Promise Lodge (10 page)

“Mostly what we're told,” Amos quipped without missing a beat.

The laughter that erupted lifted Noah's spirits. He already liked this guy Wickey. His straw hat had seen better days, and his striped shirt and suspenders were smudged with concrete because he'd come along just in time to help them set some fence posts for a new corral behind the barn. The farm Truman owned was as neat and pretty as a picture postcard, and he just seemed
happy
.

“I'm not prying, understand, but I noticed electricity out in your barn, and of course this lodge is electrified, too,” Truman remarked. “Our Mennonite district allows us to use electricity and drive cars and such. Will you folks have to remove all the wiring to comply with Old Order ways?”

“Here in the lodge building, we're going to install solar panels and cover the electrical outlets,” Rosetta responded as she checked the pies in her oven. “And since these big stoves and ovens are gas, we'll only need to replace the fridges and freezers with gas ones—when I get the money to cover that.”

“And the government requires dairy farmers to have electric bulk tanks to store their milk in,” Roman remarked. “The Old Order bishops have had to go along with that so a lot of their members can make a living.”

Truman nodded as he gazed up at the pots hanging from hooks in the ceiling. “Plain folks have to deal with a lot more governmental regulations these days.”

Preacher Amos was nodding. “When we start building houses, though, the Amish places won't be electrified. Most buggy sheds will have solar panels with plug-in adapters for charging the car batteries that run their buggy lights, and small businesses might use the solar panels to operate cash registers and such. But make no mistake,” he added emphatically, “we Amish still stay off the grid, far as electricity in our homes goes.”

Truman was peering into a pot on the stove—and then admiring the pies Rosetta and Christine were taking from the oven. “Seems to me these old campground appliances are working just fine for the food you ladies are whipping up, though,” he remarked. “You've really got this place shined up. I wish you all the best as you get your businesses going.”

“Can you stay for dinner so we can get better acquainted?” Noah's mother asked. “Might be half an hour before the meal's on the table, if you've got that long.”

Truman's grin lit up his entire face. “I'd be crazy to refuse an offer like that, considering how
gut
it smells in here.”

“Why don't we look around outside, and you can tell me if we've got the right ideas for plotting out small farms,” Amos suggested. Then he snatched a double handful of the cookies that were cooling on racks nearby. “Here—a little something to tide us over until dinner.”

Noah hung back as the other guys went outside, noting that besides the frosted molasses cookies Amos had grabbed, the girls had baked chocolate chip cookies and—did he dare believe his eyes? Before he could reach for a peanut butter bar, Deborah placed three of them on her palm and extended it toward him.

“These are one of your favorites, as I recall,” she murmured.

Noah's stomach tightened. When they'd been courting,
any
cookie Deborah had baked had been his favorite. There was no missing her hopeful gaze, her shy smile, as she waited for him to accept her gift. With the Hershberger girls and the three women looking on, he figured he'd better behave graciously. “
Jah,
these'll do,” he murmured as he plucked the cookies from Deborah's hand. “Nice of you to think of me.”

Noah closed the kitchen door behind him and then stuffed an entire bar into his mouth. The sweet peanut butter covered his tongue and the crispy cereal and crunchy peanuts gave him something satisfying to chew on. Before he'd caught up to the other fellows, he'd devoured every last crumb of the other two bars. Noah wasn't ready to think about how Deborah was working to win him back, but he had to admit she knew her way around a kitchen—and she also knew that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.

“Would you like me to trim these trees?” Truman was saying as he gestured toward branches that were dragging the ground. “I could make short work of that with my cherry picker and saws, and I've got an industrial chipper, too. No reason you couldn't spread the mulch in flower gardens—or beneath your apple trees, to keep the weeds down,” he added as he pointed toward the orchard. “I'm so pleased that you Plain folks have plans for this land, I'd even give you a
gut
-neighbor discount on the work I'd do.”

Thank you, Lord!
Noah thought as he listened to more of Wickey's ideas for improvement. Truman also chatted about belonging to the Mennonite fellowship a few miles down the road, which explained how he could own and operate the heavy equipment for his landscaping business. Preacher Amos was happier than Noah had seen him in a long time, because this fellow and his machinery could make their settlement take shape a
lot
faster than Amish horse-drawn plows and chain saws.

“So am I right, thinking none of your women are married?” Truman asked as they headed away from Rainbow Lake, back toward the house. “Not trying to be nosy, understand. But a man likes to know these things before his mind wanders too far down the wrong road.”

Amos laughed, clapping Truman on the back. “You've figured us out, Truman. We could just as well call this the Promise Lodge Singles Colony—not that Christine or Mattie or I planned on losing our spouses so early in our lives.”

Truman's expression sobered. “You've all seen your share of heartaches, then. I didn't mean to make light of your situations. Please accept my apology and condolences.”

“Accepted,” the preacher said. “But I'll tell you right off that I came here partly because Mattie and I were childhood sweethearts before we married other folks.”

Noah rolled his eyes at the way Amos was staking his claim on Mamm.

“I see what you're saying. And what of Rosetta then?” Truman asked.

“Never married. As the youngest of the Bender sisters, she stayed home to look after their elderly parents until they passed on,” Amos replied. He stopped several feet short of the house, lowering his voice. “Rosetta's a member of the Old Order Amish church, however. So that means there won't be any mixing and matching with Mennonite fellows.”

“Ah.” Wickey sighed as he glanced toward the kitchen window. “Guess I'll just enjoy all you folks as new friends then, and leave it at that.”

“Could be the right gal will come along to Promise Lodge to join our colony, though,” Preacher Amos remarked. “We've advertised for Amish and Mennonites alike, knowing the two different groups benefit from partnering together. The boys and I are already grateful for your offer to help us with the trimming and the orchard.”

“And some of the families coming to Promise Lodge have daughters looking to marry,” Roman chimed in. He went over to the pump to refill Queenie's water bowl and wash his hands.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Truman gazed out over the campground again. “Come time to build your new houses, I know fellows with equipment for digging foundations and water lines and such,” he said. Then he grinned, his eyes alight. “Maybe I can earn a few meals in exchange for bringing them around, eh? My mother's not inclined to cook a lot for the two of us anymore, you see.”

Amos chuckled as he went toward the back door of the lodge. “I think we can arrange that. Might not hurt to drop a hint at dinner and see where it gets you.”

Truman removed his straw hat and smoothed his sandy brown hair before entering the kitchen. He gave Noah a pensive look. “While I recall running the roads at your age, thinking the bachelor life was mighty fine, I'm still kicking myself over the girl that got away,” he mused. “It was a stupid misunderstanding. I insisted on being
right
because I was the man. So now she's got a nice little family, and—well, you don't want to hear my bellyaching. I've got a
gut
life and a prosperous business. No room to complain.”

Noah didn't miss the knowing look that passed between his brother and Preacher Amos as the four of them filed through the hot, fragrant kitchen. At least they had the decency not to say
I told you so
as everyone took seats around the table that was set for ten in the dining hall.

Was Wickey just shooting the breeze, or could he sense Noah's romantic difficulties with Deborah? Could be he'd told the story about the lost sweetheart because he'd learned Rosetta wouldn't be able to date him—or maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe the incident had come back to haunt him because the aromas of Rosetta's fruit pies, mingled with the savory scents of meat loaf, fried potatoes, and creamed peas with onions reminded Truman of what he'd lost out on.

Not my circus, not my monkeys
.

As Noah recalled that slogan from a T-shirt his friend had won at the county fair, he had to bite back a chuckle as they bowed their heads for a silent prayer. Wickey's problems weren't his problems. It was best to pass the platters and eat rather than to dwell upon Deborah—or to fume over what she was telling him and what she wasn't.

Noah felt the weight of her gaze from across the table. When he looked at her, Noah realized she'd heard Truman's lovelorn tale—or at least the end of it—when they'd been coming inside. Deborah's rueful smile pricked at him. It suddenly seemed that romantic relationships
were
a lot like a circus, with several little dramas going on simultaneously and the constant potential for falling off the tightrope without a moment's notice or a net.

He sighed at this random thought. Was his conscience working against him, too?

Was it his imagination, or did Amos smile with particular sweetness at Mamm during the meal? “It's a big day for Promise Lodge,” he said as he filled his plate. “Truman's not been here an hour and already he's offered to do some earth moving and tree trimming for us—heavy work the boys and I would be hard-pressed to accomplish expediently. Now
that's
neighboring!”

Wickey looked embarrassed by Amos's praise. “It's the sort of landscaping work I do every day,” he said with a shrug. “And we agreed to a fair hourly compensation—”

“At a reduced rate,” Roman pointed out. Then he raised his eyebrows at Aunt Rosetta. “And maybe with some pies thrown in to sweeten the deal.”

Aunt Rosetta's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. It occurred to Noah that while she'd been caring for his grandparents over the years, apparently contented to remain a
maidel,
she'd never seemed interested in winning the favor of a fellow. Or had he merely assumed that? The smile she flashed at Truman Wickey made her look several years younger.

“Baked goodies seem like a fine way to pay you forward,” Rosetta said as she gestured toward the items that were cooling on the table behind her. “Figure on eating with us whenever you're working here, Truman. We really appreciate your helping us.”

“You've got a deal!” While Truman answered their questions about the best places to buy supplies and groceries in the nearby towns, he heaped his plate with second helpings of everything. When Aunt Christine cut a coconut custard pie and a peach pie for their dessert, their neighbor was easily coaxed into taking a slice of each—and after dinner he left with an entire cherry pie as well as a loaf of cinnamon bread and some cookies.

After they saw Truman off, Noah returned to the dairy barn with his brother to finish the stalls they'd been building earlier. The rain had stopped. As he gazed across the expanse of the sunlit lawn, he noticed that every blade of grass glistened with a single drop of water on its tip. Why had he never noticed such a sight before? Surely the yard at the Coldstream farm had held pearls of moisture in this same breathtaking way, yet the sheer beauty of it held his attention for several moments.

A movement caught his eye near the fence where Rosetta's chickens and goats ambled about. Preacher Amos was cutting some of the irises that bloomed alongside the stable. He carefully cradled the flowers in the crook of his arm, a mix of deep purple, yellow, and white ones, then carried them toward the house. Before Amos reached the door, Mamm hurried outside to meet him, her pleasure evident in her voice and face as she accepted his gift. Their silhouettes were backlit by the sun, Amos taller and leaning slightly forward while Mamm gazed up at him.

Had she ever looked so happy when she was with Dat? Not that Noah could recall—but then, he didn't remember his father ever bringing her a bouquet, either.

The thought nagged at him. Just a few months ago he'd been head over heels in love with Deborah, sharing her thoughts and kisses and laughter. She'd come back to him—or at least she wanted to—yet he'd hardened his heart, afraid of having it broken again. Now he was also burdened with suspicions about her involvement with Isaac Chupp.

This
is
your circus. And you'll continue to be the monkey until you stop acting like one.

Noah glanced at the horses grazing peacefully in the pasture. Tomorrow was Sunday, the day he'd often taken Deborah for buggy rides after church. When it had been just the two of them, with the breeze in their faces as they rolled down the back roads—or when they'd stopped in the shade to enjoy a snack she'd packed—his future had seemed as bright as those irises growing by the shed, and as breathtaking as the expanse of grass blades adorned with beads of rain.