The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  She considered emailing Eilene Bradley, too, then decided to give her a call after supper tonight. But first, I’d better take Jerome’s advice and practice my cooking. Guess it’ll be a ham and cheese omelet tonight, Mandy thought, not exactly salivating at the thought.

  A bank of dark clouds had muted the noontime sun, and just as Mandy finished folding her clothes at the laundromat, a light rain began to fall. The sudden change of weather made her feel she had been sensible to choose the modern conveniences.

  Even so, she ducked her head as she made her way to the car, not wanting to be seen. Placing the clean clothes in the back seat, she closed the door just as she spotted Gene and Nadia Mayes pull into the parking spot next to her.

  What lousy timing!

  Nadia’s hand flew to her mouth when she saw Mandy, though just as quickly, she seemed to compose herself and managed a wave.

  Mandy waved back and pushed forth a smile as she opened the driver’s-side door and slipped in behind the wheel. She still felt Nadia’s disapproving gaze as Mandy backed out of the parking spot.

  Back at the B and B, Mandy skedaddled to her room and put her clean clothes away. The blouses would have to be touched up with an iron later.

  Going to the kitchen, she could see Betsy through the back door window, sweeping the walkway and stoop. With the guests out and about and Betsy occupied, now was a good time to go around to visit a few of her close-in-age cousins, especially those who might still be single and interested in earning some extra money.

  She drove to her aunt Suzy’s house and knocked on the door, feeling unexpectedly nervous about this first encounter with extended family. When Suzy came, she seemed a bit startled, her eyes blinking too fast as she swung open the screen door, not inviting Mandy inside. Not wanting to make too much of the lack of a welcome, Mandy told her she was looking for her cousin Rachel. “I hoped she might be interested in working at the inn.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t be,” Aunt Suzy said right quick. “She’s got plenty to do as it is.”

  “All right, then,” Mandy said, saying good-bye and returning to the car, which she’d parked clear out on the road, so as not to offend. Not that it made much difference, she thought wryly.

  The response was much the same at the next farmhouse, and the next, as her relatives offered a similarly tepid response, not inviting her in and saying that her cousins were either employed elsewhere or simply not interested.

  Determined to fit in at least one more stop, Mandy approached Uncle Dave Dienner’s place, where her cousin Kate was on the back porch shaking rugs. Mandy hoped this might be her chance. “Hullo, cousin!” she called, going over to greet her. “Wie geht’s?”

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Mandy! Wasn’t expectin’ ya.”

  “Well, it’s wunnerbaar-gut to see you,” Mandy said.

  Kate nodded, her attention still devoted more to the rug than to Mandy.

  For goodness’ sake! Mandy thought, realizing that this visit wasn’t going well, either. Yet she needed to at least ask. “Would ya like to work with me at the inn? You could cook like I know ya love to do.”

  Kate stopped shaking the rug and looked directly at her. “To fill Arie’s spot?”

  Feeling more awkward now, Mandy nodded.

  “Maybe ya should’ve thought before you fired her. After all she’s done!”

  Mandy knew there was no way to explain herself to Kate, so she simply tried again. “Would you at least consider the job, cousin?”

  Kate grimaced and shook her head. “I doubt you’ll find anyone willing to help, either. Your Mamma would be awful disappointed.” With that, she headed into the house, leaving the rug hanging over the railing.

  Disheartened, Mandy realized that further searching would likely end in more rejection. Looks like I may have to do this alone. Sighing, she walked back to her car while two barn cats meowed loudly at her, as if scolding her.

  Instead of heading home, Mandy chose the opposite way, driving toward the Amish schoolhouse where she had attended all eight grades. When she came up on it, she pulled onto the shoulder and sat there, staring at the school through the windshield, memories washing over her.

  A wave of melancholy overtook her. Mandy and Arie Mae had always walked to school together, and Mamma sometimes surprised them by waiting at the end of the stone path to greet them at the end of the day.

  Mandy remembered, too, the creaky oak floor and all the lunches lined up at attention on the shelf behind Josiah’s wooden desk . . . with their initials concealed just under the lid.

  The small white building looked like it had a fresh coat of paint, and she recalled Dat and her older brothers helping with that chore before the school year began back when she was twelve. Eleven years ago, she thought. The year Josiah fell and broke his wrist chasing a fly ball at recess.

  Pondering those early days, Mandy recalled that Josiah’s mother and Mamma had thought nothing of their close friendship. They seemed to think we were like brother and sister, but I never saw us that way. And now, there was no point in dwelling on any of her long walks with Josiah during their teens . . . or the things he’d ultimately declared to her the year they’d courted.

  When Mandy returned to the house, Sadie was preparing to bake some pumpkin nut bread for tomorrow’s breakfast. “Can ya handle things on your own in the mornin’, Mandy?” Sadie asked. “My mother and I will be taking twenty snitz pies to church for the shared meal, and she needs my help to haul them to Preacher Lapp’s house before the service.”

  Mandy glanced at Betsy, who was wiping down the cupboard doors. “Betsy’s needed, too?”

  “That’s up to her,” Sadie said, opening the oven door and sliding the loaf pan inside.

  Since Betsy had overheard the conversation and hadn’t responded, Mandy guessed that a Sunday morning breakfast, easy as that was, might be a good time for her to learn to manage on her own. “Well, I can—”

  “Jah, I’ll be over to help,” Betsy interrupted.

  Mandy drew a deep sigh of relief. “Denki.”

  Around four o’clock, Kristen Turner arrived with her mother. Mandy saw them drive up the lane and park, and wiser now, she sent Betsy to the door to greet them and sign them in. Mandy couldn’t risk any further upsets. The idea of going through the same rigmarole as she had with the first group of guests made her stomach churn. Feeling anxious, she took herself outdoors briefly to calm her nerves, glad the rain shower was past. The sky had cleared a bit, and she breathed in the lingering freshness as she walked through the backyard and over toward the butterfly-shaped garden, all trimmed back for the coming winter.

  Then, glancing over toward the house where her sister and Josiah lived, she noticed Jerome’s two-wheeled cart parked in the lane. She wondered what he was doing there. Comparing notes, perhaps. . . .

  She walked to the henhouse. Arie and I loved to gather eggs here, she thought as she stepped inside, remembering the nonstop giggles.

  Struggling with the memory, she left the henhouse and headed back to the house.

  An hour or so later, when Mandy happened to glance out the kitchen window, she noticed Josiah on a ladder against the far side of the stable, hammer in hand. He was as tall and lanky as he’d always been, his light brown hair and beard noticeable against the white clapboard stable exterior.

  She observed him for a moment, glad she hadn’t run into him outdoors earlier and wondering if the old feelings would stir. But they didn’t, and a comfortable realization pervaded. I’m over him, she thought, something she’d hoped for for years. Yet that fact didn’t undo the hurt of that terrible day five years ago.

  The fact that Josiah was still coming over to repair things occasionally, as Jerome had mentioned, was between Josiah and Arie. Mandy would just let that be.

  Supper that night consisted of an overcooked omelet. Not to be wasteful, she ate it anyway. Still hungry, she went to the basement and chose a pint of her mother’s canned tomato soup and brought it upstairs to heat, ad
ding milk. Sprinkled with crushed crackers, the familiar taste reminded her of sitting there at mealtime with her parents and siblings, and she could almost hear their merry chatter.

  She felt wistful, knowing Mamma wouldn’t be making more soup for her . . . no more of her delicious stew or chow chow, either. No one but Arie Mae can mimic Mamma’s way with food, she thought sadly.

  When she finished eating, Mandy went to the breakfast room and saw that Sadie and Betsy had already set the table for eight. So helpful, she thought, returning to the kitchen, where she made a checklist for tomorrow morning. At the top, Pour orange juice first!

  Mandy was happy for the large quantity of homemade granola ready for tomorrow, as well as the pumpkin bread that had already cooled and been placed on the counter covered in plastic wrap. Tomorrow she would slice the bread before setting out the cold milk for the granola, then cut up bananas and cantaloupe for the breakfast table. I’ll let Betsy serve everything, she decided.

  After a shower, Mandy dialed Eilene’s number, and when it went to voice mail, she left a message that probably sounded much more cheerful than she felt. “I’ll call you another time to chat,” she said. “Miss you, Eilene, and tell Don hi.”

  Mandy ironed her blouses in the kitchen with her mother’s old gas iron, glad the second full day was behind her. She folded up the ironing board and put it away, and again considered the possibility of making herself some Amish clothes. Had Mamma even kept Mandy’s old dress pattern?

  There were times, she recalled, when she would come home from the florist shop and just sit in her quiet bedroom, high in the Bradleys’ house, trying to imagine what her family was doing back here in Gordonville. As each year passed, she wondered if they missed her, or if Mamma kept praying she would return, as she’d written in her letters. Had Arie Mae ever hoped Mandy might come home?

  Mandy grimaced at the way her cousin Kate had treated her today. And in that moment, she felt justified in not darkening the door of tomorrow’s Preaching service. It was merely a way of protecting herself . . . and a way of avoiding an encounter with either her sister or Josiah.

  Surely if Jerome knew much at all about the past, he would understand.

  Chapter

  13

  Early Sunday morning it started to rain, coming in sheets, wave after wave. The low gray clouds had covered the sunrise, causing the house to be dark when earlier it had been brilliant with light. After starting a small fire in the hearth, Mandy went around and lit all the gas lamps, including the ones in the breakfast room, trying to cheer up the place.

  From what Mandy could hear from the kitchen, all went well while Betsy served breakfast to the guests, even when Kristen Turner, one of yesterday’s new arrivals, asked if Betsy might have a recipe for wedding tapioca, remarking how delicious it was.

  “Saloma used to offer a candlelight supper three evenings a week for an extra fee,” Kristen added.

  One of the men mentioned that he had been to such a supper himself. “The tapioca was only one of the delicious desserts she served.”

  “Oh yes,” Betsy replied, “Saloma used to love to do those meals, though it’s been some months since we've hosted one. Still, I’m sure that recipe is in her notebook,” Betsy told them. “I’ll jot it down and leave it on the desk in the entryway for ya, if that’s all right.”

  “Oh, would you? How nice,” Kristen thanked her.

  Mandy hoped an evening meal wasn’t something guests would start pressing her to provide. Goodness, first she had to learn to cook breakfast!

  The service at the community church was inspiring, though punctuated by the heavy rain on the roof, and Mandy wondered if the weather would keep her houseful of guests indoors on this Lord’s Day. If so, there might be more tricky encounters to navigate, especially with Betsy having the rest of the day off, since there was no housekeeping today.

  After the closing hymn, “Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross,” Mandy waited in the line to exit the sanctuary, the melody continuing in her mind. She noticed the minister standing at the doorway to the lobby to shake hands with each person. Every time the outer doors opened, people opened umbrellas as they stepped out, pausing under the overhang, then making a dash to the parking lot through the rain, which was still making down.

  “Lord bless you,” the pastor said as she approached, smiling as he took her hand. “Are you new to the area?”

  She shook her head, not wanting to hold up the line. “I enjoyed your sermon very much.”

  He nodded. “We hope you’ll join us again.”

  She thanked him. “I’ll be back next week,” she said, glad she had chosen this small fellowship of believers.

  Even though it was Sunday, Mandy went upstairs to Mamma’s sewing room after a simple lunch to see if she might put her hands on the old dress pattern she’d once used. She was formulating a plan, although with Betsy around to interact with the guests, there was no hurry to move forward quite yet.

  The room afforded a center table for cutting out patterns and laying out piecework for quilts and whatnot, as well as a treadle sewing machine against one wall and a hutchlike cabinet with fabric and sewing notions.

  Poking through the shelves of fabric, Mandy found nothing that would suffice for more than an apron or a child’s garment. But just being in the room again somehow made her feel closer to her mother than she had in years. And she pressed her hand to her quivering lips, again wishing with all of her heart she could have talked to Mamma once more before she died.

  When she returned downstairs, a quick rap at the back door startled Mandy from her reverie. She went to answer it and found Deacon Ed Yoder and his wife, Rhoda, dressed in their black Sunday best.

  Mandy had wondered when she might be paid such a visit and put on a smile when she opened the door to welcome them inside. She asked if they’d like some coffee, but both shook their heads.

  “We’re here to check in on ya,” the deacon said, glancing at his wife as they stood just inside the doorway.

  “Kumme, have a seat in the sitting room,” Mandy urged, trying to be as hospitable as Mamma would have been, though her mother would never have needed such scrutiny. And scrutinized she felt as Rhoda gave Mandy’s fancy clothing a quick once-over.

  “That gully washer was really somethin’, ain’t?” Deacon Ed remarked as they followed Mandy through the kitchen to the family’s private sitting room. “Nearly blew us off the road when we went visiting Rhoda’s sister and family earlier.”

  “It’s nice out now, though,” Mandy said, on edge as she took a seat across from them. “Are ya sure I can’t pour ya some coffee . . . or make some tea?”

  Rhoda was quick to decline. “But that’s ever so kind.”

  “How can I help you?” Mandy said, anxious to get to the crux of their visit.

  Deacon Ed nodded slowly and folded his bony hands together. “Your mother depended heavily upon your sister for the years you were away, Mandy,” he began.

  At this, Rhoda emphatically nodded, and Mandy waited, thinking Rhoda might speak next, but it was the deacon who continued. “We’ve heard from others in the community that you’ve let Arie Mae go.” He sighed. “It’s hard to understand, really.”

  “’Specially since Arie basically ran the inn with your Mamma,” Rhoda added.

  “Honestly, folk are scratchin’ their heads, wondering why you returned, if not to engage with your family . . . and the People,” Deacon said.

  Mandy listened and wondered if she should attempt to explain that she’d only returned for her inheritance, despite the difficult conditions. But as she tried on the words in her mind, she realized they would never win favor with the deacon.

  “What with your hastiness toward your sister, seems you’re more English than Amish anymore,” Deacon Ed said, eyes moistening. “Mighty sad to think that of one of Saloma and Ephraim’s daughters . . .”

  If she hadn’t felt entirely guilty already, Mandy certainly did now. True, she had been hasty, but she doubte
d the deacon was privy to the circumstances between her and Arie Mae.

  “We’d sure like to see ya at Preachin’ services, Mandy,” Rhoda said, as if to back her husband up in this.

  “Jerome has invited me,” Mandy said, knowing they likely hoped for some kind of commitment.

  “Well, then, that’s three of us opening the door for ya,” the deacon said, standing just then and offering his hand to his wife to assist her from her chair. “And you’ll find many more behind that door.”

  “Denki for your visit,” Mandy said. It still felt a little odd to be able to speak Deitsch again. And while she felt chastened, she did not see herself going back to church with the People. How could she when she was merely biding time?

  At a few minutes to four, Mandy’s friend Winnie called, eager to describe what she’d accomplished for the basic layout of the website.

  “You’re that far already?” Mandy was so pleased, and the call was a nice distraction from the deacon’s unsettling visit, to be sure.

  “I’ll send you the link so that you can request changes or make suggestions before it goes live.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Winnie laughed heartily. “One more thing: You might want to consider contacting some travel agents and travel websites to get referrals. I bet there are a few who provide expertise to travelers headed to Lancaster County. Just a thought.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Mandy said, thanking her.

  Thinking that Eilene Bradley would surely be home at this hour, Mandy placed another call to her and couldn’t help but smile when Eilene answered on the third ring.

  “We were happy to get your voice mail, Mandy. Thanks for keeping in touch.”

  They talked a bit more, Mandy asking about Eilene’s husband, Don. “And I’m curious . . . have you rented my old room yet?”

  “Well, just today, in fact.” Eilene went on to say that the new boarder was an older gentleman. “He seems to want a family setting, so Don and I are tickled pink to be able to bless him this way.” Eilene also mentioned that she and her husband were praying for Mandy every morning during their joint devotional time.