The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  “What should I do, Lord?” she whispered as she gazed out at the pastureland to the south of the stable, where Ol’ Tulip and Gertie loved to graze. Where Yonnie so enjoyed playing while his father looked after the horses.

  All the rest of the day, the thought of putting the B and B up for sale was on Mandy’s mind. Like Jerome had said, she had met the challenging conditions of the inheritance. I made it with God’s help, and the help of so many others, she thought, feeling not so much proud of herself as truly pleased that she’d followed through with her course of action . . . and succeeded.

  While Mandy prepared a fruit compote the next morning, Arie Mae cooked breakfast, with Amanda Mae rolling around in the nearby Pack ’n Play.

  Arie glanced at Mandy, her expression terribly sad. “Josiah happened to notice the real-estate company’s sign on the car that came by here yesterday.” She took a deep breath and then straightened. “Are ya actually goin’ through with selling the inn?” she asked. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t leave this time . . . at least not without sayin’ good-bye.”

  Mandy gave her a sympathetic look. “I wouldn’t do that. Not again.”

  Arie grimaced as she blinked back tears. “Ach, sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotional.”

  Mandy placed the individual fruit dishes on a serving tray. “I’ve been toying with an idea, but I need your advice.”

  Her sister nodded. “Not sure I have much to offer, but I can be a sounding board.”

  “I’ve been praying a lot ’bout what to do next,” Mandy added. “As far as business opportunities go.”

  “Okay.” Arie Mae seemed gloomier by the second.

  “But I’ll need a partner if I’m going to do this right.”

  “A partner?”

  “Jah, can’t do it alone . . . well, I’d rather not.”

  Arie frowned, but suddenly, a small smile flickered through, one quickly replaced by a full-fledged smile. “Well, you’d need just the right partner.”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’ . . . but who?”

  “Hmm.” Arie played coy. “Well, it would have to be just the right opportunity, too, ya know. Can’t be too careful.”

  Mandy grinned. “So . . . what do you think of this inn? I hear it’s located on the most heavenly property, and the butterflies visit by the hundreds every spring. And so many guests are poundin’ down the door, the innkeeper can scarcely keep up.”

  “Sounds exhausting,” Arie Mae protested, but her eyes sparkled with fun.

  “I was hoping you might be interested.”

  “Well . . . I’d have to think about it.”

  Mandy clapped her hands. “You have exactly five seconds.”

  “Okay, okay!” Arie laughed, then reached for Mandy. They hugged happily until Arie let go, still holding Mandy’s hands. “Ach! I’m thrilled ya came home, Mandy Sue.”

  “Let’s not get all emotional, okay?” Mandy said. “We have business to discuss, jah?”

  After breakfast had been served and the kitchen set back in order, Mandy motioned for Arie to sit at the kitchen table. “Let’s have our first partnership meeting. Do you want something to drink?”

  Arie shook her head and adjusted her white head covering. “You’ve become quite the kidder, you know?”

  “Must be the effect this place has on me,” Mandy replied with a grin, and they spent the next few minutes discussing their pending enterprise.

  At one point, Mandy felt it was time to uncover a suspicion, something that had been gnawing at her from her first day at the inn. “There’s something I’d like to clarify.”

  “Sure.”

  “During my initial conversations with Jerome—one of which we had sittin’ right here, in fact—” Mandy said, tapping her fingers on the table, “I was adamant that Mamma should never have given the inn to me, and I told him as much.”

  Arie Mae was quiet, her face ever so serious.

  Mandy scrutinized her sister’s expression. “Anyway, Jerome seemed real uncomfortable when I pressed further, telling him that I couldn’t for the life of me understand how it happened, because it should’ve been yours.”

  “I didn’t want it, Mandy.”

  A knowing look passed between them.

  “So Mamma did leave it to you, didn’t she?” Mandy asked.

  Looking away, Arie sighed softly, then gave the most innocent-looking smile.

  Mandy leaned back in the chair and gazed at her sister. “Well . . . it took me twelve long months to figure out.”

  “I hope you’re not upset,” Arie said.

  Mandy had to laugh. “Jerome was just so cryptic.”

  “Did he let it out of the bag?”

  Mandy shook her head. “No. Things started fallin’ into place after something Josiah said when we were walking over to your house one evening.”

  Arie’s eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Some pieces are still missing, honestly.”

  So Arie began to fill in the details, beginning with “Mamma’s intentions,” as she put it. “She wanted to give the B and B to us both equally upon her passing—because the boys had their own farms, and you and I had worked so closely with her. But she didn’t know how to go about it, since you were gone and out of reach. She was convinced you’d lived in the outside world so long that you weren’t comin’ back, even though she always hoped otherwise.” Arie glanced toward the window, then back at Mandy. “She was also worried we wouldn’t get along, so she named me the first beneficiary. But if I was deceased or declined for some reason, the B and B would go to you.”

  Mandy let all of this soak in, wholly assured of their mother’s love. So . . . Mamma hadn’t neglected either of them.

  Arie went to get a glass of water. “I’m sure you know that Mamma didn’t want you to just sell the place. She wanted you to come back . . . and maybe stay put.”

  “Thus, the twelve-month stipulation,” Mandy said.

  “And I knew she’d put that in her will,” Arie said, looking sheepish again.

  Tears came to Mandy’s eyes as she finally realized what had happened: Arie had been willing to give up her ownership just to have Mandy come home, if only for twelve months. Such a risk, Mandy thought.

  Arie stepped closer and whispered, “I prayed and prayed you’d want to stay on, so we could be together.” She wiped away tears. “So we could be close sisters again.”

  Mandy got up from the table, went around to Arie’s side, and sat next to her. “I’m here now . . . and always will be.” She reached for her, and they embraced again, their faces wet with tears.

  Arie seemed to want to reveal more. “The night Amanda Mae was born, I almost told you what Mamma did in her will. But afterward, I decided it was better to wait it out, to see what you decided to do on your own.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Mandy said, kissing her cheek. “I needed to work things out for myself. And with prayer.”

  Arie Mae nodded, smiling that familiar sweet smile.

  “You’re quite the conniver, ya know,” Mandy said, smiling herself.

  “’Twas ever so worth it!” Arie laughed out loud.

  Later, after they’d dried their eyes and set to baking a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies for the guests—nibbling on some themselves—Arie and the baby left for home with Mandy happily strolling along with them out to the edge of the stubby cornfield. There, in Mamma’s beloved meadow, she felt as light as a butterfly newly emerged from its chrysalis.

  Epilogue

  Goodness, I continued to stay ever so busy, though Arie Mae still cooked breakfast, and Kate and Betsy helped, too. In what little spare time I had, I loved sewing Amish clothes for myself and for my little namesake, sometimes working on wall hangings with Scripture verses on them to sell at Saturday market, though I wasn’t as fond of embroidery as Arie Mae. People change, though.

  Whether we were at Arie’s or over at the inn, it struck me as interesting how my sister and I had wholly put the past behind us
and forged new memories, with sweet Amanda Mae at the center. Thank God for His many mercies.

  Josiah joked now and then that Arie and I reminded him of sister-twins, then laughed and said, “Oh, that’s right—you are!” And Arie giggled at him, shooing him out of her kitchen.

  Honestly, it was remarkable how happy my sister and I were together. We made homemade Christmas cards to send to a select few as all the while Amanda Mae tried to get her dimpled knees up under her, wanting to crawl now. I would have ventured to say our close sisterhood was almost like our early years, but it was actually better.

  Mr. and Mrs. Gavin O’Connor booked two nights, beginning on December first, to celebrate the anniversary of their first meeting, and Arie Mae and I served them a private lamb roast supper by candlelight. It made me smile when I heard Gavin mention a special gift he had planned for her later. Of course, Trina wanted to know right then what it was, but she did not press further when he said it would be worth the wait. His love has certainly mellowed her!

  I was thrilled to receive a call from my friend Winnie Maier, who booked a stay for early January, saying she wanted to catch up on my life here. She also hinted that she had some big news to share, and that it had something to do with a beautiful ring on her finger. It will be so special to spend time with her again!

  As for my developing friendship with Karl, his parents came the week before Christmas from Wisconsin, and I was invited to supper at Karl’s to meet them. “To get acquainted,” as Karl put it, a light in his eyes.

  That evening, after several rounds of Dutch Blitz, we all sat at the table and had generous slices of the pumpkin spice cake made by Karl’s talkative and genial mother. Karl sat across from me, looking ever so handsome in his for-gut church clothes. And while sipping hot coffee, we listened as Karl described walking a mile to his one-room schoolhouse in knee-deep snow, wearing so many layers his Mamm had to literally stuff him into them.

  Later, by the light of the moon, Karl thoughtfully helped to get me settled into his enclosed carriage, then placed a warm woolen lap robe over me. Picking up the driving lines, he directed the horse to a surprisingly slow pace, and by night’s end, I told him of my intention to be baptized next year. He seemed delighted that the day would soon come when he could formally court me. Even so, the two of us considered our relationship worth the extra time it would take; it would give us the chance to build a strong foundation of friendship before tying the knot before God and the People.

  The very next day, when Yonnie came along with Karl to work in the stable, I called to him from the back stoop. “Kumme have some hot cocoa with me, won’t ya?”

  Well, he disappeared into the stable, probably to tell his Dat where he was going, then zoomed out of there and practically flew over the grass crusted with frost from the night before.

  “I brought ya a present,” he announced.

  “It’s not Christmas yet,” I told him as I hung up his coat and knit hat and scarf.

  I waited till he was seated to pour his hot cocoa and top it with a dollop of whipped cream. “There, how’s that?”

  He grinned at me, his short little legs dangling from the chair. “Denki.” Then he pulled something out of his pants pocket, arching his back a bit to yank it out. With a smile, he pushed a Hershey’s chocolate bar across the table to me, eyes blinking as he reached for his hot cocoa, the steam rising.

  “Better blow on it a bit so ya don’t burn the roof of your mouth.”

  Yonnie nodded his head, his blond hair all rumpled from the knit cap. “That’s what your Mamma always said.”

  “Well, she was right.” I struggled not to tear up.

  Yonnie stared at me a moment and grinned.

  Later, as he donned his outer clothing, I told him, “I hope you have a hallicher Grischtdaag, Yonnie,” wishing him a merry Christmas.

  He reached up and gave me a hug round my neck.

  It was the best gift I could’ve imagined.

  And that night, when I counted my blessings before falling asleep, I thanked the dear Lord in heaven for all the unanswered prayers I’d prayed back when. How very grateful I was to have met Karl from Wisconsin.

  I could scarcely wait for Christmas Eve dinner, when I would serve a braised pot roast with sweet potatoes to him and Yonnie. I’d been practicing Mamma’s recipe a good many times and honestly gotten tired of it myself. But I wanted it to be a nice surprise for Karl, who had perhaps heard of my cooking handicap—one that I had overcome quite a bit, thanks to Arie Mae . . . and dear Mamma’s precious notebook of recipes, ever so handy.

  I rejoiced daily at the heaven-sent surprises along this journey called life, and I knew, without a doubt, that I would never leave the People again. I liked to think that Mamma’s wishes were granted, and I’d come to terms with all of that, thankful most of all for grace. Oh, where would I have been without His mercy, new every single morning?

  Author’s Note

  There’s nothing like a charming inn! I adore spending leisure time at a peaceful bed-and-breakfast establishment in an out-of-the-way place—the more rural, the better. My husband, Dave, and I have enjoyed many visits to lovely old inns in upstate New York and all over New England, ones with dew-drenched English gardens and tasteful old-world architecture and furnishings. So it seemed quite providential when I met Darlene Bobo, the owner of Butterfly Meadows Inn and Farm (not, however, an Amish inn), while on a recent book tour through the South. Interestingly enough, I began to tell her about my story idea, which I typically never do prior to writing, and quickly discovered that Darlene was an innkeeper right there in Franklin, Tennessee! We talked about our mutual enjoyment of butterflies, and because I was fascinated by the name of her inn, I asked permission to use it in this story. The rest is history, and Darlene and I still agree that our meeting seemed to be divinely appointed. If you’d like more information, you can find her beautiful Southern inn online at www.butterflymeadowsinn.com.

  As is always true, I am so very grateful to my research assistants, readers, reviewers, proofreaders, and, of course, my longtime editors, David Horton and Rochelle Gloege, for their efforts on this book. We certainly are a team!

  My husband, Dave, is the very first to see my chapters and shares in my joys and challenges as I bring the ideas that are in my head—and heart—to life on the page. Ideas that spring up while I’m making family memory albums with my sister, or tending to (and talking to) my plants in the breakfast nook, or out on a mountain hike, or spending time with our grown children, granddaughter, and each of the little ones in our extended family . . . everything holds the potential for inspiration. I never know when an idea for a scene or an impression for a particular character will come, so I am always attentive.

  One of those splendid bits of inspiration for this particular book came from Aunt Beverly Fry, who enjoys taking mystery trips and has shared her exciting experiences with me. Although unlike Trina Sutton, Aunt Bev has never had any unpleasant surprises!

  The work of writing also involves research. When it comes to the legal issues surrounding Mandy’s inheritance, I offer a very special thanks to Beth M. Sparks and W. Bryan Byler, estate attorneys-at-law.

  My enduring appreciation wings its way out to all of my wonderfully supportive prayer partners, as well as to my faithful reader-friends who affirm that they often see themselves in the lives of my story people, Amish and otherwise. You are all an essential part of this amazing writing adventure, and I thank our heavenly Father daily for each of you.

  Soli Deo Gloria!

  Beverly Lewis, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, is the New York Times bestselling author of more than ninety books. Her stories have been published in twelve languages worldwide. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain heritage has inspired Beverly to write many Amish-related novels, beginning with The Shunning, which has sold more than one million copies and is an Original Hallmark Channel movie. In 2007 The Brethren was honored with a Christy Award.

  Beverly h
as been interviewed by both national and international media, including Time magazine, the Associated Press, and the BBC. She lives with her husband, David, in Colorado.

  Visit her website at www.beverlylewis.com or www.facebook.com/officialbeverlylewis for more information.

  Books by Beverly Lewis

  The Proving • The Ebb Tide

  The Wish • The Atonement

  The Photograph

  The Love Letters • The River

  HOME TO HICKORY HOLLOW

  The Fiddler • The Bridesmaid

  The Guardian • The Secret Keeper

  The Last Bride

  THE ROSE TRILOGY

  The Thorn • The Judgment

  The Mercy

  ABRAM’S DAUGHTERS

  The Covenant • The Betrayal

  The Sacrifice • The Prodigal

  The Revelation

  THE HERITAGE

  OF LANCASTER COUNTY

  The ShunningThe Confession • The Reckoning

  ANNIE’S PEOPLE

  The Preacher’s Daughter

  The Englisher • The Brethren

  THE COURTSHIP

  OF NELLIE FISHER

  The Parting • The Forbidden

  The Longing

  SEASONS OF GRACE

  The Secret • The Missing

  The Telling

  The Postcard • The Crossroad

  The Redemption of Sarah Cain

  Sanctuary (with David Lewis)

  Child of Mine (with David Lewis)

  The Sunroom • October Song

  Amish Prayers

  The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook

  www.beverlylewis.com

  Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook

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  Twitter: @Bethany House