Promise Lodge (4 page)

Phoebe swung open the door and gestured for Deborah to go inside. “We figure to have new families stay in these cabins while their homes are being built,” she explained. “Everybody'll eat in the dining room and get to know each other while they settle in.”

“We're living in the lodge, along with the Schwartzes and Preacher Amos, until enough men arrive to start building houses,” Laura piped up. “From our room, we can see Rainbow Lake and the pasture where the cattle graze—right, Mamm?”

Christine Hershberger snapped a curtain rod into its bracket and turned. Her slender face brightened and she rushed over. “Look at you, come to visit us here in Promise!” she said as she embraced Deborah. “Nothing's so sweet as the face of a longtime friend.”

“It's
gut
to see you, too. You're making such a nice new home here,” Deborah replied as she returned the hug. The longing in Christine's voice told her to keep the conversation light. No need to reveal the tragic details about the fire at the Bender place yet.

Christine, however, eased away to gaze into Deborah's eyes. “I couldn't help overhearing the bad news when your voices drifted out the kitchen windows,” she murmured. “While I would love to visit our friends in Coldstream, I doubt I'll ever go back there. I—I couldn't bear to see another burned-out barn. It's best for us to remember the Bender farm—and our own place—as they were in better days.”

“Oh, Mamm, we didn't mean to upset you,” Phoebe insisted as she slung her arms around her mother and Deborah.

“We'll focus forward, like you've told us to,” Laura said staunchly. She joined their huddle and shared in a collective sigh that filled the little cabin.

Deborah realized then that her recent tribulations were an ant hill compared to the mountain of misery the Hershbergers had climbed these past several months. “Whatever I can do to help, you tell me, all right?” she insisted. “We've shared so many things over the years—the fun stuff as well as the work—and I'm ready for some more of those
gut
times. Nobody makes me laugh the way you three do.”

Their grateful smiles told Deborah she'd said the right thing.
Maybe you can give as much comfort to Laura, Phoebe, and Christine as you were hoping to receive. Maybe you were led here to be a blessing.

Deborah gazed around the homey one-room cabin. A lingering lemony scent suggested a top-to-bottom cleaning. Two cozy old chairs flanked a simple table, with a braided rug between them on the wood plank floor. The double bed was made up with a colorful quilt and fresh sheets. Through an open door, she saw a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and a shower. The cabin reminded Deborah of the one her family had rented during a family reunion in a state park.

“This is really cozy,” she murmured. “If you've got new families coming in, though, I don't want to be in the way when—”

“This is
you
we're talking about!” Laura interrupted. “You'll never be in the way, silly goose. This is the smallest cabin—too cramped for a family with kids. So stay as long as you want!”

“Let's show you around. Then we can catch up on what's going on back home while we plant a second patch of sweet corn,” Phoebe suggested. “With all the time it took to move here, we're late planting some of our vegetables for the produce stand. But it'll all work out—especially with you helping us, Deborah.”

As her friends showed her the rest of the cabins and the grounds, Deborah's spirits lifted. The Hershbergers were hoping she'd stick around Promise Lodge for a while, and she had no doubt that she could be useful. Everywhere she looked, walls needed painting and windows needed curtains and floors needed scrubbing.

When the three of them reached Rainbow Lake's freshly mowed shoreline, several frogs hopped into the water. The lake sparkled with sun diamonds as it lapped gently around an old wooden dock that extended toward its center. A fish jumped out of the water and splashed back in. As the trees swayed in a refreshing breeze and Phoebe pointed out the overgrown apple orchard they hoped to revive, Deborah felt the tension easing out of her shoulders. Everything about Promise Lodge seemed so peaceful, so welcoming, that she dared to believe she might recover from being cast out of her home.

A movement caught her eye near the entry to the grounds, where Noah was leading his Belgian from the plot he'd finished plowing. Even from this distance, he appeared forlorn, lacking the exuberant energy Deborah recalled from their childhood and courtship.

Deborah sighed. How could she convince Noah to forgive her, to trust her again? And where could she go if he didn't?

Chapter Three

At supper that evening, Noah focused on his ham and beans to keep from looking at Deborah. It was no accident that his
mamm
and aunts had seated her directly across the table from him, probably figuring he'd get lost in her green eyes and gaze at the glossy brown hair she'd tucked neatly beneath her
kapp,
the way he used to. He buttered a square of corn bread, considering where he'd go after he'd finished eating. Someplace she wouldn't follow him, pleading again for his forgiveness and affection.

“Noah, now that you've finished plowing the produce plots,” Preacher Amos said, “I'd like you to putty the windows in the cabins and then paint the windowsills. You've got a steadier hand with a trim brush than I do.”

“
Jah,
I can do that,” Noah replied as he drizzled honey on his corn bread.

“And, Deborah, your
dat
once told me you'd made quick work of painting the kitchen and bedrooms at your place,” Amos went on from the head of the table. “If you could help us out by painting the cabins' interior walls while you're here, I'd really appreciate it. I've got rollers and paint all ready to go.”

When Noah glanced up, he couldn't miss Deborah's pleased expression. Was she tickled because Amos had complimented her, or because the preacher was arranging for her to work alongside
him
? Noah's temples pulsed when he clenched his jaw against a protest.

“I'd be happy to help,” Deborah replied with a lilt in her voice. “Mamma has always said that Dat taught me how to paint when I was a kid so
he'd
never have to do it again.”

As laughter rang around him, Noah's frustration rose. Everyone had conveniently forgotten how Deborah had humiliated him. Rejected him. Beside him, Roman reached for the bowl of wilted lettuce with a chuckle. “There's no escaping her, little brother,” he murmured near Noah's ear. “You might as well make your peace with her.”

Noah glared at him. “Who asked for
your
opinion?” he muttered.

As the chatter continued around the long table, Noah quickly finished his supper and excused himself to tend the livestock chores. At least the horses, Christine's cows, and Rosetta's goats wouldn't mock him as he filled their water troughs and put out their evening feed. When he stepped down from the lodge's porch, Queenie met him eagerly with her rubber ball, so he threw it hard, releasing his pent-up tension. Watching his dog chase the ball and catch it after the second bounce made him feel better, so when she brought it back to him Noah lobbed it down the driveway again.

A distant high-pitched yipping made him stop to listen.
Coyotes.
Dusk was falling, and they were on the prowl—reason enough to put Rosetta's chickens into the shed along with the goats. When he'd fed and watered all the stock, Noah took his rifle from behind the barn door and went out to the edge of the woods where they'd stacked their firewood beneath tarps. He fetched some cans from the recycling bin and spaced them across the top of the woodpile.

Noah shot without having to think about it, watching the cans fly with rhythmic precision. At the sound of distant female voices, he turned to watch his cousins bid Deborah good night on the lodge porch before she went to her cabin. When a lamp flickered in her window his heart quivered, but another round of target practice restored his resistance to her presence. She would be getting ready for bed . . . and as early as the sun rose on these summer mornings, he should be heading inside, too. He strolled to the lake and sat on the dock for a while, however, scratching Queenie between the ears as the frogs began their nightly chorus.

When Deborah's lamp went out, only two squares of pale yellow light remained in the lodge windows. The darkness deepened into a velvety indigo spangled with stars. Noah breathed easier, relieved that this eventful day had finally ended. Once again the coyotes called to each other, sounding closer now. Although his mother didn't like having Queenie in the house, he decided to slip her into his room. His Border Collie was feisty and fast, and she would dutifully defend the livestock, but she was no match for predators if they outnumbered her.

“Come on, girl, let's go in,” he murmured as he started toward the lodge.

When Noah reached the porch, he saw Roman leaning against a support post, shadowed by the dense trumpet vines. Even in the darkness, it seemed clear that his brother had been waiting for him. “You're not planning to use that gun on our guest—or to scare her off—I hope,” he teased.

Something inside Noah snapped. After dealing with Deborah's surprise arrival since early this afternoon, he really didn't care to discuss her any further. “Enough already,” he muttered, resting the butt of his gun on the ground. “Not so long ago my ducks were in a nice row—I had a fiancée, a farm, and a future—until Deborah ditched me, and then Mamm and the aunts got their half-baked idea about starting a new settlement out here in the middle of nowhere,” he ranted. “At least it got me away from Coldstream and the Peterscheims. But why on God's
gut
earth has she showed up
here,
of all places?”

Roman's eyebrows rose. “Better adjust your attitude before Amos starts preaching at you,” he warned. “It's no secret how you feel about Deborah—or about being here at Promise Lodge, little brother. Get a grip.”

“I'll get a grip, all right—around Deborah's neck,” he muttered. “This wagonload of
manure
started rolling downhill on account of her, you know.”

Roman's expression confirmed what Noah already knew: his frustration had gotten out of hand. In the eyes of the Amish, such anger was every bit as sinful as the activities Deborah had attributed to Isaac Chupp. “Now you've lost all sense of perspective,” his brother stated. “Maybe Deborah had
gut
reason to break up with you when—”

“Stifle it, Roman. Is it a gift from God to be
right
about everything?” Noah exhaled in exasperation. “Sorry. I'm all wound up—”

“Tighter than a top,” his brother agreed.

“—because nothing's going right in my life anymore. And now Deborah's shown up to rub my nose in it,” Noah blurted. Then he sighed loudly. “Even Job cried out to God when he'd had too many troubles heaped on his head.”

The two of them stood in silence, except for the reedy whine of the cicadas and the croaking of the frogs. Noah inhaled deeply, hoping the cool night air would settle the fire and brimstone burning in his gut. He'd always been able to keep a lid on his feelings, even during Dat's nastiest rants when he'd been so sick near the end of his life. Lately, however, his emotions seemed to boil over at every little thing—not that moving away from everyone and everything he'd ever known was a
little
thing.

“What do you suppose happened to Deborah that she's not telling us about?” Roman asked as he watched the fireflies rise from the grass. “There's a story behind that bruise on her neck.”

“She dodged the issue when I asked her about it,” Noah remarked gruffly. “I doubt the women'll quiz her about that handprint. They probably figure Eli got peeved and grabbed her.”

He didn't like the path his suspicions were following, but what would it solve if he kept them to himself? “Personally, I think Isaac Chupp did that to her . . . maybe because Deborah saw him in the Bender barn,” Noah speculated. “You'd think she'd know better than to tangle with the bishop's boy. But then, I suspect Isaac's the reason she walked out on
me
.”

Roman scowled. “From what I've seen, Isaac flirts with
all
the girls. That doesn't mean it's right if his drinking gets out of hand and other folks lose their barns—or a husband—because of it.”

“
Jah,
there's that.” Noah closed his eyes against a fresh welling-up of resentment. Why did one bad thing lead to another and another, like lined-up dominoes falling in succession? Truth be told, Deborah's rejection had been just one in a series of disasters. “Seems like the trouble started early last year when Dat's diabetes took him out, and then Mamm's parents succumbed to the flu, which left Aunt Rosetta alone in that big house. And then Uncle Willis died fighting his barn fire, which left Aunt Christine a widow. That's a
lot
of trouble in our family lately.”

“Let's not forget how Bishop Obadiah kept harassing Mamm and the aunts to get married, practically before Uncle Willis was cold in the ground,” Roman reminded him. “It was only a matter of time before any one of them snapped. They felt God was leading them to this place, so they found a way to afford it.”

“And you agree with that? You
like
it here?” Noah challenged. After living in Promise for three weeks, Roman was discussing their life-altering move in a tone that sounded downright happy rather than stoically accepting of the hand God had supposedly dealt them.

“You could've stayed in Coldstream,” Roman reminded him. “You had a welding apprenticeship, a
gut
opportunity to—”

“And why would I want to work in Eli Peterscheim's shop, where I'd see
her
all the time? And where would I live?”

Roman shrugged in that exasperating way he had. Because he was three years older than Noah, he thought he was so much wiser. “Even the Lord's will allows us to choose. Frankly, I made the move because none of the Coldstream girls interested me,” he admitted. “Sure, Mamm would've fussed if either of us had stayed behind, but she was determined to make a go of this place. While other families buy these lots and repay the initial investment Mamm, the aunts, and Amos made—and they get Rosetta's apartments and the produce stand going—I figure to keep managing Aunt Christine's dairy herd and selling the milk. I think we'll get that old orchard producing again someday, too.”

“You really believe this Promise Lodge thing's going to fly?” Noah challenged. “I see a lot of opportunities for falling flat on our—”

“Since when did you become such a naysayer?” Roman countered. “Mamm's willing to try something new instead of struggling to keep up a farm in Coldstream. Plenty of folks have expressed their doubts, but she and Rosetta and Christine refuse to believe them. Maybe we should be taking notes.”

Noah kept his mouth shut. There was no use in trying to talk Roman out of his high-flying ideas. In the silence that stretched between them he heard a singsong yipping, maybe from the orchard.

“I'm going to stay up for a while. Teach those coyotes a lesson,” Noah remarked. “If they keep sniffing around Rosetta's chickens, we'll never be rid of them.”

His brother went inside the lodge, and a few moments later the lamps went out. Noah gazed out into the night. The darkness that stretched endlessly in every direction was broken only by an occasional glimmer of heat lightning on the horizon, the sign of an oncoming storm that might bring some welcome rain.

But what of the storm in his soul?
What if Roman's right and I should be making amends . . . making my own choices instead of whining about Mamm's? After all, Deborah chose to come here—chose to move beyond whatever happened in Coldstream, and to be near me.

And what did that say about God's will at work in his life?

* * *

Deborah curled into a tight ball as tears trickled down her cheeks. Even though the cabin's bed with its new mattress was far more comfortable than the one she shared with her sister at home, and the sheets smelled sweet and clean from drying in the sun, she couldn't fall asleep. The male voices that had drifted through her window had spelled it out: Noah believed she was romantically involved with Isaac Chupp. That idea sickened her almost as much as the resentment that had edged Noah's conversation with his brother. He sounded very near the breaking point. Not at all like the happy, easygoing young man she'd been engaged to.

Should she go ahead and tell the rest of her story? She
had
gone against the
Ordnung
and the long-established understanding that Amish folks handled their own disasters without involving local law enforcement. She was certain, however, that hearing the exact details of that fiery night would only depress poor Christine more, not to mention upsetting Mattie and Rosetta, as well.

And what if she told the truth and no one here believed her? Dat certainly hadn't.

Deborah stared into the darkness. For better or for worse she'd come here, and she'd told Preacher Amos she would paint tomorrow.