New Beginnings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  But it’s something to think about. Gloria would be in favor of an apartment because she wouldn’t have to cook or clean an entire house. The days—and evenings—wouldn’t feel nearly so long if we had Ruby, Beulah, and Irene to talk to....

  When Marlin cleared his throat, Frances realized he was still waiting for her answer to the invitation he’d made before Irene’s announcement interrupted their conversation. It also occurred to her that even if the preacher did speak to her on Lester’s behalf during their walk, she had options. If she wanted to move into a lodge apartment, who could stop her?

  Now you sound like Rosetta—independent and determined to do things your own way. Floyd would never approve.

  Frances inhaled deeply to settle her nerves. She suddenly had a lot of things on her mind, not the least of which involved the nice-looking man who was patiently awaiting her response. “A walk sounds like a wonderful idea,” she heard herself saying. “We have a lot of gut—younger—helpers in the kitchen today, so they’ll never miss me if I slip away instead of washing dishes, jah?”

  Marlin’s face lit up as though she’d said something unexpectedly wonderful. “I was hoping you’d see it that way,” he said. “With such a crowd here, nobody’ll even realize we’ve left the party. I’ll wait for you out back, by the cabins, after we’ve eaten dinner with our families.”

  Chapter Three

  The dining room was so full of guests—and Frances was so busy refilling pans on the steam table—that sitting down for dinner seemed out of the question. She occasionally glanced toward the table where Preacher Marlin sat with his married son, Harley, and his younger son, Lowell, because his daughter, Fannie, and Minerva, his daughter-in-law, were helping with the meal. From what she could see of the preacher’s plate, he would soon cut into his raspberry pie. It was just a matter of time before he’d go outside to wait for her.

  A smile tickled Frances’s lips. Her day had taken an exciting turn: even though she had no romantic inclinations toward Marlin, she was about to secretly slip away from the humdrum of washing hundreds of plates and pans and utensils—hopefully without attracting anyone’s attention. After she wiped some spillage from the steam table, she pushed the cart into the kitchen to make a quick turkey sandwich. Pans of food were arranged on the center kitchen counter, alongside a stack of clean plates and silverware.

  “Better fix a plate and take a load off, Frances,” Beulah called from the worktable. She and Ruby were sitting with Irene and Alma Peterscheim, while some of the younger helpers stood or sat on tall stools at the kitchen counter with their meals. “The guests and the wedding party are having a fine time, so we’re having a quick bite before we get back to work.”

  Frances hoped her face didn’t hint at the secret she was keeping. Even though it was too soon for these ladies to be matching her up, they would make a big deal out of it if they saw her walking with Preacher Marlin—who, except for Lester, was the only unmarried man at Promise Lodge. “A turkey sandwich will hit the spot,” she said as she forked a slice of turkey breast onto a piece of soft homemade bread.

  “Oh, but you don’t want to miss this cranberry salad!” Irene remarked as she took a forkful from her plate.

  “Jah, put some of that on your sandwich!” Ruby teased. “It’ll tickle your taste buds!”

  Frances spooned some of the deep red salad onto her turkey and folded her bread around it. At least her stomach wouldn’t growl while she was talking with Marlin—but how would she escape this clutch of hens without them clucking over her?

  Oldest trick in the book. Use the bathroom—the one that’s just off the lobby, near the front door.

  Closing her eyes, Frances savored the contrast of the salted turkey and the cranberry salad, which was sweet and tangy with chunks of fresh apple and oranges. She loved wedding meals, because brides often requested side dishes Frances didn’t prepare at home. When she’d polished off her sandwich, she plucked a dense chocolate brownie from their container and bit into it.

  “You’re entitled to use a plate, you know,” Alma remarked. “The servers deserve a meal every bit as nice as the one the wedding guests are eating, even if we’re not sitting with them.”

  Frances nodded. Preacher Eli’s wife had five children, and three of the four who still lived at home were boys, so she knew about finding time to nourish her own body and soul while she cooked for them.

  “I suspect Frances and Gloria don’t cook as much or dirty as many dishes now that Floyd’s passed,” Minerva observed gently. “I could easily get into the habit of eating a sandwich on a paper towel, if I weren’t fixing meals for Harley and Marlin.”

  “Me too!” Fannie agreed from her stool at the counter. “I’d be all for using paper plates, except Dat and Harley would fuss at us.”

  Frances laughed along with the rest of the women. At fourteen, Fannie was on the brink of young womanhood, even though she still had the endearing, coltish look of adolescence about her. She had her dat’s dark brown hair and expressive eyebrows, but otherwise her facial features probably resembled her deceased mamm’s.

  “Oh, jah,” Lily Peterscheim chimed in from beside Fannie. “Dat would tally up the price of the paper plates our family would go through in a day, and remind us that using real dishes doesn’t cost us anything except the water to wash them. Home economics, he’d call it.”

  Frances nodded, letting the conversation continue around her. As though she were headed for a bathroom break—which she was—she walked into the hallway, but instead of using the half bath tucked under the back stairway, she continued through the meeting room filled with pew benches. She walked toward the front lobby, her heart pounding as she hurried past the doorway to the noisy dining room, hoping to remain unnoticed. Frances grabbed the knob of the bathroom door—

  But it was locked!

  With so many people here, of course someone would be in the bathroom, she reminded herself impatiently. She heard the faucet running, so she stepped back toward the meeting room—

  “Seems we had the same escape plan,” said a low male voice.

  Frances’s cheeks burned even as she had to laugh. Marlin was coming out of the bathroom, smiling like the cat that ate the canary as he dried his hands on a paper towel. “Jah, well—you’ve caught me,” she blurted quietly.

  A slow smile spread over the preacher’s face as he considered her words. He wadded his paper towel into a ball and tossed it expertly through the bathroom’s open door and into the wastebasket. “See you by the cabins,” he murmured. “If we go that direction, we won’t have as many eyes following us—not that we have anything to hide,” he added quickly.

  As he headed for the lodge’s front porch, Frances ducked into the bathroom and shut the door. The face she saw in the mirror startled her. Although her dark hair was as neatly tucked up under her kapp as it always was, showing a bit of silver at the temples, those rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes belonged to a much younger woman.

  You haven’t looked this excited in a long time.

  And that made no sense. It had been a game, slipping away from the kitchen undetected, but this walk with Marlin was a chance to discuss her situation with Lester—certainly not a romantic topic, nor a reason to feel like a single woman meeting her beau.

  Frances quickly used the toilet, befuddled by her mixed emotions. She reminded herself that she’d been recently widowed, and that some decorum was called for while she grieved her late husband—and that Marlin was an honorable man, a preacher whose job it was to counsel members of his congregation. Had Preachers Amos or Eli—or Bishop Monroe—overheard her agitated conversation with her brother-in-law, any of those men might have invited her to talk about her troubles.

  And that’s exactly what you’ll tell anyone who asks why you were walking with Marlin, she told herself firmly. Everyone knows how depressed Lester is—and maybe, from talking to you, Marlin will get some ideas about how to help the poor man.

  Frances left the bathroom determined to
focus on Lester’s problems rather than on any other reasons she might take a walk with an attractive, unattached man on a beautiful spring day. She had to convince Marlin that she didn’t want Lester to become a permanent fixture in her life—perhaps framing her words so that Lester’s welfare seemed a bigger concern than her own.

  Once outside, she paused at the porch railing. The black buggies from Coldstream were parked along the fence near Christine’s cow pasture, where the guests’ horses were grazing. It was unusual to see so many cars along the side of the road—a sign that several Mennonites had joined them today. Frances peered around the thick trumpet vines at the end of the porch to see where Marlin had gone.

  At the sound of her footsteps, he turned. Marlin cut a trim, striking figure in his black vest and trousers as he stood beside the nearest cabin. His white shirt made the shaven skin above his dark beard look tanned, as though it was June instead of April. Although the broad brim of his black hat was angled against the sun, hiding his eyes, Frances sensed that he was studying her closely.

  It was no time for standing like a deer in the headlights. At any moment, wedding guests might come outside for some fresh air, after all. Frances descended the porch stairs, again reminding herself of her mission. No one could question her intentions if she was seeking advice on how to help Lester.

  “I’m glad you’re walking with me, Frances,” Marlin said as she joined him. “It’s wonderful to have so many folks here celebrating Truman and Rosetta’s wedding, but the noise level in the dining room was giving me a headache. Much nicer out here, with the sunshine and the scent of lilacs and the birds singing.”

  Frances matched her steps to his as they walked in front of the cabins. Several Promise Lodge residents had stayed in these little brown buildings while their homes were being built—and Allen Troyer and the Helmuths’ unmarried cousins, Cyrus and Jonathan, were living in a couple of them now. It was a lovely day, with so many bushes and trees in bloom—much more pleasant than being cooped up in the kitchen over a sink full of steaming dishwater.

  “I appreciate your concern about the conversation you overheard this morning,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “Lester’s depression is becoming more of an issue, I fear. I feel bad for him, what with losing his wife and his son—as well as his brother and business partner,” she added with a shake of her head. “I understand why he feels he should look after Gloria and me, but . . . well—”

  “He’ll drag you down into the depths of his sorrow, and it’ll take you both longer to recover from your losses.”

  Frances smiled gratefully at Marlin. “Denki for understanding that,” she said. “I suspect that many of the men here would side with Lester, saying he was doing his duty by Floyd.”

  Marlin clasped his hands behind his back as they kept walking. “Not a one of us can deny that Lester’s a fine fellow—that his heart’s in the right place,” he remarked. “When he lived amongst us before returning to Ohio to fetch his family, helping us build our homes, you couldn’t have asked for a more congenial neighbor. But Monroe and I have both noticed Lester’s drastic change in personality.”

  Pausing as they reached the final cabin in the row, Marlin held Frances’s gaze. “Now it’s not a matter of his glass being half full or half empty,” he continued solemnly. “Lester seems to believe he has no glass at all.”

  Swallowing hard, Frances nodded. “What do you think I should do? He’s not asking me, he’s insisting that he should move in—as though my opinion, my doubts, don’t stack up against his intention to support me,” she said in a rush. “But he hasn’t mentioned marriage. He’s thinking to move into the back bedroom.”

  Marlin’s eyes widened. “Lester knows we don’t allow unmarried men and women to live together,” he said with a frown. “Are you sure he wasn’t working his way up to a proposal?”

  Frances suddenly felt odd discussing this subject with an attractive, compassionate widower. But Marlin was a preacher—a counselor—and he’d asked her a legitimate question. “Truth be told, I was so shocked when he insisted on moving in that I—I changed the subject a time or two, hoping he wouldn’t mention marriage,” she admitted. “It’s too soon for me to keep company with another man—although I suppose someday it’ll come to that. It’s no secret that with Floyd gone, I don’t have any income.”

  As Marlin ambled around the side of the cabin into the shade, thinking, Frances followed him. He pushed his hat back enough that his eyes were clearly visible, as brown—and warm—as dark chocolate. “What if Lester’s financial support wasn’t part of the picture? What if he returned to Sugarcreek to be near his daughters, for instance?”

  Frances blinked. She’d become so caught up in Marlin’s gaze that his question caught her off guard. “Roman already looks after my horses, and he’s told me that Gloria and I are welcome to move in with him and Mary Kate and little David,” she replied softly. “I thanked him, but I’d do that only as a last resort.”

  The preacher nodded. “Roman’s a solid young man, and he does pretty well on his income from selling the milk Christine’s herd produces,” he said. “But I can tell you that it’s an adjustment to live with your kids after years of maintaining your own home as the parent. It’s a possibility for you, however.”

  She wasn’t surprised to hear Marlin’s observation, and it had occurred to her that living in a home where the man of the family was so much younger than she might feel awkward. Frances wondered if she should mention the other idea she’d had. If nothing else, Marlin could point out any disadvantages she hadn’t thought of—and he’d be nice about it.

  “I—I’ve also considered moving into an apartment at the lodge, and selling my property to folks who come here looking for a new home,” she said softly. “I have no idea what Floyd paid for our land, or what the house might be worth, but—but surely the money would cover my expenses for a long time.”

  Marlin nodded. “Rosetta’s apartments are a unique opportunity for single Plain women—something you won’t find anywhere else.” He laughed softly. “I can recall Bishop Floyd insisting that our women shouldn’t be running businesses—much less giving ladies a place to live independently, without men ordering their lives.”

  Frances caught a hint of humor in his observation, a gentleness that showed his respect for her late husband—and for her situation, as well. “Jah, it’s occurred to me that Floyd wouldn’t have approved of my idea,” she agreed. “On the other hand, he brought us to Promise Lodge because he wanted a more welcoming place for Mary Kate to have her baby. He was a stickler for following the Old Order’s ways, but he was a devoted dat—a cream puff when it came to his girls’ happiness.”

  “He was,” Marlin agreed reverently. “And I believe he’s resting easier now because he knows that whether Lester stays at Promise Lodge—or if he goes back to Ohio—your neighbors will see that you and Gloria are taken care of. That’s the beauty of living in a faith-based community, amongst folks of like mind. It provides us all a safety net when we suffer tough times.”

  Frances turned so Marlin wouldn’t see her blinking back tears—even though she sensed he would understand why she was crying. It felt good to talk with a man who listened to her concerns and saw her side of the situation Lester had put her in.

  “What if I tell Monroe and the other preachers that we should meet with Lester, sooner rather than later?” Marlin suggested. “What with the four of us discussing his plan to move in with you, we ought to be able to ascertain whether his depression has affected his thinking—and we can gently set him straight if we need to. I’m sure Mattie and the other wives would be willing to share Lester’s household chores, too, so you wouldn’t have to shoulder that load alone.”

  Frances let out the breath she’d been holding. “That sounds like a fine idea,” she said gratefully. “I really am concerned about Lester—but I’m concerned about my own well-being, too. Maybe that sounds selfish and uncharitable—”

  “Why should y
ou—or any other woman—be made to feel as if you had to marry? Especially so soon after your loss,” Marlin added solemnly. “If Lester’s not aware that he’s rushing you, we preachers could help him see that. Frankly, it’s too soon for Lester to remarry, too, because he’s acting out of desperation—not thinking straight because of his deep grief.”

  Frances felt so relieved, she couldn’t find words. For a few moments she stood silently, her head bowed and her eyes closed, trying to sort out her emotions. “Denki for your wisdom and your kindness, Marlin,” she finally murmured. “God chose well when He saw that the lot fell to you on the day you became a preacher.”

  He briefly grasped her shoulder. “I’ll remember your words on days when being a preacher tries my patience and makes me doubt my qualifications.”

  Frances raised her head, smiling. “I suspect you’ll have one of those days when you talk to Lester about this.”

  When Marlin burst out laughing, the air around them rang with his merriment. Was it her imagination, or was the sunshine brighter and the sky a deeper blue than it had been moments before?

  “Jah, from the snippets I overheard when I jogged past you this morning, Lester sounded like he’d be doing you a big favor by becoming the man in your life,” the preacher remarked. His dark eyes sparkled when he held her gaze. “We men tend to see ourselves as the be-all and end-all—at least until somebody sets us straight. I’ll ask Monroe to set up a visit with Lester soon, all right?”

  Frances felt her shoulders relax. Talking with Marlin had released a lot of anxiety. “I’ll appreciate any help you fellows can give me—and any other alternatives you might think of, far as an income goes,” she added. “It’s a real blessing to be surrounded by such gut friends as I wait for God to direct me down the next path He’d have me follow.”

  Marlin gazed around them, taking in the lush greenery and blooming mock orange bushes that formed a boundary between the last cabin and the property the Helmuths had purchased for their nursery. “I’m glad we’ve got that settled, so we’re free to stroll around and admire all the finery Mother Nature’s adorned herself with,” he said in an awe-filled voice. “When our family moved here late last summer, I knew Promise Lodge was a beautiful place, but I had no idea how this land would burst into bloom come spring. Shall we enjoy some of the scenery, Frances?”