New Beginnings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Useless. I feel totally useless.

  With a sigh, Frances roused herself from her funk. “You might as well light the burner under the percolator,” she told Rosetta. “The least I can do is feed you folks some breakfast and coffee before you go—even if you have to fix it yourselves,” she added wearily. “But if you want to go on home and get your day started, I’ll understand—”

  “I’m staying right here,” Rosetta said gently. “I suspect Gloria’s still asleep, so I’ll at least get some food into your stomach so you can take something for your pain.”

  Frances was grateful that no one was asking why Gloria hadn’t gone along to the hospital—and why her daughter wasn’t here in the kitchen helping. Sadly, she suspected that even if her fall hadn’t involved a date with Marlin, Gloria wouldn’t be much of a caretaker. Some folks just weren’t cut out to be mindful of others’ personal needs. Even Floyd, if he were still alive, would’ve soon become frustrated with the level of attention his wife was going to require for the next several weeks.

  Marlin, however, sat down beside her at the table and immediately reached for the jar of trail mix. “Want to share some of this?” he asked her as he poured some mix into the jar’s lid. “When I see this stuff, I lose all track of how much of it goes into my mouth.”

  Frances managed a smile as he fetched a spoon. “There’s a whole container of it on the counter by the door,” she said, nodding toward it. “It was to be our snack for the road, so you might as well take it home with you.”

  Marlin gazed into her eyes before raising a spoonful of M&Ms, peanuts, raisins, and chocolate chips to her lips. “Denki, dear, I’ll do that,” he said. “After you have a chance to chew this mouthful of gut stuff, let’s review what they did in the emergency room so I can tell Minerva. Being a midwife, she’s the one amongst us with the most medical knowledge.”

  Nodding, Frances allowed the crunchy peanuts, sweet raisins, and chocolate to soothe her as she chewed. Truman, bless him, was assisting Rosetta with making some toast and eggs to go with the coffee that burbled in the percolator—and he brought over the cup of hot water and the tea bag his wife had prepared.

  “I think it’s a gut idea for my mamm and Rosetta’s sisters to know what sort of care you’ll need, too,” Truman suggested. “It’s more than Gloria—or any one caretaker—can handle for the length of time you’ll be laid up.”

  Frances swallowed her trail mix, feeling a little better. “The doctor said the muscles of my hands and wrists and arms got sprained when I grabbed the stairway spindles, because the weight of my falling body shot everything out of alignment,” she explained. “I’m to rest for the next couple of days, and my arms and wrists need to be on ice for ten minutes at a time. Between icing sessions, I’m to keep everything wrapped—probably for a couple-three weeks. And that’s all I remember,” she admitted tiredly.

  “Your instructions are on these papers we brought home with you,” Rosetta said as she held them up. “Let’s keep them on the counter where your helpers can see them. You’re also to elevate your arms on pillows so the fluid won’t gather in them—and if you’re not feeling better in a couple days, or if you’re feeling a lot more pain, we’re to take you back to the doctor.”

  Frances shook her head sadly. The aroma of frying eggs was reviving her—and when Marlin held the mug of tea to her lips, she was even more aware of how helpless she’d be for weeks to come. She took a grateful sip, trying not to cry.

  “We’ll get you through this,” Marlin whispered. “It’ll be everyone’s reminder of how we all need each other when the chips are down—”

  “Right now my life seems like one big cow chip,” Frances muttered. “How am I supposed to sit around and do nothing? I can’t even mark off the days on the calendar.”

  Marlin gently laid his hand alongside her cheek. “You might discover the power of prayer in a whole new way,” he said softly. “I suspect that once your pain has subsided, you and your helpers will find plenty to chat about. And when you’re lying awake in bed, you’ll find relief in talking with God. The Frances Lehman I know doesn’t let life’s burdens grind her down. This, too, shall pass, sweetheart.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. Marlin was being much more patient and resourceful than Floyd would’ve been—but Frances set aside that thought about her late husband. With all of her present health concerns, she didn’t need to add to her emotional burden by dwelling on Floyd’s shortcomings.

  And who can think about Floyd while Marlin’s offering me trail mix with the warmest, kindest brown eyes I’ve ever seen?

  Frances closed her mouth over another spoonful of salty-sweet crunchiness, unable to drop Marlin’s gentle gaze. He seemed to be telling her things with his eyes that he didn’t want Rosetta and Truman to hear—but her heart understood him perfectly.

  And if her heart was on the mend after losing her husband, wouldn’t the rest of her eventually heal, too?

  Chapter Twelve

  After Marlin tended his horse and left the barn, the lamplight shining in the kitchen window told him Minerva and Harley were starting their day. He braced himself for his son’s remarks; reminded himself to remain patient—but honest—if the conversation became confrontational. Even so, he wasn’t ready for Harley’s remarks as he entered the house.

  “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Harley was preparing large bottles of formula for the twin lambs that had been orphaned when their mother had died recently. “I hope you’re not going to deny that you were out all night with Frances—”

  “Matter of fact I was,” Marlin cut in tiredly. “After she fell on the steps, we spent the evening and wee hours at the hospital—with Truman and Rosetta,” he added purposefully.

  “Oh, no! What happened?” Minerva looked up from the pancake batter she was mixing. “Must’ve been serious, if it took that long to get her taken care of.”

  Marlin nodded, grateful to hear a sign of support—or at least compassion for Frances—in his daughter-in-law’s voice. “She fell on the stairs. Sprained her arms and wrists when she grabbed the stairway spindles as she went down,” he explained. “She came home with both her arms in slings, and she’ll need help with everything for a few weeks—can’t even feed or dress herself.”

  “So you’re going to be her nurse?” Harley challenged. “Really, Dat! Why were you sneaking around in the middle of the night at the Lehman place—”

  “Because if you’d known I was taking Frances for a moonlight ride, you’d have given me the same static you’re spewing at me now,” Marlin replied tersely. “It won’t happen again, because I’ll be seeing her in broad daylight—along with all the ladies who’ll be helping her for the next few weeks.”

  Harley let out a sarcastic grunt. “Maybe this was Frances’s way of getting your attention. Maybe she took a tumble down the steps so you’d—”

  “Harley! Frances is not that type of woman—and think about it,” Minerva chided him with a fist on her hip. “If both of your arms were bandaged, how would you eat? And you wouldn’t tolerate it for five seconds if someone had to help you use the bathroom.”

  A muffled chuckle made Marlin turn to see Lowell coming into the kitchen, ready for his breakfast—and, at his age, always amused by talk of bodily functions. “Not many folks would want that sort of help,” Lowell remarked.

  “What sort of help? Who got hurt?” asked Fannie as she came inside with the basket of eggs she’d gathered. She gazed expectantly at everyone in the kitchen, thinking she’d missed out on some juicy gossip.

  “Frances fell down the steps and has both her arms in slings,” Minerva replied quickly. “She and Gloria are going to need a lot of help, so we’ll let the other ladies know about that when we go into the lodge for school today.”

  Marlin flashed Minerva a grateful smile. Although she’d temporarily diffused Harley’s negative attitude, his older son wasn’t finished expressing his ongoing grief for his mamm. Exhausted as he was, Marlin decid
ed the entire family might as well participate in a discussion about his relationship with Frances.

  Because he intended to have one.

  “Harley, we’ve talked about how you feel I’ve dishonored your mother’s memory—or forgotten her altogether—because I’ve spent some time with Frances,” he began. “I’m sorry you feel that way. You probably believe that if I continue to see Frances, I’m doing it to spite you, but actually, I’ve discovered that she’s a delightful woman and I intend to court her.”

  Marlin gazed at his two younger children, gauging their reactions to the topic of conversation. “How do you feel about that, kids?” he asked them softly. “I know you miss your mamm—we all do. But as I prepare to move forward with my life, I want you to hear about this from me instead of from the grapevine. I care about your feelings, and your concerns.”

  Harley poured the warm formula into the big bottles and screwed on the nipple lids with more force than necessary. “I’ll say it again, Dat,” he fumed. “You have a perfectly gut home here with Minerva and me, so you don’t need to—”

  “Harley, hush.” Minerva frowned at him, tilting her head toward the kids to remind him about their sensitive feelings. “It’s the right and natural thing for widowed men—especially preachers—to remarry, because the church expects it, and because most men don’t do well on their own after—”

  “Dat’s not on his own!” Harley protested. “He has his three children, and he has you to fix his meals and—”

  “If something happens to me, Harley Kurtz, you’ll be a basket case before I’m cold in my grave,” Minerva shot back, arching her eyebrow. “Let’s not pretend you’d live out the rest of your life alone, either—and I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  She tested the griddle, composing her thoughts as she watched drops of water dance on its hot surface. “Your dat has a right to some happiness. He’s trying to set an example for his family about returning to normal life after his loss,” she added in a purposeful tone.

  Minerva glanced at Marlin before she began pouring circles of pancake batter on the griddle. “I think it’s even better that you’re seeing Frances because you like her rather than because you need her. Lester Lehman’s a prime example of what happens to a man who chases after a woman out of desperation.”

  Fannie’s eyes had widened as she followed the conversation. At fourteen, she was at a vulnerable age where the loss of her mother had left a gaping hole in her life. “Would . . . would Frances be moving in with us—if you married her?” she asked hesitantly. “Or would we go to her house?”

  Marlin walked over to slip his arm around her slender shoulders. “It’s too soon to consider those details—but you’ve asked a very gut question, honey,” he assured her. “Whenever a man and a woman remarry, they both have family members to consider. But they’re still the parents, and they make the decisions they feel are right. You and Lowell and Gloria are the ones who will be most affected if Frances and I marry.”

  “But that’s gonna be a while yet, ain’t so?” Lowell asked. “We’ll have some time to adjust to the idea.”

  “You’ve got that right, son,” Marlin replied. “Nobody’s in any hurry—and truth be told, I haven’t asked her yet. She turned Lester down flatter than a pancake, so she might say no to me, too.”

  And you’ll be in a world of hurt if she does.

  The voice in his head was telling him a truth he already knew on a gut level. Over the past week, Frances had taken over his imagination and he’d pictured her beside him at the table, and as they rode in his buggy and socialized after church services. He was even carrying on conversations with her in his thoughts.

  When she’d fallen, the bun beneath her kapp had come loose. He’d yearned to unpin it—a temptation as ripe as forbidden fruit until they were married. His fingers were still itching with the memory of it, and with the need to touch a woman again.

  If Frances turns you down, you might as well crawl back into your barrel factory and not come out into the light of day again.

  “Well, Frances brings wonderful-gut cakes and cookies to our common meals,” Lowell remarked with a lopsided grin. “So she can’t be all bad—right, Harley?”

  Harley rolled his eyes at his younger brother and left the kitchen with a big bottle in each hand.

  “She was teaching me to crochet, too,” Fannie remarked in a faraway voice. “Ruby tried to show me, but with Frances and me both being left-handed, I was catching on better with her. Might be a long while before she picks up a hook again, by the sound of it.”

  Marlin let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. It seemed his younger kids had given him their tentative blessing—or at least they hadn’t expressed any negativity about Frances. A welcome hint of sunshine peeked through the dark clouds of Harley’s attitude.

  “Maybe the crochet club—or you and I—could make Frances a prayer shawl,” Minerva suggested as she deftly flipped the first batch of pancakes. “We have plenty of time to make baby things for the Helmuths, after all.”

  “Jah, let’s do it!” Fannie said as she headed to the mudroom sink with her egg basket. “Frances would crochet—or cook—something for us if we were laid up, after all.”

  As he took his place at the head of the table, Marlin sent up a quick prayer of thanksgiving. All things considered, the conversation about Frances had gone well—because no matter who might’ve caught Marlin’s eye, Harley would dislike the idea of taking her into the Kurtz family. It was a common thing for widowed men and women to remarry and blend their families, but that didn’t mean that all of their children willingly went along with it.

  “Here you go, Marlin. Hot off the griddle.”

  Marlin glanced up into Minerva’s pretty face and inhaled the aroma of the big platter of pancakes she’d placed in front of him. “Denki for taking such gut care of me—and for trying to make Harley see reason,” he added with a rueful smile.

  Minerva laughed. “I doubt the subject of your remarriage will ever sit well with him, but we have to help him understand your situation—and move beyond his grief for his mother,” she said. “I can imagine Essie up in heaven shaking her head about her boy’s attitude—and shaking her finger at him!”

  “She did that a lot when he was growing up—and she also warmed the seat of his pants a time or two when his contrary streak got out of control,” Marlin recalled fondly. “It’ll all work out. God always sees to that.”

  “God is gut—every day, and to every one of us,” Minerva agreed.

  When she and Fannie and Lowell joined him at the table, Marlin bowed his head. He had so much to be thankful for, and so many people at Promise Lodge who were helping him move beyond the heartache of losing his dear Essie.

  As his eyes remained closed in prayer, Essie’s sweet face filled his soul—and she was smiling at him. Marlin smiled back at her, feeling blessed by her presence.

  * * *

  When Frances awoke from a fitful few hours of sleep, it took her a moment to recall why her arms hurt so much—and why they were propped on a pillow on her chest. The clock on the dresser chimed softly.

  It’s only seven o’clock and I have no idea how I’m going to make it through this day, she thought wearily. When a horse is this badly hurt, we put it out of its misery.

  It took all her strength to swing her legs to the side of the bed and sit up. A wave of dizziness and pain made her suck in her breath. How was she supposed to get through this ordeal?

  “Gloria?” she called out. Surely her daughter was out of bed by now.

  After several moments of listening to the absolute silence of the house, Frances began to worry. “Gloria?” she cried out again. “Gloria, please! I need your help!”

  After a few moments, Frances heard footsteps. Was she hallucinating, or had Gloria rushed past her bedroom door? She was trying to figure out how to leave the room without falling—and how to use the toilet without being able to lift her nightgown—when her daughter appeared
in the doorway.

  “Now that you’re awake, I’ll go fetch Mary Kate,” Gloria said with a frantic expression on her face. “I didn’t want to leave until you knew where I was going.”

  Before Frances could get another word out, her daughter’s rapid footsteps were echoing in the stairwell.

  When Frances sagged against the pillows in her lap, pain flared like wildfire in her arms. How was she supposed to unwrap her bandages when her hands were bound up? Surely it was time to put her arms on ice—and how was she supposed to do that? She couldn’t expect her friends to stay with her and keep track of the time she had her arms on ice and the time she was to wait before she iced them again and—and all of those other bothersome procedures listed on the papers she’d brought home.

  Like a giant snake, despair wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed until she could hardly breathe. Her bladder felt way too full.

  “Frances? I’m coming upstairs,” a vaguely familiar voice called out. “Don’t worry—I’ll be right there.”

  Don’t worry. Wasn’t that what the angels in the Bible said when they appeared to humans?

  No, they said “fear not.” But it seems like the same thing.

  Frances also recalled that in spite of the angels’ reassurance, the people in those Bible stories felt frightened anyway—so she burst into tears. She’d been brave at the emergency room and while Marlin, Rosetta, and Truman had been helping her, but now that the floodgates had opened, she was wailing like a terrified child—and she had a feeling she couldn’t stop anytime soon.

  “Oh, Frances, I’m sorry this has happened,” the voice said as it reached her doorway. “I’ve come to help you, dear. I bet everything hurts, doesn’t it?”