Light Shines on Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Phineas swiped his hand over his face, clearly humiliated by this sort of talk. “I vaguely recall the doctor telling my parents that I might not be able to have children when I got older, but my dat dismissed that possibility because he didn’t want to hear it. He got me into the habit of talking up my—my manliness, mostly to override my shyness around girls because I was shorter than a lot of them,” he went on in a rush. “As I got older, he had me convinced that I would be a real bull in the bedroom like he was, fathering ten kids—”

  Annabelle nipped her lip. Indeed, Phineas had always been eager to have his way with her . . . perhaps he’d been trying to prove he could bed her. But as an innocent bride, she hadn’t suspected anything might be wrong with her husband. She’d been flattered by his constant attentions, and the fact that she was a few inches taller than he was had never mattered to her.

  “—and he went so far as to tell me I shouldn’t discuss such a thing with the woman I took as my wife,” Phineas continued in a tight voice. “He had me so buffaloed, I let my pride get in the way, Annabelle. I wanted you for my wife from the first time we met at my cousin’s wedding and—and I couldn’t let any hint of failure on my part give you a reason not to marry me.”

  With a wry smile Annabelle recalled the wedding where they’d met. “I wasn’t much impressed with you that day, Phineas,” she recounted softly. “I thought I was in love with Edwin Plank, except you repeatedly refused to take no for an answer when you asked me for dates.”

  Phineas shook his head. “See how bullheaded I was? Totally unconcerned about your feelings,” he admitted. He gazed sadly at her with his pale green eyes—eyes that had always mesmerized her and seen through her defenses. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I knew you dreamed of having a family—knew you’d make a wonderful mother—and because I didn’t tell you I might be unable to give you kids, you didn’t have the chance to marry a man who could have made those dreams come true. Can you forgive me, dear wife?”

  Annabelle trembled as her husband’s confession sank in. Very few Amish men would admit to the physical disability Phineas had just discussed. Truth be told, he could’ve remained silent for the rest of their lives—

  And I’d have been none the wiser, her inner voice pointed out. She couldn’t help thinking about Edwin, and how he’d married another girl after Phineas had wooed Annabelle away. He’d had six children, a very happy family from all appearances.

  Those six kids could’ve been yours, Annabelle thought with a pang of longing. It was the first time she’d dared to imagine that, because she’d assumed she was the barren one.

  But they’re not yours, and you’ve made the most of the life God gave you with Phineas—until he left you last spring. Are you going to leave him hanging, now that he’s apologized?

  Annabelle glanced at their clasped hands as she stood so close to Phineas that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She cleared her throat. “Why are you telling me this?” she whispered.

  Phineas let out a humorless laugh. “Now that I’ve been away from the narrowness of our church district in Lancaster, and I’ve talked with so many folks here about the new lives they’ve made for themselves, maybe I want to start fresh, too—and I had to come clean to you,” he said softly. “And maybe it’s time to stop covering my disappointment about my disability by lashing out at you. Time to stop being angry because God ignored my prayers about having a family with you.”

  Annabelle’s eyes widened. She was ready to assure him that he’d always seemed intensely masculine to her, but the flicker of his smile made her wait him out.

  “Or it could be that the way King looks at you makes me realize what I stand to lose if you fall for him.”

  “What?” she blurted. “Even if I believed the lines he’s been casting my way, I couldn’t marry him.”

  “Ah, but there’s a difference between not wanting to be with him and being forbidden by the church to pursue such a relationship.” Phineas held her gaze, and she found she couldn’t look away.

  “King’s a smooth one,” he continued softly. “If anybody could create a biblical loophole to justify a secret romance, he’s the one.”

  Annabelle suspected Phineas was right, just as she realized that jealousy was part of her husband’s motivation for talking to her so frankly. To her befuddled, abandoned heart, however, Phineas’s revelation was liberating. He was admitting that she had the power to choose—to prefer—another man over him.

  “I still want you for my wife, Annabelle, if you’ll have me back,” he pleaded in a voice she could barely hear. “Bishop Monroe would allow me to confess, to go through whatever discipline this church district deems appropriate—no matter what King claims about jumping the fence being the one unforgivable sin. I think it’s refreshing—a lot more Christian—to believe that God can forgive every sin, no matter how large or small. Don’t you?”

  Annabelle inhaled slowly, considering her words before she spoke. She didn’t want a discussion about doctrine to derail their conversation about the personal issues that really mattered to her. “Does . . . does this mean you’re willing to live Amish again, Phineas?”

  “Jah, I will,” he said without hesitation. “At Promise Lodge, I believe I could abide within the rules of the Old Order—if you’ll stand by me.”

  And if I don’t?

  The question popped into Annabelle’s mind, yet she sensed it should remain unspoken. As the moments passed and his pale green eyes took on a shadow of worry, she knew she’d regret it forever if she didn’t give Phineas another chance. With a little sob she stepped into his embrace and he held her close. His breathing slipped into the same rhythm as hers. His heartbeat settled into a steady thrum as he rested his head against the curve of her neck, as he always had.

  “When I first came here, I poked around in some of the buildings and businesses—trying to find things wrong with this place,” Phineas said softly. “I came on like a prickly cactus, determined not to like Gloria and the Kuhns because the way they enjoyed life seemed too gut to be true. I—I hope your friends will believe I’ve changed my attitude.”

  When she looked at him, Phineas gently kissed away her tears until his lips settled on hers. Annabelle closed her eyes, awash in a sweetness—a rightness—that eased the pain of his abandonment. He’d seen the error of his ways—he’d missed her—and now that Phineas had found her again, he’d opened his heart to starting afresh in Promise Lodge! Even the dark cloud of Bishop Clayton’s intentions couldn’t overshadow the joy and the hope Annabelle felt because her husband had seen the light.

  “Oh, Annabelle,” Phineas murmured when he finally eased away from their kiss. “Seeing how you’ve reestablished yourself so comfortably here without me, I was afraid you’d tell me to leave when I admitted why we couldn’t have kids. But here you are, in my arms again.”

  “Jah, I am,” she said as tears dribbled down her cheeks. After all the times she’d cried her eyes out after Phineas had left her to live English, it felt wonderful to well up with tears of joy. “And I’m willing to try again—”

  “We could do it differently this time,” he interrupted urgently. “We’re still young enough to handle a family, so if you want to adopt children—”

  Annabelle gently laid a finger across his lips—something she would never have dared to do to the outspoken Phineas Beachey she’d known before. “Let’s take this one step at a time,” she murmured as she gazed into his beautiful eyes. “For right now, my heart’s so full it can’t hold another thing.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monroe clucked at the horse as he steered the buggy onto the road that would take them into Forest Grove on Saturday morning. “We’ll go to the bank before we get our roofing supplies at the lumberyard,” he told Amos and Marlin, who’d come along with him. “I got an . . . unusual phone message, and we need to check it out.”

  Amos’s bushy eyebrows rose. “How do you mean, unusual?”

  Monroe considered his answ
er. All morning he’d been debating with himself about revealing the secret he’d kept concerning Clayton King’s identity, and if he guessed correctly, this visit to the bank would add another twist to the tale of their mysterious visitor. “Let’s see how it plays out,” he murmured. “I hope I’m wrong.”

  From the backseat, Marlin let out a short laugh. “Does this message have anything to do with the way you’ve been chewing your lower lip ever since we started for town?” he teased. “Confession’s gut for the soul, you know.”

  Monroe laughed out loud, not surprised that his friend was so perceptive. “I have nothing out of the ordinary to confess,” he replied quickly. “But after all the goings-on at the wedding yesterday, I’m wondering what the Helmuth boys did that upset Laura and Gloria. And I’m definitely curious about what went on in cabin number ten while Annabelle and Phineas were in there for a long while.”

  “Puh! Small potatoes,” Amos said as they approached the main street of Forest Grove. “I’m wondering what King’s up to—and I’ll be hanging by my fingernails until he gives us those addresses and phone numbers we demanded of him. Wouldn’t you think he’d know most of those without having to think about them?”

  “Jah, I think it’s odd that he’s been stalling us on that,” Marlin put in.

  “The ball’s in his court,” Monroe pointed out. He pulled the buggy up alongside the bank building, where a hitching rail was provided for Plain customers. “Come inside with me. You might find this interesting.”

  “Better than the fresh chocolate chip cookies and coffee in their lobby?” Amos teased.

  Monroe laughed as they got out of the buggy. “Maybe we’d better fortify ourselves with cookies before I talk to the gal who called me. Might not have much of an appetite afterward.”

  As he opened the bank’s front door, the wind nearly blew it out of his hand, a sure sign that November had arrived and that winter was on the way. Once inside, he studied the faces of the women and men who sat behind the desks. As usual, because Monroe and his companions were the only men wearing black coats, full beards, and broad-brimmed black hats, they stood out from the English customers and staff.

  “How can I help you gentlemen?” a young woman at the reception desk asked.

  Monroe smiled, recognizing her voice. “I believe you’re the gal—Michaela Sloan—who left me a message about a possible irregularity concerning our Promise Lodge accounts,” he replied. “I’m Monroe Burkholder, and this is Amos Troyer and Marlin Kurtz. We’re the account trustees.”

  Her pretty face lit up and she rose from her chair. Monroe couldn’t help noticing that her skirt was snug enough to follow the flair of her hip, and short enough to leave nothing to his imagination. “You’ve got me pegged, Mr. Burkholder. Shall we talk in this room over here?”

  As they followed Michaela into the nearby room, Monroe wondered how serious the situation was, that they couldn’t speak about it in the lobby. But then, English folks and banking institutions were probably more concerned about privacy and security than folks were at Promise Lodge. After she gestured toward the padded leather chairs in front of the room’s desk, she shut the door behind them.

  “Do you recognize this man’s name—his signature?” she asked as she pulled a rectangular card from the top drawer and laid it in front of him. “He was asking about your accounts, wanting to make a withdrawal, until the teller realized that he’s not listed on any of your records.”

  Monroe got a sick feeling in his stomach, yet his suspicions were confirmed.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” Amos whispered tersely.

  “You didn’t give him any money, did you?” Marlin asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Michaela replied. “And that’s why we immediately called to notify you about this attempted transaction.”

  “We appreciate it more than you know,” Monroe said, shaking his head. “And if he comes in again, maybe giving you one of our names, will you notify us, please?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. We’ve recorded a snapshot of him from the security film of his visit to the teller window—and we have your security snapshots, as well,” Michaela replied.

  Monroe glanced at Amos, who appeared uncharacteristically pale. “We Amish don’t allow our photos to be taken as a rule, but in this case I’m glad you folks have our identities covered. Anything else we need to know?”

  Michaela smiled ruefully. “I suspect you’ve already learned more than you bargained for. Thanks for stopping in to verify your records—and be sure to help yourself to cookies and coffee before you head out into this cold morning. It feels like winter out there all of a sudden!”

  He appreciated her offer of hospitality, but on their way out of the bank, Monroe had no appetite for the large, freshly baked cookies on a tray beside the coffee urn. They were barely out the door before Amos began to rant.

  “What on God’s gut earth—that shyster!” he exclaimed in a strained whisper. “What was King doing, trying to withdraw money from our account?”

  “Couldn’t he wait until folks handed over that tithe he was preaching about yesterday?” Marlin asked in disbelief. “Why did he think he could get away with this?”

  “I don’t have any more answers than you do,” Monroe muttered. He unhitched the horse and gestured for his friends to get into the buggy. “I’m going to tell you something Annabelle found out the other day—but it has to remain amongst us preachers, understand?”

  Amos slammed the buggy door, staring incredulously at Monroe. “You’re not heading back to Promise Lodge to call him out on this?” he demanded. “King must’ve been here earlier in the week, before he read us that letter yesterday, and—and folks need to know what we’re dealing with—”

  “We’ll have our answers in gut time,” Monroe interrupted, grasping Amos’s shoulder to settle him down. “Meanwhile, I think it’s best if King doesn’t know we’re on to him. We have to have enough rope to hang him with before we corner him. And first off, we need to find out his real name.”

  Marlin frowned. “What do you mean, his real name?”

  Monroe cleared his throat. “Remember how he told us he’s from Paradise, in Lancaster County? Well, Annabelle and Phineas lived just down the road from there, and they couldn’t place him, so she wrote and asked some of her friends to check him out. Turns out no such bishop as Clayton King exists anywhere around there.”

  “What?” Amos’s scowl deepened the wrinkles around his eyes. “Then who is he?”

  “And why’s he here, thinking he can take over Promise Lodge?” Marlin demanded.

  “You’ve just summed up the mystery of Clayton King,” Monroe replied with a shake of his head. “Do you understand why we can’t let this out yet? And why we have to watch this fellow like a hawk without seeming to be suspicious of him?”

  Amos fell back against the buggy seat, appearing stunned. As the men considered the details they’d just learned, Monroe backed the horse out of their parking spot.

  “Jah, I suppose you’ve got that right,” Marlin said after a few moments. “If the women get wind of this, they’ll want his head on a platter and we might not get our answers. King—or whoever he is—will probably turn tail and run in the night.”

  “That’s the way I’ve got it figured, too,” Monroe agreed. “At least now we’ve confirmed our suspicions about his intentions—and we know he’s not quite as smart as he thinks he is.”

  “This is an outrage,” Amos muttered as the buggy headed on down the main street of town. “I’d be inclined to say he’s not even Amish, the way he’s been carrying on—except he preaches with too much authority.”

  “And he knows his Scriptures and the ins and outs of traditional Old Order behavior,” Marlin pointed out. “Truth be told, if he hadn’t gone so far as to say we should all contribute a tithe, I’d believe he was sincere about reforming us away from our progressive tendencies.”

  “Jah, that money talk was what made me doubt him, too,” Amos muttered. “That, an
d the fact that I’ve never heard of a Council of Bishops from out east having any say-so about settlements this far away from them. It’s probably all a pack of lies. But why?”

  Monroe steered the horse alongside the mercantile and parked the buggy. “Got our list of supplies and dimensions?” he asked Amos. “Let’s load up our plywood, shingles, and nails, and ask Eli to join us on the lodge roof when we get back. I’m ready to pound on something.”

  * * *

  Annabelle winced as she and the other ladies who’d gathered in her apartment looked up at the ceiling.

  Zap, zap, zap . . . zap, zap, zap.

  “Sure is a shame the men are putting on the lodge’s new roof today,” Beulah remarked as she maneuvered her hook along the baby blanket she was crocheting. “My word, but they’re kicking up a racket with those nail guns.”

  “Jah, we’ve needed a new roof since we bought the place,” Rosetta said as she focused on the diaper she was cutting out. “Amos originally told me they’d work on it next week.”

  Zap, zap, zap . . . zap, zap, zap.

  Christine let out a short laugh. “When Monroe returned from Forest Grove this morning, he was like a man on fire,” she put in. “I asked if the roof couldn’t wait until after our frolic, but he insisted that most of the other men could help today—and it’s gotten colder, so he wants to be sure they finish before the first snowfall. If you ask me, however, he’s got a different bee under his bonnet.”

  Annabelle wondered if that bee might be named Clayton King. She was hemming the diapers on the sewing machine after Rosetta, Christine, and Mattie cut them out of birdseye cotton, and when her machine wasn’t whirring, they could hear the loud hum of the men’s generators on the ground below.