“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Enlightening as it had been, Mandy felt honored that Janice had sought her out for tea and a chat.
Later, when it was way past her bedtime and she had finally accomplished everything on her must-do list, Mandy had much to be thankful for, including the delightful visit with little Yonnie and the openhearted talk with Janice.
Chapter
17
Thankful for a sunny Weschdaag morning, Mandy got up as soon as the clock alarm sounded at four-thirty. She managed to scatter feed to the chickens and gather the morning eggs . . . then ran back inside to get coffee on and start the daily routine for the guests all over again. And as she started making breakfast, she realized that even if she’d felt called to sit and visit with guests as Mamma had done, there was simply no time with the way things were now.
Would Betsy return if I offered more pay? she allowed herself to ponder.
But no, the hardworking young woman had not left because of low wages; she’d seemed quite offended that Mandy was dressing Amish without really being Amish.
At breakfast, Janice Hart’s husband, Theodore, asked Mandy about Zook’s Homemade Chicken Pies. “Do you recommend the shop?”
“Most definitely. They have delicious meat pies—beef, chicken, and sausage—and a few other items. It’s just over on Harvest Drive,” Mandy said.
“Thanks, we’ll stop by today,” Theodore replied, glancing fondly at his wife.
As the guests resumed eating and talking among themselves, Mandy excused herself, knowing she must get back to the kitchen to brew more coffee and retrieve the fresh fruit, which she had forgotten. She simply must do something, and quick, to get help.
I’m not going to make it another week, much less twelve consecutive months! she thought, out of breath.
Longtime guest Gavin O’Connor checked in just a little after four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. Though she remembered him from prior to her moving to Kansas, weary Mandy welcomed him less enthusiastically than she should have. Gavin was a businessman who enjoyed the peace of the place and came every year around the same time to write business-related articles and sometimes even poetry—although he steadfastly maintained the latter was just for fun.
Mandy stepped aside as he brought in his bags and laptop. Glancing through the open door over at the farmhouse where Arie Mae lived, she saw several buggies parked in the side yard.
She directed Gavin to sign in to the inn’s registry for his stay. “There’s fresh coffee and some cookies, too, as always,” she told him after reintroducing herself.
Tall with hazel eyes, Gavin had a pleasing smile as he, like so many others had upon their arrival, inquired about her mother, no doubt surprised not to see her answer the door.
Mandy repeated the sad news, and the realization that her mother was gone and never coming back struck her anew. The awareness made her feel even more worn out.
“You have my deepest condolences, Mandy,” Gavin said, his expression as sympathetic as his words.
“You’re very kind,” Mandy said. “Denki.”
“Your mother taught me many things about life,” Gavin said after signing his name in the registry. “One that I try to remember every day is that God’s ways are beyond my understanding.” Gavin ran a hand through his thick reddish brown hair. “Sometimes I forget I don’t need all the answers.”
“S’pose we all tend to forget that,” Mandy said, nodding.
“Your mother wasn’t shy about sharing her joy for life.”
If only I could’ve known more of that side of her, Mandy thought regretfully.
She waited for Gavin to gather his bags, then encouraged him to make himself at home upstairs in his usual suite.
Back in the kitchen, Mandy prepared to bake a pan of corn bread for her supper, along with Mamma’s beef stew recipe, thinking that even though it was a chore to prepare, she could enjoy it for several days. She recalled Janice’s comments about how Mamma had prayed for the guests God would send her way, and Mandy hoped with all of her heart that someone was praying for her.
Trina was tired of traveling by plane and then limousine from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. But when the limo driver pulled into a narrow country lane just off the two-lane road, she was also confused. The driver said to leave her bags in his care. “They’ll magically appear at the entrance to the inn,” he assured her, giving a wink.
“It’s a farmhouse,” she protested. Albeit a very large one.
But the limo driver had already gotten out.
Trina took another look at her surroundings. Like going to visit Grandma’s house . . . if Grandma was from the last century, she thought.
“This is a joke, right?” she said, stepping out of the passenger’s compartment while the driver held open the door. “Or are we just stopping for tea and scones?”
“Ah, Miss Sutton, you forget . . . it’s a mystery trip. Welcome to Butterfly Meadows Amish Bed-and-Breakfast.” He tipped his dapper black hat. “In the heart of Lancaster County farmland.”
Such a quaint little stopover on the way to my final destination, she thought. Feeling relieved, she stood there gazing up at the picturesque redbrick house as the driver gathered up her bags. “What a place,” she whispered, conscious of the tranquil setting as a light snow began to fall. “So quiet.”
She made her way across the lane toward the sidewalk and noticed a number of cars parked off to the side. “Must be popular,” she said, making small talk with the limo driver behind her.
“According to my mom, who lives near a large community of Amish in Conewango Valley, New York, Amish inns are popular right now. Eat fried cornmeal mush and sticky bun breakfasts by lantern light. . . . An authentic Amish inn gives guests a real interesting experience.”
“Well, if your mom says so,” Trina joked. “But I wouldn’t have listed anyplace like this as one of my desired destinations.”
When they reached the front porch, he set her bags down and stood there with his arms folded.
“Oh, you want a tip, don’t you?” She fished in her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Are you sure this is where I’m supposed to be?”
Glancing at the address near the door, he opened his long black coat and pulled out his phone, scrolling on it for a moment. He nodded. “Yes, Butterfly Meadows in Gordonville, Pennsylvania. Location confirmed.”
“Only for the night and then off to the Bahamas, right?”
“Not sure, but I believe this is your final destination.” The driver shrugged. “Why not just go with the flow—that’s what trips like these are about. Besides, there must be some reason you’re here.”
A dog barked in the nearby field, and a cold wind rattled through the bare trees overhead. Trina shivered in her down jacket. “This can’t be correct,” she murmured as the driver turned and headed back toward the limo.
She watched him go, feeling abandoned. Don’t leave me here. . . .
The cold getting to her, she pressed the doorbell, and hearing chimes, she laughed under her breath. “If only Janna could see me now.” Soon, a young woman came to the door wearing a long, plain black dress with an apron over the top, her dark hair parted down the middle and pulled back on the sides and tucked under a black bandanna.
Have I fallen through a time warp? Trina wondered, wishing she could run down and catch the driver, who’d already driven away.
Chapter
18
Mandy wondered who this young Englischer with big brown eyes and a puffy blue jacket was, since all the guests were already checked in for the night. She’d left the thick beef and vegetable stew simmering on the burner to answer the door. “Hullo?” she said.
“I’m Catrina Sutton, here for the night, I suppose.”
She supposes? Mandy merely shook her head. “The inn is already filled. I’m real sorry, miss.”
“Please, could you check your reservations?” the woman asked. She appeared to be in her midtwenties.
“I’ll
look, but there’s really no need. Every room in the house is full.”
“Well, I’m supposed to have a room tonight. You see, I signed up for a mystery trip, and this is where the driver dropped me off.” Catrina Sutton looked as dog tired as Mandy felt.
“A mystery trip, ya say?” Mandy eyed the pretty woman, wondering whether this was some kind of trick.
“I’ll show you my trip reservation—that is, if I don’t freeze to death first.”
“Come in. Ach, what was I thinkin’.” Mandy ushered her inside. “Please warm yourself by the hearth.” She led her into the breakfast room, aglow with gaslight and the flickering fire. “By the way, I’m Mandy Dienner, the innkeeper.”
“Thanks for saving my life,” the young woman said, shivering as she glanced toward the window. “Could it be any colder?”
Mandy grimaced, wondering what to do with her now that she was inside.
“Here, have a look.” Catrina Sutton shoved her phone with the pertinent information under Mandy’s nose.
Mandy noticed the name on the screen was Trina Sutton . . . then saw the name of the travel company, too. Suddenly, the details came back to her, and she felt terrible. “Goodness. I do remember getting a call now from your travel company. For two weeks, I think it was.” Truth be known, Mandy had blundered and double-booked one of the rooms in the wake of Betsy’s leaving. What an embarrassing mistake!
“So I’m supposed to be here the whole time? This inn is what they came up with after reading my preferences?” Trina looked incredulous.
Mandy forced a smile. “I’m awful sorry,” she said. “Unfortunately, I still have no place to put you up.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, it’s for only one night. This isn’t at all what I had in mind.”
Mandy would have liked to send Trina on her way, but to where? The woman had said she’d been dropped off by her driver. . . .
“And I’ve paid good money for this trip, so I demand a room,” Trina said.
Mandy shook her head, at her wits’ end. “I simply don’t have any more rooms designed for guests.”
“Look, I’m tired—just give me a sofa somewhere, and I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow. I’ll use a camping mat on the floor . . . anything.” Trina motioned to the fireplace. “Right here would be great, in fact.”
“I’m not permitted to—”
“Forget it. I’ll get the driver to come back!” Trina suddenly punched some numbers on her phone. “I’m calling the travel company.”
Mandy could hear a ringing in the background as the young woman waited and then listened to some sort of recorded message. Scowling, Trina clicked off her phone. “They’re referring me to their website. Can you believe it? Who cares if their client is stranded in the middle of nowhere!”
In a huff, Trina went to sit on one of the chairs at the breakfast table and leaned her head against her hand, elbow on the table. “Guess I’ll sit up all night and rest my head right here.” She sighed and looked like she might either break down or have a fit. “I should’ve known this was a lousy idea.”
Wracking her brain for a solution, a thought occurred to Mandy. “Well, there are two vacant family bedrooms, but—”
Trina’s eyebrows shot up. “Why didn’t you say so? All I need is one, thank you.”
“But . . . you don’t understand,” Mandy said. “Those rooms are on the Amish side of the house—so no electricity or baseboard heat.”
“Excuse me? How do you sleep without getting frostbite?” Trina’s eyebrows rose higher on her forehead.
Mandy smiled. “There are heat vents into each room from the coal stove . . . and plenty-a quilts.” She didn’t admit to having failed to stoke the stove hours earlier, due to all the work swirling about her.
“I suppose you also bundle up to go to the outhouse in the middle of the night?” Trina asked.
This struck Mandy as funny. “Listen, we’re both tired.” She motioned for Trina to follow her through to the kitchen and back to Arie’s old room, where she showed her inside. “You can sleep in here for the time being.”
“One night. No longer.”
Mandy stood in the doorway watching her haul her pieces of luggage inside and set them on the floor. “So this is supposed to be a two-week trip?”
“Yes, but not to Amish land.”
“Well, it might not be as unpleasant here as you think.”
Trina frowned. “Did I miss something, perhaps a beach around here with an ocean?”
“Nee.”
“Well then.”
Mandy smelled the stew’s aroma, and her stomach rumbled. “Say, might ya be hungry? I made a pot of stew.”
Trina’s face brightened for the first time since her arrival. “Stew? I’m totally in.”
“You’re welcome to join me in the kitchen once you’re ready. And please, try to make yourself at home.”
“Is the kitchen heated?” Trina asked, a smirk on her face as she unzipped her jacket.
“Oh, just come an’ see.” Mandy headed back to stir her supper, hoping that it hadn’t scorched.
Such a lippy one!
———
Mandy served Trina a generous bowl of the stew, along with a large square of fresh-baked corn bread and some homemade butter from the Amish grocery store on Paradise Lane. “There’s plenty of jam, too, if you’d like. Just name your flavor and I’m sure we have it.”
“Butter is fine,” Trina said, sighing, her wavy brown hair falling over her shoulders.
Mandy sat across from her in the spot where Jerome preferred to sit for their breakfast meetings. “Amish pray silent table blessings,” she said, bowing her head.
“No, I’ll pray,” Trina piped up. And she did so, right out loud, too.
At first, the two of them ate without speaking; then Mandy thought it wise to let her unexpected guest know when breakfast would be served.
Trina frowned at her bowl and set down her spoon. “Listen, I’m not a morning person, so I’ll probably just sleep in and grab something to eat after I’m out of here.”
“Did your travel company give ya any clue ’bout where you’d end up?” Mandy was curious.
Trina grimaced and folded her arms. “It was all supposed to be a surprise.”
“Well, I hope you can get ahold of them.”
“Oh, don’t worry—someone is going to get an earful,” Trina assured her.
“I ’spect you’ll feel better tomorrow, once you’re rested.”
Trina laughed and sat up straight in her chair. “You really think so? I guess you’ve never met anyone who works nights. Mornings are absolutely the worst for me.”
Mandy shook her head. “Round here, we tend to go to bed with the chickens . . . at least the farmers do.” Though since Betsy left, Mandy’s bedtime had been well past midnight.
Trina sliced through her corn bread and buttered both sides. “So, Mandy, were you raised Amish?”
“In this very house, jah.” She didn’t feel like revealing that her mother had died in October. There was no need for Trina Sutton to know that.
Trina picked up her spoon and took another bite of her stew, then stared at her bowl. “Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything, but . . .”
Now what? Mandy braced herself.
“Something’s missing,” Trina said, spooning up some more.
Par for the course with my crummy cooking, Mandy thought.
“I’ll figure it out.” Trina chewed thoughtfully, as if evaluating it.
Mandy wracked her tired brain, going over the ingredients in her mind, all from Mamma’s recipe book. Beef, potatoes, shredded cabbage, string beans . . .
Trina glanced now at the ceiling. Then, strangely, a smile broke across her face. “Oh, it needs some seasoning, right?”
Mandy was embarrassed. She had forgotten to put in the homemade seasonings Mamma always made each summer—drying parsley, celery, and onion in the oven, and then grinding all of it up. “Ach, don’t know how
I failed to add that.”
The young woman simply picked at her stew, which Mandy actually thought was quite delicious—with or without the seasoning.
“And while we’re talking about cooking, how much salt did you put in the corn bread?” Trina asked now.
Mandy stared at her, wondering what to say.
“Is it possible you doubled the amount called for?”
Instead of putting others in their place, Mandy thought of the Amish proverb Put yourself in their place. Even so, Mandy couldn’t imagine being so critical at someone else’s table.
Now Trina was staring at her. “You know what . . . you look tired. Just forget I said anything about the meal. You should go to bed.”
Shaking her head, Mandy said she still had things to do.
“Well, you can’t sleepwalk through the rest of the evening, can you?” Trina pushed her corn bread aside. “Thanks for the supper. Like I said, I’ll clear out of here tomorrow . . . once I get things sorted out.”
“No matter what you find out, tonight’s stay is on me,” she offered. “Sweet dreams,” she said, relieved to see Trina rise and push in her chair.
“My mother always tucked us in with that and a prayer.” Trina Sutton chuckled and reached for the half-eaten bowl of stew and the plate with the leftover corn bread and carried them to the sink. “Good night. And thanks.”
“Gut Nacht,” Mandy said softly, leaning her chin on her hands. She’s a tough one to figure out—curt one moment, then kind the next.
Mandy stopped herself—it wasn’t her place to judge. She could just imagine the way some of the People, her relatives included, talked about her even now.
Who’s to say what this woman’s going through?
———
It was dark in the room Trina had claimed as her own, and when she found the flashlight that Mandy had said was on the bedside table, Trina switched it on, sighing at the state she was in. I was too rough on her, she thought, frustrated still more when she realized her phone wouldn’t last the night on the present charge. And she’d need a full charge before she could do anything about this mystery trip disaster. Too upset now, though, Trina decided to turn off her phone for the night. She would shower in the morning, as well, since there might be a chance the house would be warmer once the sun was shining. And once Mandy remembers to fuel the stove in the next room, too.
The Proving Page 11