“I own a warehouse that supplies barrels of bulk groceries to Plain stores all over the Midwest,” he replied as he dried more utensils. “We ship everything from noodles to baking mixes to popcorn and candies—which get bagged and labeled for sale by those stores’ employees. My partner’s running the business in my absence.”
“Ah. You supply places like the bulk store in Forest Grove, where Irene and Phoebe sell their pies,” Annabelle remarked. She hoped she hadn’t brought up another point of contention with him, considering that he didn’t like women to own businesses.
“That’s right, and there’s a similar store in Cloverdale and another one over in Morning Star. It’s hard to find an Amish or Mennonite settlement that doesn’t have such a business,” Clayton remarked. He held Annabelle’s gaze again, as though he knew how uncomfortable it made her. “I’ve spent some of my time here visiting those stores to see firsthand how they’re doing.”
Annabelle thrust her hands back into the dishwater so Clayton couldn’t see how badly they were trembling. Folks had noticed his buggy coming and going, and he’d given her a plausible answer, yet she still didn’t like the direction their conversation was taking. What could she say to convince him to leave her alone?
As though he could read her anxious thoughts, the bishop leaned his elbows on the rim of the sink to bring his eyes to the same level as hers. He had shifted subtly, until his arm was pressed firmly against her. “The business earns me a very comfortable living, Annabelle,” he murmured. “Again, if you’d care to relocate, I’d see that you were well taken care of.”
Alarm bells jangled in Annabelle’s mind. “Why have you come here today?” she demanded loudly. “And why have you come to Promise Lodge?”
As soon as those questions left her mouth, Annabelle knew she’d overstepped. But she was asking what all her friends wanted to know, wasn’t she? Clayton had been tiptoeing around a lot of issues since he’d arrived, and folks were wondering why. He was a great one for asking them a lot of pressing questions, but not very forthcoming when it came to answering any.
Bishop Clayton’s face softened as he focused on the spoons he was drying. “As I’ve said all along, it’s my mission to shine light on your church members and the decisions they’ve been making,” he replied. “I intend to preach on that topic, come Sunday. But right now, I’m enjoying the company of a woman I find . . . attractive. I lost my dear wife a few years ago, and life’s a lonely place for a man without a mate.”
Her pulse pounded so hard she feared Clayton might hear it, yet Annabelle dared to hold him to the same fire that he’d lit under her fragile soul. “And what about your kids? They surely need your support and presence now that they’ve lost their mamm—”
“They’ve married and left the district with their husbands,” Clayton said with a shrug. He held her gaze with bottomless brown eyes that were mere inches away from hers. “The Council of Bishops sent me as their emissary because I didn’t have a family who needed my presence. We had no idea I might run across a woman who . . . reminds me that I’m a man,” he whispered.
“I’ve done no such thing!” Annabelle declared as she stepped away from him. “You’d best be on your way, Bishop. The Kuhn sisters will be home any time now, and if they find you here alone with me—”
Clayton took his time hanging the dish towel on the stove handle. “God moves in mysterious ways,” he quoted softly, “and so do I. When you change your mind, Annabelle, I’ll be the first to know.”
When the bishop slipped out through the mudroom door, Annabelle didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—or swear. The nerve of that man, thinking he could cozy up to her and cast such lines, as though she were a fish that would snap at any sort of live, male bait! Insinuating that he would whisk her off in his buggy to reestablish her, because he was lonely and—and—
I’m enjoying the company of a woman I find attractive. . . a woman who reminds me that I’m a man.
Annabelle grabbed the newspaper from the worktable and fanned herself frantically. Clayton King was too smooth, too presumptuous by half—
But didn’t it feel nice, hearing a handsome man say those things about you—and say them to your face?
She felt frightfully ferhoodled. In her conscience, she believed Clayton had overstepped the boundaries of propriety expected of an Old Order bishop—especially because she was a married woman in no position to go along with his suggestions. Yet her body and her betrayed heart had responded to him and his alluring words.
Annabelle didn’t allow herself to look out the window, for fear Clayton would see her. Instead she went to the phone, grateful that the church leaders had allowed Rosetta to keep it indoors.
From memory she dialed the number of the neighbors who lived catty-corner behind their Lancaster County home—and who happened to be a preacher and his wife. Edna Schlabaugh wasn’t an especially close friend, but Annabelle could get the answers she needed quicker than if she waited for responses to the letters she’d written to two other gals back home.
After the message machine in the Schlabaughs’ phone shanty beeped, she said, “Edna, it’s Annabelle Beachey, calling from Promise, Missouri. When you get a moment, could you call me? There’s a bishop named Clayton King who’s shown up here, saying he’s from Paradise and that he operates a bulk grocery warehouse. I hope you can fill me in on him—and on all the news from around the neighborhood, too,” she added.
After she gave the lodge’s phone number and hung up, Annabelle felt a little stab of homesickness. Leaving the folks she’d known for so long had taken more of an emotional toll than she cared to admit—and all because Phineas had betrayed her and their faith, as well. Maybe that’s why she was vulnerable to Bishop Clayton’s persuasion.
But God led you to Promise Lodge, she reminded herself as she scrubbed potatoes and carrots for the evening meal she would share with her newfound friends. You know His voice to be a true beacon, so maybe you should keep listening to Him rather than believing anything Clayton—or Phineas—tries to tell you.
* * *
Monroe found great camaraderie working among his friends, and this sunny afternoon was the perfect time to put the roof on Allen and Phoebe’s home—especially because Phineas had joined him and Amos and Marlin. As a remodeler, Beachey was running the heavy-duty nail gun without having to think about it—which meant he could talk and work at the same time. Monroe didn’t want to let such an opportunity pass them by. Without any women—or Clayton King—within earshot, they could speak more freely.
“Maybe you’re tired of this topic, Phineas,” Monroe began as they worked side by side, “but do you have any inclination to return to the Amish church? I won’t preach hellfire and damnation if you say no. I’d just like to know your feelings.”
Beachey fired off another row of nails. “I suppose you’re asking this on Annabelle’s behalf—”
“Nope, this is a man-to-man thing,” Monroe assured him. “Annabelle seems quite capable of speaking for herself.”
“And in her defense,” Amos said before he dropped another package of shingles with a whump, “she hasn’t asked for our support or protection now that you’ve shown up.”
“Why would she need protection?” Phineas shot back. “Has she told you such horrible things about me that you believe I’ll abduct her or abuse her?”
“Nope,” Marlin replied quickly from a couple yards away. “But when she said you’d abandoned her and the Old Order, we felt responsible for her well-being because left alone, on her own, she faces a very limited future. Surely you understood that when you took off.”
“And surely you didn’t think she’d want to join you in your English life,” Amos put in. His voice was calm and conversational, yet he brooked no argument.
After a moment’s consideration, Phineas set aside the nail gun and sat down on the shingled section of roof they’d just completed. Beneath the hum of the compressor on the ground below them, he began to speak.
&nb
sp; “I felt trapped,” he explained with a shake of his head. “The bishops out our way are much more conservative than you fellows. They were riding my butt about being away on a job when community projects like barn raisings—or putting on roofs, like this one—needed doing. They expected me to forego paying projects to work for them,” he explained in a harsh tone. “They were even implying that if I didn’t stop taking jobs on English projects to be at their beck and call, I was putting my personal salvation in jeopardy.”
Phineas exhaled sharply, as though he was reliving the situation he’d described. “I didn’t feel the need to keep supporting a district—a bishop—who chastised me for being a fully employed, responsible citizen who provided his wife a gut home and paid his bills and contributed more to the church than he was expected to. So I left.”
Monroe’s eyebrows rose. “I can see why you’d resent your bishop’s attitude,” he remarked, trimming the excess edge of a shingle with a quick cut of his knife. He stopped there, hoping Phineas would continue of his own accord.
“I guess I didn’t think about the consequences for Annabelle,” he admitted softly. “I figured she’d stick with me, no matter what. She’d also expressed complaints about some of the bishop’s ideas—to me, but not to him, of course—so I left. Reestablished my business by working for an English outfit in Ohio that valued my remodeling expertise and my Amish work ethic.”
Phineas paused, perplexed. “Can you understand why I was hurt and shocked when I went back for Annabelle and discovered she’d moved away without telling my brother where she’d gone?”
Amos cleared his throat, taking up where Monroe’s questions had left off. “She told us you left without any warning—and that when your brother took over your farm, she didn’t feel she could stay there. Any truth to that?”
Phineas glanced away. “My brother’s got all the charm of coarse sandpaper sometimes,” he replied. “Then again, why would he assume that Annabelle could keep the farm running by herself? It had been the Beachey homeplace for generations, so he figured he had a right to it.”
“So how’d you know to come to Promise Lodge for Annabelle?” Marlin asked after a moment. “Lancaster County’s a long way from Missouri.”
“You’ve got that right!” Phineas shot back with a laugh. Then he sobered. “It was sheer coincidence—or maybe the hand of God was guiding my eyes to the column in The Budget, where your scribe had reported Annabelle’s arrival and said she was living with other gals in the lodge apartments.”
“That column could’ve been referring to any one of probably two dozen Amish gals named Annabelle Beachey,” Monroe pointed out.
“I hired a driver and took my chances,” Phineas said. “Maybe that was the hand of God leading me, too, ain’t so?”
Monroe considered what he’d heard and pressed a bit harder. “So you haven’t given up on God,” he observed as he took a seat on the roof beside Phineas. “You really gave up on your bishop.”
“Which was the same exact reason the Bender sisters and I left Coldstream, up the road a ways, to purchase this place,” Amos stated. He took a seat on the other side of Monroe to continue the conversation.
“We felt the bishop, Obadiah Chupp, was being unreasonably intrusive by insisting that those three sisters get married—or sell their farms to local men for much less than their market value,” Amos recounted. “Chupp thought that because they were women they wouldn’t know any better, or that they’d submit to his ruling because he was the bishop. But he was wrong about that. And he was way out of line, as I saw it—even though I was a preacher for the district.”
Marlin, too, laid aside his tools and took a seat on the roof beside them. “So what are the chances that you’d rejoin the Old Order, say, if you felt comfortable here amongst us?” he asked gently. “Every one of us came to Promise Lodge to get away from something that wasn’t working—or that didn’t feel right to us, considering what God was whispering in our ears.”
For several moments only the low drone of the compressor filled the air. Phineas kept his face expressionless as he considered Marlin’s important question, gazing out over the panorama of the Promise Lodge property from high on this hill and this rooftop. Nobody could deny the beauty of the lush pastures, the turning trees, and all the new homes that had gone up in a very short time. To their left, Rainbow Lake shimmered in the sunlight. A fish jumped from the water and splashed down.
Phineas cleared his throat. “I was under the impression that my leaving couldn’t be forgiven—that once I forsook the Amish faith, there was no coming back.”
“But we’re wondering if you really left the faith,” Monroe pointed out. “Maybe that’s a matter of interpretation.”
“We’d be pleased to have you here, Phineas,” Marlin put in quickly, “and we already know how happy Annabelle is, living amongst us.”
“For the sake of maintaining the Old Order ways, we’d ask you to make a confession, so the congregation can vote about reinstating you,” Amos said as though he was thinking aloud. “But I don’t believe anyone here would vote against—”
“What about that guy right there?” Phineas stiffened, pointing toward the lodge.
Monroe and the two preachers fell silent. Clayton King had come out the back door and was looking around as though he hoped no one had seen him. “What about King?” he asked softly. “He has issues with our liberal ways, but that doesn’t affect your wanting to live here or to be reinstated—”
“Oh, King has plenty to say about me already being damned for eternity,” Phineas insisted bitterly. “And I have an issue with him sneaking out of the lodge, because the other ladies are in town—so he was in there with Annabelle, alone. I don’t trust that snake any farther than I could throw him.”
Monroe was about to say something to soften Phineas’s acidic remarks, but just then King spotted the four of them on the roof. He spread his feet and clasped his hands behind his back, gazing directly at Phineas, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. By the time King started toward the road and Lester’s place, Phineas’s fists were knots and his grimace was downright frightening.
“Easy now,” Monroe murmured as he grasped Phineas’s taut shoulder. “I’m not sure why, but King’s trying to get your goat—”
“And it’s working,” Amos put in. “Anger and confrontation won’t solve anything, you know. Maybe things aren’t the way they appear—”
“Even so, Phineas,” Marlin joined in, “three of our four church leaders have witnessed what’s just happened, so we’ll keep closer track of him—as long as you turn the other cheek and don’t provoke Clayton any further.”
Phineas scowled. “You expect me to sit idly by while he and Annabelle carry on—”
“Let’s don’t assume Annabelle is carrying on,” Monroe said firmly. “Sure, in your shoes I’d feel hot under the collar, but don’t lash out at her or accuse her of anything. Get the facts, Phineas. If you get crosswise with her again, she might not want to reconcile with you.”
“But she’s my wife!” he blurted. “If I want to come back—and if you folks reinstate me into the faith—she has to take me!”
Amos cleared his throat. “It’s one of our cardinal rules that men aren’t allowed to mistreat, abuse, or harass their wives,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone. “You might as well understand that right here and now, Phineas, because if the women get wind of you treating Annabelle badly, they won’t tolerate it—and they’ll tell us about it. Call us too progressive, but we consider husbands and wives as equals here.”
After a moment, Phineas exhaled loudly. “I have a lot to think about,” he said as he stood up. “Excuse me.”
“Denki for your help today,” Marlin called after him. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Monroe and the two preachers watched as Phineas descended the slope of the roof with the agility of a cat before he clambered down the ladder at the side of the house. He was happy to hear a buggy coming, and to see the Kuhn si
sters in the front seat of it as Phineas crossed the road on his way to the lodge.
“We haven’t heard the last of this,” Monroe murmured.
“It’s best if we let the ladies take it from here,” Marlin remarked. “They’ll put Phineas in his place, and they’ll stand by Annabelle in a heartbeat.”
Monroe agreed. He was sorry that they were anticipating a problem—whether it was Phineas or Clayton who was causing it.
“Something tells me this’ll be seed for King’s sermon tomorrow,” Amos said with a short laugh. “It could make for an exciting Sunday.”
Chapter Ten
From his seat on the preachers’ bench Sunday morning, Monroe surveyed the faces of his friends as Preacher Marlin brought the first sermon to a close. Folks were nodding in staunch agreement with their newest minister’s assurances about God’s promise, “I am with you always,” as he retold the stories of Moses, King David—and even King Solomon, from whom God took most of the vast kingdom He’d entrusted to David.
“Because Solomon’s hundreds of foreign wives had turned his heart away from God to worship their gods,” Marlin said in a rising voice, “God punished King Solomon by relieving him of most of his kingdom. But God promised that if Solomon sought Him, He could still be found.”
People were nodding, taking comfort and assurance from a man they’d come to love and trust. Monroe suspected that when Bishop Clayton preached the second sermon, the atmosphere in the lodge’s meeting room would change dramatically. As they’d entered for the service, many folks had been whispering tensely, wondering if this would be the morning when King made his big pronouncement about Promise Lodge.
Monroe tried not to anticipate negativity, but he stole a glance at King, who sat at the opposite end of the preachers’ bench on the other side of Amos. The visiting bishop’s brow was furrowed—and he was silently counting on his fingers, as though keeping track of points he wished to make when it was his turn to preach. Then King hefted the big King James Bible onto his lap and flipped through it, shaking his head, as Marlin was speaking.
Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 9
