New Beginnings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Irene chuckled, along with everyone around her. She had a feeling the Kuhns’ customers returned as much to spend time in their delightful presence as to purchase their cheese.

  “Never underestimate the advantage of being an Amish woman selling her homemade pies,” Beulah stated as she gazed at Phoebe. “Make sure your labels—and the name of your shop—tells customers they’re getting the quality they associate with Plain baking.”

  Irene’s thoughts raced as she listened to the Kuhns’ advice. If Phoebe decided not to open a pie shop, she might well run such a business herself! “See what I mean about Promise Lodge?” she said. “Where else could you get such down-to-earth advice, from experienced ladies who are willing to share what they know?”

  Phoebe tucked the booties, her yarn, and her hook into her sack. Her lips were twitching with a grin and she rose from her chair. “I’m going over to poke around in the bakery building while I think about all this information,” she announced. “Who’s going with me? Laura? Irene?”

  “Jah, I’ll take a look,” Phoebe’s sister said as she sprang from her chair. “There’s some fun stuff stuck away in there.”

  Irene’s jaw dropped as Phoebe extended her hand. Had Phoebe read her mind? Did she want a woman who was older than her mamm in her pie business, or was she just looking for company—or information about where Etta Mae had sold her pies?

  What difference does it make? She asked you! It’s only a walk across the lawn—and it might be the path to a whole new adventure.

  Chapter Seven

  Marlin closed his eyes as he bit into a frosted bar that resembled a sugar cookie with sprinkles on it. He was enjoying coffee and goodies at the bishop’s kitchen table with Monroe, Amos, and Eli before the two Lehmans arrived, sensing they were in the calm before a Saturday morning storm—unless Lester had changed his tune about moving in with Frances.

  “You must like those bars, Marlin,” Monroe teased as he chose a brownie from the tray on the table. “I think that’s your third one, but I may have lost count.”

  Marlin chuckled. “Who knew a cookie without any chocolate or nuts could be so addictive? Please let Christine know how much I’ve enjoyed them.”

  Amos’s lips curved. “Surely Minerva bakes goodies, jah?” he queried. “Harley’s not exactly wasting away from her cooking.”

  “Harley loads up on meat and potatoes and gravy,” Marlin explained. “Minerva’s watching her weight—and she keeps too busy teaching the kids to bake much—so sweets don’t show up as often as they probably do at your house, Troyer.”

  “Might be time to find yourself a wife, eh?” Amos shot back. “Rumor has it you were working on that after the wedding on Thursday.”

  Marlin had suspected Amos might bring that topic into the conversation, so he made a point not to snap at the bait. He stood up to look at the road through the kitchen window, to be sure Frances wouldn’t walk in on man talk that would upset her. “What I want to know,” he said carefully, “is whether you folks at the party were passing around binoculars while Frances and I were walking. Harley gave me an earful, as though he’d been able to discern our facial expressions—and it’s quite a distance from the lodge to this hill.”

  Eli and Amos bit into their cookies to camouflage their telltale grins.

  “Truth be told,” Monroe replied as he fetched the percolator from the stove, “somebody found a set of bird-watching binoculars—probably Ruby’s—on the windowsill of the lodge’s mudroom. I tried to convince Harley to put them down, to let you and Frances have your privacy, but he was watching you as intently as Queenie follows his sheep in the pasture.”

  Marlin sighed—and then he caught sight of her. Frances had crossed the yard to chat with Christine, who was cutting dandelions from her new garden plot with the corner of her hoe. “Frances doesn’t need to hear about that,” he said, pointing purposefully in her direction. “And we don’t need to be giving Lester any ideas about spying on her, either. Even without binoculars, he can look right into her house because there aren’t any trees to block his view.”

  “I agree,” the bishop said as he set the hot coffeepot on a trivet by the cookie tray. “The last thing we need is for neighbors to be peering at each other in secret. It’s childish, it’s invasive, and it’s not a gut way to foster relationships built on honesty and trust.”

  As Monroe went to the door, Marlin prayed that their meeting would solve more problems than it created. Lester was coming up the road with an expression that could curdle milk, looking even more determined to press his point than he had on Thursday.

  “Gut morning, Frances,” the bishop was saying at the doorway. “Come in for cookies and coffee. Looks like we’ll get down to business pretty quickly, as Lester’s not far behind you.”

  “Denki, Bishop. It’s kind of you to help us Lehmans sort this matter out.”

  Marlin let Frances’s voice settle into his ears before he turned to greet her. She sounded rested and upbeat—gracious rather than grouchy about dealing with an overbearing brother-in-law. When he turned from the window, her quick smile told him she was pleased to see him, even though she spoke to the other men first.

  “Amos and Eli,” she said cheerfully. Peterscheim was pulling out the chair to the bishop’s left, and she took it. “I’m thinking you fellows must be getting your dawdi acts together, jah? It’s exciting that the Helmuth babies will be here in June, and then we’ll have Noah and Deborah’s first wee one to look forward to in the fall.”

  The two preachers were all smiles as they exchanged pleasantries about their expanding families—until Lester entered the kitchen like a house afire.

  “I hope you men have figured out that I’m acting in Frances’s best interest, doing my duty by her,” he said without greeting anyone. He raised his eyebrows at Frances as he took the chair across the small table that was the farthest away from her—the seat where Marlin had been sitting. “Maybe we can all help her see the light this morning, while none of the other hens are here to cluck their two-cents’ worth.”

  Marlin frowned, already irritated by Lester’s attitude. What had gotten into this man? When Lester had installed the windows and siding on the Kurtz house and was helping other families with their homes, he’d been such a congenial neighbor. Marlin sensed it would only fuel Lester’s fire that the remaining chair was beside Frances—but he took it anyway.

  Monroe resumed his seat at the head of the table. “Let me be sure I’ve got this straight,” he said, leaning forward to hold Lester’s gaze. “You’ve told Frances you intend to move into her home, but you’ve said nothing about marrying her. That’s wrong, Lester, and you know it.”

  Lester raked his black hair with his fingers. His unkempt beard, hat-flattened hair, and wrinkled shirt—not to mention the dark circles under his eyes—gave him the appearance of a man possessed. “Okay, fine, I’ll marry her!” he blurted out. He looked at Frances, shrugging in exasperation. “I was gonna be a bit more discreet about it, but these men are pushing my buttons, Frances.”

  Her face remained expressionless, as fresh and smooth as the petals of a rose despite the emotions that had to be churning within her. The bishop, Amos, and Eli shifted uneasily, as though they each had something to say but were waiting for someone else to go first.

  After several moments of silence, Lester’s eyes widened. “We’ll keep to separate beds in separate rooms, if that’s the way you have to have it,” he continued doggedly. “It could be a marriage of convenience, in name only—which is no big deal, since you’re already a Lehman—soon as Monroe wants to conduct the service. You’ve had plenty of time to think it over, Frances, so I deserve the courtesy of an answer.”

  Frances rose slowly from her chair, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Her gaze was so sharp, she could’ve drilled a hole between Lester’s eyes. “I refuse to be any man’s convenience,” she stated softly. “My answer is no, Lester. Don’t ever talk to me about this again.”

  As she wal
ked toward the door, Marlin almost went with her, to settle her nerves. But he thought better of it while Lester was present.

  Settle her nerves? Who are you fooling? his inner voice needled him. Frances has more nerve than any man in this room.

  Monroe waited for the door to close behind Frances before he spoke. “Seems to me Frances has resolved this issue,” he said softly. He poured coffee into a mug and handed it to Eli to pass to Lester. “Now we need to consider how we can help you, Lester. You’re in a bad way, my friend. If you continue down the emotional path you’re on, I’m concerned that you’ll hurt yourself—or other folks. First let’s talk about getting you some help with your meals and your laundry.”

  Marlin nodded, agreeing with the bishop, but he wasn’t fully focused on the conversation. In his mind, he kept seeing the way Frances had tempered her frustration with utmost grace, considering Lester’s outlandishly rude proposal. She hadn’t cried—or struck out in anger—and she hadn’t pleaded with him or the other men to take her part.

  Frances held herself together—didn’t speak to you, but that was so Lester wouldn’t make things even more difficult and embarrassing. She stated her case in a roomful of men and walked away. What a woman!

  Marlin placed his elbows on the table, tenting his hands in front of his face so nobody would notice that he couldn’t keep from smiling. Amos said he would organize a schedule so the ladies could take turns bringing Lester’s meals, and Eli thought they could see to his laundry and housekeeping chores the same way. Monroe gently suggested that he and the preachers would visit Lester a few evenings a week and keep him company as he worked through his grief.

  Marlin nodded but remained quiet. In his mind, he was following Frances down the road, wherever it might lead.

  What a woman!

  * * *

  Frances didn’t stop walking until she’d gone all the way down the hill, past her home, and crossed the grassy lawn that surrounded the lodge. As she stepped through the back door into the mudroom, she felt like a teakettle at a rolling boil, ready to spout off and whistle full-blast.

  But she paused. Her friends deserved better than an emotional explosion, just because Lester had acted like a horse’s backside at the bishop’s place.

  As she took a deep breath, she caught the clean scent of the soap Rosetta made from her goats’ milk. The neatly arranged rows of soap bars drying on a screen helped her put her thoughts in order. She was also aware of the mouth-watering aroma of chicken coming from the kitchen, which reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything this morning. The voices she heard were calm. Someone was cheerfully whistling “You Are My Sunshine”—probably Beulah—and Ruby started singing along.

  Frances felt the tension leave her shoulders. She had the sudden urge to move into one of the apartments upstairs—to put her house up for sale—and to commit to that decision before she went home to tell Gloria what she’d done. She’d felt a little guilty, bypassing the house to avoid dealing with her daughter’s tragic air of desperation—but not guilty enough to go home.

  “Knock, knock?” she called out as she went to the kitchen doorway.

  The Kuhn sisters turned toward her from their places at the big stove, while Irene and Phoebe glanced up from papers they were studying at the worktable. Laura, who was mixing a bowl of pale-yellow batter, flashed her a bright smile.

  “Frances! Come in and join our Saturday brunch,” the young blonde said. “We’re fixing up some corn bread, and some creamed turkey to spoon over it—and you’re just in time to eat with us.”

  Frances sighed in sheer gratitude. “Oh, but I love corn bread,” she murmured. “And your creamed turkey smells like heaven itself. I—I’ll be happy to stay. How can I help?”

  “The teakettle’s about to sound off,” Ruby said, gesturing toward a back burner. “If you’ll fill the big crockery teapot, we’ll be set as soon as the corn bread’s baked.”

  “Put in lots of tea bags—from that canister in the corner,” Beulah said. “When I drink tea, I want to drink tea rather than just colored water!”

  Frances eagerly took up the task they’d assigned her, delighted to be included in their plans. The frustration she’d felt about Lester began drifting away like the steam from the hot water as she filled the pot and placed five tea bags in it—and then added three more for good measure. Irene and Phoebe, seated side by side at a paper-strewn worktable, were looking at catalogs and pointing at items with the tips of their pencils as they talked.

  “Looks like you two are hip-deep in something pretty serious—and interesting,” she remarked as she approached their table. Photos of aluminum pie plates and huge rolls of foil and plastic wrap were spread in front of them, as well as price lists from the bulk stores in Forest Grove and Cloverdale.

  Phoebe smiled at Frances, nodding eagerly. “You’re witnessing the planning stages of Promise Lodge’s newest business,” she said. “Irene and I are partners, and we’re going to open a pie shop in the bakery building that belonged to Maria.”

  “We’re calling it Promise Lodge Pies,” Irene chimed in. “We went around this morning getting these price lists for our supplies, and we’ve already gotten orders to provide pies for the grocery store and the Skylark Café in Forest Grove, as soon as we can start baking them!”

  “What a great idea—congratulations,” Frances said as she squeezed their shoulders.

  “Meanwhile, Deborah and I are going to keep baking goodies to sell at Mattie’s produce stand—which reopens for the season next week!” Laura exclaimed as she poured her batter into a glass pan. “We’re going to be busy bees!”

  If only Gloria would take an interest in doing something, Frances thought. She wouldn’t be so hung up on Allen—or so aware that her sister and her friends all have meaningful ways to spend their time while she mopes at home.

  She knew better than to suggest that Gloria might help them with their baking, however, because the girls were well aware of her daughter’s cooking failures. It occurred to Frances that if she lived at the lodge, she and her daughter could become involved with whatever projects these ladies took on, while remaining surrounded by their good humor and friendship. Wouldn’t that be a welcome alternative to living in a house where so many rooms rang with empty silence? Irene had moved into an apartment only a day ago, and already she was caught up in a new business venture—and she looked and acted ten years younger.

  Frances helped Laura set six places at one end of a dining room table. Soon they carried out a steaming bowl of creamed turkey, the pan of hot corn bread, some cranberry salad, and two pie plates that held pieces from several pies. When they sat down and bowed for a moment of silent prayer, her thoughts were whirling.

  Lord, I see so many possibilities here! Help me to know how to proceed—and denki for helping me stand up to Lester’s proposal. He needs our help, Lord. And I need all the patience You can send me as I deal with him.

  After she opened her eyes, Frances began taking food as though she hadn’t eaten for weeks. It was almost embarrassing when she realized she’d split two squares of corn bread and covered them with creamed turkey, which was chock-full of carrots, onion, celery, and peas.

  “My word,” she murmured as she spooned ruby-colored cranberry salad alongside her main course. “You’d think I’ve been working in the fields or felling trees, the way I’m eating. This food smells and looks so wonderful-gut!”

  Beulah chuckled. “You’re doing us a favor, Frances, helping us clean up the last of the wedding leftovers. It’s gut to see you this morning.”

  “My appetite’s improved a lot since I’ve moved in,” Irene remarked as she filled her plate. “Food’s more appealing when you’ve got friends to cook it, eat it, and clean it up with. I bet it gets kind of quiet at your place.”

  Frances nodded. She figured these ladies already knew about her stroll with Marlin—and they would certainly understand her frustration with Floyd’s brother. “If Lester had his way about it, he’d be mo
ving in with me,” she began softly. “I’m grateful to Bishop Monroe and the preachers for meeting with us this morning to set the poor man straight about how he’d need to marry me first. I’m even more thankful that they didn’t expect me to say yes to the preposterous proposal he blurted out.”

  All eyes around the table widened as forks hung suspended in midair.

  “Lester proposed to you?” Ruby muttered. “In front of four other men?”

  “And before that he’d been thinking he could just move in?” Irene demanded incredulously.

  Beulah laughed and reached for the pie plates. “You deserve first pick of the dessert for enduring what had to be the most humiliating moment of your life, Frances.”

  Frances nodded, awash in the relief of sharing her ordeal with compassionate friends. “Now that it’s behind me, Lester’s proposal was almost funny,” she admitted. “He was desperate enough to settle for a marriage in name only, but I told him that I wanted no part of anything he was suggesting—and that I refused to speak of it again. And then I walked out,” she added with a shake of her head. “I’m amazed that none of the preachers called me on it or came after me.”

  After they ate in silence for a few moments, Beulah was the first to speak. “I’m not Amish, so I’m no authority on this,” she began in a thoughtful tone, “but from what I’ve seen, your preachers here—and Bishop Monroe—aren’t as uh, domineering as other Old Order leaders I’ve met. They allow for some practicality and insight rather than following every jot and tittle of the rules the Amish have followed for centuries.”

  “Jah, let’s remember that most Amish fellows wouldn’t have allowed Rosetta to offer apartments to single women—much less to us Mennonites!” Ruby put in.

  “Maybe you and Gloria should move into the lodge!” Laura suggested.

  “Laura and I liked living here so much that we still spend a lot of time in this kitchen, even though we have nice rooms at the house with Mamm and Monroe,” Phoebe said with an emphatic nod. “And besides, if you had an apartment here, Lester couldn’t pester you about sharing your house.”