New Beginnings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  At the clinic, Frances allowed him to open the door for her before she strode toward the admission desk. When he followed her, she frowned. “I can do this myself,” she insisted. “After all, I’ve been seeing the doctor for weeks now.”

  With a sigh, Marlin took a seat in the waiting area. After a nurse in turquoise scrubs escorted Frances down the hall toward the exam rooms, he prayed that he’d be able to help her without further damaging their friendship—if friendship was all he could hope for. He was paging through an old magazine without really seeing it when the nurse came out to speak with him.

  “Dr. Flanagan would like you to join us, sir,” she said in a low voice. “He wants to be sure someone can assist Frances with her exercises between home visits from the therapist he’s arranged for her.”

  Marlin’s heart skipped a beat. Frances wouldn’t be happy about his help, but if the doctor wanted him to participate, how could he refuse? As he entered the small room where she sat with a slender man in a shirt and tie, he ignored Frances’s scowl. “Look at you!” he said happily. “Out of your slings and—”

  “And I’m as weak as a baby bird that can’t fly,” Frances interrupted bitterly. “I’m still useless—just as I’ve been ever since I fell down the stairs.”

  Dr. Flanagan shook Marlin’s hand, gazing at him purposefully. “Think how much better you’ll feel when you get your arms massaged and start moving them again, Mrs. Lehman,” he said. “If you do the exercises on these printouts between your therapist’s visits, I predict an improvement in your mindset, as well—but if your family and friends don’t think you’re doing better, I need to know about it,” he added with a rise of his eyebrows.

  Marlin nodded subtly in response. “Your girls and your friends and I will help you every step of the way, Frances,” he said as he accepted the stapled pages. “We’ve all been concerned about your depression lately.”

  The doctor nodded. “And how are you related to Frances, Mr.—?”

  “Marlin Kurtz,” he replied, thinking quickly. “Frances isn’t a member of my family, but it’s not because we haven’t talked about getting married.”

  Smiling, Dr. Flanagan took Frances’s hand and gently raised her arm. “My Plain patients usually recover quickly because they’re surrounded by family and friends—less chance of isolation, and more incentive to remain involved in their therapy,” he said as he slowly maneuvered Frances’s arm. “Do I have your permission to show Marlin how to move and massage your arms?”

  Frances looked from the doctor to Marlin, miffed at the way they were conspiring to help her. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  Dr. Flanagan placed her hand in her lap, focusing intently on her. “You can choose to start your therapy now, or you can wait for your therapist to come—which might not be until next week,” he added in a businesslike tone. “You can also choose to have Marlin show your daughters how to guide you through these exercises when you get home, if you don’t want his help. But while he’s here, you might as well put him to work, right?”

  Frances let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, fine. Let’s just get on with it.”

  Marlin bit back a smile, watching as Dr. Flanagan demonstrated the simple movements that would help Frances regain the strength in her hands and arms. As the doctor coached him, Marlin relished the feel of her soft skin even as he realized how weak her muscles had grown from lack of use over the past few weeks.

  “That’ll be enough for now,” Dr. Flanagan said after Marlin had finished. “Some gentle massage will increase the blood flow and keep your arms from getting sore after your exercise sessions—”

  “Mary Kate and Gloria can see to that part,” Frances put in quickly. “Folks will talk if they know Marlin is at the house giving me a massage.”

  Marlin tried not to feel disappointed about Frances’s attitude toward him. As they left the exam room, he had to walk quickly so he could open the clinic and buggy doors for her. In her haste, Francis stepped up into his rig a little too fast so he placed his hands at her waist to steady her.

  “You thought it was just hunky-dory that the doctor asked you to help me, ain’t so?” she challenged after she’d positioned herself on the seat.

  Marlin took up the lines, careful not to smile too widely. “If it hadn’t been me helping you, it would’ve been Amos, jah?”

  “Schemers—all three of you!” she muttered. At least she seemed more engaged and energetic than she’d been during their drive into town.

  When Marlin got back to the Lehman place, Frances reluctantly allowed him to help her down from the buggy before striding to the house ahead of him. He noticed that she kept her arms folded close to her body, as though they were still in slings. He also saw that when she tried to grasp the stair railing, her hand couldn’t grip it very tightly.

  But with patience and therapy, she’ll recover, he thought as he followed her into the house with the exercise sheets. And hopefully with Your help, Lord, she’ll regain her sense of perspective about our relationship, too.

  “Mamm, what’d the doctor say?” Mary Kate asked as they entered the kitchen. “Looks like you’re a free woman—no slings!”

  “I’ll be fine—and I’ll be a lot better if you’ve got a glass of iced tea handy,” Frances insisted as she gingerly pulled her chair out from the table. “Marlin’s got my exercise list, and you’re to work with me three or four times a day, Mary Kate.”

  Mary Kate smiled her thanks to him before she opened the refrigerator. “And while we’re working your arm muscles, we can decide on the furniture you want to get rid of, Mamm,” she said. “While you were gone, I got a call from the fellow who’s going to load it up and sell it. He’ll be here on Friday.”

  Marlin sucked air. What could he say to change her mind—in a way that focused on her needs rather than his own? “Are you sure you want to get rid of everything?” he asked gently. “I can understand why you might want to live at the lodge with the single ladies for a while. But what if the day comes when you wish you still had your family’s keepsakes and—”

  “Gloria and I feel this place is too big and quiet,” Frances interrupted. Her expression waxed stoic, even as she swallowed hard. “The money from selling the furniture—and hopefully the house and property—will support us for a long while. My mind’s made up, Marlin, so don’t try to talk me out of it.”

  Marlin declined Mary Kate’s offer of iced tea and headed home, baffled by Frances’s attitude. He’d been hoping that over the past few days she would’ve reconsidered the decision she’d announced at church. She sounded so resigned to letting go of her possessions, so final about living at the lodge—as though she’d rather give up everything she loved than marry him.

  He’d decided to let Harley and Minerva have the Kurtz house when he and Frances married, figuring she’d have fewer confrontations with his disapproving son if they lived in her place. But if a new family moved to Promise Lodge and bought her property before he could convince her of his love, that option would no longer be open to him.

  You have a lot of thinking to do in the next few days, he told himself as he drove the rig past the barrel factory. Frances seems determined to live without you. How are you going to handle that?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Phoebe gazed at the three babies in their carrier baskets, lined up in a row on the table in the Helmuths’ big kitchen. The one on the left wore a yellow crocheted cap and onesie, the center baby wore white, and the one on the right sported pale green clothing—and all of them had carrot-colored fuzz for hair.

  “How do you tell them apart?” she asked with a laugh. “Or is that a mother thing, and you know which girl is Corene and which is Carol?”

  Barbara laughed, looking proudly at her tiny new daughters—and beside her, Bernice beamed at her son. Phoebe had always had trouble telling the Troyer twins apart when they were growing up, too, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

  “I asked Minerva to dress Corene in green and to
put Carol in white, because we had the most onesies in those colors,” Barbara explained. “I figure to keep dressing them that way until I can figure out who’s who from their personalities, because right now they truly are identical.”

  “So if a baby’s in yellow or blue, he’s mine,” Bernice put in with a laugh. “We’ve color-coded our husbands’ clothes for years, so we’re used to this system.”

  “Well, no matter what they’re wearing, they’re all beautiful,” Phoebe murmured enviously. She tried not to imagine what a baby she and Allen might make would look like, even as she longed to find out someday. “I wish you all the best as you get accustomed to motherhood and raise these wee ones.”

  “We’re more grateful than you know for the casseroles and pies you brought us,” Bernice said as she gazed at the food on the counter. “Sam and Simon are the most helpful husbands in the world, but they’re not much gut in the kitchen.”

  “Jah, and it might be a week or two before we new mamms catch up with ourselves or get any real sleep,” Barbara admitted with a tired sigh. “Mattie’s been helping when she’s not working in her garden plots, and your mamm’s coming tomorrow to do our laundry, bless her. What would we do without our friends?”

  “Count on Irene and the Kuhns and me to bring your supper for a while—or whatever else you might need,” Phoebe added. “We’re all happy to help.”

  After she’d visited for a few more minutes, Phoebe left the big Helmuth house and mentally prepared herself for the next place she planned to go. After sounds of loud hammering had piqued her curiosity, she’d looked out one of the lodge’s upstairs windows Tuesday afternoon—and what she saw had made her jaw drop. Allen had parked his tiny home under the trees about ten yards from the far side of Rainbow Lake, and he’d built a new wooden dock on the water’s edge!

  She didn’t ordinarily bake on Wednesdays, but she’d gotten up early in the morning to make pies and casseroles for the Helmuths—and two fruit pies as a peace offering for Allen. If he no longer wanted her company, that was one thing, but if she’d scared him off with her talk of claiming the land up the hill from the lake, that was something else altogether.

  She had to know where she stood with him. Allen was too proud to admit why he’d made his sudden move, and why he hadn’t claimed his pies lately. If he believed he’d received all the treats he had coming as payment for the wooden pie shelves he’d built for her and Irene, Phoebe intended to correct his misconception. She was willing to bake pies for him for as long as it took to convince him they belonged together.

  When Phoebe stopped by the bakery to pick up Allen’s pies, she said a little prayer. Lord, remind me that this visit isn’t about me—it’s about us. Help me understand what Allen might not be able to put into words . . . and help me graciously accept his rejection, if that’s what it comes down to.

  As Phoebe placed the two pies in her metal pie carrier, she hoped the gooseberry and the strawberry-rhubarb fillings would entice Allen to talk to her openly. He’d spent the past week and a half avoiding her, under the guise of being immersed in building the two tiny homes he’d sold. She wanted the truth about his feelings, so she wouldn’t have to endure any more of the questions, the emptiness, his absence had caused.

  Phoebe stepped outside and walked around the Kuhns’ cheese factory and the fence that held her mamm’s dairy herd. The cows were in the barn for their second milking of the day, so she had an uninterrupted view of Rainbow Lake and the grassy verge surrounding it. She gazed across the sunlit surface of the water, which glittered like a million diamonds, and stopped. To be sure she was seeing clearly, Phoebe shaded her eyes with her hand.

  On the far side of the lake, Allen was sitting in a lawn chair on his new wooden dock, holding a fishing rod. He wasn’t working, so he had no excuse not to talk to her.

  Bolstering her nerve for whatever might happen, Phoebe strode across the grass—and for good measure, she waved at the young man who’d so effortlessly captured her heart.

  * * *

  Allen caught sight of a white kapp and apron in the sunlight. He immediately recognized Phoebe even though she was a distant figure standing by Christine’s dairy barns.

  He gripped his fishing rod. She was heading his way, reminiscent of an angel as she appeared to float gracefully across the grass. It was only right to return her wave. The sight of her metal carrier made his stomach rumble, even though he knew why she was bringing him pie—and even though there was no escaping the mission that was undoubtedly uppermost in her mind.

  But it was all right. Phoebe was bridging the gap between them—as he should’ve done; he just hadn’t known how. Even though he was the man, and he was a few years older than Phoebe, the reality of committing to a relationship was foreign to him because he’d always taken the easy way out with the girls who’d gotten serious about him. He hadn’t had a thing of value or permanence to offer those young women, but Dat had changed all that.

  Allen smiled, allowing his body to relax in the shaded lawn chair. During the past week he’d come to realize that having land at Promise Lodge had given him roots—something he’d purposely avoided before—yet he felt free now. His father’s unexpectedly generous gift of land, with no religious strings attached, had made him willing to settle down close to his family. Never had he expected that to happen.

  His heart began to pound, but it was a good feeling—a sense of being alive and open to whatever might happen with the beautiful young woman who was approaching him. “Hey there, Phoebe,” he said. He figured he should be the first to speak, since she had made the first move.

  “What a great setup!” Phoebe looked over at his tiny home, nestled in the shade of the big maple trees. “And you’ve built a new dock—which is making all the ladies at the lodge mighty curious as they look out their windows.”

  Allen smiled, knowing Phoebe was the curious one. He reeled in his bobber and line so he wouldn’t get distracted if he caught a fish. Should he reveal the truth, or keep her waiting? A glance at her pie keeper reminded him that the sooner she knew the facts, the sooner he would have his pie—or she’d walk away from him, if his news didn’t set well.

  “Ruby and Beulah and Irene are probably glad for something new to talk about,” Allen hedged as he stood up. “Let me get you a chair, Phoebe. You’re the first guest I’ve had since I moved to my new place.”

  Allen could feel the weight of her gaze as he jogged to the little slate-blue house. When he returned with another lawn chair and opened it for her, Phoebe’s eyes were wide with speculation.

  “Your new place?” she asked in a voice piqued with interest.

  Allen smiled at the way she made him do the talking. When she sat down beside him, he resisted the urge to grab her hand. “Considering that Mattie has given her two sons some acreage, and that your mamm figured to do the same for you and Laura, Dat has realized that as the other founder of Promise Lodge, he was entitled to do the same for me.”

  Phoebe was following his words closely, watching them come out of his mouth. “And?”

  Allen chuckled. Her pretty face was alight with the knowledge of where this story was going, yet she was showing amazing restraint. “I chose the land that included Rainbow Lake,” he said, extending his arms in both directions.

  One of her eyebrows arched. “But the lake belongs to everyone,” she pointed out warily.

  “And everyone can still enjoy it—except now I’m going to keep it stocked with fish and see that the grass around it is mowed. I’ve become the lake’s keeper, and the land around it is mine.”

  Phoebe turned in her chair, pointing behind them. “But I spoke for this land! And you knew that!” she added, aiming an accusing finger at him. “You knew I wanted a house on the hill so—so we could watch the sun rise over the water every morning and—”

  Allen grabbed her hand, stifling a laugh. “Careful there, or you’ll shoot me with this thing.”

  “Allen, this isn’t funny!” Phoebe blurted. “I
asked Mamm for this tract of land and she gave it to me! And Truman’s to build a road up the hill—”

  “He’ll be here on Saturday to do that,” Allen interrupted. When she struggled to free her hand from his grasp, he gently held it tighter. “Honey-girl, you’ve got it all wrong. My property line follows the row of big trees behind us, and you still have the place on the hill and the land to the west. We’re neighbors. Didn’t your mamm tell you that after she and Dat discussed the boundary?”

  The fight suddenly went out of her, yet she was still on edge. “No,” she admitted. “I’ve been busy baking pies, and she’s been helping with the Helmuth babies.”

  Allen brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He was pleased that Phoebe was standing up for what she believed was hers rather than letting him trample all over her plans. “So you have your land, and I have mine,” he pointed out softly. “When you build your house on the hill, you can still look out over Rainbow Lake, like you wanted to.”

  Phoebe’s lower lip was quivering, so Allen sensed he’d better steer the conversation in a positive direction again.

  “Actually, I was surprised nobody had spoken for the lake,” he continued, “but the land surrounding it, and the woods that extend back to the borderline of Promise Lodge property, aren’t much use to folks who’d want to raise crops or pasture animals. But I’m a carpenter rather than a farmer, so that’s not a big concern to me.”

  “Jah, probably not,” Phoebe agreed with a sigh.

  Allen prayed he’d say the right words. Her abject disappointment gnawed at him, making him feel guilty for not blurting a declaration of his love for her—but he didn’t want to lead her astray with pretty promises made too soon. “Now that I’m building tiny homes, I love the work I’m doing,” he said. He longed to look into Phoebe’s beautiful blue eyes, but she’d glanced away. “I belong at Promise Lodge, in ways I never felt when I was growing up in Coldstream with a preacher for a dat—and a bishop whose hatband surely must’ve been two sizes too tight, as narrow-minded as he was.”