New Beginnings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “That’s none of your business!” Lester snapped.

  “Ah, but it is,” Marlin continued smoothly. “And to be sure we don’t mistake my opinions and actions as those of a widower speaking in his own interest, I’m asking you to come to the weekly meeting we preachers have with Bishop Monroe at ten on Saturday morning. Or will that interfere with your schedule at the townhomes where you’re installing windows?”

  Lester glowered but he brought his temper down a notch. “What with Truman getting married today, he told me we wouldn’t be on the job again until next Monday.”

  Marlin looked at Frances. “Will ten o’clock on Saturday work for you? We meet at Monroe’s place. I think you should be present at our meeting, so all sides of this matter are fully disclosed and understood.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be there. Denki for considering my position, and for seeing to this problem so promptly.”

  Marlin gazed at Gloria, his facial features softening. “Would you like to come, too, Gloria?” he asked. “I’m sure this matter of your mamm being seen with a man other than your dat is upsetting to you.”

  Gloria sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Sounds like something for you older people to handle. I’ve got enough to think about without listening to you and Uncle Lester squabbling over who’ll look after my mother.”

  As her daughter went inside, letting the door slam behind her, Frances suspected that Gloria had again felt the sting of Allen’s rejection. No doubt the details would come spilling out with a waterfall of tears later on, after Lester was gone.

  “Shall we talk on the way to your house, Lester?” Marlin asked purposefully. “You have a lot on your plate, dealing with the loss of your wife and your son—not to mention your brother and business partner. Nobody can blame you for wanting Frances’s company and her help with your meals and laundry.”

  Lester looked away, spearing his fingers through his shaggy dark hair. “You folks have no idea,” he rasped.

  Marlin nodded sadly. “Maybe it would help if you told me about it—got some of the pain off your chest,” he suggested. “My loss hasn’t been as tragic as yours, but I know about the lonely days and nights—especially because I moved away from the friends I had in my previous church district, as you did.”

  Lester stepped away from the door. “We’re not finished with this conversation,” he muttered as he passed Frances to descend the porch steps.

  “It’s not my intention to shut you out,” she said. “But it’s got to be a two-way conversation. I have a say in how I’m going to live out my life, Lester.”

  As her brother-in-law headed for the road, she noticed how stooped his shoulders were—how old and defeated he appeared. It was sad to see what grief and pain had done to a man who’d previously been so cheerful and full of positive energy.

  “Denki for your help, Marlin.” Frances gazed at him from her spot beside the porch post. “I was between a rock and hard place until you came along.”

  Marlin tipped his black hat at her. “A similar conversation with my son prepared me for what I saw as I was passing your place. Like it or not, we’re the talk of the town.”

  “Maybe we should give them something to talk about,” Frances teased, but then her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my, that was hardly an appropriate thing to—”

  “Actually, it’s the best idea I’ve heard today,” Marlin said with a chuckle. “Why should we let other people’s accusations get the best of us? Why can’t we be friends on our terms instead of theirs?”

  Frances smiled. “That’s a gut way to look at it. Only three of us at Promise Lodge have lost our mates, while the other adults have their spouses and families close by,” she said pensively. “Denki for offering to share Lester’s burden. I hope he takes you up on your offer.”

  Marlin turned to follow the progress of the lone figure that was approaching the next house up the hill. “We’ll see what he says. You can lead the horse to water—”

  “But you can’t count on him having any horse sense,” Frances finished matter-of-factly.

  Marlin’s laughter echoed beneath the roof of the porch. “See you Saturday morning. Hopefully by then our Lord will have suggested a beneficial solution to this situation.”

  Frances nodded, watching the preacher leave. As dusk settled over Promise Lodge, the off-white houses reflected the last rays of the sunset and the air became cooler, more serene. It was so quiet she could hear the distant hum of a car on the county highway and the breeze sighing high in the trees. She allowed herself a few moments of peace on the porch before going inside to deal with Gloria.

  See what’s happened to us in your absence, Floyd? she thought as she watched the sky fade from pale gray to a watercolor wash of blues. We’d appreciate any guidance you and God can send our way, and any help you can bring your brother.

  Chapter Six

  As Irene Wickey descended the stairway Friday night, clutching a plastic bag of pastel yarns, her steps were quick and her heart was light. What a joy it was to join the ladies from Promise Lodge for an evening of crocheting baby things for Barbara and Bernice Helmuth! As she burst out the front door, she grinned at the Kuhn sisters, the young Hershberger sisters, as well as at Christine Burkholder and Mattie Schwartz, who were arranging their chairs at one end of the porch.

  “This is so exciting!” she blurted out. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels to live in just a couple of rooms upstairs, surrounded by friends—after a fun supper with Ruby and Beulah. I feel like a free woman!”

  The Kuhn sisters laughed as they sat down in their cushioned wicker chairs. “I remember having that same feeling last summer when we moved here, don’t you?” Beulah asked Ruby. “It was like we’d found a whole new world where we could be ourselves without the burden of keeping up our brother’s house—”

  “And without being a burden to our family,” Ruby put in with a nod. She picked up the pale-yellow blanket she was working on, and her hook moved quickly along a row of stitches. “We’re happy to have you, Irene. What with Mattie, Christine, and now Rosetta moving out, Beulah and I thought we’d have to make up some imaginary friends to keep us company.”

  “And just between us girls,” Mattie put in softly, “my days living in a lodge apartment were some of the best of my life. It’s gut to be a wife again, but selling our farms and sticking our necks out to buy this property was probably the most worthwhile thing my sisters and I have ever done.”

  “Amen to that,” Christine chimed in as she sat down beside Mattie. “We had no idea if anybody else would want to live here with us, but we took the chance—and we proved what the power of positive thinking and a whole lot of work and prayer can accomplish.”

  “And planning for happiness!” Laura chimed in. “Rosetta kept us from getting sucked under by all the drudgery, making sure we took time for fun—and time to celebrate our new home.”

  Irene chose a chair between Phoebe and her mamm. “When I heard you folks had purchased this abandoned campground, I was skeptical at first,” she admitted as she took a skein of variegated yarn from her sack. “Who ever heard of three Plain ladies starting up a new community—along with only one man who wasn’t even related to them? But every time Truman came home from clearing trees or digging foundations for your homes, he told such wonderful stories that I admired every last one of you.”

  Irene fastened her yarn onto her hook, chained a few stitches to form a circle, and within moments she’d crocheted the center of a granny square. It had been a few years since she’d picked up her hook, yet her fingers remembered the movements—and she was pleased that her arthritis wasn’t bothering her. She felt better than she had for months.

  “How are the newlyweds doing?” Beulah asked. She picked up the tiny cap she’d been working on, to see how many more rows of stitches it needed. “Thursday was a wonderful-gut day—for them, and for us.”

  “It was,” Irene agreed. “Friends from our church had nothing but compliments about how t
asty and well organized the dinner was, and how smoothly the ceremony went, what with an Old Order bishop and a Mennonite preacher both conducting the service,” she added. “Truman and Rosetta have a lot to be thankful for. They left this morning to visit a few far-flung relatives near Queen City, to collect their wedding presents from folks who couldn’t make it to the ceremony.”

  “It’s an exciting time in their lives,” Mattie remarked, crocheting a corner on the blanket she was making. “Amos and I live with a mishmash of furniture from his first marriage and mine—but we both pared way back on stuff when we moved from our homes in Coldstream.”

  “The kids have plenty of stuff to deal with,” Irene admitted with a laugh. “It seemed like I was moving quite a lot this morning when Monroe and Amos and Roman were loading my furniture into their wagon, but I didn’t make much of a dent at the house. That’s the way it works when you have pieces left from your parents, and you add another generation or two over the years.”

  “If they have pieces they don’t want to use—pieces you don’t want to part with—you can move them into some of the empty rooms upstairs,” Christine suggested. “We sisters agreed that we’d keep a few furnished apartments and cabins ready, in case some folks arrived at Promise Lodge without beds and dressers and such. We were glad to have them for wedding guests, too.”

  “Jah, Allen and the Helmuth cousins were mighty glad we had furnished cabins when they came here,” Phoebe said.

  “We were, too!” Ruby piped up. “It was a relief to leave our brother Delbert’s place with just our clothes, my beehives, and the equipment we needed for making cheese.”

  “Jah, that was quite a night when we showed up here with just our suitcases,” Beulah recalled fondly. “And the first folks we met were Truman and Rosetta. They didn’t bat an eye about two hardheaded Mennonite maidels running away from home to come here. We had no idea how welcome we’d feel—or how gut it was to belong to a group of like-minded ladies who wanted to live life their way.”

  Irene blinked back sudden tears, but they were tears of joyful agreement. She’d never burdened Truman with how lonely she’d sometimes felt after his dat had died years ago. He was a wonderful son, and he’d looked after her well, so she felt blessed that she could allow him and his new bride some privacy—while she had fun with ladies of her own age!

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head,” she said softly, stilling her hook as she gazed at the open, friendly faces gathered around her. “It’s gut to belong. And it’s even better when your friends have a purpose to their lives.”

  Mattie nodded her agreement. “Probably the most valuable thing we Bender sisters have discovered here is that purpose doesn’t have to center around a man or a family,” she said softly. “That idea flies crosswise to Old Order ways. But at our age, with our kids reaching adulthood, we believed there had to be more to life than keeping a husband fed and managing a household. We sisters have developed some remarkable skills—”

  “And new businesses,” Christine put in with a nod.

  “—during the past year, and we discovered strength we didn’t know we had,” Mattie continued. “Yet we’ve willingly returned to married life. We know ourselves better now. We know what we can do—what we’re capable of.”

  Irene’s pulse thrummed as she listened to Mattie’s stirring testimonial. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing, remaining in the home her family had lived in for generations—not daring to think outside the four walls, the way the Benders had. She sensed she was on the verge of something powerful, something she couldn’t yet put her finger on. Surrounded by these women of faith and an independent mindset, she believed that she, too, could find a whole new direction for her life.

  “Have you been to Maria’s new bakery in Cloverdale?” Phoebe asked after a few moments. “I was disappointed that her business didn’t do better here, but Promise Lodge is off the beaten path—probably farther away than her regular customers in Cloverdale wanted to come for doughnuts.”

  Irene considered Phoebe’s question. She’d known and loved Maria Zehr since she was a girl growing up in their congregation, but the pretty blonde’s presence had nearly cost Truman his bride. “She seems to be doing well,” she replied. “Her building’s big enough for a few tables, so folks can come in for coffee and goodies of a morning. She’s hired a girl to help her part-time, too, so she’s not stretching herself so thin.”

  “She tried very hard to make a go of it here,” Christine remarked as she chose another skein of yarn from her bag. “I’m glad to hear her new shop’s off to a solid start. It has to be easier to have customers coming to her, so she doesn’t have to deliver most of what she bakes.”

  “Cyrus, Jonathan, and Allen really miss having her here, though,” Laura teased. “They were her best customers!”

  The porch rang with gentle laughter. Beside Irene, Phoebe laid her hook in her lap along with a finished white bootie. “Every time I look at that little building Maria left behind, I think there has to be a way to use it,” she said in a far-off voice. “The ovens are still in working order—”

  “Your aunt Rosetta would be tickled if somebody took up baking there again,” Christine said. “She bought the place lock, stock, and barrel so Maria would have money to start up fresh at her new place, which means a new tenant wouldn’t have to invest in equipment. They could just pay a little rent, I imagine.”

  Mattie nodded. “Last I heard, Rosetta hadn’t decided what she might charge,” she said with an encouraging smile. “But that would probably only apply to somebody who wasn’t family. If you wanted to try your hand at a business in that building, I bet she’d waive the rent as her investment in your future, Phoebe.”

  Irene smiled. Phoebe’s expression remained a bit dreamy-eyed, but beneath her placid surface a youthful enthusiasm shimmered like new green leaves aflutter in the spring breeze. “What would you bake, dear?” she asked the young woman.

  Phoebe considered her answer. “Well, I always thought Maria tried to make too many kinds of things. And she baked more than she knew she could sell,” she added. “Also, I wouldn’t want to compete with Deborah—or you, Laura—if you two decide to sell goodies at Mattie’s produce stand again this year. Deborah had Noah install a double oven so she could do that, after all.”

  “Jah, but with a baby on the way, she might change her mind,” Laura pointed out.

  Irene was pleased to hear that Phoebe was considering so many angles, as though she’d given a lot of thought to what sort of baking business would be best. “Maybe you girls could agree to bake different items,” she suggested.

  “That way, you could all make some money—and you could focus on what you enjoy baking the most,” Christine agreed with a nod. “Last summer, folks snapped up all your goodies as fast as you could bake them, so no matter what each of you decides to make, you’ll do well.”

  “Jah, there were days when I was wishing my veggies had sold as well as your breads and brownies,” Mattie put in with a chuckle. “It’s just my opinion, Phoebe, but your piecrust is perfection. You use the same recipe most of us do, yet your crust is always tender and the edges are evenly crimped and golden—never too brown or hard.”

  “It’s the way you handle the dough,” Irene murmured. “I had a dear friend whose pies were the envy of all of us because they always sold first at our bake sales—and the local cafés and markets even asked her to bake pies for them.”

  Phoebe’s eyes lit up. “Maybe I could talk to your friend about how she managed her baking and delivery and—ah.” Her smile dimmed, and she placed her hand on Irene’s arm. “Your face is telling me that she’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, we should never feel sorry about Etta Mae,” Irene said, patting Phoebe’s hand. “She lived a full, useful life and met her Maker at the ripe old age of a hundred and two. But I’d be happy to tell you how she organized her baking. The places where she sold her pies are still in business, so maybe they’d like having
somebody new they could count on for homemade pies.”

  Irene felt everyone looking at her and Phoebe, maybe because her voice had risen and her words had come out in such a rush. She wasn’t one to brag, but now that Etta Mae was gone, her own pies were the first ones to disappear at church suppers and bake sales.

  “Homemade pies are going the way of dinosaurs in the English world,” Beulah put in. “If you opened a pie shop, Phoebe, and only made pies you took orders for, you’d already be headed for more success than Maria had while she was here. Truth be told, you have a better head for business, anyway.”

  “Oh—oh but I like that idea!” Phoebe blurted. “Mamm, what do you think about me opening a pie shop?”

  Christine slung her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I think you can do anything you set your mind to, young lady. Do your homework—figure out the cost of your supplies and how you’ll get your pies delivered—so you can charge enough to make some money,” she suggested with a smile.

  “The key to our little cheese business—besides using the fresh milk we get from Rosetta’s goats and your mamm’s cows—was putting pencil to paper before we bought a single piece of our equipment,” Ruby added as she held Phoebe’s gaze. “We checked out a lot of different packaging materials, and we wrote down all our expenses for ingredients and utilities and such. We know exactly what it costs us to make a pound of each variety of our cheese.”

  “And we multiply that cost by three when we figure our prices,” Beulah put in as she clipped her yarn to finish the cap she’d made. “When we first saw that figure, we both thought nobody would pay so much—”

  “But we have yet to throw away any cheese that didn’t sell,” Ruby continued. “Folks think our cheese is better than what they find in the grocery store—because it’s always fresh, and because most of them get a kick out of chatting with a couple of cute Mennonite ladies.”