New Beginnings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Lowell smiled, repositioning his sandwich in his hand. “Jah, I’ll probably be needing another napkin. I’m always the messiest one at the table.”

  “We all find a way to distinguish ourselves,” Fannie put in with a playful roll of her eyes.

  The meal continued without any further outbursts. With a helper on either side of her, Frances made her way through all the food on her plate. When Minerva cut her a slice of the jelly doughnut cake, Frances wished she’d saved more room for dessert.

  “Oh, but this looks scrumptious,” she said as she inhaled the cake’s aroma. It had been baked in a tube pan, so it resembled a doughnut on the platter—and it was veined with a thick layer of strawberry preserves. “If you served this for breakfast, I suspect everyone at the table would be happy.”

  Minerva’s eyes lit up with laughter. “Now you’re giving them ideas!” she remarked as she glanced at Harley and Lowell. “Luckily, it’s a very simple recipe, and you can use whatever sort of jam you have handy.”

  “Simple things are best,” Marlin said softly. He cut a forkful of cake and held it in front of Frances. “I hope you like it, dear. When Bernice brought this to the common meal last Sunday, I think every man there asked his wife to get the recipe—right, Harley?”

  The size of the slab Harley was cutting for himself answered his dat’s question. “It’s become my mission to try this cake with a different kind of jam each time, so I can decide which is my favorite,” the younger man said with a chuckle. “I’m thinking leftover pie filling would work, too.”

  “Probably so,” Frances agreed. When she closed her mouth over her first bite of cake, she was immediately struck by its dense, moist texture—and the way Marlin was watching her enjoy it.

  “Every bit as gut as it looks,” Frances murmured as she held his gaze.

  His lips twitched. “Jah, you are, sweetheart,” he mouthed, so no one else could hear him.

  Her heart hung suspended in her chest as his words sank into her lonely soul. Floyd had been a wonderful husband, but he hadn’t been particularly romantic with his words even when they were a young courting couple. Hearing so many endearments and receiving such close attention from Marlin gave Frances a heady rush—a sense that she could do no wrong, and that she couldn’t possibly dissuade him from falling for her.

  How was a woman in her late forties supposed to handle a handsome man who waxed romantic even in front of their family members?

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Marlin said as he gave her another bite of cake. “Would you like me to be quiet—or to leave?”

  Mary Kate and Marlin’s kids could hear what he was saying—and they had to be aware of the way he was gazing so directly at her—but Frances dismissed her qualms about having so many witnesses. “Stay,” she whispered. She told herself her voice sounded husky from swallowing a big mouthful of cake.

  Marlin’s smile made her heart flutter wildly. Somehow she got through the rest of her dessert without floating up off her chair.

  When she’d finished eating, the girls shooed her out into the front room so they could clean up the dishes. Harley, Lowell, and Roman left to check on the cow again, so Marlin accompanied Frances to the sofa. He picked up the prayer shawl Fannie had crocheted and gently draped it around her shoulders before he sat down beside her.

  “That color of green suits you,” he said, sounding a little preoccupied.

  “It’s a lovely gift, and I’ll treasure it always,” Frances said as she admired it. “I—I wish I could touch it.”

  Marlin glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. Then he focused on her again. “I’m sorry Gloria feels so uncomfortable—and I can still see the resentment in Harley’s eyes,” he began in a tight voice. “I’m determined that we can make this work, Frances, but if you’d rather not pursue a relationship, or if you think we should wait a while, I’ll understand.”

  “Let’s stick with it,” she blurted without missing a beat. “I see this time of my life as an opportunity to make a whole new future for myself—regardless of how Gloria feels about it,” she added quickly. “I’d like you to be a part of that future, Marlin. You make me happy.”

  She thought he might cry, but then his handsome face lit up like the sun in the western sky. “I’m so glad you said that, Frances. Even after I lost Essie, I still believed in the healing power of love. And I believe in us.”

  Frances blinked. He sounded so sure, so purposeful, as though they were already a couple deeply in love—but then, the statements she’d made had sounded just as committed and sincere, hadn’t they?

  This is moving too fast, the voice in her head warned. You barely know this man, yet you sound ready to hitch up with him.

  “We—we can’t stop believing,” Frances murmured despite her misgivings. “It’s our belief in things seen and unseen that gets us through the tough times—but don’t assume that I’m handling my situation very well, Marlin. For me, the most difficult thing in the world is feeling so useless.”

  He settled back against the sofa, pondering what she’d said.

  Frances found it heartening that Marlin didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with talk, or to have the last word. As she sat mere inches away from him, however, she was acutely aware that she couldn’t touch him or hold his hand—and that there was no easy, proper way for him to touch her, either.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Is that a new shirt, Troyer?” Cyrus called through the window of the nearest cabin. He let out a loud wolf whistle.

  “Is that cologne I smell?” Jonathan immediately teased from the adjacent cabin.

  Allen glanced toward the Helmuth cousins, who remained blurs behind the dark screens of the windows he was passing. Most likely, they’d taken their lunch break and would soon head back to the nursery to help Simon and Sam with the brisk Saturday business. “What’s wrong with a clean shirt and cologne?” he shot back at them. “I don’t see the girls beating down your doors, begging for dates.”

  “Ohhh, listen to the big shot, going into town to deposit his checks and impress his woman,” Cyrus heckled good-naturedly.

  “Guess I’d better have my Sunday best clothes at the ready,” Jonathan put in, “because we’ll be going to a wedding any day now!”

  Allen waved them off, walking more quickly toward the barn at his dat’s place, where he kept his horses and the wagon. It was a perfect May afternoon, and he was determined that nothing would keep him from having a wonderful time with Phoebe. As she stepped out of the bakery carrying a loaded pie shelf, he waved at her. Her smile told him that she, too, was ready to enjoy their time in Forest Grove.

  By the time Allen had hitched his horse to the wagon and driven to the bakery, Phoebe and her sister were standing alongside the loaded wooden pie shelves awaiting his arrival.

  “We had an extra chocolate pie when we finished our baking,” Laura piped up, “so we left it in the fridge for you.”

  Allen smiled. Phoebe wouldn’t have had ingredients left over by accident after she’d made the pies for her special order, so she’d been thinking of him all along. “I’ll put that pie to gut use,” he assured them. “Since I’ve been collecting my two pies per week, not a scrap has gone to waste.”

  In short order, Allen lifted the pie carriers into the wagon. As he arranged them near the wagon seat and secured them with bungee cords, he inhaled the aromas of pastry and sweet fruit. He wondered how early Phoebe and her sister had begun their baking, to have two dozen pies baked and cool enough to transport by noon—but he didn’t ask. No reason to talk about work when he wanted to focus on having fun.

  He helped Phoebe onto the wagon seat and then vaulted up beside her. “See you later!” he said to Laura as he urged his horse forward.

  “Have a really gut time!” she called after them.

  Allen waited until he’d driven under the white metal Promise Lodge sign before he shifted closer to Phoebe. “How was your morning? Was it a lot different baking with yo
ur sister than with Irene?”

  Phoebe settled comfortably near him, rocking against him as the wagon swayed. “Laura and I have baked together since we were little girls,” she pointed out. “Irene’s more organized when she’s cooking the fillings for several pies at a time—but that comes with years of experience.” She tweaked the short sleeve of his shirt. “Is this new? It’s a nice shade of green.”

  “Mattie felt sorry for me after she did my laundry a couple of times,” he admitted. “I suspect you’ll soon see Dat wearing a shirt made from the same fabric.”

  “I’ve already noticed the dress Mattie made from it—along with dresses for Barbara and Bernice. Now the five of you can dress alike when you go someplace,” she teased.

  “Not gonna happen!” Allen said with a laugh. “But it’s nice that Mattie looks after me.”

  “Somebody needs to.”

  Allen’s heart lurched at the underlying hint beneath Phoebe’s words. He let it go unanswered, however, because they had the rest of this fine Saturday to discuss anything and everything—or to just enjoy each other’s company without getting serious. “I was framing in a new tiny home this morning, so I didn’t eat lunch,” he said as they turned onto the state highway. “Where’s a gut place to catch a bite after we deliver your pies?”

  Phoebe fiddled with a string of her kapp as she considered her answer. Her cornflower blue dress accentuated the color of her eyes when she focused on him. “The Skylark Café looks to be a great place, if the aromas coming from the kitchen are any indication,” she replied. “I’ve never eaten at any of the restaurants in Forest Grove, so wherever we go will be a new adventure.”

  Allen nodded. “The Skylark makes a great Philly steak sandwich, and probably the best roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy I’ve had in a long while.”

  “As gut as what Ruby and Beulah make?” Phoebe challenged.

  “Seriously gut,” he replied. “But don’t tell them I said that.”

  Her face lit up with a childlike smile. “Let’s eat there,” she suggested. “Truth be told, Laura and I rose before the chickens this morning, and the baby-sized pies we made ourselves from scraps and filling are long gone. I’m ready for some real food.”

  After they arrived in Forest Grove, it took a while to find a parking spot because lots of shoppers were in town tending to their Saturday errands. Allen felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he followed Phoebe into the store with two carriers full of pies, because the lady who’d ordered them was talking with the manager as they walked in.

  “Oh, you must be Phoebe! It’s so good to meet you!” she exclaimed. She was probably forty, dressed in denim with a flowery scarf at her neck, and her enthusiasm was contagious. “We’re serving some of your pies for dessert at our employee in-service day, and the rest will be auctioned off as part of a fund-raiser for the new homeless shelter in Cloverdale.”

  Allen enjoyed watching Phoebe chat with the lady before handing her the bill for the two dozen pies. “Where are you parked?” she asked as she accepted the woman’s cash. “We could carry your pies to your car instead of unloading them here.”

  “That would be wonderful,” the woman agreed. “My van’s at the side of the store—and I took out the back seats so the pies can travel flat.”

  Once again Allen was impressed by Phoebe’s practicality, and her willingness to provide services that would endear her to her customers. After he’d helped load the pies into the big van, they stood aside as the woman backed out of her parking spot.

  “You and your husband have a great day!” she called out through her window.

  Phoebe returned her wave, a satisfied smile on her face. “That was an interesting assumption,” she said.

  Allen wasn’t sure how to respond as he and Phoebe gathered the wooden pie carriers. “I thought it was even more interesting that a homeless shelter’s being opened in Cloverdale,” he hedged as he started toward his wagon. “I can’t imagine folks in this rural area being homeless—as though they have no families to help them when they fall on hard times.”

  “I suspect it’s an English problem,” Phoebe said in a troubled tone. “We Plain folks wouldn’t dream of letting someone live on the streets—not that anyone we know would venture so far from their family and friends.”

  Allen walked to the street ahead of her, watching for traffic. “When I was going to school in the city, I became more aware of the homeless population,” he recalled with a sad shake of his head. “I can see how Old Order rumspringa kids trying to make it in the English world might fall through the social safety net—especially if they’re too proud or stubborn to return home.”

  When they reached the wagon, Phoebe gazed at him. “I’m glad that didn’t happen to you, Allen—glad your sisters stayed in touch with you after the family left Missouri,” she murmured. “It makes a gut case for joining the church, where you’ll always belong.”

  He didn’t challenge her sheltered worldview, but after his stint in the city, training to become a licensed plumber and electrician, Allen knew he could’ve lived comfortably among the English. For Phoebe—and most Plain girls—however, church membership was a given rather than a decision. “Are you hinting that I need to take my vows?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

  Her face turned an endearing shade of pink. “Well, that day has to come, jah?” she asked softly. “How else can you marry and have a family? How else will you claim your salvation, if you don’t join the Old Order?”

  Once again, Allen could refute her reasoning—the mindset she’d been born into and had never questioned. He didn’t reveal his doubts about religion, however, just as he dodged the topic of marriage.

  “When the time’s right, we do what we’re supposed to do,” he replied. When she handed him a carrier, he gently closed his hands over hers. “And right now, we need to get my checks to the bank before it closes, jah? Then we’ll eat some lunch at the Skylark and enjoy the rest of this perfect day.”

  The angle of Phoebe’s eyebrow told him she wasn’t finished with their current conversation, but that she’d go along with him—for now.

  After they’d loaded the pie carriers and made his deposit, Allen enjoyed watching Phoebe exclaim over the Skylark’s pot roast and mashed potatoes, which were smothered in rich beef gravy. He felt ten feet tall when she slipped her hand around his elbow as they strolled the main street of Forest Grove. It felt good to move among folks they didn’t know, free from eyes and ears that wanted to follow every little detail of their time together. When he suggested a ride around the countryside, Phoebe immediately agreed.

  “Except for coming into Forest Grove to shop, I haven’t gotten away from Promise Lodge since we left Coldstream,” she admitted as the wagon rolled past the businesses toward the county highway. She gave his elbow a hesitant squeeze. “Compared to you, I’ve led a pretty limited life.”

  Allen shrugged. “Moving a couple states away from your family—or going to trade school—aren’t gut choices for a lot of Plain folks,” he remarked, “but as a preacher’s kid, I was feeling pretty pinched when I finished at our school in Coldstream. Dat didn’t expect me to take up his carpentry business, but he did insist that I figure out how to make a living. Girls don’t get that kind of pressure.”

  “Jah, but I could’ve been more adventurous,” Phoebe countered. “I could’ve lived with some of Mamm’s cousins in southern Missouri as a mother’s helper or a caregiver—just to see more of the world. But I didn’t even consider it.”

  “Seems to me you jumped into your new business with both feet, which is a lot more adventure than most Amish girls take on,” Allen pointed out. “Buying your own supplies and committing to delivery dates is a lot different from working in somebody else’s store or looking after somebody’s kids.”

  Allen smiled to encourage her further. “I think you’ve put your God-given talents to gut use by taking advantage of the building and equipment Maria left behind. And Irene’s grateful to you for taki
ng her along on the ride.”

  Phoebe chuckled. “Jah, she wasn’t keen on today’s extra order, but that’s okay. We’ve allowed each other some flexibility,” she said. “When I offered Laura fifteen percent of our income from today’s baking, she snapped it up. This afternoon she’ll turn another profit from the goodies she’s selling at Mattie’s produce stand.”

  “You Hershberger sisters lead industrious lives,” Allen observed. They were passing through the lush countryside, where the occasional modest farmhouse, barns, and neatly trimmed lawns told of salt-of-the-earth farm families. He pointed to the left of the wagon. “The fellows who bought tiny homes this week live down that road. After they post photos of their new houses on the mercantile bulletin board alongside my ad, I hope to get even more business.”

  “You’re the one who’s on a new adventure!” Phoebe said proudly. “Who knows where this housing trend will take you? God put you in the right place at the right time so you could jump in on the ground floor.”

  Allen tingled with happiness. Her opinion meant a lot because she wasn’t flattering him the way Gloria did, trying to win his favor. Phoebe had a sense of purpose—and she was a much better organizer and record keeper than he was.

  “If your business expands, you might need to work someplace other than the area between the cabins and the Helmuths’ nursery,” she suggested in a faraway voice. “Mamm promised Laura and me each a plot of ground when we moved to Promise Lodge, so . . . if I were to claim my property, you could do your construction work there—even put up a shop building and move your tiny home onto my land, if you wanted to.”

  Allen’s eyes widened as alarm bells went off in his mind. “That’s a very generous offer,” he murmured. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  Was she making a play for him, offering the use of her property with strings attached? Or was Phoebe only being helpful, knowing he’d need storage space for his building materials—not to mention a place to work during bad weather and the winter months?