When he stepped over to his new sink, all thoughts of carpentry and efficient living flew out the kitchen window. Phoebe was crossing the lawn with a double pie carrier in each hand, as though she was heading for an ice cream social or a family gathering. He’d eaten a big noon meal at the Helmuths’ house with Cyrus and Jonathan, yet the thought of having four pies delivered made his mouth water in anticipation.
It’s not about the pies, and you know it.
Allen blinked. Where were these thoughts about Phoebe coming from? Was she aware of a shift in the atmosphere between them, or was it all in his head? In a grayish-blue dress he’d seen dozens of times, along with the white apron and kapp all the girls wore, Phoebe looked the same as ever, yet he saw her differently. He swung his door open as she approached, hoping he didn’t appear as adolescent as he suddenly felt.
“Denki for remembering my pies,” he said. “I should’ve come over for them so you didn’t have to make a special trip.”
Phoebe shrugged in that offhand way she had. “I wanted to see your new place. How’s it coming?”
“My new table’s just the right size for those pies,” Allen remarked as she stepped inside with him. He raised the wooden surface and snapped its single leg in place, aware of how Phoebe’s presence filled the whole space with a nervous energy he wasn’t sure how to handle.
Fortunately, Phoebe was too busy looking around to notice his emotional state. “So you have a built-in microwave and a two-burner electric cooktop?” she asked immediately. “And light fixtures instead of lamps—like you’re living English.”
Allen smiled at her astute observations. “They run off the solar panels on the roof,” he explained. “Bishop Monroe—not to mention my dat—will probably call me out on using English conveniences, but I’m not on the grid.”
“I suppose you have to have English features in place so your potential customers will see how they fit into the overall home.” Phoebe focused on him, smiling. “And, since you’ve not joined the Old Order, you’re still free to live the way you please. I have to admit that electric appliances appeal to me every time I catch a whiff of gas or the pilot light goes out in an oven.”
And since you’ve not joined the Old Order . . .
Allen held her gaze, grateful that her words held no accusation or judgment. It suddenly mattered to him that Phoebe had taken her vows to the Amish church years ago, which made him look like a slacker by comparison. Beyond that, however, he was impressed by her comment about appealing to his potential clientele.
Phoebe placed her pie carriers on the table and looked up. “So you have a loft area, and a very compact ladder leading up to it,” she said. “Where will you sleep? Are you getting one of those sofas that makes out into a bed?”
Allen got hot around the collar, even though she hadn’t intentionally asked a suggestive question. “Nope,” he replied, pointing into an upper corner. “That’s a built-in bunk, and the door beside it opens to the clothes closet and the storage area. The bathroom is above us, so the water pipes join with the ones in the kitchen.”
“Ah. It takes a special kind of organization—a different way of thinking—to arrange so many features in such a compact space,” she murmured with an appreciative nod. “But it’ll be a snap to clean!”
Allen laughed. “Not that it’ll be spic and span once I’m living here,” he said. “I’ll have to keep my clothes picked up and my dishes washed a lot better than I do in the cabin. It’ll take some retraining of my inner slob, if this is to be a display model customers will be looking at.”
Phoebe’s brow furrowed but then she smiled again. “Slob isn’t a word I associate with you, Allen,” she said as she removed the metal covers from the pie carriers. “To me, you’ve always seemed methodical . . . meticulous about your work. Instead of going about plumbing and wiring in a slapdash way, you went to school for your license even though your dat disapproved. It was the right thing to do.”
Allen’s heart thudded so hard that his rib cage vibrated. His entire being thrummed with an unfamiliar intensity. Phoebe had been a few years behind him in school, and he hadn’t paid any particular attention to her when they’d been growing up in Coldstream.
She’s got your attention now, though, so what’re you going to do about it?
He focused on the four aluminum pie pans with their shiny plastic domes—anything to avoid falling headfirst into emotional waters so deep he’d never be able to swim to safety again. “What do we have here?” he asked in a voice that sounded strangely thin.
Was it his imagination, or did Phoebe’s smile seem shy now?
“Irene suggested that I bring you a cherry pie, a lemon meringue, an apple with streusel topping—and a gooseberry!” she added with a laugh. “I figured you could keep the one you liked best and give the rest to—”
“I like them all best,” he whispered. He stepped closer for a better look at the four pies, which positioned him within inches of the young woman whose presence was making him delirious. “I might have to sample a slice of each one before I decide. Or maybe I need a taste of . . . this.”
Ever so slowly, so he didn’t scare Phoebe—or himself—Allen moved in for the kiss he needed as surely as he required air and sunshine. Her blue eyes widened but she didn’t bolt, didn’t appear shocked—didn’t do anything but study him intently until moments before his lips met hers. She closed her eyes, sharing one soft, exquisite kiss. He wanted so much more, yet he backed away before his euphoria and hormones pushed him too far—
But Phoebe placed her fingers against his cheek and kissed him again. Her sigh spoke volumes.
When they stepped apart, Allen was grinning like a lovesick fool and Phoebe was breathing as quickly as he was. “I hope I didn’t—”
“Oh, but that was nice,” she murmured.
Allen squeezed her hand gratefully. “Jah, it was.”
At twenty-three, he’d kissed plenty of girls, but this time it felt different. He knew better than to rush into any assumptions, or to say anything that would give Phoebe the idea they were a couple—
But that would be all right, wouldn’t it? She’s not the type to chase after you or make demands. She’s got a life of her own—and she’s smart, the voice in his head pointed out. Isn’t that why you like her?
“I should let you get back to your work,” Phoebe said softly. “Denki for showing me your little home—and I hope you enjoy whichever pie you keep.”
Allen nodded. “I’m thinking the lemon meringue has my name on it, but I could change my mind,” he added with a chuckle. “Would it, um, be all right if we went for a walk sometime soon? Or maybe sat out on the dock? Or got a rowboat out of the shed for a ride around Rainbow Lake?”
Phoebe’s blue eyes lit up. “I forgot about the boats! How about a trip around the lake tonight? Irene and I are taking the day off tomorrow, so—that would be great fun!”
Allen’s heartbeat shot into a full gallop. “Shall we meet at the dock, say, seven thirty? If we row to the far side, we’ll have the lake to ourselves without anybody watching us from their houses, jah?”
“Jah.” Phoebe held his gaze for a long, lovely moment. “I didn’t see this coming, but—but I’m really glad it did, Allen. See you later.”
Allen’s pulse was pounding so loudly it drowned out all thoughts of working. He should check the rowboats and choose one that was watertight, and he should clean it out, and there were any number of things he should do to ensure his first date with Phoebe was everything they both hoped it would be. “See you later,” he echoed as he opened the door for her. “Denki again for bringing my pies.”
Phoebe started toward the lodge with her empty pie carriers. When she turned to wave at him, Allen felt deliciously delirious. His mind was already spinning ahead to other ways they might spend time together in the future—
“I saw what you did,” a familiar voice accused from the direction of his kitchen window. “You and Phoebe were kissing—alone together insi
de your little house. And the bishop’s going to hear about it!”
Scowling, Allen stuck his head out the door as Gloria came around the side of his home. Her face was contorted with jealousy as she tugged her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “You had no right to spy through my window!” he snapped. “After all the times I’ve told you I’m not interested in—why are you stalking me, Gloria?”
She stopped in front of him, looking ready to bite him and cry at the same time. “What was I supposed to do?” she demanded. “I came over to ask your advice about looking for a job, and what do I see but you and Phoebe in a lip-lock, as though you might not stop at that!”
“That’s an exaggeration and you know it!” he shot back. “Really, Gloria, this is the last straw. What gives you the right—”
“Maybe if you invite me inside, I won’t need to chat with the bishop,” she hinted in a sugary voice. “And maybe you’ll forget all about Phoebe.”
Allen’s jaw dropped. Did Gloria really think he’d fall for that line? “Tell Bishop Monroe whatever you want,” he blurted out. “He’s likely to say you were sticking your nose where it didn’t belong!”
Gloria glared at him. “We’ll just see what he says, won’t we?”
As she pivoted and ran between the trees, Allen sighed. He had a feeling he was going to pay for yelling at Gloria, but he was at wit’s end about how to handle her. He hoped she didn’t go after Phoebe to repeat the same accusations—
But Phoebe will see through Gloria’s bluster and deal with it like the mature young woman she is.
Whatever happened next, he and Phoebe would handle it together. And they would go on about the business of discovering each other, leaving all thought of Gloria far, far behind.
Chapter Ten
Marlin walked beneath the white metal entry sign to Promise Lodge, gazing ahead to the Lehman place as he pulled his loaded cart behind him. He was hoping to catch Frances alone when he delivered the surprise he’d bought her at the Helmuths’ nursery, so the sight of her slender figure made him smile. White sheets billowed in the breeze as she hung them on the clothesline that ran between the back of her house and a large tree several yards away.
He hurried past the dairy and the lodge, hoping to catch her before she went inside. As Frances raised the clothesline with a notched pole to keep the sheets from dragging on the ground, Marlin called out, “Gut afternoon, Frances! Have you got a minute?”
When she turned toward him, her smile was bright. “Preacher Marlin! It’s a lovely day to be outside—and it looks like you’ve been shopping,” she added as she picked up her laundry basket.
Marlin crossed the lawn, pleased that Gloria wasn’t nearby. He wasn’t avoiding her, because Frances’s older daughter was someone with whom he needed to get better acquainted, but he craved a few moments of uninterrupted conversation with her mother. “I stopped by to see how Bernice and Barbara are doing, and to take advantage of the Helmuths’ sale on Knock Out roses,” he said. “We had some bushes like these at our home in Iowa. I liked them because they bloom all season without requiring much attention.”
“Jah, they’re not nearly as fussy as old-fashioned roses,” Frances agreed as she approached him. “You’ve chosen a couple of nice, bright colors, too.”
“Which do you like the best?” Marlin asked without missing a beat.
Frances glanced at him as though she suspected his ulterior motive. “All of these plants look full and healthy, with lots of blooms,” she hedged. “Color-wise, I’ve always preferred deep pink to red—”
“So the pink ones are for you!” he interrupted excitedly. “Find a sunny spot and I’ll plant them for you within the next couple of days, all right?”
Frances’s smile turned shy. “Oh, Marlin, that’s very kind, but you didn’t have to—”
“I didn’t,” he agreed. “I wanted to.”
Her cheeks turned as pink as the rose blooms. She glanced up the road and then toward her kitchen window. “What a lovely gift—especially the planting part,” she added with a chuckle. “You realize that when Gloria sees them, she’ll fuss about the attention you’re paying me.”
“She—we—will deal with that,” Marlin said as he stepped closer to her. He hoped his next words came out right, because he was out of practice at asking a woman for a date. “What with the full moon, it should be a pleasant evening for a buggy ride—if you’ll join me, Frances. Maybe we could wait until Gloria’s gone to bed—say, ten or ten thirty?”
Frances chuckled. “Are we slipping out like teenagers who think their parents won’t be aware of their comings and goings?”
“We are—this time, anyway,” Marlin replied. “I’m also avoiding the static Harley will give me, you see. It’ll be nice to escape the prying eyes tonight, but we’ll eventually spend time together with our families—if that’s something you’d like to do.”
When Frances gazed at him full-on, Marlin’s heart floated like a butterfly on a breeze. “I’d like it a lot,” she murmured. “Folks will talk, because Floyd’s only been gone—”
“Folks are already talking,” he pointed out gently. “If you’re honoring Floyd’s memory by remaining in mourning, I’ll respect that. I just thought I’d ask.”
“And my answer is yes, Marlin.”
His pulse raced like a thoroughbred heading toward a finish line. Would Frances give him such a direct answer if, in due time, he asked her to marry him? He’d considered that possibility ever since she’d marched away from the meeting at Monroe’s house. “See you tonight, then. Shall I toss gravel at your bedroom window so you’ll know I’m here?” he teased.
“I’ll be watching for you, listening with my window open,” she said, pointing demurely toward an upstairs room on the corner. “Pull around back and I’ll be out directly.”
Marlin nodded, suddenly high on anticipation. “Where shall I put your rosebushes until I can plant them?”
She gestured toward the front yard. “Let’s make a flowerbed in that sunny spot. I’ve already found some pretty rocks for a border, and now you’ve provided my plants! Denki for your thoughtfulness, Marlin.”
After he placed the pink rosebushes where Frances wanted them, Marlin headed up the road toward home. As he passed the Burkholders’ pasture, he was pleased to see that his son Lowell and his best friend, Lavern Peterscheim, were putting a couple of Clydesdale yearlings through their paces under the bishop’s watchful eye. He was grateful to Monroe for working with the boys, and pleased that Lowell was showing a real aptitude for horsemanship.
At least one of my sons is happy these days, Marlin mused as he continued toward the house he and the younger kids shared with Harley and Minerva. When he spotted Harley walking the sheep pasture’s fence line with Queenie, looking for weak spots, he waved—but he got no response. Perhaps his son didn’t notice him from such a distance.
And maybe he’s still in a snit after quizzing me about whether I was buying rosebushes for Frances when I bought my own, and I said he’d given me a fine idea.
Marlin laughed and kept walking. Harley was entitled to his opinion about Frances, but that wasn’t going to stop him from spending time with her. He hadn’t felt so young and lighthearted in a long time, and his adult son’s objections weren’t going to keep him from pursuing a new future.
* * *
When Gloria’s wails filled the front room and she slammed the door behind her, Frances looked up from dusting the dishes in the china hutch. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” she called out as her daughter started up the stairs.
“I’m not your sweetie! I’m nobody’s sweetie,” Gloria retorted as she yanked off her shawl and tossed it over the newel post at the top of the steps.
Frances sighed as her daughter’s footsteps echoed loudly in the upstairs hallway. She closed the hutch’s glass door, allowing Gloria’s emotional roller coaster to run its course. Was it normal for a young woman of twenty-three to react so vehemently to every perceived provocatio
n? Were Gloria’s upheavals fueled by grief for her dat, or should Frances seek help for her despairing daughter’s tantrums?
As she ascended the stairs, Frances prayed for wisdom and guidance. She sighed about the shawl draped so haphazardly over the newel post, but she left it there—she’d only cause more anxiety if Gloria thought she was getting lectured for leaving her clothes strewn about.
When she entered her daughter’s room, Frances nipped her lip. Gloria was at the window, gazing trancelike over the front lawn without really seeing anything. No matter what encouraging words she said, they wouldn’t change the fact that none of the young men at Promise Lodge liked Gloria enough to ask her for even one date. Frances did her best to contain her elation about Marlin’s rosebushes and invitation to go for a ride with him that evening.
“What can I do to help?” she asked softly. “What can I make you for supper—”
“How can you think of food at a time like this?” Gloria retorted.
Frances allowed a few moments to go by. “What’s happened now?”
With an exasperated sigh, her daughter crossed her arms tightly. “After you announced that we’d be moving to the lodge unless we—I—came up with some sort of income,” she began in a voice that rose with emotion, “I asked Allen and the Helmuth cousins about working at the nursery, and they laughed in my face. So I went back today to see if Allen would help me, and—and he had Phoebe inside his little house, kissing her.”
Frances barely had time to raise an eyebrow before Gloria started off again.
“That’s wrong, Mamm!” she blurted with a fresh torrent of tears. “They’re not supposed to be alone together that way, and—and when I tell Bishop Monroe about it, I’m going to be sure he calls them up for a kneeling confession at church.”
Frances frowned. Young people had been kissing in secret for centuries, no matter what sort of guidelines their elders and their church rules spelled out. “I’m not sure that’s a gut idea—”
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