Light Shines on Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Has Cyrus saved enough to build us a house? We won’t be able to live in my apartment after we marry, so—

  “It’s my pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Allen Troyer,” Bishop Monroe announced in a booming voice. “Let’s spend the rest of the day celebrating the start of their life together!”

  Applause filled the meeting room and folks began to stand up—but before Allen and Phoebe could make their way to the dining room door to accept congratulations, another voice rose above the commotion.

  “Before the ladies begin setting out the meal,” Bishop Clayton called out, “I need a few moments to make an important announcement. Please be seated!”

  The bride and groom looked perplexed, but they sat down on the front pew of the men’s side. Bishop Monroe turned toward Bishop Clayton with a frown. “Surely you can find another time to—”

  “What I have to say affects every man, woman, and child in this room,” the visiting Bishop insisted. He gazed purposefully at Bishop Monroe, until he, too, took a seat on the other side of Cyrus and Jonathan.

  “I know you’re eager to hear what the Council of Bishops has decided,” Bishop Clayton continued after complete silence filled the room. He took a folded sheet of paper from his inside vest pocket and opened it with a flourish.

  “October thirtieth, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania,” he read in a ceremonial voice. “After much deliberation and prayer, we members of the Council of Bishops are installing Bishop Clayton King as the new leader of the Promise Lodge community, to correct inappropriate leanings toward a more worldly way of life than is allowed by the Old Order Amish faith.”

  Everyone gaped or sucked in their breath. Across the room from Gloria, Bishop Monroe’s eyes widened, but he made no comment because Bishop Clayton immediately continued reading.

  “Furthermore, we recommend that a monetary offering—”

  “This is uncalled for!” Preacher Amos said as he rose abruptly from the preachers’ bench. “The most inappropriate behavior I see is that you’ve jumped on your bandwagon at my son’s wedding rather than breaking this news to us preachers and Monroe first.”

  “This is outrageous!” Preacher Eli called out as he, too, stood up. “In all my years as a leader of the church, I’ve never heard tell of a Council of Bishops out east horning in on what other church districts do—much less displacing the bishop that God Himself selected for a community.”

  When other men protested, as well, Bishop Clayton raised his hand for silence. “I’m only the messenger here,” he reminded them as he held up the letter. “There’s one more point the council wants me to make, and then you’ll have plenty of time to discuss their decisions among yourselves. As I was saying—”

  Again Bishop Clayton focused on the page before him. “We recommend that a monetary donation in the form of a tithe be collected from each family of Promise Lodge as a sign of the community’s willingness to comply with Old Order ways,” he continued earnestly. “Ten percent of their earnings for the current calendar year, as well as from the funds Promise Lodge has banked—the biblically recommended amount since Old Testament times—will surely not be a burden to anyone in this prosperous settlement. It will ensure that the families we’ve placed in Bishop Clayton King’s care are serious about following the path to salvation in Jesus Christ our Lord. The council will continue to monitor the community’s progress under Bishop Clayton’s guidance.”

  Everyone was so stunned that Bishop Clayton’s refolding of the letter seemed to crackle in the silence.

  Gloria tried to grasp exactly what the council’s letter meant. If every family was to donate 10 percent, would she have to tally what Rosetta had paid her so far? She wondered if this was the council’s first step toward convincing women to give up their businesses and to be supported by—

  “Where will this money go?” Preacher Marlin demanded. “And for what purpose? I find it highly irregular—”

  “Of course you do, Deacon Marlin,” Bishop Clayton said as he turned toward the preachers’ bench. “You’ve helped create a community where married women run businesses and where Mennonites and Amish are allowed to marry, so the Old Order ways have come to seem irregular to you,” he pointed out. “As your new bishop, I’ll be sending the Promise Lodge tithe to the council as soon as possible—hopefully within the next week—to prove that you’re sincerely invested in being right with God, making your way toward everlasting life instead of sliding down the slippery slope to damnation.”

  Bishop Clayton pivoted to face the congregation. “If you have questions, feel free to visit with me anytime,” he said in a less strident, more compassionate tone. “We’re all in this together, folks. Let’s spend the rest of the day celebrating Allen and Phoebe’s marriage, and the fact that they’ve chosen to remain in the Old Order faith to enrich this community with their presence.”

  Gloria glanced at Laura, who appeared as shocked and confused as everyone around them did. They didn’t dare speculate about what Bishop Clayton had just announced, because he was standing close enough to hear them.

  A few moments later, Allen took Phoebe’s hand and they headed toward the dining room doorway. With dazed expressions, the women behind Gloria stood up and made their way to the kitchen. As members of the wedding party, she and Laura were excused from helping with the food, yet it didn’t seem right to leave all the work to the older women with such a momentous announcement hanging over everyone’s heads.

  “Let’s go help,” Gloria whispered. “If we’re in the kitchen or carrying food to the buffet line, we’ll have something to do—and Bishop Clayton won’t be as likely to strike up a conversation with us.”

  “Jah, gut idea,” Laura murmured. “I feel as if Ruby’s bees are all swarming inside my head. What will happen to Monroe now? I feel really bad for him, finding out in front of all these people that Bishop Clayton is taking over.”

  When Gloria looked at the tall, handsome man who’d recently become Laura’s stepfather, she paused. He had the oddest expression on his face, as though he was about to make an announcement of his own—but then he looked at the three preachers and nodded toward the front door. Amos, Eli, and Marlin followed Monroe out of the meeting room as Bishop Clayton watched—and then Clayton left, too, as though he intended to be in on their meeting.

  “Oh, things might get nasty,” Gloria said under her breath.

  The moment the church leaders were gone, the room rang with speculative conversations. Gloria glanced over at Cyrus, thinking he’d have something to say to her about the situation, but Jonathan was steering him out the back way. She couldn’t read Cyrus’s expression, but his older brother appeared clearly displeased about the turn things had taken in the past few minutes.

  These changes will affect us all just as Bishop Clayton said, Gloria thought with a sigh. The only thing that seemed certain was that it was time to serve Allen and Phoebe’s wedding meal, so she and Laura headed for the kitchen.

  * * *

  When Monroe stepped outside, Daisy rose eagerly from beneath the porch swing to greet him.

  “We’ve got a rogue ram for you to herd, girl—but not right now,” he said under his breath. “Go lie down, Daisy.”

  The border collie obediently returned to her post as Monroe descended the lodge steps, followed by the three preachers. He was bursting to tell them what he’d learned about King from Annabelle a couple days ago, but he kept his mouth shut and his expression carefully composed. He wasn’t surprised to hear another set of footsteps behind them.

  “Let’s go to the far end of the building by the cabins, so folks won’t wander out and overhear us,” he suggested to his friends before turning around. “Except for you of course, King. How did I know you wouldn’t allow the rightful leaders of this community to meet without your interference?”

  King’s smile turned saccharin. “That’s not a very charitable attitude, considering I’ve been appointed to keep you from descending into hell on Judgment Day, Burkholder.”
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  Amos was having none of it. “Let’s see that letter,” he said, holding out his hand. “Why on God’s gut earth would I believe a word you said to us this morning? You were just putting on a show—”

  “Jah, talk about a lack of humility,” Eli butted in angrily. “The Council of Bishops is going to hear about how you strutted around like a peacock, reading a letter I suspect you made up yourself!”

  King stared at each of them in turn, appearing disappointed, hurt—and appalled—as he reached into his vest pocket.

  “You’re off to a questionable start already, accusing me of pride and telling lies,” he muttered as he held out the letter. “After all, the council will rely upon my reports—my judgment—as to when this place will pass muster.”

  Amos plucked the page from King’s fingers and held it open so they could all stand around him and read it. Monroe stepped behind Amos, as he was tall enough to read over his shoulder. He clenched his teeth to keep his face from showing any emotion as he studied the handwritten page. The penmanship wasn’t the best, but the letters were all clearly formed, tall and angular. Apparently a fellow named Joe Mast had written it, as the handwriting matched his signature, which was followed by five others.

  Monroe wasn’t surprised that every name on the list was so common that it probably belonged to a dozen men in the Lancaster area. But because Annabelle’s friends hadn’t found anyone who knew of a Bishop Clayton King, Monroe suspected that every signature was as phony as the letter itself.

  He didn’t say that, of course. He didn’t want to tip his hand that this whole situation felt as bogus as a bull with an udder.

  “I find it odd that these bishops didn’t name the church districts they represent,” Eli remarked. “Matter of fact, King, we don’t have any idea which community you come from, because you always change the subject and ignore our questions about your personal life!”

  Taken aback by the preacher’s remark, King drew himself up to his full height. “Once again your lack of faith in the man God sent to redirect you wounds me, gentlemen,” he said in a theatrical whisper. “What must the Lord be thinking, each time you make such accusations? Today alone you’ve committed enough new sins to require a full kneeling confession the next time we meet for church. You won’t be getting off your knees for a month of Sundays, the way you’re going.”

  “What I’ve noticed,” Marlin put in earnestly, “is that this Council of Bishops has given us no way to contact them or to respond to the case they have against us. If these men are so concerned about our souls, why did none of them come out here with you, Clayton—and especially, why are none of them present today to discuss the two issues in this letter?”

  Monroe bit back a smile at this perceptive question. Marlin was clearly as doubtful about King as the rest of them were.

  “Jah! If any of us—especially Monroe—was on a council that was displacing a community’s bishop,” Amos put in tersely, “we’d show up in person!”

  “And where’s all that money going?” Eli demanded. “If we’re to donate as a token of our gutwill, why can’t the money stay in Missouri, where plenty of Plain folks in a pinch could make use of it? Lancaster County’s got some of the richest farmland—and the richest Amish folks—I’ve ever heard of, so why should our money go there?”

  “Suffice it to say that although we appreciate your efforts to save us from ourselves, Bishop Clayton,” Monroe put in smoothly, “we require more documentation—more proof—before we’ll give ourselves or our money over to you.”

  Monroe held the gaze of each of his preachers, to be sure they understood that he had a strategy. “We could stay out here pointing fingers all day and waste this special occasion that should be about Amos’s son and his new bride—but we won’t,” he continued before King could butt in. “Before we submit to a single one of your new rules as our bishop, and before we contribute one dime to this tithe you’re asking for, we need to see the addresses and phone numbers of all these bishops on the council.”

  King’s eyes widened dramatically. “Are you accusing me, a man appointed by God, of misrepresenting myself or the council—or of trying to cheat you out of your money?”

  “That pretty much sums it up, jah,” Amos replied without missing a beat. “I’ve heard enough. My only son has joined the Amish church and married a fine young woman—two events I thought I might never witness. I’ll be dogged if I let you take this day away from me!”

  “Jah, you give us that list of addresses and phone numbers,” Eli put in. “Then we’ll have something to talk about.”

  “I totally agree,” Marlin added as the three of them headed toward the lodge’s front porch.

  Monroe clasped his hands behind him, waiting for King to leave next—because he refused to walk away from the biggest test his community had ever faced.

  King took his time refolding the letter, shaking his head as he recreased the folds between his fingers. “This obstinate attitude—your blatant refusal to cooperate—will only make things harder on you,” he warned. “What am I supposed to say when the other council members ask why you’ve refused to listen—or to obey their recommendations?”

  Monroe shrugged. The more King blustered, the more Monroe smelled a hoax, and the more confident he felt that they would eventually find the proof they needed to send Clayton King—or whoever he was—packing. “If you provide the information we’ve asked for, and if we all speak only the truth before our God, we have nothing to worry about. Nothing to hide. Right?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  As Gloria made a final check of the steam tables, her stomach rumbled. Emotionally, her morning had resembled a roller-coaster ride, and now that Allen and Phoebe were ready to fill their plates, she was, too. She looked around the crowded dining room. “Have you seen Cyrus and Jonathan?” she asked Laura, who’d been helping at the pie table.

  “I haven’t,” her friend replied as she, too, gazed around the crowd. “And since the wedding party’s supposed to eat before the other guests, we should round them up. You’d think they wouldn’t be late for this part of the day!”

  “They went outside. I’ll go find them.” Gloria hurried through the kitchen, where Ruby and Beulah were arranging big metal pans of food in the ovens, to be ready for refilling the steam table. “Dinner looks amazing, ladies! I’ll be back in a few with a couple of our side-sitters!”

  When Gloria stepped out through the mudroom door, she looked around the lodge’s lawn. Black buggies belonging to the guests from Coldstream were parked along the road, and orange-tipped leaves were drifting slowly from the big maple trees. She saw no one until she spotted Daisy lying in the leaves, looking toward the cabins. Jonathan and Cyrus stood behind their place, and she nearly called out to them—but their harsh expressions stopped her.

  Curiosity prodded her to approach them, however, staying in the shadow of the lodge. What topic could possibly be so important to keep dozens of guests waiting for their dinner? And why was Jonathan scowling at his younger brother, who stood with his fists on his hips?

  “—got to call off this stupid bet!” Jonathan insisted vehemently. “It’s just wrong to manipulate the girls’ feelings by pushing toward—”

  “You’re falling behind with Laura and you don’t want to pay up!” Cyrus jeered. “There’s nothing wrong with a little wager to keep things interesting—”

  “But I really like Laura, and she deserves better than—and those hand signals you were sending Gloria during the wedding were way out of line!”

  “You just wish you had thought of them!” Cyrus shot back. “She was eating it up! So when I’m engaged by Thanksgiving and you’re not, you’ll just have to hand over that five hundred bucks, jah?”

  Gloria fell back against the lodge building, feeling as though the air had been sucked from her lungs. Five hundred dollars? For a bet that Laura and I will say yes before Thanksgiving? That’s only three weeks away.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Cyrus had obvious
ly been the instigator of the wager, and Jonathan was mature enough, sincere enough, to call him on it—but their conversation changed everything. For once, a handsome young man had been asking her out and she hadn’t been pursuing a relationship that only she was interested in. But it was only a game to him, a total sham, to prove that he was better at sweet-talking and making eyes and suggestive comments than his introverted brother.

  Gloria covered her mouth so the two young men wouldn’t hear her sob. As she turned away from their escalating argument, it occurred to her that the wedding guests—and even the newlyweds—might still be waiting for the side-sitters before they started through the buffet line. She had to go inside no matter how humiliated she felt. And she had to let Laura know what she’d heard.

  As Gloria entered the mudroom, she desperately tried to compose herself, but folks would know she’d been crying. In the kitchen, Laura’s mamm was placing more slices of bread in baskets, so Gloria approached her as she mopped her face with her apron.

  “Gloria! What’s wrong, sweetie?” Christine asked gently.

  Gloria swallowed hard so she could get words out. “I—I can’t talk about it,” she whispered miserably, “but could you let folks know that they should go ahead and fill their plates—”

  “Oh, Allen and Phoebe jumped in a while ago, and the guests are in line now,” Christine said with a concerned nod. “I suspect everybody’s so antsy about what Bishop Clayton announced that we’re not so concerned about who goes in what order today.”

  Gloria sighed. The last thing on her mind was food, now that she knew how Cyrus really felt about her. “Could you—well, I really need to talk to Laura, but I don’t want to go out there and have everybody quiz me about why I’m such a mess.”