Gloria removed the foil from the pan, loosened two of the dark, sugar-topped bars, and then passed the pan over her shoulder to Laura. Rather than handing a bar to Cyrus, she waved it playfully in front of his face. “Here comes the airplane,” she teased in a singsong voice. “Open up so it can land in your mouth, baby boy.”
Cyrus’s lips closed over her fingers. The bars were cut into small squares and he took the entire cookie into his mouth, holding Gloria’s gaze. “Denki, baby,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “Sooo gut, you are. Sweet and spicy, like this cookie.”
Gloria’s heart thumped faster. The touch of his mouth against her skin and his unexpected endearments—in front of Laura and Jonathan—surprised her. “You’re the spicy one,” she murmured. “Like hot chili peppers when you kiss me.”
“Watch out, now! You’re setting the buggy on fire,” Laura teased.
“Jah, shall we stop and get you a room?” Jonathan joined in.
Laughter filled the rig, and Gloria glowed with the rightness of it all—the way the four of them were having fun together, and the way her life was finally working out as she’d dreamed it would. She’d fallen hard for Roman Schwartz before he’d married her sister and she’d been in a one-sided love with Allen Troyer before Phoebe had claimed him, but those two fellows had apparently been practice runs for the real thing. This time, Cyrus had done the chasing and Gloria was delighted to be caught up in his flirtation . . . daring to hope that a lasting relationship would come of it.
A short time later they entered Herrick’s Ice Cream Parlor, which featured an old-time soda fountain counter with rotating stools and a freezer case displaying more than twenty flavors of ice cream. Members of the Herrick family were making banana splits and mixing malts behind the counter. The place was filled with chatting customers who sat with cones and bowls of ice cream. Cyrus gestured toward an empty booth on the wall, allowing Gloria and Laura to sit down first.
“Now comes the hard part—deciding what flavors we want,” Jonathan said.
Laura shrugged. “You can’t go wrong. All of their ice cream is fabulous—so maybe we should order scoops of different flavors in a big bowl and share them.”
“You’re on!” Cyrus said. “We’ll be back in a few.”
After the guys had left the table to make their ice-cream choices, Gloria leaned toward Laura. “Is this fun, or what?” she whispered.
Laura beamed at her. “Who knew that we’d both be dating the Helmuth brothers?” she asked giddily. “My eighteenth birthday must’ve been magic, because Jonathan and I have spent time together twice this week.”
“Jah, I never saw this coming with Cyrus, either,” Gloria put in. “Just when I thought I was doomed to be a maidel all my life, he asked me out. I don’t know why—but I’m not asking any questions!”
“Here they come,” Laura whispered before flashing the brothers a big blue-eyed smile. “Oh my, would you look what they’ve brought us! We’ll be here all day eating so much ice cream.”
Cyrus laughed as he slid a big glass bowl piled with scoops of ice cream toward the center of their table. “What else do we have to do today—and why would we want to hurry back home?” he asked as he slid into the booth.
“Not sure how many scoops we got,” Jonathan admitted as he positioned himself next to Laura and passed around spoons. “We told our server to give us their most popular flavors, and she couldn’t have gotten another scoop into this bowl.”
Laura put the pan of cinnamon bars beside the ice cream. “You can talk, or you can eat this ice cream before it turns to soup,” she teased as she stuck a spoon into a scoop of dark chocolate.
Gloria spotted a scoop of butterscotch ripple and went for it just as Cyrus had the same idea. He laughed when their spoons collided—and then held a big spoonful of the ice cream in front of her mouth.
“You first,” he murmured, his dark eyes glimmering. “It’s all about you, Gloria. I’m just happy you let me hang around with you.”
The couple across the table—indeed, the entire ice-cream parlor—vanished in a slow-spinning mist spun of fairy tales and daydreams as Gloria held Cyrus’s gaze. Even in her most romantic imaginings, no man had ever said such a thing to her.
Gloria opened her mouth, hoping this was the first of many sweet memories she would make with the handsome young man beside her.
* * *
Two weeks later, Jonathan was on his knees before the entire congregation—which included his parents and a few other family members who’d made the trip from Ohio to see him and Cyrus baptized. Why was he so nervous, so sweaty? Bishop Monroe and Preacher Marlin were officiating, and they’d encouraged him, his brother, and Allen all during their instruction period. He truly believed that joining the Old Order was the right thing for him to do—and generations of his family and friends had gone through the baptismal ceremony and taken the same vows.
And besides, if you don’t commit to the church, Laura won’t take you seriously and you can’t ever marry her.
Yet he was trembling. He and his two friends had been given a chance to back out during their final instructional session the previous week, and again before the church service that morning, but they were all in. Making a public profession of his faith was the most serious event in his life so far, and the vow he took was irrevocable. Not only was he promising to follow the Ordnung and the ways of the Old Order, he was also agreeing that should God call him by the falling of the lot, he would serve the church as a deacon, a preacher—or even a bishop—someday.
It was a lot to get his head around. Jonathan wanted to be right with God, yet he was so scared of messing up that he could barely speak.
“Can you renounce the devil, the world, and your own flesh and blood?” Bishop Monroe asked solemnly. They had discussed this question and its ramifications during their sessions, so it came as no surprise.
“Jah, I will,” Jonathan replied. His words were almost a whimper, and his voice sounded embarrassingly adolescent. It was comforting that neither his bold younger brother nor Allen sounded any more confident than he did.
“Can you commit yourself to Christ and His church, and to abide by it and therein to live and die?” the bishop asked them next.
It was another question they’d talked about, yet Jonathan’s heart was pounding so frantically it seemed he might die before he could answer. But somehow he got the words out. He was swallowing so hard that the final question about obeying and submitting to the Old Order and the word of the Lord went past him in a blur. Not wanting to be the one who stalled the ceremony, Jonathan managed to nod and reply when he heard his companions answering. His eyes remained tightly shut.
He heard water being poured beside him. It splattered to the floor as the bishop baptized Cyrus, on his left.
Jonathan felt Monroe standing before him as Preacher Marlin poured water from a pitcher into the bishop’s hands. As the cool liquid trickled over his scalp and onto the floor, Jonathan let out the breath he’d been holding.
It was done. He was officially a member of the Amish church—and within moments, Allen had been baptized, too. Bishop Monroe helped them stand up with a stalwart handshake and the brief holy kiss on the cheek that officially welcomed them into the Old Order. After the bishop spoke a few words to the congregation, the ceremony was over.
Jonathan sucked in air as Troyer and his brother pumped his hand. Bishop Monroe and the preachers led the three of them to the doorway to form a reception line so folks could greet them on the way to the common meal. He was shaking hands and being hugged by the same people he’d known since he’d arrived at Promise Lodge—along with his proud parents and a couple of older brothers and their wives—yet they looked at him differently now.
Was he supposed to feel different? Radically changed inside? Jonathan didn’t have a chance to assess exactly how he felt—except that when Laura hugged him tight, beaming at him, his world started spinning so fast it gave off sparks. He watched Cyrus return Gloria�
��s hug when she threw her arms around his neck.
Does taking the baptismal vow mean that Cyrus is sincere about courting Gloria? Or is he only dating her to win our Thanksgiving bet?
It was a question that gave Jonathan pause, because his feelings for Laura had nothing to do with the five hundred dollars that were riding on the line. She was a delightful young woman who didn’t seem to notice that he was a tongue-tied klutz, usually clueless about saying and doing things that would make her feel special. And when he saw Phoebe grasping Allen’s hand, so deeply in love with him, Jonathan wanted that same sort of devotion to develop between him and Laura.
Is it realistic to believe such a love can bloom in the next few weeks? Is it fair to push Laura toward an engagement, just to avoid paying off Cyrus’s bet?
Not for the first time, Jonathan regretted getting caught up in his younger brother’s bravado. All thoughts of romance vanished, however, when Bishop Clayton reached the reception line.
“Gut to have you men in the fold,” he declared as he shook their hands.
Monroe’s smile was wide. “As of this morning, one hundred percent of our eligible young people have joined the Old Order, Bishop Clayton,” he said as they pumped hands. “Can you say the same for your district back east?”
Bishop Clayton blinked. “Well, no—but we have a lot more young people, and some of them are still teenagers,” he quickly pointed out. “You’ve got a gut track record on that account—and I understand we’re soon to celebrate a wedding?” Bishop Clayton asked as he smiled at Allen.
“Jah, Phoebe and I will tie the knot this coming Friday,” Troyer replied.
“Congratulations,” King said with a nod. “And what a blessing that you can move right into a new house on a plot of land with a lake on it! Most young couples start out in a room at their parents’ place, the way I did.”
As King headed for the dining room, Jonathan realized that their guest had just gotten in another jab at the prosperity he’d criticized in his sermon the previous Sunday. Jonathan was also aware that if he and Laura got engaged, he’d have to plan for where they would live—because he didn’t have parents who would donate land and the labor to build a house, the way Troyer did.
When Jonathan looked at the crowd gathering in the dining room, Laura was gazing at him. She beckoned him with wide blue eyes, as though to ask will you sit by me?
He started toward her. Would Laura be content to live in one of the cabins until he could afford to build them a house? Or would they take up residence with Bishop Monroe and Laura’s mamm? Suddenly, it seemed he had a lot of major decisions to make.
Don’t put the cart before the horse. First you have to work up the nerve to introduce Laura to your parents and older brothers.
What would his family think when he—and Cyrus—both came to the table with girlfriends?
They’ll be amazed—and very happy, wondering if they might have two weddings in the future . . . unless they get wind of the wager you and Cyrus have made. They won’t be one bit proud of that.
Jonathan sighed as he approached Laura and reached for her hand. If she ever learned what he and Cyrus were up to, she’d be heartbroken. What girl wouldn’t feel cheapened—betrayed—if she found out her guy was dating her because of money rather than love?
He really needed to talk his kid brother out of their daredevil arrangement.
“By the way, Bishop Clayton—” Preacher Marlin spoke above the chatter that filled the dining room. “We’re all wondering what you’ve heard from the Council of Bishops. It’s been two weeks since you preached about all the ways we’ve fallen short of their expectations.”
The crowd immediately fell quiet. Plenty of folks had been discussing the points of King’s sermon among themselves, but they hadn’t asked him point-blank for a progress report.
Bishop Clayton cleared his throat ceremonially. “As you can imagine, such a council oversees the well-being of Amish communities in a large region,” he replied. “Promise Lodge is only one of the communities about which they’re concerned. You’ll be the first to know when I hear back from them.”
Was it his imagination, or did the three preachers and Bishop Monroe share a meaningful glance? Jonathan could understand why these hardworking men of the church wanted the council’s verdict as soon as possible—and he could tell that other folks, too, were eager for information that would affect the life they’d come to love.
“We preachers have our weekly meeting on Tuesday morning, and we’d like you to join us,” Bishop Monroe said. “Ten o’clock at my kitchen table.”
Bishop Clayton’s dark eyebrows rose. “I don’t know that it’s my place to interfere with your day-to-day—”
“Interfere?” Preacher Amos repeated. “You’ve kept us hanging long enough. Even if you have nothing to report from the council, it’s time to discuss our side of the issues you’ve raised.”
As many folks in the room murmured their agreement, Bishop Clayton held up his hand for silence. “Patience is a virtue,” he reminded them.
“Jah, it is,” Preacher Eli chimed in from near the serving line, “but if your council’s going to demand that we make a lot of major changes, we need to know about them.”
“We’re hoping you’ll take a couple hours from your busy schedule to consider our response to your sermon,” Preacher Marlin stated. “After all, you’ve been here for three weeks now, and we’re no closer to settling the issues you’ve raised than we were when you first arrived.”
All eyes were on King. Some folks appeared speculative, and some began to whisper again—until Bishop Monroe addressed them. “Shall we bow for a word of silent thanks before our meal gets cold?”
As Jonathan bowed his head, the tension in the room intensified. Several folks wondered how Bishop Clayton spent his time—what he did to earn a living and how he remained engaged in his livelihood while he was so far from home. It wasn’t unusual to see King’s buggy and beautiful horse heading off for parts unknown during the week, which only made the folks of Promise Lodge more curious about what he might be doing.
Just before Jonathan opened his eyes, he felt a small, warm hand slipping into his.
When Laura smiled at him, he forgot all about Bishop Clayton. Had he ever seen blue eyes as beautiful as Laura’s?
“I made a pan of brownies to celebrate your baptism,” she murmured. “For when we might slip away from the crowd later today.”
Jonathan’s heart beat wildly. Suddenly the nervousness and fear he’d endured during the ceremony seemed worth his while, if Laura wanted to be with him.
Chapter Twelve
Monroe wasn’t surprised that Marlin, Amos, and Eli showed up for Tuesday’s weekly meeting about half an hour earlier than usual. Christine filled a carafe with hot coffee and set out trays of cookies and cinnamon rolls before excusing herself to join Rosetta and Mattie in one of the produce plots.
“I understand you’re cleaning out some of the garden today,” Amos said as he took his usual seat beside Monroe. “I suspect you three sisters will be clucking over a lot more topics than the end of the season for the roadside stand.”
Christine laughed. “We’ll expect a full report from you fellows after you’ve quizzed Bishop Clayton,” she shot back. “Too many of us—men and women alike—have a lot riding on what he says. But we’re also awaiting news about Deborah and Noah’s baby,” she added with a smile for Eli.
The preacher grinned. “Jah, it’s due any minute now.”
Christine glanced out the kitchen window. “Clayton’s on his way, so I’ll give him a big smile when I meet him on the road. I hope your meeting goes well—and that everyone realizes we’re all trying to carry out God’s will.”
“It’s a matter of agreeing on exactly what His will is,” Eli said as he took a cookie.
After Christine closed the door behind her, Monroe looked at his three friends. “Are we ready for this?” he asked softly, tapping on the sheet of paper in front of him.
“We’ve written down the issues King raised during his sermon, and we have a few other things to ask him about, as well.”
“A lot depends on whether Clayton gives us answers or redirects the conversation where he wants it to go,” Amos replied.
The four of them looked toward the doorway as their guest came inside. King paused when he saw them all gathered around the table with cookies and coffee.
“Am I late?” he demanded, glancing at the wall clock. “You said we were to start at ten, and it’s five till—”
“You haven’t missed a thing.” Monroe gestured toward the empty seat at the opposite end of the table. “Help yourself to refreshments, and we’ll begin with prayer.”
He gave King a moment to settle in before bowing his head. “Lord, we invite Your presence and Your discernment as we determine what You’d have us all do in Your name. We thank You for this opportunity for discussion and growth. Amen.”
“As we begin,” Amos said before King could get a word in, “I believe we should address your assertion that from its very beginning, Promise Lodge has been ‘following the devil’s own lead’—because three of our women started this new community, and because you feel that I was wrong to join them.” He paused, looking their guest in the eye. “Please understand that only after much prayer for God’s guidance did we pursue the purchase of this property. We firmly believe that had our Lord not been leading us, we would never have found this piece of land—”
“But who’s to say it wasn’t Satan whispering in your ears?” Clayton countered. “We most often follow the voices that tell us what we want to hear.”
“From the very beginning of the Amish faith in this country, in Lancaster County in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds,” Eli put in earnestly, “groups have split away to begin new communities, either because they ran out of land, or they had disagreements with their leadership. What we did was nothing new, Clayton. Indeed, it’s been the only practical way for the Plain faith to grow and prosper.”
“True enough,” King said with a dismissive shrug. “But it was the men who made those decisions. You’ve been far too permissive with your women. Amish society will deteriorate and fail completely if we disregard the Bible’s insistence that our women are to submit to their men and obey them.”
Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 11
