The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  “That means a lot. I need all the prayers anyone wants to give these days.” She thanked Eilene and gave her the mailing address for the inn before saying a fond good-bye.

  With a new spring in her step, Mandy made a double-decker ham and turkey sandwich for her supper, following in the People’s tradition of not cooking on Sunday. And she thought more about possibly creating a dress pattern and going to Good’s Store to purchase black fabric to make a proper mourning dress to wear around the guests. Would doing so improve her standing among the People?

  She had just finished her sandwich when Mandy heard male voices in the breakfast room. Assuming they were looking for more hot coffee to accompany the cookies Sadie had baked yesterday, she went in to check and found Patrick and Gene sitting at the table with their coffee mugs full and the plate of cookies centered between them.

  Patrick looked up and asked if she might recommend a good place to dine. “Specifically an Amish buffet.”

  She mentioned Fisher’s Amish Restaurant over on Harvest Drive, but then remembered it wasn’t open on Sundays. “If it’s Amish owned, it won’t be,” she said, giving other options close by.

  Patrick nodded and thanked her, then glanced at Gene, who looked downright embarrassed just then. “We were surprised to see you at church this morning,” Gene said. “My wife and I slipped in the side, so you probably didn’t notice us.”

  “No,” she said, feeling awkward.

  “We were under the impression that Amish only attended their own services.”

  “’Tis true,” Mandy said, second-guessing her decision to attend worship so close to the B and B.

  Patrick seemed to ponder that as Gene stared hard at what little was left of his cookie. “So then, I guess you don’t consider yourself Amish.”

  Mandy disliked being cornered like this. “I’m here to oversee things at the request of my deceased mother,” she said firmly, but when she didn’t bother to elaborate, an uncomfortable silence seemed to fall over the room.

  Chapter

  14

  Sadie’s last day at work came and went, and the rest of the week was a flurry of activity, with Amish folk pouring in from Ohio and elsewhere for the local weddings. Mandy still kept herself hidden away in the kitchen as much as possible, putting Betsy out in front with the guests. Having gotten her scrambled eggs with various mix-ins down to a science, or so Betsy had stated, Mandy cooked those, changing things a bit with things like purchased donuts and coffee cake. But breakfasts were still not up to par, considering Mandy’s attempt at omelets was nothing short of a calamity one morning. She’d had to jump in the car and run up to the grocery store to get a few premade quiches.

  Each afternoon, when Betsy left for home, Mandy finished up odds and ends, bringing in more wood for the fireplace, and then carrying the coal for the stove in buckets from the shed. There were occasional visits from her sisters-in-law, as well, but they never stayed long, nor did they offer to help or seem to know what to talk about.

  With what little time was left before and after supper, Mandy sewed like there was no tomorrow. Without telling a soul of her decision, she had been altering her mother’s black dresses and cape and aprons to fit her. It seemed like a necessary shortcut, and she was quite certain none of her siblings would mind.

  By that Friday morning, she slipped into her fully altered clothing, ready to be more visible around guests. She looked at herself, running her hands down over the bodice and around her waist, feeling oddly at home in the familiar attire. Then, going to the dresser mirror, she glimpsed the old, yet new, Mandy Dienner and sighed. So much the same, yet so much different. Still, there was something comforting about wearing Mamma’s dress, she thought as she headed to the kitchen.

  When she saw Mandy wearing proper mourning attire, Betsy stumbled all over herself, like she didn’t know what to say. “Ach, you look . . . it’s so gut to see ya wearin’ . . .”

  “I want to honor Mamma,” Mandy explained as Betsy got out the skillet to make griddle cakes.

  Mandy smiled weakly as she put on her mother’s work apron, then set about making scrambled eggs mixed with spinach and goat cheese, which she knew for a fact were tasty because it had been her supper a couple nights this past week.

  Even Jerome would like them, she thought, hoping so.

  When the guests checked in that afternoon, Mandy immediately noticed they greeted her with much more enthusiasm. It’s a good choice to dress Plain again.

  But another problem had arisen. For some odd reason, four calls in a row came in on Saturday morning, three canceling reservations for that very day. Mandy wondered what was happening. Particularly this time of year, Mamma’d never had so many rooms sitting vacant.

  She brought it up to Betsy, who said she had a theory. “Well, knowin’ how connected so many of our guests are, I wonder if word has spread of the changes here. Some of the guests have seemed rather disgruntled. After all, the breakfasts here were a pretty big draw, and folks were loyal to your Mamma . . . and Arie Mae.”

  Mandy frowned, finding this hard to believe. “So that many of the inn’s guests are related or know each other?”

  “They either knew each other before comin’ here, or met here over the years, jah. And considering wedding season, that’s especially true. Lots of the usual guests have Gordonville connections, ya know.”

  What’s our cancellation policy? Mandy wondered, but she knew Mamma would never have held someone to a reservation.

  All the same, Mandy worried aloud about this to Jerome the following Monday morning. “We had another couple of cancelation calls yesterday for dates further out, too. Word of mouth is powerful,” she said, showing him the emptying reservation book while he ate her pancakes and scrambled eggs. She also described the completed website which, in her opinion, looked quite professional and inviting, despite not having any bells and whistles.

  “I went to see Arie more than a week ago,” Jerome told her. “We talked about—”

  “That’s all right. . . . I really don’t need to know,” Mandy said, recalling seeing his two-wheeled cart parked over there.

  “Nee, hear me out, Schweschder.” He continued, “Puttin’ it mildly, Arie was taken aback at your firing her.”

  “Truth be told, I really doubt she wants to be around me, either.”

  He inhaled audibly and shook his head. “Ach, Mandy . . . at the very least, I’m glad to see you’ve decided to dress Plain.”

  “Tryin’ to fit in,” she was quick to explain. “And maybe, to save the inn.”

  He pushed his empty plate aside and folded his callused hands on the table. “Then maybe ya should think on this: Very few Amish establishments have websites, ’least round here. Makes it look like the inn’s not really authentic.”

  “I’ve seen plenty online, though,” she contradicted him and reached for her phone on the counter. “If ya want proof, I’ll show ya.”

  “Nee.” Jerome shook his head. “If you ask me, things should’ve been left like they were.” He glanced at her. “It was prob’ly hard for folk to believe this was a genuine Amish inn, the way you were dressed an’ all.” Then he smiled. “I’m glad you’ve decided to wear Plain clothes now, but I truly wish it meant a change of heart.”

  Jerome smoothed his beard and rose from the table, wandering over to the sink to wash his hands while Mandy sat there, willing herself to say no more.

  First thing Thursday, Betsy dropped some very unexpected news. “I’m sorry, Mandy,” she told her, looking pink in the face, “but I just don’t feel right staying on and workin’ here.”

  Mandy shook her head in disbelief. Betsy’s quitting, too?

  She rubbed her neck and sighed. “To be honest, I was so happy when you started dressing Plain again, ’cause the fact you didn’t was something of a stumbling block. But honestly I was disappointed when I realized you’re doin’ it just to keep customers. And there’s no talk of inviting Arie back . . . and you’re still driving your car.�
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  Mandy could see how difficult this was for Betsy.

  “I’ll go ahead and work the rest of today, but then you’ll need to find other help,” Betsy said.

  Mandy bit her lip, frustrated. “No one’s interested in helpin’ here as long as I’m in charge, though. Isn’t that true?”

  Looking sheepish, Betsy nodded. “I daresay it’s more than that.”

  If I’d just go to church again with the People . . .

  “Oh, Betsy, I really can’t do this myself.” Mandy knew she had come to her wit’s end. “Don’t ya see?”

  Hanging her head for a time, then slowly lifting her eyes, Betsy answered, “I’m sorry . . . but it has to be this way.”

  Mandy felt as upset as Betsy looked and wondered if Sadie had encouraged Betsy to quit, as well. And yet Mandy couldn’t blame either of them, really—everything Betsy had just said made good sense to Old Order church members.

  Mandy let the room fill up with the silence. At last, she said, “I’m here to keep the inn running . . . profitably. One way or another.”

  Betsy’s gaze met hers. “And you’ll inherit it, right?” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Isn’t that why you came home?”

  Seeing her like this, Mandy felt a twinge of guilt. Even so, she dared not admit that it was the only reason.

  Ironically, without Betsy working at Butterfly Meadows, Mandy could not afford to take the time to look for a replacement—the work was all on her shoulders. So she quickly outlined her day on paper, marking out time for every aspect of running the place, no matter how trivial. In her scant spare time, she continued to practice cooking, still falling short of her mother’s elaborate spreads, though she’d put together a farmer’s skillet breakfast—a recipe she’d found in the back of Mamma’s notebook—and the guests seemed to be enjoying it.

  And there were now plenty of guests. By the following Tuesday, reservations had miraculously begun to stabilize, possibly because of the small ad Mandy had run. Surprisingly, folk were booking clear up through New Year’s, many of whom had never before stayed at Butterfly Meadows. And when she inquired of the new guests, the big draw seemed to be the free buggy ride with a two-night stay, something she had managed to handle at first but with which she was now seriously thinking of asking for Karl Lantz’s assistance. Of course, if he was too busy at his woodworking shop, Karl could always decline.

  So, at noon that day, in the midst of a sudden cold snap, Mandy decided to go out and talk it over with him. She found Karl watering the horses, his back to her, and went over to Gertie’s stall to stroke her mane.

  Karl turned and smiled, removing his straw hat and revealing his full head of blond hair. “Hullo again, Mandy.”

  She wondered why he was still working here when the Kauffman sisters had quit on her. But on second thought, maybe Karl wasn’t one to pay much attention to gossip. “So tell me, what’s it like in Wisconsin?” she said, making small talk.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said lightheartedly, returning his hat to his head. He rubbed his hands together, then blew his breath into them before rubbing them together yet again. “During a Wisconsin winter, a wise farmer would never leave the house without his work gloves, for one thing. If folk think it’s chilly here, well, let me tell ya right now . . . your breath would freeze in midair in Wisconsin, and right before your eyes.”

  She was captivated by the way his hands moved as he talked. “Ach, that’s mighty cold.”

  “Everyone carries a winter emergency kit in their buggy, which is heated, otherwise a body could freeze to death.” He grinned, bringing a liveliness to his face as he continued to rave about his native state. “By the way, if you ever get the chance, you must take a tour of the Cave of the Mounds . . . not too far from my former home. There are honest-to-goodness lighted walkways inside the cave and even some butterfly gardens outside . . . but nothin’ like the thousands of butterflies you have here in the spring and summer.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Sounds like a wunnerbaar-gut place.”

  Karl reached over to rub Gertie’s forehead. “This is one special horse, I’m sure you know.” He nodded at Ol’ Tulip, whose nose was clear out of the stall as she whinnied over at them. “Her too.”

  In the middle of this hectic day, Mandy let herself soak in the peace of the stable. “I agree wholeheartedly. Reliable as driving horses, but as dear as any pets.”

  “Not to embarrass you, but I couldn’t help noticing you’re dressin’ Plain now.”

  She glanced down at the black coat over her black mourning dress and long apron, and nodded. “Thought it was ’bout time, ya know.”

  After another exchange about the animals, Karl said, “Well, it’s been nice talkin’ to ya, Mandy.”

  “You too.” She turned to hurry back across the yard, not realizing until she was in the house again that she’d forgotten to ask him about taking the guests for buggy rides. Puh! she thought, aggravated. I don’t have time today to hitch up Gertie, take guests around for a half-hour ride, and have the banana nut bread and the hot spiced cider ready to serve, too, she fretted, then remembered she’d forgotten to include gathering the afternoon eggs.

  All this work is making me ferhoodled!

  She looked out the kitchen window back at the stable but figured it would seem odd for her to run out there again to ask just now. She would simply have to continue to do her best. I’ll ask him another time, maybe.

  “There’s a full house again tonight,” she murmured, thinking of all she had to do yet today. Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she rushed to the basement to check on the bedsheets, hoping they were dry—if not, it might be useful to purchase some gas-powered fans. If Mamma hadn’t purchased multiple sets of sheets for each bed, Mandy would be in a jam, for sure!

  Chapter

  15

  Trina Sutton settled in for a quiet evening with Gail Anderson, her ear tuned toward the sleeping woman’s bedroom while Trina scrolled through the news headlines on her phone. Earlier that Tuesday, she had enjoyed listening to the jovial woman tell about the MythBusters reruns she’d watched on the Discovery Channel. It was reassuring evidence that Gail’s mind was clear and readily processing new information.

  I hope I’m that sharp at her age, Trina thought, deciding to text an old friend from high school, now a new mom. If you ever need to get out of the house, let me know, Lainey, Trina offered. I’m free during the day and on weekends, since I’m working weeknights. Keep me in mind, OK? I’d love to help.

  More than a half hour passed before the phone chirped to signal a message. Lainey thanked her for the offer but politely declined.

  We really must get together soon, Trina texted back. It’s been forever.

  Baby’s crying . . . GTG! came the near-instant reply.

  No worries, Trina thought, not particularly surprised. In the past year, almost everyone she’d known had run to the nearest exit.

  All but Janna and Gail, she thought, looking over at the built-in bookshelf on one side of the fireplace, where a golden-framed photograph commemorated Gail and her late husband’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Gail had worn her candlelight-white wedding gown for the picture, though she’d asked her granddaughter to pin it in back for the pose, she confessed to Trina a couple of nights ago as they sat there in the comfortable room. Gail had gone on to reminisce about other happy moments of her life. She’s become my closest friend, Trina thought. And she’s old enough to be my grandmother!

  Trina was paging through a dessert cookbook packed with scrumptious options—cream cheese pecan pie and apple sugarplum pie among them—when she heard a thump, the sound of a bird hitting the window, perhaps.

  Surely not this time of night.

  Getting up from the cushy chair, she hurried toward Gail’s bedroom, where the door was always kept open. “Are you all right?” she called. “Gail?”

  A slight whimper came in response. Worried, Trina darted into the dimly lit room and foun
d the poor woman lying on the floor on her left side. “Oh, you’ve fallen,” she said, aghast yet trying to remain calm.

  “Thank the Good Lord you heard me,” Gail whispered, her wrinkled hands covering her face suddenly as she moaned.

  “Where do you hurt?” Trina asked, turning on the bedside lamp and then sitting on the floor beside her.

  “My right hip,” she cried, reaching for Trina’s hand. “Is it broken? Oh, please don’t leave me . . . please.”

  “I’m right here,” she said gently, pulling out her phone to call 9-1-1. “I’m not going anywhere.” Immediately after ensuring emergency responders were on their way, she called Gail’s oldest son.

  Gail must have feared a scenario like this when she insisted on hiring a night nurse. She hadn’t used her walker, which was still parked near the bed. All this on my watch, thought Trina miserably.

  When the call went to voice mail on the fifth ring, Trina left a brief message to let Bill Anderson know that his mother had fallen and the paramedics were on the way. Then, hanging up, she returned her full attention to Gail.

  “I feel like an old woman.” Gail gave her a faint smile.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Gail’s eyes were pleading. “Promise?”

  Trina reached to caress her furrowed brow. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Mandy fell exhausted into bed that night, thinking how she had gone from relatively confident that she could run the inn for a year to feeling like a one-woman band, so to speak, and worried sick she might actually fail.

  I could lose this whole thing, she realized, pushing panic away.

  As she was drifting off toward dreamland, she wondered how her family could sit idly by and let this happen. Why did everyone seem so aloof? Did it all come back to her firing Arie Mae?