mae.” His words were pointed.

  “I’ll think on it,” she said, unable to commit to going back to the Amish church. She had been attending more relaxed worship services for so long now, and besides that, based on how Sadie had reacted, she didn’t think the People would receive her with open arms. Especially since firing Arie Mae. . .

  “Denki for breakfast,” Jerome said.

  “Such as it was.”

  “Maybe I should visit just so you can practice on me out here in the kitchen while the guests enjoy Sadie’s delicious cookin’,” he said. “Better be stocked up on plenty-a catsup, though.” He grinned at her.

  Did she dare tell him?

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look pale.”

  “Sadie’s quitting after Monday. I hope she’ll change her mind, but I really doubt it.”

  He looked alarmed. “Sadie and Arie?” His eyes pierced hers. “Best be lookin’ for someone to fill their shoes right away. You can’t run this place with just Betsy.” Jerome reached for his hat and placed it on his head, down over his bangs.

  She knew as much. Feeling very much alone, Mandy watched him mosey to the back door and head out.

  Chapter

  10

  The door chimes rang at three-thirty sharp that afternoon.

  Mandy hurried to greet the expected guests, keen on fulfilling her obligation.
Sadie had already left for the day, but Betsy lingered near the kitchen doorway as Mandy had requested of her. Having someone in sight who looked properly Amish seemed like a good idea.

  “Willkumm,” Mandy said as she opened the door to the two couples.

  The taller of the two men took one look at her, frowned, and turned to study the house number on the exterior. “Did we come to the wrong place?”

  His wife poked him. “We’ve been coming here for years, dear.”

  The man straightened a bit, and with a glint in his eye, offered Mandy a handshake and introduced himself as Patrick Cohen, and his wife as Heather. “Did Saloma sell the place to Englishers?” he asked, adjusting the leather luggage strap on his right shoulder.

  “Please come in, and I’ll explain.” Mandy stepped back to usher them inside. “My mother passed away unexpectedly last week.”

  “Saloma?” Heather clasped her throat. “Oh . . . but she was so lively the last time we were here.”

  Patrick looked grim. “Your mother was going to grow old with us—that was our little joke. We’ve been longtime guests.”

  Mandy quickly mentioned the stroke. “It was a shock, to be sure.”

  “She was such a darling woman,” Heather Cohen said, shaking her head. “You must be terribly sad.”

  Awkwardly, Heather’s husband stepped forward to introduce Gene and Nadia Hayes, who had lingered behind the Cohens. Both shook Mandy’s hand. “They’re just as fond of your mother’s place as we are,” Patrick said, evidently trying to lighten things up again.

  Nadia Hayes eyed Mandy curiously. “You know, you really look a lot like your sister. Arie Mae, is it?”

  “Yes . . . we’re twins—but I’m brunette and she’s a strawberry blonde.” Mandy offered her best smile, but she could tell by their expressions that they were puzzled, no doubt by her attire.

  “Oh, so you’re the twin,” Nadia said, glancing at her husband. “Arie mentioned you lived out west.”

  “Jah, for a while,” Mandy volunteered.

  The room fell silent, and Mandy could almost predict the next question. You’re not Amish, are you?

  Quickly, lest they pepper her with more uncomfortable questions, she offered them some coffee and treats.

  Before anyone could reply, Nadia spotted Betsy and waved to her, looking somewhat relieved. “Hello again . . . it’s nice to see you,” she said, and Betsy smiled back but stayed put, letting Mandy take the lead.

  “Is Arie Mae around?” Nadia asked, looking about. “We’d like to express our condolences.” She turned to her husband, who had gently nudged her arm. “Oh, and I have a surprise for her.”

  “Well, she’s not workin’,” Mandy said, pushing the words out.

  “Her day off?” Heather asked.

  “Nee.” Mandy shook her head.

  All four simply stared at her, as if waiting for more.

  Mandy took a deep breath. “She doesn’t work here now.”

  More frowns. Heather stepped forward, clearly troubled. “Is she okay? I mean, she’s not sick, is she?”

  “Not at all,” Mandy said. “In fact, if you’d like to visit her, she lives right across that field.” Mandy added that she was sure her sister would enjoy that.

  “I certainly will,” Heather said, her eyes fixed now on Mandy’s skirt. Finally, she addressed the elephant in the room. “And . . . I take it you’re no longer Amish.”

  Oh dear, Mandy thought. “Jah, I was. But really . . . nothing’s changed for the B and B,” she replied, her heart in her throat.

  “Well, as I recall, your mother’s breakfasts were heavenly,” Nadia said, forcing a smile, as if to ask who was cooking now.

  Needing to reassure the guests, Mandy motioned toward Betsy. “Betsy over there, and her sister Sadie—remember her?—still work here. In fact, Sadie’s planning a wunnerbaar-gut breakfast for all of you tomorrow.” She was tempted to add, “You’ll see.”

  Before things went further downhill, she asked Betsy to show the couples to their rooms, then thought to ask about the Spencers. “Did they mention when they expect to arrive?”

  Patrick nodded. “They stopped off at Kauffman’s Fruit Farm and Market to pick up some apple butter to give to your mother . . . and some apple schnitz for themselves.”

  “Apple butter was Mamma’s favorite,” Mandy said.

  “And they didn’t even know her . . . other than what we’ve told them,” Nadia said, shifting her purse to her other hand. “A truly beautiful woman, inside and out.” She said it almost reverently.

  “Mamma would’ve been so pleased,” Mandy managed to say, increasingly worried that these couples might not want to stay now that they were aware of Mamma’s passing. Mandy had always respected her mother’s ability to make guests feel at home, but until now, she hadn’t taken into account how vital her mother was to the very fabric of the place.

  ———

  A half hour later, Mandy sat alone at the kitchen table, concerned about the reaction of the two couples, wondering how she was going to manage future arrivals and how best to respond to their queries. Not being Amish was turning out to be an unexpected challenge.

  Mandy recalled the wooden plaque she’d seen at the florist shop in Scott City. Home is where your mom is.

  Now that she was here, everywhere she looked, various things reminded her of growing up in this house. Mamma’s kitchen in particular—all the times Mandy had scrubbed this floor and the baseboards, down on her knees, content to clean up after her mother and sister, who did all the cooking and baking. As best as she could remember, that’s how it had always been. I came in behind them and put things back to order. She recalled how badly things had just gone with the first batch of guests and leaned her head into her hands. How will I make this work without Arie Mae?

  When they finally arrived, Kyle and Roberta Spencer were less abrupt and more pleasant than the first two couples. Even Betsy, who’d helped to greet them at the door, mentioned this to Mandy once the Spencers were getting situated in their room.

  Thankfully, Mandy thought while finishing her solo supper. She’d tried to relax in the light of the gas lamp overhead as she heard the three couples move about upstairs. Tomorrow will be better . . . I hope.

  Later, in her bedroom, she stretched out on top of the bed quilt and relived the latter afternoon hours and her discussion with Betsy. The two of them had gone over every detail in preparation for tomorrow morning, as well as set the table for six in the large breakfast room.

  Betsy had suggested using the best white dishware in the china closet, since it was Mandy’s first morning in charge of the inn. At first, Mandy had thought there was no need, but Betsy said she’d overheard the tentative responses by the Cohens and the Hayeses upon their arrival and was concerned they might turn tail and head elsewhere for the weekend. Reluctantly, Mandy agreed to use Mamma’s nicest china, after all.

  I shouldn’t let the guests’ reaction to my being here make me feel blue, Mandy thought. After all, it’s only natural they’d miss their former hostess.

  She opened her Bible, remembering that Dat liked to read from the Psalms at the end of a trying day. Like this day, she thought. One of the horses neighed loudly in the stable, and she wondered how early the rooster might start crowing tomorrow. Their small but sturdily built barn held so many stories from her growing-up years—like an old diary recording family events and secrets.

  Mandy felt a sudden wave of sadness mixed with sheer frustration, knowing she was stuck here for a full year. Memories are lurking in every corner. Memories . . . and plentiful obstacles.

  Brushing her own thoughts aside, she began to read silently.

  After a time, she rose and walked over to what had once been Arie Mae’s bedroom, and going to stand at one of the windows, she could see golden flecks of light reflected in the windows of Josiah’s great-uncle’s old house across the cornfield. Next farm over, of all things. Yet Arie is still so far away.

  Chapter
r />   11

  Even before the windup alarm clock sounded, the pesky rooster began to crow, and lest the guests come down for early coffee or tea, Mandy darted out of bed even before offering a prayer.

  Going to the dresser, she picked up her brush and began pushing her hair back into the expected bun, feeling an air of anticipation as she started her first full day with guests. Running the place, she reminded herself, wondering how on earth she could ever live up to Mamma’s reputation.

  Mandy hurried to the closet, glad her father had added one to this room and to the other bedrooms clustered on the Amish side of the house. Standing there, she took stock of her few choices, realizing that, aside from one other long skirt, all the clean clothes left were jeans and pants. Sighing, she removed the skirt from the hanger and slipped it on. Sometime today, she would have to do laundry for herself if she was to fit in as a somewhat Plain woman around here. After last night’s fiasco, it would never do to parade around in anything but skirts and dresses, as much as she’d come to appreciate her jeans. As it was, yesterday’s guests had looked on her with suspicion. What could she possibly do to convince them, or future guests, that the place was still an Amish establishment?

  Listening for the creaking floorboards overhead that indicated the early risers were up and moving about, Mandy took a few moments to read from where she’d left off yesterday in the Psalms, then did her best to eke out a prayer for the day, also daring to ask for guidance and wisdom from above, especially in regard to Sadie, whom she prayed might have a change of heart and stay on.

  Rising from the cane-backed chair, she went to the window and purposely looked toward the south, avoiding the direction of her sister’s—and Josiah’s—farmhouse. Several market wagons rumbled by at this predawn hour, their battery-operated lights twinkling at her through the dim morning, and she remembered riding to market as a little girl with Dat, who’d once permitted young Josiah to go along, too. They’d ridden in the back with boxes and boxes of freshly picked vegetables. She still recalled Josiah’s apple red cheeks. Just a second-grader then, he had seemed shy about being back there with her alone.