The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  Let it go, she thought, seeing a large gray bench wagon rumble this way up Old Leacock Road. It was most likely headed toward the farm of the family hosting Preaching service tomorrow. Jerome urged me to go, she remembered, but it was enough of a jolt to be back on Lancaster County soil again, and she certainly was not prepared to go full-scale Amish. It was better for her to simply slip into the back of the community church down the road, where she wouldn’t run into Arie Mae or anyone else who might recognize her and question her choices.

  When she entered the kitchen to get things rolling, Mandy lit the gas lamp hanging over the table, then set the flame under the stove-top coffeemaker. Then, pulling out the apron drawer, she put on one of her mother’s white half aprons before filling the teakettle with water and turning the range knob to high.

  She sliced the sweet bread that Sadie had made yesterday, arranged the pieces on a pretty rose-colored plate, and placed it out in the breakfast room, opposite the kitchen. There, she heard the familiar squeaks of the floorboards and assumed the guests would appear soon, at least those looking for coffee.

  Aware the clock was ticking, Mandy bustled back to the kitchen, now brightened by the sun. She put out the lamp, grateful for the glory of the sunrise flooding her favorite room in this old house.

  Back in the breakfast room, Mandy did the same, letting the sun shine in through the open green shades, then struck a match from the mantel to light a line of block candles. Mamma’s guests had always enjoyed having breakfast near the hearth in a room lit with only gas lamps or candlelight; it allowed them to experience Amish life for a moment in time.

  Just then, she heard Sadie and Betsy arrive by way of the back door and went to meet them. Sadie carried a loaf of bread that she mentioned having made last evening at home. Though they had bread enough on hand, there was nothing quite like the smell and taste of freshly made, Mandy knew. The apple butter the Spencers had brought for Mamma was on the counter to be placed on the breakfast room table, along with some homemade grape jelly and peach preserves, put up last summer. Considering all of this, Mandy tried to convince herself that the place was still as Amish as anyone could possibly want.

  “How’d ya sleep last night?” Betsy asked kindly as she went to the sink to lather up her hands. After drying them, she took the bread over to the large wooden cutting board and removed the long knife from its wooden block.

  “I slept all right,” Mandy said. But I kept thinkin’ that Mamma was just in the next room over, she thought, missing her mother with everything in her. “How ’bout you?” Mandy asked, including Sadie in the question.

  Turning, Sadie shrugged. “Honestly, I stayed up too late talkin’ to my Mamm, who had plenty to say.”

  Betsy looked at her sister and turned red-faced, then seemed to hide her fluster by beginning to cut the bread into near-perfect slices.

  Sadie got busy preparing the oven egg casserole Mamma had often made through the years. “Could ya boil some water for the oatmeal, Mandy?” Sadie asked in a somewhat sharp tone. “There’s plenty-a raisins to put in it, and some English walnuts, too. I think it’s schmaert to have something other than eggs.”

  “Sure,” Mandy said, overlooking Sadie’s attitude as she brought up a medium-sized saucepan from the lower cupboard.

  “Your Mamma always wanted the guests to be well satisfied at her table,” Betsy observed softly. “I’m sure you remember.”

  Mandy silently thanked Betsy for her peace-making ways.

  “Right from the start, when we first opened the inn, Mamma was keen on offering a generous breakfast. I don’t want that to change.”

  Betsy glanced at her and nodded. “I can’t imagine how hard losing her must be for you,” she said, eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, all Mandy could say was “Denki.”

  The phone rang while they prepared breakfast, and Mandy called to Sadie and Betsy, “I’ll get it.” Swiftly, she went to the small walnut phone table and chair against the kitchen wall. “Butterfly Meadows Amish Bed-and-Breakfast,” she answered.

  “May I please speak to Saloma Dienner?” a woman asked.

  “This is her daughter. May I help you?”

  “Oh, of course. How are you, Arie?” asked the woman. “I almost didn’t recognize your voice.”

  Mandy made herself smile. I’ll have to get used to this, she thought. “I’m Arie’s sister, Mandy . . . but what can I do for you?”

  There was a lengthy pause. “Ah, I see. Come to think of it, you don’t sound as Dutchy as your mother or sister.”

  Mandy laughed lightly. “That’s not somethin’ I hear too often,” she said, hoping to keep things pleasant.

  “It’s late notice, but I’m wondering if you have any rooms available for tonight.”

  “I do,” Mandy said. “There’s one available—a lovely suite.”

  “The Blue Room?”

  “That’s right. Would you like to book it?”

  “Yes. It will be for my mother and me. We’ve stayed in the suite before—ideal for relaxing. My mother likes to sit in the separate room facing the road to watch the buggies go by.”

  Mandy took the woman’s name and her mother’s—Kristen Turner and Helene Carson—as well as their contact information. She reminded Kristen of the three-thirty check-in time, as well as the required two-night stay. “There is no charge for Sunday, as you may recall.”

  “That’s one of the nicest things we’ve encountered at the Amish inns in Lancaster County,” Kristen said. “What a wonderful way to honor the Lord’s Day.”

  “Jah, that’s always been my family’s wish,” Mandy replied. “We’ll see you this afternoon, then.”

  “I look forward to meeting Arie’s sound-alike sister!” Kristen laughed softly.

  Mandy thanked her and hung up. Just not so look-alike, she thought as she went to get the coffeemaker and carried it into the breakfast room, where she set it on the sideboard covered by Mamma’s handmade crocheted runner. Then, before the guests came downstairs, she returned with a tray of coffee cups, sugar, and creamer, and set it on the sideboard, as well.

  Opening the hutch, she removed some teacups and saucers and a small basket with an assortment of tea bags. “Guder Mariye,” she greeted Patrick Cohen as he entered. The man looked bright-eyed even before caffeine. “Just make yourself at home,” she said, pointing to the items on the sideboard. “And if something’s missin’, I’ll be in the kitchen with Betsy and Sadie.”

  “Thank you,” he said, glancing at her curiously as he went straight for a coffee mug.

  She made her exit and noticed that Betsy must have gone to get the coal bucket for the stove. When she asked Sadie what she could do to help, Sadie literally waved her away. “Everything’s under control,” she replied. “Breakfast will be family style. The guests will dish it up themselves—no special orders.”

  Mandy nodded, pleased they were still doing things the way Mamma had established a decade ago.

  When Heather Cohen joined her husband and the other two couples also gathered at the table, Mandy went in and offered the silent table blessing, just as Mamma had always done.

  At her amen, several of the guests glanced at one another, seemingly pleased.

  After making sure everyone had coffee or tea, Mandy excused herself, and she and Sadie returned immediately with the baked egg casserole and the raisin-walnut oatmeal, along with the homemade bread and a bowl of cinnamon applesauce.

  Mandy didn’t stay to listen in on what the women were saying to Sadie, but they sounded content enough as they engaged the real Amishwoman in conversation. Oh, she hoped Sadie wouldn’t spoil things and reveal that she was quitting.

  Having forgotten to put the jams and the apple butter on the table, Mandy placed those items on a tray and carried them into the breakfast room, where the pleasant clink of utensils against the plates and the gentle hum of amiable chatter made her feel like this day was going to turn out just fine.
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br />   Nothing to stew about, she told herself, not wanting to think ahead to Tuesday’s breakfast and onward. She would definitely ask around that afternoon about getting another Amishwoman to help, particularly a good cook. But first, Mandy was desperate for clean clothes. Maybe I’ll just use the laundromat in town, she thought suddenly, knowing how long it would take to use the wringer washer and hang everything out on the line.

  Sadie reappeared in the kitchen and put her thumbs up, bobbing her head toward the breakfast room.

  Mandy smiled. “They’re too busy eating to talk much, so it must be tasty.”

  Sadie suggested Mandy go in and pour more coffee and tea. “Ach, we forgot the juice.”

  “My fault.” Mandy shook her head. “I’ll get it.”

  Sadie looked befuddled. “How’d we overlook that?”

  “Well, you’re not used to doin’ Mamma’s work,” Mandy said, opening the fridge and reaching for the orange juice. “And I hope ya know I’m grateful for your help today . . . very grateful.”

  Ducking her head a bit, Sadie made her way over to the back door and looked out for the longest time. Then she said, “The stable hand is here to feed the horses. Your Mamma used to call him a godsend.”

  “Karl Lantz?” Mandy said, busy pouring juice into small glasses. “I’ll run out to meet him sometime later today. Oh, by the way, the suite is now booked for tonight and Sunday,” she told Sadie. “A woman and her mother—they’re repeat guests, too.”

  Sadie turned and smiled. “Anyone I know?” When Mandy told her, Sadie brightened. “I remember Kristen Turner and her mother, sure. Kristen calls herself an Amish buff—even speaks Deitsch for fun.” Sadie looked sad all of a sudden, and Mandy wondered if she really wanted to quit or if it was more her fiancé’s idea.

  Mandy left to carry the tray of juice glasses into the breakfast room, where she placed a glass on each placemat. “Better late than never, jah?” she said, allowing herself to once again throw in a word or two of her first language. Perhaps doing so would reassure the guests that she truly belonged here.

  “Maybe you’re new to this?” Nadia Mayes commented, looking relaxed this morning in her jeans and burgundy sweater.

  “Not at all.” Mandy explained that she’d worked alongside her mother and Arie Mae when they’d first started the B and B together. But Mandy left out that she had been away for five years.

  “But you don’t dress like your mother or sister . . . or Sadie and Betsy,” Heather spoke up. “Are you a Mennonite?”

  “Well—”

  Just then, something in the kitchen crashed to the floor, and horrified, Mandy quickly excused herself. Oh dear! This won’t inspire confidence in my guests!

  Chapter

  12

  Sadie repeatedly apologized for breaking the pitcher, but Mandy told her not to fret and stooped to help Sadie pick up the largest pieces of glass. “It wasn’t intentional, I’m sure.”

  Sadie hurried to get the broom and dustpan, still fussing about it, and when she returned, she swept up the shards. “I’ll definitely pay ya,” Sadie said, her voice quavering.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mandy insisted. “Let’s just be glad it wasn’t the crystal one.”

  Mandy returned a bit later to clear the breakfast room table and ask the lingering guests about their plans for the day, wishing them well just as Mamma always liked to do. Mamma, however, would sit with them and have coffee while Mandy and Arie Mae cleaned up the kitchen.

  When the last guest had left the room, Mandy wiped down the table and paused when she heard someone talking in the hall near the stairs.

  “Don’t get me wrong, the baked egg dish was all right, but it didn’t compare with Saloma’s fare,” Heather was saying.

  “Breakfast was a letdown compared to what we’re used to,” Nadia agreed. “I hope we don’t find other unpleasant changes. Saloma’s B and B has always been such a unique Amish experience. I really wonder if her daughter is up to the task. I mean, she doesn’t even look Amish!”

  The voices faded away.

  I’ll work at making the breakfasts better, Mandy thought, but then glanced down at her clothes and realized that improving the menu might not be enough. I need to look the part. She certainly didn’t have time to sew any Amish dresses and aprons and was quite sure Sadie, who was roughly her size, wouldn’t want to loan any of hers. Besides, Mandy wasn’t about to ask.

  Discouraged, she carried the large tray of dirty dishes and utensils into the kitchen and set them on the counter near the sink, noticing through the window that Betsy was leaving the henhouse with the egg basket and returning this way. “I thought things were off to a gut start this morning,” she told Sadie as she picked up a tea towel. “But I was quite mistaken.”

  Sadie stopped running the dishwater and glanced at her with a frown. “Somethin’ the matter with the guests?”

  “Not the guests, nee.”

  Trina Sutton traipsed around her kitchen, still in her warm bathrobe and cozy slippers. She poured a second cup of coffee and sat down at the table to look at digital photos of herself and Shawn. She was especially interested in two of their weekend adventures in the Twin Cities. They had once spent an entire day sailing with the Lake Calhoun Yacht Club, then returned another time, months later, to go to the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden at the Walker Art Center. I wanted to have our outdoor wedding there, she thought, recalling the lively discussion she’d had with Shawn, who was too practical to want to deal with the risk of poor weather marring such a special day.

  “But Shawn let me win,” she whispered, “like always.” In the end, they had planned to go ahead with an outdoor wedding. Selecting the photos, she moved them to a designated folder, freeing up space on her phone.

  Then Trina called her sister. “I really just had to tell someone,” she blurted when Janna answered.

  “And that happens to be me, right?” Janna laughed. “Nice to hear from you, sis.”

  Trina took a breath. “My engagement ring is now officially tucked away in a drawer.”

  “Congratulations. This is a big deal for you, Trina.”

  “And now that it’s done, it feels right, even though I thought it wouldn’t.”

  “So . . . dare I ask if this means you’re ready to get yourself out there?”

  Out there? Trina gulped. You mean . . . dating? “I don’t know. I’m moving on, whatever that means.”

  “Well, it’s an answer to prayer to see you take this step,” Janna said.

  Trina agreed. “I should let you go—I know you’re up to your eyebrows there.”

  Her sister laughed. “What’s new? But I’m glad you called.”

  “You know what? So am I,” Trina replied, grinning now.

  Yet when she hung up, it was all she could do not to retrieve her ring and put it on again. One step at a time, she told herself.

  After the kitchen was put back in order and the dishes done, Mandy thoroughly swept the floor to get any remaining shards of glass. Then she washed the floor, her old favorite chore, while Sadie and Betsy hurried to tidy the empty guest rooms, as well as clean the common areas. Everything needed to be polished to a good shine.

  While the floor was drying, Mandy stepped out to introduce herself to the stable hand. The barn was as tidy as when Dat was living—the walkway to the horses’ boxed stalls had been newly swept, and on the low shelf, all the grooming brushes and tools had been placed neatly in the large bucket. Even the mane comb was free of horsehair.

  She saw a tall man scooping up feed for the trough. “Hullo, you must be Karl Lantz.” She offered a smile.

  “And you’re Arie’s twin sister, I assume.” He wiped his hand on his shirt, then shook her hand, his eyes appearing to take quick notice of her modern clothing.

  She nodded. “Amanda Dienner.” She felt a bit flustered, expecting a much older man. “But everyone calls me Mandy.” She paused a moment. “I understand my Mamma hired you some time ago.”

  “That
’s right,” Karl said, his blue eyes turning sad. “I’m mighty sorry ’bout her passing. She reminded me of one of my dear aunts back in Wisconsin, where I’m from.” He suddenly gave a warm chuckle. “I still claim that state as my home, I’ll admit. Have you ever had the opportunity to visit?”

  “Nee. Do you miss it?”

  He mentioned that his parents and siblings were all still there, so he was glad when he could get back for a visit. “And my wife, Waneta, is buried there.”

  Mandy expressed her condolences, and Karl thanked her, saying then that his move to Lancaster County had been “just what the doctor ordered.”

  They talked a while more, and Karl brought her up-to-date on the health of the horses, before she excused herself to go back to the house.

  Inside again, she made a bologna and cheese sandwich and told Betsy she had an errand to run. She slipped out with her dirty laundry in a pillow slip and saw that Sadie was hitching up Ol’ Tulip to the Dienner family buggy, still insisting on buying a new water pitcher, even though Mandy said it wasn’t at all necessary.

  Mandy hurried to her car and started toward town, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted by any of the People. Once there, she got her two loads of clothes going right quick in the laundromat, then sat and read the local newspaper, surrounded by the din of dryers and several other customers discussing politics. She shut out the noise by putting in her earbuds to listen to music, deciding to email Karyn Fry at the florist shop to say she had arrived safely. That done, she ate her sandwich.

  When her clothes were ready for the dryer, Mandy loaded them immediately, thankful for the time savings. If only I could install a washer and dryer at the inn, she thought momentarily, but she knew the bishop would never give permission for that. And it would be another strike against giving guests an authentic Amish experience!