Promise Lodge (29 page)

“We've gotten a nice bid on our farm, so we're starting to pack,” Frances replied with a delighted chuckle. “It's going to be quite a job, but we believe Floyd's original statement still stands: God is indeed leading us to Promise Lodge, or the pieces wouldn't be falling into place so quickly. We'll be there as soon as we can! Give everyone my best.”

Grinning, Deborah hung up the phone. “The Lehmans are coming! They've gotten a bid on their farm.”

“I'm so glad that's settled,” Mattie said with a nod. “
There's
a family who needs a new beginning.”

“Floyd Lehman is a bishop,” Christine explained to Mamma, “and his younger daughter had a run-in similar to Deborah's but with a more . . . permanent conclusion.” With a glance at Lily, she silently conveyed the adult nature of the situation. “We'll have lots of ladies—of all ages—here soon.”

“And who knows? Maybe another bishop or two will move here and we'll need a drawing of the lot to determine who will lead the Promise Lodge colony,” Rosetta remarked. “Let's just say Bishop Floyd's rather outspoken and set in his Old Order ways—not that that's always a bad thing.”

Mamma's laughter lifted the lines around her eyes. “Sounds like there'll be no shortage of church leaders—fellows all wanting to do things the way they've always done them in their previous districts, I suspect.”

Laughter filled the kitchen as Rosetta carefully carried one of the steaming pots of beans from the burner to the end of the worktable. “But we women are no strangers to managing such men, are we, Alma?”

Deborah smiled as she, her sister, and the Hershberger girls gathered around the pots with cups and wide metal funnels to fill hot jars with beans.
Help us work this out according to Your will, Lord. Forgive us our debts . . . as we forgive our debtors.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As thunder rumbled on Sunday morning, Rosetta quietly descended the back stairs and entered the kitchen. She set her lamp on the windowsill so its glow would light most of the large room. It was insanely early to be up, but her circling thoughts had made sleeping impossible. She felt unsettled about the Peterscheims' situation—which remained unresolved because Preacher Eli seemed determined to withhold his final decision about leaving Coldstream, not to mention his forgiveness for poor Deborah.

And although Frances Lehman's call had excited her, Rosetta wondered yet again why she hadn't heard from the Kuhns. Last Sunday their chatter had filled the kitchen with their hopeful plans for Ruby's bees and Beulah's cheese, and Rosetta missed them. As she filled the two metal percolators to make coffee, she realized she hadn't even taken down their phone number before Delbert drove them home.

You'll have to be better organized if you're to keep track of your renters,
she chided herself.
What if one of them gets ill and you need to contact their—

When the phone rang, Rosetta nearly dropped the percolator in the sink. She rushed over to answer it before the ringing awakened anybody, wondering who would be calling at this hour. “
Jah?
Hello?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“Rosetta! Didn't mean to startle you, calling so early, but when I saw a light in your kitchen window—well, I couldn't help hoping it would be you.”

Rosetta stepped into the mudroom so her voice wouldn't carry up the stairway. “Truman!
Gut
morning,” she murmured into the phone. “I'm so glad you're not somebody calling about an emergency, or—”

“Truth be told, I've gone too long without your smile or the sound of your voice,” he cut in with a chuckle. “So that feels like an emergency, of sorts. Work has been crazy-busy this week, late into the evenings. It's often that way in the summer. I suppose it's a
gut
problem to have.”

Rosetta grinned like a giddy schoolgirl, holding the receiver close and keeping her voice low. She felt better already. Less anxious and more relaxed. “We've been going nonstop here, as well,” she replied. “A family from Ohio visited this week—and they've decided to move to Promise Lodge. Then Deborah's family surprised us by showing up yesterday, as well.”

“And what about those two gals I met last weekend?” he asked. “One reason for my call was to invite them to our Mennonite church service this morning. My mother and I will be leaving around nine, if they'd like to ride with us.”

“That's very thoughtful of you.” Rosetta sighed. “Ruby and Beulah put down six months' rent and had big plans for selling their honey and homemade cheese, but their brother took them back home last Sunday. I was just realizing I had no way to contact them when you called.”

“Ah.” The sound of Truman releasing his breath tickled Rosetta's ear. “Where are they from? I have projects and clients all over northern Missouri, so I might be able to hunt down a phone number.”

Rosetta's eyes widened. “Oh, could you? Their brother's name is Delbert—Delbert Kuhn. Hmm . . . I think they live near a place called Versailles, but I have no idea where that is.”

“It's south of here quite a ways, near Lake of the Ozarks. Lots of Mennonite folks live in that area, so I'll see what I can find for contact information, all right?”

“That would be wonderful.
Denki
so much, Truman,” she replied. “I'm really glad you called.”

“Me too. Makes me happy to make you happy.”

Once again Rosetta reminded herself not to get caught up in the melody of his voice, or in the way his romantic words made her tingle. Through the window she noticed that the wind had picked up, splattering heavier rain against the glass, yet the dreary weather didn't bother her. “We'll have to set a time for that fish fry soon, or the summer will fly past us. Hard to believe we're more than halfway through June already.”

“I'll ask my mother today when she'd like to meet you—and your family and friends, of course,” he added quickly. Truman paused. “I hear her walking across the floor above me now, so I should be sure she's off to a steady start. Don't be a stranger, Rosetta.”

“You know where to find me.”

Rosetta hung up the phone, feeling happier than she had all week. What could possibly be wrong with exchanging some pleasant flirtation with her attractive neighbor? As long as her sisters and the men were around, her friendship with Truman Wickey would remain perfectly safe and proper. None of those
entanglements
he'd mentioned the other night.

Rosetta returned to the kitchen to finish making the coffee. This being Sunday, she decided to focus on making the Peterscheims feel at home, and on making the Lord welcome in her heart during church this morning, too . . . even if it was Truman's handsome face she saw in her imagination.

* * *

Despite the steady rain and rumbles of thunder that awoke them Sunday morning, Deborah felt hopeful. After she and Lily and Mamma got dressed, she and her sister held umbrellas over their heads while Mamma walked between them on her crutches. “This moisture will make your gardens grow,” her mother remarked cheerfully. “How did you girls do at the produce stand yesterday?”

“We had to restock at noon, and we nearly sold out,” Deborah replied. “All told, with the veggies, eggs, and my goodies, we brought in nearly four hundred dollars. I could hardly believe it!”

“Wow!” Lily murmured. “Maybe I could make pies to sell at the stand—
if
we move here,” she added wistfully.

Deborah smiled. “Your crusts always turn out better than mine, so that might be a
gut
idea. Once word gets around, I think we'll do a steady business. We figure to keep the stand open as long as we've got fresh produce—although we have a couple of other gals who're hoping to sell honey and cheese made from our cows' and goats' milk,” she added. “We might be able to stay open later into the fall than Mattie had planned. Pies and breads and goodies will sell no matter what the season.”

Queenie raced around them, barking, until Noah opened the back door for them. He smiled as the three of them wiped their feet on the rug. “Did everyone rest well?” he asked, holding Deborah's gaze for an extra moment.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” Lily replied.

“Nothing like the patter of rain on the roof to lull you to sleep,” Mamma remarked.

As they entered the kitchen, Deborah's stomach rumbled. They did minimal cooking on Sundays, so breakfast would consist of the banana bread and oatmeal-plum bars she and Lily had baked yesterday evening with ajar of Mamma's plum preserves. Pitchers of milk and boxes of cold cereal sat on the table, as well. The aroma of freshly perked coffee filled the kitchen.

“And how did you fellows like camping in your cabin last night?” Mattie asked as Deborah's
dat
and her three brothers hurried in out of the rain.

Menno and Johnny's hair appeared uncombed and their shirttails stuck out around their suspenders, but they wore wide smiles. “The coyotes sounded so
cool!
” the eight-year-old said.

“And close to our cabin, too,” Menno chimed in. “Lavern says he saw a couple of them in the woods, but Dat thought they were probably the neighbors' dogs.”

“Needless to say, it was a busy night,” Dat remarked as he joined Amos and the Schwartz brothers at the table. “Hope you lock your chickens and goats up tight.”

“We do, and Noah's keeping the coyotes in line with his shotgun, too,” Amos replied. “Let's have our prayer. Looks like the ladies have outdone themselves baking for us.”

Deborah smiled at Lily and bowed her head. It was a pleasure to be around Preacher Amos because he expressed his appreciation for the food they prepared. Like most Amish men, her father tended to compliment the cooks by eating more of what they prepared—
expecting
the pies, breads, and other foods to be made to his liking. He'd told Mamma early in their marriage that he considered store-bought cereal to be a waste of good money, so she wasn't surprised when her father passed those boxes along to Roman. He crumbled four oatmeal-plum bars in his bowl and doused them with milk.

“Raisin Bran!” Menno exclaimed when the box got to him. He opened it and gleefully filled a bowl.

“And Shredded Wheat with blueberry filling,” Johnny said with a grin. “Can we have breakfast here all the time, Dat?”

While most of the folks around the long table chuckled, Deborah noticed that her father's expression remained serious.
Surely he won't lecture Mattie and Rosetta about what they've set out for breakfast,
she hoped. It would be a long day if her father began it on a sour note.

After he'd eaten a large spoonful of his milk-saturated plum bars, however, Dat looked at his two younger sons. “You might get your wish,” he replied. “But there's another matter to attend to first.”

When her father set down his spoon and gazed directly at her, Deborah's heart thudded. His hair looked shaggy, and he had a red spot beneath his nose where he'd nicked himself shaving. Was it her imagination, or did Dat seem older than when she'd left home a few weeks ago?

“Deborah, when I sent you away after the Bender barn fire, I misjudged the situation. I apologize.”

She squeezed her slice of banana bread so tightly that it crumbled to her plate. Everyone around her grew quiet, yet it was a different sort of silence from the one they'd endured during her parents' confrontation at supper last night.

“Seems Noah has gotten
chattier
since he's moved here, and he gave me a pretty stiff earful last night,” her father continued. He cleared his throat, still holding her gaze. “I jumped to the wrong conclusion when I saw that your hair was hanging loose and your
kapp
was missing. I hope you can forgive me.”

Deborah's throat was so dry it clicked when she swallowed. Although she'd heard her father deliver more Sunday sermons than she could count, she couldn't recall him ever looking so uncertain, as though his salvation—his standing with God—depended upon her response. “I—I can do that,
jah,
” she whispered.

“Glory be to God,” Mamma murmured. “Our prayers have been answered.”

Around the table, their friends nodded their encouragement, but the situation wasn't entirely tidied up. Deborah inhaled deeply, hoping her voice wouldn't crack. “And now you must forgive
me
, Dat,” she began nervously. “I went against the
Ordnung
when I called the police that night, and I—I got into an English kid's car, foolishly thinking he would drive me home. I should've run the other way when I first saw those boys drinking in the barn—but I just couldn't let it burn down.”

Her father's face remained absolutely still. Unreadable. Once again Deborah felt the clock ticking away untold moments. Was he unable to forgive her mistakes? Would he let her wipe his slate clean without granting her the same gift?

Preacher Amos cleared his throat. “Deborah has already made this confession before us, Eli,” he said. “I think it's commendable that she's taking this extra step, so no further barriers remain between the two of you.”

Her father closed his eyes. Was he praying—or shutting out the beseeching gazes the others around the table were giving him?

“I appreciate the way you went to the sheriff, Dat,” Deborah continued urgently. Her pulse was pounding so loudly she could barely hear what she was saying, but her father deserved a fuller acknowledgment of his sacrifices. “You're the one who had to bear Obadiah's objections to doing that—especially after you'd named Isaac as the one who'd most likely caused the fire. You
did
protect me from the bishop's backlash and the sheriff's interrogation by sending me away,” she insisted in a halting voice. “I'm grateful for all you've done for me, Dat . . . grateful to God that everything has worked out, and that we're all safe and together again.”

“Amen to that,” Mattie whispered.

“God's will be done,” Rosetta murmured as she clasped her sisters' hands.

Dat's eyes remained closed. Beneath his dark beard, his jaw clenched and unclenched.

Deborah sighed. Begging Noah's forgiveness for breaking their engagement had been very difficult, but her father's silence hung so heavily, she bowed her head beneath its weight. She'd expressed her appreciation as best she could, yet again the seconds ticked by while she and her friends and family endured this agonizing impasse.

A sob made her glance up.

Dat hastily wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve and exhaled loudly. “It scared the living
daylights
out of me, Deborah, seeing my little girl with her clothes torn . . . that purple handprint on your neck,” he rasped. “I lost all sense of perspective—wanted to
kill
whoever had done that to you. I did what I thought was right at the time—sending you away—but cutting off my own arm with a hacksaw couldn't have hurt me any worse.” He yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose loudly.

Amos gripped her father's shoulder, nodding. “Had to be one of the most difficult days of your life, Eli.”

“
Jah,
but it's behind us now.” Dat blinked a few times and then focused on Deborah with pink-rimmed eyes. “I forgive you, Daughter. Let's don't ever go through such a separation again, all right?”