The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  Next, she texted Janna, fuming as she did. You’ll never guess where I am. Think road apples and people dressed like they’re straight out of the Colonial era.

  In a few minutes, her sister’s answering text appeared: Wait . . . are you signed up for an Amish tour?

  Trina didn’t laugh, but she could easily imagine Janna doing so. And her co-workers, if they knew.

  I never actually signed up for this place, Trina replied. Who would?

  It took a while for the next message to ping through. You wanted surprise and mystery, right? Try to make the most of it, Trina. And while you’re there, would you mind picking up a hand-stitched quilt for me? Janna wrote.

  Sounds like you’re the one who should be on this trip! Trina texted, thinking she’d happily give ten quilts for one fluffy, down-filled comforter.

  They exchanged a few more comments; then Trina said she was glad she’d contacted her. You always know how to calm me down, don’t you? Thanks, sis.

  Afterward, Trina called Gail and was delighted to hear the woman’s voice. She told her about her travel snafu and that she’d made her grievances known.

  “Well now, you just never know about these sorts of things, my dear,” Gail said. “Maybe it can all work out. With every situation, there’s always a chance for new discovery—that’s certainly been true of the start of my rehabilitation experience. I’m relearning this very thing every day . . . but I so want to be mobile again.”

  “I’m glad you have a positive outlook, Gail. You’ll heal more quickly.”

  “Ah yes, there’s the nurse I know and love!” Gail paused a moment. “The Trina I know relishes adventure.”

  “Well, sure . . . but on a tropical island somewhere.”

  “That’s easy,” Gail remarked. “Anyone can find adventure in the tropics, but you like challenges, don’t you?”

  “I’ve had enough of that lately.”

  “Do you have any other options?”

  “I’m waiting to hear from the company. It’s clear they got their wires crossed—this trip can’t be based on my list of preferences. Makes me wonder where the person who wanted this backroads experience ended up—probably having a spa day or sunbathing in Cancun. Where I should be.”

  Gail laughed softly. “There’s no one quite like you, Trina. Rain or shine.”

  This warmed her heart. “Well, you take care, Gail, and don’t flirt too much with the rehab technician, okay? I’ll keep in touch.”

  Trina enjoyed the warmth of the taxicab as she traversed the snow-packed roads of rural Lancaster County, seeing one Amish buggy after another. Passing through Bird-in-Hand, she noticed the Bird-in-Hand Bakery and Café, as well as the Plain and Fancy Country Store, both mentioned in the inn’s brochures. She was tempted to stop for a pastry but knew from eating junk food during her days at the nursing home that the sugary treat would just stir up more hunger pangs later.

  Everywhere she looked, there were bearded men, or women wearing black bonnets. She lost count of the Amish stores and Amish children, all looking like miniatures of their parents.

  She thought of Gail. “Anyone can find adventure in the tropics,” she’d said. And Trina blew out a breath, trying to somehow look on the bright side.

  When the driver asked if she’d like to stop somewhere, Trina said she wanted to keep heading east on Route 340, and soon she was on the outskirts of a village named Intercourse, surrounded by vast snow-covered fields, silos, and windmills scattered here and there. She assumed this farmland must be owned by Amish, too. Where does it end?

  She’d thought that by now there would surely be some semblance of civilization—fewer quaint towns, more city-like places. Wasn’t the Big Apple only an hour or two away? She imagined going there instead, hitting a Broadway show, ice-skating at Rockefeller Center, seeing the Empire State Building, but her bags were back at the Amish inn.

  Spotting a sign for White Horse Luncheonette, Trina asked the cabbie to pull into the parking lot. “Thanks,” she said. “The ride was interesting, but I can’t imagine wanting to live around here.”

  “Well, lots of fine folk do,” he said. “It’s the world’s largest Plain settlement, as you probably noticed.”

  “Plain is right.” She paid him and headed into the restaurant, where she was seated quickly, despite the crowd. She ordered a fish sandwich with lettuce and tartar sauce, nearly elbow to elbow with Amish. The woman next to her looked remarkably similar to the young innkeeper, who it seemed to Trina was running the place by herself. Seeing some of the waitresses wearing small white heart-shaped head coverings, she realized that Mandy didn’t wear one, which made her wonder why not.

  While waiting for her order, Trina scanned through her phone to see if the travel company had responded. But there was nothing, and in spite of the delicious sandwich—easily the best food she’d eaten since arriving—her sense of annoyance crept back.

  “Do you ever offer evening meals like your mother used to?” Gavin asked Mandy when he came downstairs for coffee that afternoon.

  “You’re not the first guest to ask, but the truth is, I’m shorthanded at present. But it’s something I’m thinking ’bout once I hire some help.”

  Gavin nodded as he poured his coffee. “What happened to those young women—what were their names? Sadie and . . .”

  “Betsy,” she said, mentioning both had chosen to move on since her arrival.

  “I’d think any Amishwoman would enjoy working here.”

  “Honestly, I had hoped so, too.” She knew she’d better not say more. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Coffee’s all I need, thanks. I have a few energy bars in my room. For some reason, eating less helps when I’m writing.” He headed toward the stairs and paused to look outside. “Say, isn’t that your sister, Arie, walking down the road there?”

  Mandy went to look. “Jah, ’tis.” Arie was bundled up in a black wool coat and candlesnuffer bonnet.

  “Out there on such a cold and snowy day?” Gavin asked with a glance at Mandy.

  “Might be walkin’ over to Jerome’s place, not far from here.”

  “Your eldest brother?”

  Mandy smiled. “Have ya met him?”

  “Several times, in fact. He’s dropped by to see your mother during most of my stays here.”

  “Jerome’s been a real help to me.” Considering how that one conversation had ended, Mandy was glad Jerome hadn’t held it against her, instead coming over a few days afterward to make sure she was faring all right.

  “It’s good to have someone in our corner, isn’t it?” Gavin smiled and mentioned that he’d first stayed at the inn after hearing about it from a friend in Baltimore, who had been burned out from overwork. “He advised me to start taking a yearly break like this to recharge. Good advice!”

  “I’m glad you did,” she said. “And to think ya keep comin’ back.”

  “The writerly side of my brain works well here,” Gavin replied. “Don’t ask me why. Speaking of which, I should get back to my work now.”

  “Another poem, maybe?” she asked, enjoying his congenial manner.

  Gavin brightened. “A poem it is.”

  Mandy grinned as she went back to grab a quick snack for herself. Yet thinking of sitting alone at the kitchen table where she and Arie Mae had once sat side by side, she found herself returning to the front entrance. There, she peered out the window where Gavin had spotted Arie earlier, but there was no sign of her sister.

  Chapter

  21

  An early December cloud cover foretold more moisture the next morning, and Mandy rose to do the same thing she did each and every day—tend to the needs of her guests, as well as make sure that breakfast was palatable and the inn was spotlessly clean.

  As determined as Trina Sutton had been to leave, Mandy was rather surprised that she stayed over another night after returning from sightseeing yesterday afternoon. Trina hadn’t said why, and Mandy wondered if it might have given her
an opportunity to make other arrangements. Mandy hoped she would also use the opportunity to make peace with Gavin, though the man had seemed to take Trina’s somewhat snarky attitude in stride.

  Yet as Mandy rushed back and forth between the kitchen and the breakfast room, she soon realized how futile her hopes were. Alas, Trina was bickering yet again with Gavin.

  Goodness, disrespect isn’t the best way to get a man’s attention . . . if that’s what she’s after.

  “What would you choose?” Trina decided to ask Gavin there in the common room after returning from her room, where she had hidden away to take a call from her sister.

  “Between touring Wheatland and Lancaster Central Market?” Gavin asked. “That’s easy.”

  “For you, perhaps,” Trina said, showing him the listing of specific outings and dated tickets she’d received in yesterday’s mail. “Hmm . . . ancient history versus living history.”

  Gavin looked at her, as if confused, his eyes seeming to say, “Why ask my opinion, if you’ve already made up your mind?”

  “It’s a slam dunk for Wheatland,” she told him.

  “So your mystery trip is a package deal?” he asked.

  “Right. And this morning I woke up to an email informing me there’s no chance of a refund for dissatisfied customers. Apparently, I signed a waiver.” She paused to shake her head at her own stupidity. “And whoever contacted me indicated that ‘an open-minded traveler can always find something to enjoy.’ Isn’t that a hoot?”

  “I take it you don’t agree?” The look Gavin gave her was somewhat amused.

  “Have you seen where I’m staying?”

  “Oh, c’mon . . . it’s all about perspective, right?”

  “No.” Trina shook her head. “It’s more about expectations.” And she proceeded to share with him some of the wonderful locations where she had hoped to spend these fourteen days.

  Gavin listened quite patiently. “That’s all great sounding, but have you considered looking at the bright side of things?” he asked. “To begin with, how about deciding to just enjoy where you are?”

  “If only! But it’s not that easy . . . at least not for me,” Trina protested. The fact that Gail and her sister had said much the same bothered Trina more than she cared to admit.

  He seemed to contemplate that. “I’m simply saying that you could just as easily decide to be happy.”

  “Sounds like prose to me,” she said, smiling a little at his persistence.

  He laughed, then asked, “So what’s on tap for today per your trip itinerary?” he asked.

  “Mystery trip,” she said, correcting him. “Dinner at Miller’s Smorgasbord, after a tour of the Amish Farm and House in Lancaster. Tomorrow, it’s the matinee at the American Music Theatre, and Sunday and Monday are free days. And on Tuesday, a driver will pick me up for The Miracle of Christmas at the Sight and Sound Millennium Theatre.”

  “Any other events?” asked Gavin, seemingly enjoying her recitation of upcoming happenings.

  “According to the initial package, in a few days, I’ll receive more information. They’re keeping me on a short rope. Very mysterious, right?” She grinned at him. “Well, I wanted a surprise, and I sure got one. But, wow, I should have known better than to jump on the mystery vacation train.”

  Gavin took a sip of his coffee and set it down slowly. “In the meantime, why not enjoy the company of new acquaintances. You never know what fascinating people you might meet.” He raised his eyebrows as if to indicate his own fine company.

  She considered that, trying to decide if Gavin was just debating her for the fun of it or if he believed what he was saying. Trina really wasn’t sure how to read this man.

  At that moment, Mandy rushed down the hallway that led to the kitchen, the poor woman looking as frazzled as ever. “This is my first time staying in a B and B,” Trina said to Gavin. “I always had the impression that the breakfasts were supposed to be something really special, but these . . . Do they measure up to what you’re used to?”

  “They’re not so bad.”

  She gave him an eye. Was he serious?

  “Are you saying you could do better?” Gavin smiled now.

  “Definitely,” she bragged. “Cooking is one of my skill sets.”

  They talked awhile longer; then he asked if she had plans for lunch.

  Trina wondered why he was asking. “I think Mandy offered to heat up some of her leftover stew for me.”

  “Mandy has enough to do,” Gavin said. “How about we go out somewhere to eat?”

  The sincerity of his expression took her by surprise. “You mean, have lunch . . . together?”

  “Yes, if you can handle more time with a man who writes free verse.” Gavin chuckled.

  It was her turn to smile. “Well, there is that.” Gavin was the first man who’d shown any interest in her since Shawn died, and she realized his teasing had something of a calming effect on her. Trina liked how it felt.

  “There might be more to me than meets the eye,” he added.

  Despite the disappointments of the last day and a half, she couldn’t help but be intrigued. “Okay, I’ll go—if you let me drive.”

  “My car?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  He shook his head. “Not happening. Not when I know the area like the back of my hand,” he said, getting up and walking toward the door. “Well, I’m hungry. Are you coming or not?”

  She stared at this man, and for a moment, she was speechless. “I guess I am hungry. But we’re going Dutch.”

  He nodded. “I’m cool with that.”

  Trina’s stomach growled. “Okay,” she said, surprising even herself.

  Mandy initially wondered if Gavin had taken Trina out for a meal just to get her out of Mandy’s way. But it honestly seemed like Gavin and Trina had gone from seeming completely incompatible to flirting. None of my business, Mandy thought.

  Before she had her leftover stew—now with added seasoning—she tidied Arie’s room, making up the bed without changing the sheets, something generally scheduled for every fourth day of a stay. She also brought in a basket of special homemade soaps and other local toiletries, just like ones the other guests received, as well as a freshly laundered cushy white robe. The room wasn’t up to the standards of the regular guest rooms, but hopefully Trina would notice and appreciate these little touches.

  Mandy found it ironic that someone like Trina Sutton had to resort to sleeping in a family bedroom. Arie Mae’s room was nearly the last one Mandy would choose to accommodate such a picky guest, and she wondered what her twin sister might think of the pickle Mandy now found herself in. Would she have handled anything differently?

  After the noon meal, Mandy headed down to the basement and discovered that the clean sheets were dry at last. She folded them carefully, remembering the days when Mamma had insisted on ironing the ones for guests, which Arie had discouraged, but Mamma did anyway. “You mustn’t wear yourself out,” Arie would say as a young teen, worried Mamma was trying to bury her grief in work. And Mandy had agreed.

  She and Arie hadn’t necessarily always agreed on other things following the death of their father, but until Josiah, everything had been minor.

  Tuckered out as she was all the time now, Mandy was looking forward to the day of worship and rest. The somewhat milder winter temperatures were also welcome, as was the sunshine . . . and the sight of the little community church down the way.

  After giving it some serious thought, she decided to try again, knowing she was putting herself at risk for rejection. So following the later church service and a bite to eat at a coffee shop, Mandy drove to Paradise, hoping she might catch Dawdi and Mammi Dienner at home after Preaching.

  Stomach churning, she knocked on the back door and could hear a dog barking—possibly the cocker spaniel her brother Danny had given them some years ago, a cuddly pooch named Rex that Mammi Dienner had liked to sit and pet after supper every night.

  After a few minutes,
during which Mandy heard snippets of discussion, her grandfather came to the door and stood there a moment, as if appraising her.

  “Hullo,” she said softly, wondering if he would turn her away.

  “We’d heard you were back,” he said stiffly, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s taken ya a while to drop by to visit.” Her Dawdi looked a lot grayer than the last time Mandy had seen him, and his once powerful shoulders had begun to stoop.

  “Well, she’s here now, so let her in, Reuben,” Mammi called as she came from the kitchen, little Rex still yipping loudly as he followed behind.

  “Did ya see the note I left ya when I stopped by last Sunday?” Mandy asked, wanting to reach out and hug him, but he seemed so different—so distant.

  Mammi nodded her head and wiped her hands on her apron, then came over to greet Mandy, taking both of her hands, tears welling up in her brown eyes. “Ain’t you a sight. We’d nearly given up on ya, I daresay.”

  “I’ve missed ya so,” Mandy said, reaching up to brush away a tear of her own.

  “Seems like a miracle to have you here,” Mammi said while Rex quit his barking and began to wag his fluffy tail near the hem of Mammi’s blue dress. With a glance at Dawdi, Mammi led her to the table. “Sit yourself down and have a treat. We need to catch up.”

  “There’s your Mammi's wonderful snitz pie,” Dawdi said as he took the spot at the head of the table. “She baked a bunch for church today. . . . Ya might remember the shared meal we have after Preaching.”

  “Now, Reuben,” Mammi gently scolded as she sat to his right. “No need to poke.”

  “She’s been gone awhile. It’s possible she might’ve forgotten,” he said, not looking at Mandy.

  “Dawdi, you can talk directly to me, you know,” Mandy said. “I know I was wrong not to stay in touch with you and Mammi . . . but please don’t pretend I’m somewhere else.”