“Hundreds of thousands of dollars we lost,” Bishop Tom continued somberly. “It was the money our members had been entrusting to the church’s aid fund for generations, and by the time we caught him, it was almost gone.”
Several folks glared at Cornelius, and Roman Schwartz stood up. “How much have you stolen from us?” he demanded. “That’s why you wanted us all to pledge a tithe, ain’t so? You had no intention of sending it to the council—because there is no council!”
“It’s this stranger’s word against mine, isn’t it?” Cornelius blurted, pointing at Bishop Tom. “Who’re you going to believe?”
“For starters, we’re going to believe what the bank in Forest Grove told us,” Bishop Monroe put in from the back of the room. “When a teller informed me that you’d tried to access our money, we preachers knew we’d better keep an eye on you. All of our funds are intact, by the way,” he added to reassure everyone.
“Around that same time, I got word from our friends in Lancaster County, where Phineas and I used to live,” Annabelle chimed in smugly. “Nobody there had ever heard of a Bishop Clayton King, so a few of us have known for a while that your story had holes in it! We just didn’t know who you really were!”
“And we kept this information to ourselves so you wouldn’t run out on us before we could hold you accountable,” Bishop Monroe added quickly. “You can quit playing games with us now, Cornelius.”
“It was you who was nosing around in my closet! Trespasser!” Cornelius whispered angrily. “Is that any way for a bishop to behave?”
Gloria swallowed hard. Folks around her were growing more appalled with each bit of information they heard, and her stomach knotted with the realization that her snooping would soon be revealed. Part of her yearned to stand up and declare that yes, she’d found the incriminating evidence that had led to contacting Bishop Tom—but she was afraid that Cornelius might somehow, someday take revenge.
“No, I was never in your room,” Bishop Monroe replied. “Rather than naming names, let’s just say that the person in question confessed this trespassing to me—and told me about the laptop and the English suit in your closet. The papers this person found suggested that folks in Willow Ridge might know about you.”
Cornelius appeared ready to spit nails. “Someone invaded my privacy and betrayed my trust—”
“Hold on just a minute!” Lester blurted, springing to his feet. “All this time you’ve been staying at my place rent free, eating meals the ladies have brought in and letting them do your laundry—counseling me in my grief—but it was all a lie!” he continued in a rush. “You said you were saving our souls even as you intended to steal us blind—and I was fool enough to fall for it.”
“Not just you, Lester,” Mattie put in from the front row. “We didn’t want to believe what this man said about our being too progressive—or too independent and opinionated, Cornelius,” she added bitterly, “but we all know other bishops who would say the same things. You were weaving a web of deception with just enough truth in it to blind us to your lies. Now that’s a betrayal of trust!”
Cornelius stood up, scowling. “I don’t have to listen to this—”
“But wait—before you run off again,” Preacher Ben said as he, too, rose from the preachers’ bench. “We don’t have to leave this situation unresolved. Your soul doesn’t have to remain in the same tarnished state it was in when you left Willow Ridge with your debts unpaid.”
“It’s like you were saying when Ben and I walked in,” Bishop Tom continued earnestly as he faced Cornelius. “A huge black cloud of unforgiven sin still hangs between you and God—and it’s not all about money. These gut Amish Christians would be willing to hear your confession and help you wipe your slate clean, Cornelius. You could apologize right here, right now, and start the process of reconciliation—with them, and with God.”
“God’s grace and love are greater than our sin,” Preacher Ben put in eloquently. “You don’t have to keep running. You can start fresh right this minute, if you say the word.”
Cornelius’s face morphed into a mask of such vile hatred that everyone gasped. “Claptrap,” he spat. “That’s my word for it—claptrap. Don’t hold your breath until I repent—and don’t try to stand in my way while I leave.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As Cornelius strode out of the meeting room, the congregation sat in stunned silence. Even Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben appeared taken aback by the vehemence of his words and the blackness of his attitude.
After a few moments, Bishop Monroe walked up beside Tom and Ben, placing his hands on their shoulders. “You men gave him every chance—and jah, we would’ve listened to his confession and given him our best effort at a fresh start, because that’s what we do here at Promise Lodge,” he said with a sigh. “Meanwhile, we’re grateful that you came to help us with this unfortunate reckoning.”
“Jah, you got here in the nick of time!” Lester remarked.
“Well, I was starting to sweat a little,” Bishop Monroe admitted with a chuckle. “You see, folks, after Tom contacted me and told me the whole story behind Cornelius Riehl, we scripted a scenario for this morning’s service so Cornelius would have no room to wiggle out of what he’s been doing—”
“And part of the plan was to go along with whatever he said until Bishop Tom got here,” Preacher Marlin added. “Don’t think for a minute that any of us preachers—or Monroe—were leaving you at Riehl’s mercy.”
“We’re sorry about what he said to you Kuhns and Wickeys, too,” Preacher Amos put in as he and the other preachers came forward to their bench. “I hope you know that your Mennonite faith has never been an issue to us.”
“Puh! This mess is all his doing, not yours,” Ruby replied. She took a seat on the end of a row when the women scooted over to make room. “We’ve always known God led us to Promise Lodge, just as we believed you folks would accept us.”
“I smelled something foul about Clayton King the moment he walked in,” Beulah said as she, too, sat down. “He’s like a manure pie. The crust might look golden and perfect, but the filling’s nasty. And there’s no fixing it.”
After Beulah’s remark sank in, soft laughter filled the meeting room. Bishop Tom’s eyes crinkled with humor even as he nodded sadly. “We don’t like to admit that some souls are beyond our help,” he said, “but jah, there are things that only God can make right. If Cornelius won’t submit to Him, the Lord will hold him accountable in the end.”
“We did our best to help him—twice,” Preacher Ben added.
As Bishop Monroe gazed around the roomful of people, he nodded. “Again, we’re grateful to you fellows for helping us restore order before Cornelius wreaked total havoc on what we’ve worked so hard to establish here. We’d be honored if you’d help us lead the rest of our church service.”
Bishop Tom smiled. “I’d be pleased to worship with you folks.”
“And stay for our common meal, so we can get better acquainted,” Beulah piped up. “I can assure you our pies will be much tastier than the kind I mentioned earlier!”
Preacher Ben laughed out loud. “We’ve never been known to turn down food and fellowship. Count us in.”
A collective sigh of contentment filled the room. Folks settled themselves on the pew benches with expectant expressions—until Lester raised his hand.
“Before we get back to our worship,” he said earnestly, “I’d like to know who snuck into Clayton—er, Cornelius’s—closet. We owe that person our thanks for finding the stuff that nailed him as a fraud.”
Lester looked around the meeting room, hoping to spot the one responsible. “I—I’m appalled that he was living under my roof, looking me in the eye every single day,” Gloria’s uncle continued ruefully. “I had no idea that he was lying, intending to bilk us out of our money. He seemed so sincere.”
“Jah, I want to know who discovered Clayton King’s real identity, too,” Gloria’s mother chimed in. “A lot of us had our d
oubts about that man—especially after he asked us to donate a tithe to a council we’d never heard of. But nobody else had the presence of mind—or the gumption—to check into his personal belongings.”
“Now we know why he sat in his chair watching us women like a hawk when we changed his sheets,” Christine put in with a humorless laugh. “Wouldn’t let us near his closet.”
Once again Gloria’s stomach got tight. Even though it was her uncle, her mamm, and the bishop’s wife asking, she still had reservations about admitting that she’d sneaked into Cornelius’s closet.
Bishop Monroe clasped his hands behind him. “I assured this person that their confession would remain confidential,” he said softly. “So unless he or she wants to be recognized, we’ll just have to let it remain a mystery.”
“That’s the way I see it, too,” Bishop Tom remarked as he fought a smile.
Gloria felt very grateful, yet the longer folks looked around in anticipatory silence, the more anxious she got. Should she admit what she’d done? How would she explain her actions, if anyone asked what had led her to the closet in her uncle’s upstairs guest room?
When she glanced across the room, however, Cyrus was flashing her a thumbs-up, his dark eyes alight with love. Beside him, Jonathan motioned for her to rise and be recognized. Laura elbowed her lightly, her blue eyes wide with encouragement.
And suddenly, as though lifted by unseen arms, Gloria stood up. “It—it was me,” she admitted. “I’ve always been a busybody, you know.”
A few folks chuckled good-naturedly—and then everyone beamed at her, applauding with such appreciative expressions on their faces that Gloria almost couldn’t stand to look at them. After all, wasn’t she the boy-crazy girl who’d tried to win Roman Schwartz away from her sister with overbaked brownies? And hadn’t she dumped a fruit pie on Allen Troyer’s plans for a tiny house—and then tattled on him and Phoebe when she’d caught them kissing? And hadn’t she tossed her shawl on the stairway in a snit, and then Mamm had fallen on it and been laid up for weeks?
Everyone in the room had shaken their heads over the many foolish things she’d done . . . so the love and admiration on their faces left her speechless.
“Gloria!” Uncle Lester crowed. “It’s hardly a crime for my own niece to come into my house. You and your mamm have been cleaning every nook and cranny of it since I moved here, after all. What possessed you to look in King’s closet?”
Mamm appeared astonished. “Is that where you went last Sunday on your walk, sweetie? We’d been talking about your dat, as I recall, and we were all a little teary-eyed.”
Gloria let out the breath she’d been holding. Bless them, her family was making this explanation easier than she’d feared it would be. “I did,” she admitted. “Do you recall how Uncle Lester told us that Clayton King reminded him of Dat? And how Bishop Clayton was saying things to us that Dat would’ve said, about being too progressive and such?”
“Jah, and what was I thinking?” Uncle Lester muttered as he gazed up at the ceiling. “Floyd, I was so wrong to compare that con artist to you. I hope you can forgive me, brother.”
Gloria blinked. Her uncle had just spoken to Dat as though he were here—and in front of other people, too. Yet the folks around Uncle Lester were smiling and nodding as though he’d done the most natural thing in the world.
“Well, when I found myself headed to your house last Sunday, Uncle Lester,” she continued softly, “I could feel Dat guiding me. It was so real—and even though I knew it was wrong to rifle through that closet, and I knew Dat would never have condoned my snooping—I felt I had to do it.”
Gloria inhaled deeply, grateful for a chance to get this matter off her chest. “After I found that computer, and a man’s English suit, and a wooden crate full of papers about some man named Cornelius who was a clock maker in Willow Ridge,” she went on, “I knew they were the key to who Clayton King really was.”
“Then she brought those papers to me,” Bishop Monroe explained further. “I didn’t want to arouse Cornelius’s suspicions by going to Willow Ridge—and I didn’t feel gut about leaving Promise Lodge while he was here, either—so the Helmuth brothers drove Gloria and Laura to Willow Ridge to confirm our suspicions with the bishop there.”
“And here we are,” Bishop Tom put in with a nod toward Preacher Ben. “No doubt in my mind that it was the hand of God guiding us all—along with a nudge from your dat, Gloria,” he added with a smile. “We must believe in things seen and unseen, and be grateful for God’s bringing us the light of the world in Jesus Christ—a light that the darkness will never overcome.”
Several folks nodded and murmured “amen” as they faced forward to resume the church service. Rosetta stood up, however, dabbing at her eyes. “We should also be grateful for the light our young people bring to Promise Lodge,” she said with a special smile for Gloria. “I don’t even want to think about all the unpleasant things that would’ve happened had Cornelius Riehl actually taken over. Everything my sisters and Amos and I worked so hard for would’ve been wiped out within days,” she added with a hitch in her voice. “Denki from the bottom of my heart, Gloria. And denki to you, as well, Jonathan, Cyrus, and Laura.”
Gloria was so overcome by the love in the room that she had to sit down. Who could’ve foreseen such a welling up of gratitude and appreciation?
Laura hugged her. “We did good,” she whispered.
Gloria blinked back the tears that were filling her eyes. “Jah, I guess we did.”
Outside, Queenie’s barking and the rapid clatter of hoofbeats announced Cornelius Riehl’s departure. Folks sat quietly until the noise died away.
“Close call,” Preacher Amos remarked from the bench up front.
“Jah, but we came through it,” Preacher Marlin put in. “Thanks be to God.”
Bishop Monroe stepped forward to resume the worship service. “I feel compelled to preach about the many ways and times through the centuries when God has led His people away from ruin, toward the righteous life He would have us live,” he said as he clasped his hands before him. “First, however, I suggest we place an ad in The Budget—some sort of warning about Cornelius Riehl, so he can’t take advantage of other Amish districts with his smooth talking and deceitful ways. Will you help me compose something after the meal today, Bishop Tom?”
“I’d be happy to,” the bishop from Willow Ridge replied. “I see it as our Christian responsibility to share what we know about Cornelius with friends of the faith.”
Gloria nodded, noting that the folks around her appeared pleased with Bishop Monroe’s idea. As he led them in prayer and began to preach in his resonant, comforting voice, she felt enveloped by a deep sense of peace and gratitude.
Order had been restored. God had truly rescued Promise Lodge from a ruthless impostor.
And I thank You, Lord, for allowing me to play a part in Your plan.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As the church service drew to a close with Bishop Tom’s benediction, everyone sighed gratefully. Even though it was well past noon, no one was in a hurry to leave the meeting room for dinner because as Bishop Monroe rose to address them, they knew what came next.
Annabelle was on pins and needles. The moment that would determine her future at Promise Lodge had arrived.
“As our Mennonite friends and our unbaptized children leave the room, please, let’s call our members’ meeting to order,” Bishop Monroe said. “Phineas Beachey has lived amongst us for more than a month, and he has expressed his sincere desire to reunite with the Old Order, and with his wife. As Clayton King reminded us, many Amish settlements consider Phineas’s abandonment of our faith the one unforgivable sin, and today we must decide where we as a community stand on that important issue.”
Bishop Monroe gazed around the room, where folks were nodding in accord. Annabelle prayed that the goodwill generated by Cornelius’s departure would hold sway—because what would she and Phineas do if these folks shut them ou
t?
“We must hear Phineas’s confession, and then vote on whether to readmit him,” Bishop Monroe reminded them. “If we accept him back into the Old Order, we’re to decide whether he’ll undergo the usual shunning for six weeks, or another form of penitence we deem more appropriate. Phineas, if you’ll come forward, we’ll listen to what you have to say.”
Annabelle clasped her hands tightly in her lap. When Phineas glanced at her before he knelt in front of the bishop, she hoped her smile appeared encouraging and supportive. Her husband had changed since he’d returned. Their relationship felt much stronger than when he’d abandoned her in Pennsylvania, and she believed that her future with this kinder, gentler—happier—man would be blessed if they could settle at Promise Lodge.
Please let it be so, Lord. Help these folks to open their hearts and decide in favor of Phineas’s reinstatement.
She was so focused on her prayers that she didn’t really hear her husband’s confession. She was barely aware when Bishop Monroe asked Phineas to step outside while the congregation voted.
“Folks, our jahs and nos will be cast not only for Phineas’s request, but to determine where Promise Lodge stands on the issue of reinstatement,” the bishop reminded them. “This is an important decision, requiring a unanimous vote. If anyone has questions or reservations, now’s the time to speak up.”
The meeting room was silent.
Annabelle swallowed hard. The voting began with the front row of the men’s side, going from oldest to youngest.
“Jah . . . jah . . .”
The vote proceeded quickly to the back row of men and then took up with the front row of the women’s side.
“Jah . . . jah . . .”
Annabelle’s heart was beating so hard she could barely speak. “Jah,” she put in, grateful when Rosetta, Christine, and Mattie squeezed her shoulders and smiled brightly at her. Moments later she heard Gloria’s jah, and Mary Kate’s and Laura’s—and then an expectant hush.
Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 25
