Frances let her afghan drop onto the swing as she stood up. “That’s me,” she replied hesitantly. “How can I help you?”
The man tugged a white envelope from his shirt pocket. “Figured I’d bring your check by while I was in this neck of the woods rather than dropping it in the mail,” he explained. “I’m Ted Meeks, the auctioneer. You were getting settled in your apartment the day your bishop and a minister helped me load your furniture into my van. Everything going all right?”
“Jah—just fine,” Frances added, hoping she sounded convincing. It gave her an odd feeling to accept the envelope he handed her, knowing it held the money she so badly needed.
Or maybe you’re just nervous because he’s big and tall and English, with a booming voice, she realized. Then another thought occurred to her. “So the auction’s over already? I—I thought it might take a lot longer.”
Ted smiled. “We had bidders who wanted big lots—whole rooms of matched furniture—at today’s sale, so even though we combined loads from three families, it went pretty fast. Some sales are like that. Right folks wanting exactly what we had to offer, and willing to pay top dollar for it.”
Frances nodded absently. Ted sounded upbeat, as though the auction had gone well. Did the shine in his eyes suggest that he knew more than he was letting on—or did his baby blues always twinkle?
It was silly, yet she was itching to know what sort of folks had bought her mother’s hutch and her bone china cups. But while an auctioneer was selling so many pieces of people’s lives, upping and upping the bids as he chanted so fast, he had little idea who was holding up the numbered cards—and probably had no recollection of what any one bedroom set or cabinet had sold for, either. So why should she question him?
“Nice of you to bring this by. Thank you,” Frances murmured.
Ted nodded, turning as though he had somewhere else he needed to be. “Appreciate your business, Mrs. Lehman. Have a nice afternoon,” he called over his shoulder. After he hopped into his truck, he backed it rapidly down the gravel road rather than turning around in the yard, as most folks did.
As she held the envelope in her hands, Frances resisted the urge to rip it open and read the amount of the check. She sat down in the swing to steady her nerves. Although she’d kept the books for Floyd’s business, her husband had managed their finances, so she was holding the most money she’d ever handled in her life—probably enough to see her through the rest of her days, if she budgeted carefully. After the way Marlin had left her hanging at the pie table, Frances had resigned herself to the possibility that she might remain a widow for a long while.
When she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, she carefully opened the envelope along one of its short ends. Why was it so fat, stuffed so full? As Frances pulled out a sheaf of folded papers, she saw that it was an inventory of all the goods she’d surrendered, with every piece of furniture briefly described and every pillowcase and dishcloth accounted for.
No sense in reading this list, she thought as she skimmed the first page. I’m well aware that everything I loved is long gone.
Frances gasped, grabbing for the check as it fluttered loose from the inventory sheets. When she saw the amount typed on it, she could only stare.
Six thousand two hundred dollars.
At first it seemed like a lot of money, yet the longer Frances looked at the numbers, the more she felt like crying. The auction company had deducted its percentage, of course—and she hadn’t had a specific amount in mind when she’d sent her furniture to be sold—but even so . . .
This is what Ted considers top dollar? Surely an entire houseful of furniture and linens and dishes and—surely I should’ve received five or six times this amount for what I acquired during more than twenty-five years of marriage, not to mention the memories attached to those pieces!
Frances nipped her lip, unable to look at anything except those black-and-white figures. She was aware that the bedspreads and the chairs were a bit worn, and that some of her table linens had been wedding presents . . . but Floyd had sometimes earned more than this in a busy summer month, back when he’d been running the siding and window business with Lester.
Less than a month of Floyd’s income. What’ll you do when it runs out—a lot sooner than you figured on?
Frances slumped in the swing. She wasn’t worried that Rosetta—or Gloria, the new apartment manager—would kick her out of the lodge because she couldn’t pay her rent, but her money problems were far from over. If she didn’t sell that big white house on the hill, she’d be strapped for money in a few years.
Her high-flying ideas about proving herself competent and independent suddenly seemed as flighty and unrealistic as something Gloria might’ve dreamed up. With a sigh, Frances tucked the inventory list and the check back into the envelope, which she slipped into her apron pocket. She needed to compose her emotions—figure out what she’d say when Gloria asked how the auction had come out.
“Ah, Frances! You’ve found the perfect place for enjoying our cool spell. Mind if I join you?”
Frances squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard Marlin walk across the lawn—and he was the last person she wanted to see at this difficult moment. But how could she turn him away?
“Sure. Why not?” she replied in a quavering voice.
The wooden stairs and porch floor creaked beneath his weight, and after Marlin sat down he began to swing them gently with his foot. Ordinarily, Frances found the forward-and-backward movement of a porch swing soothing, but she was too upset to enjoy anything at this moment. At least her afghan was bunched between them, acting as a chaperone. This was not the time to snuggle close to the man she’d tried to prove she didn’t need, because it wouldn’t be long before she’d remind him again exactly how foolish she’d been.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Marlin murmured. “You look like you’ve received some bad news.”
Frances pulled her hankie from her apron pocket and blew her nose loudly. It seemed pointless to delay the inevitable, so she laid it all out. “I just got my check from Ted the auctioneer,” she said hoarsely. “It—it was very humbling to find out how little all my cherished belongings were worth.”
Marlin let out a sympathetic sigh. “I’ve heard that more than once from folks after they’ve held estate sales. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, Frances.”
She glanced sideways at him. He sounded sincere enough, yet there was a shine in his eyes she didn’t know how to interpret. “Denki again for helping me move all that stuff out of the house,” she said in a low voice, “even if it’s turned out to be yet another dumb mistake I’ve made lately. You tried to tell me that selling out wasn’t a gut idea, and now I’m really sorry I didn’t listen.”
When Marlin focused on her, his bottomless brown eyes glimmered like sweet, warm molasses. “We all take our turns at doing things we later come to regret,” he remarked softly.
“But I’ve taken more than a turn!” Frances blurted. “Not only have I lost the simple things that were near and dear to me, but I told you I wanted no part of your help—or your company. How stupid was that?”
His eyebrows rose. “You are many things, Frances, but you are not stupid,” he insisted. “I’ve thought about our conversation after Caleb’s funeral, and you were right. You made some big, life-altering decisions in a moment of grief—as all of us do—and now you wish you could turn back the clock.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled miserably. She gazed at her hands in her lap. Marlin was being patient and kind, but Frances wished he would leave so she could roll up into a ball and hide for a while.
“You said that on Wednesday, too. I accept your apology, Frances. And I owe you one.”
She eyed him closely. “For what?” Marlin seemed suspiciously calm—downright contented and surprisingly pleased to be here with her, considering what poor company she was.
He scooted closer, reaching for her hand. The afgha
n was still between them, but the warmth of his skin and the gentle strength in his fingers sent dangerous tingles up her arm. “I’m sorry about the way I left our last conversation dangling—as if I could actually not want to be with you,” he said with an exasperated shake of his head. “Now that was stupid.”
Frances’s heart began to pound, even though she knew better than to hope Marlin wanted to start seeing her again. “No one could ever call you stupid,” she insisted. “Not after the way your sermon painted such an inspiring picture of Caleb being safe in the arms of Jesus. You dared to speak outside the Old Order box about God’s love and His will, and you changed peoples’ lives, Marlin.”
“And you’ve changed my life, Frances,” he insisted without missing a beat. “I want to court you again, with the intention of marrying you, as soon as you’re ready.”
Frances sucked air. Her mind reeled in disbelief. “You can’t mean that! You’re just feeling sorry for me because I sold off all of my—”
“I love you, Frances,” Marlin interrupted her, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “The least you can do is listen to the man who’s ready to go down on his knees, if that’s what it takes to get your attention. Will you marry me someday? Please?”
Frances wanted to laugh and cry and dance all at once, yet her mouth got ahead of her. “Why should I believe that?” she challenged. “I mean, I love you, too, Marlin, but you surely have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for if—”
He silenced her with a lingering kiss.
She wanted to pull away, to keep protesting about how she wasn’t good enough for such a wonderful man, but . . . well, Marlin was a very convincing kisser. Frances finally gave in to the tender sincerity of his lips. It felt so good to consider, if only for a moment, that she might not have to spend the rest of her life alone—and broke.
When Frances finally eased away, she sighed softly. “I needed that,” she admitted.
“I did, too.”
She cleared her throat in an attempt to clarify the dazzling, hopeful thoughts that were spinning in her head. “I—I guess, if we marry, I’ll be moving into your place with Minerva and Harley and the kids, jah?” she said. “I can’t think you’d want to move into my empty house—or to spend all the money it would take to furnish it again.”
A boyish grin flickered over his lips as he glanced away. “What if you could have all your belongings back?”
Frances frowned. Had she heard him correctly? Why would he ask such a useless question?
After several moments when she didn’t reply, Marlin gazed directly into her eyes. “What if you could have everything back just the way it was?” he repeated softly. “What if I went to the auction this morning and bought it all—lock, stock, and barrel—so nobody else could have it? Would that make you happy, sweetheart?”
The screen door banged as Gloria raced out onto the porch with them. “Oh my word, Marlin—did you really buy all of our stuff back?” she asked ecstatically. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard, Mamm?”
Gloria squeezed onto the swing beside Marlin and hugged him hard. “I didn’t want to say anything—knowing how Mamm was trying to keep us afloat,” she gushed, “but—much as I like my new apartment—I was really sad to think I’d never see our furniture and dishes again. It felt like we didn’t have a real home anymore.”
Tears prickled in Frances’s eyes, even as her mouth fell open in amazement. Who could’ve foreseen Gloria’s display of enthusiasm—affection—toward Marlin, after she’d so vehemently rejected him early on? And hadn’t she hit the nail on the head? Selling off their belongings had indeed felt horrible, as though Frances had wanted to be rid of everything that represented her life with Floyd and their girls. Everything that mattered.
Gloria smiled sheepishly as she rose from the swing. “I—I guess I shouldn’t have been listening at the window,” she admitted, “but denki again, Marlin. You’ve given us the best gift ever! I’ll go back inside now, so I can’t hear what you two are talking about.”
As the door closed quietly behind her daughter, Frances began to laugh. “You never know what that girl’s going to do next,” she said. She gazed at Marlin, grasping his hand between hers. “But Gloria got it exactly right this time. I’m just flabbergasted that you went to all the trouble of—and paid all that money for—the belongings I figured I’d never see again.”
Marlin studied her expression closely. “You’re sure about that? A few moments ago you were disappointed about the amount of Ted’s check.”
“But that’s before I knew you had bought everything.” Frances pulled the envelope from her apron pocket and handed it to him. “Take this back. I wouldn’t dream of keeping all this money you spent on—on me. To make me happy,” she added softly. “Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself, Marlin. Denki a million times over for what you’ve done for me.”
Marlin pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re welcome, dear. It’s gut to see you smiling again.”
After a moment, he chuckled. “Had I admitted to myself sooner that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life without you, I could’ve had Ted put your stuff straight into storage,” he said with a shake of his head. “But by the time I got the idea, his crew had already displayed your belongings amongst the household goods from a couple of other families, and the sale bills had already been published. So it served me right, having to outbid all the other folks at the auction.”
Frances smiled. “That explains why Ted had a twinkle in his eye when he delivered the check. But he didn’t say a word about whose money it was.”
“I asked him not to. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to buy your love.”
Once again it seemed that Marlin had just the right way with words. And Gloria had gotten it right, too: he’d done the most romantic thing she’d ever heard of in her life. Frances inhaled deeply, allowing Marlin’s scent and presence to settle her emotions.
She wasn’t doomed to spend the rest of her life in an apartment, after all. She had every reason to feel extremely grateful—downright giddy—because the handsome man beside her had known how much her simple possessions had meant to her, and he’d reclaimed them despite what it had cost him. It wasn’t fair to compare the two men, but she couldn’t imagine Floyd Lehman going to so much trouble or expense to correct a big mistake she’d made.
“I do love you, Marlin,” Frances whispered, realizing how very blessed he made her feel. “And someday soon, I would be delighted to become your wife.”
A gratifying sigh escaped him. “I’m awfully glad we got things settled between us. Glad you’ve changed your mind about marrying me, Frances.”
She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Seems I’ve had a shift in vision,” she said as the swing creaked with a comforting back-and-forth motion. “My glass was nearly empty and now my cup’s running over. It’s a wonderful new beginning you’ve given us, Marlin.”
“A shift in vision,” he repeated softly. Marlin pulled her close, and then he winked at her. “Couldn’t have said that better myself.”
From the Promise Lodge Kitchen
Even though Rosetta’s no longer in the lodge kitchen, Ruby and Beulah are still cooking up a storm—and Irene and Frances have their favorite recipes, as well! In this recipe section, you’ll find down-home foods that Amish women feed their families along with recipes I make in my own kitchen—because you know what? Amish cooking isn’t elaborate, and there are no set ingredients or products that make any recipe strictly Amish. Plain cooks make an astounding number of meals from whatever’s in their pantry, their gardens, and their freezers. They also use convenience foods like Velveeta cheese, cake mixes, and canned products to feed their large families for less money and investment of their time.
These recipes are also posted on my website, www.CharlotteHubbard.com. If you don’t find a recipe you want, please email me via my website to request it—or to let me know how you liked i
t!
~Charlotte
Sugar Cookie Bars
These may be just “plain ole sugar cookie” bars without any chocolate or add-ins, but they are amazingly addictive! You can tint the frosting and decorate them with jimmies in colors to suit any occasion.
Bars
¾ cup unsalted butter, softened*
¾ cup sugar
1 egg
1 T. vanilla extract
½ tsp. almond extract
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. cream of tartar
½ tsp. salt
2 cups all-purpose flour
Frosting
½ cup unsalted butter, softened
1 T. vanilla extract
1–3 T. milk or heavy cream
2 cups powdered sugar
Dash of salt
Sprinkles and/or food coloring if desired
Preheat the oven to 350°. Line a 9” x 13” pan with foil and spray with nonstick spray.
In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Beat in the egg and both extracts. Mix in 1 cup of the flour along with the baking soda, cream of tartar and salt, and then add the remaining flour. Press dough into the prepared pan and bake about 15 minutes—just until the sides are turning golden and the center looks a little underdone. Cool completely in the pan.
For the frosting, beat the butter in a medium bowl to soften it further, and then add the vanilla and 1 T. of the milk/cream. Slowly add the powdered sugar and salt, and any food coloring you want to use. Add more milk if needed to reach a spreading consistency. Frost bars and decorate with sprinkles, if desired. Lift the foil to bring the bars out of the pan and cut on a cutting board. Makes 2–3 dozen. Freezes well.
*Kitchen Hint: You may substitute the same amount of oil for the butter. It changes the texture, making a slightly denser bar.
New Beginnings at Promise Lodge Page 26