“And our other topic for discussion tonight involves helping our Regina,” Jo put in with a kind smile. “Seems to me that if we’d like her to help us in our shops, we maidels should throw a packing frolic before she moves. Packing is a huge job, and I couldn’t imagine having to do it all by myself.”
Regina’s eyes widened as the office got quiet. “Oh my,” she whispered. “That would be such a help. Jessica—the real estate agent—hinted that the place would sell faster if it didn’t look so, um, cluttered.”
Lydianne laughed softly, squeezing her shoulder.
“But she also warned me to be patient, because it might take weeks or even months for someone to buy it,” Regina continued with a sigh. “Morning Star’s a small town. People need a compelling reason to move here.”
“Maybe if you keep your clutter, the house won’t sell—so you won’t have to move in with Clarence and Cora!” Marietta teased.
Regina laughed along with her friends. It was good to feel their support, to know their friendship hadn’t been affected by her bann. “I’ve thought of that,” she admitted, “but I doubt Uncle Clarence would allow it.”
“I don’t see why you should have to get rid of your house—especially because it belonged to your parents,” Molly said in a protective tone. “Nobody seems to care that Marietta and I have a house, or that Lydianne rents a place on the edge of town.”
“Single Amish gals have houses in other church districts, too,” Jo pointed out. “I’m thinking this is mostly Preacher Clarence trying to control his niece. We’re such a wayward, independent bunch, we maidels. We need constant guidance, you know.”
Regina smiled sadly. “Jah, you’ve pegged it right. I really don’t want to live with my aunt and uncle,” she said with a sigh. “I—I only put my house up for sale because Uncle Clarence said I had to . . . and because if Martin fires me, I can’t afford to keep it anyway.”
“Why would he fire you?” Lydianne shot back. “I’ve reminded him time and again that we can’t lose any more employees if we’re to keep up with all our orders.”
“Jah, but the way most men see it, we women shouldn’t be living on our own,” Jo reminded them. “Who’s to say that Martin and Clarence won’t put their heads together and decide that if Regina moves back into the Miller place, she won’t need an income anyway? So Martin might feasibly let her go because Preacher Clarence thinks it’s his responsibility to support Regina while he keeps her on the straight and narrow. From a male viewpoint, that would fit the Old Order’s way, ain’t so?”
Regina sighed glumly. She could certainly imagine that scenario happening. The way her friends were nodding, they understood the possibility of it, too.
Marietta finished her slice of pizza and eyed the desserts. “Regina, we’ll help you box up your stuff, but maybe you could keep your things around—”
“In case your house doesn’t sell—or in case your situation changes somehow,” Molly continued in a hopeful tone. “After you’re voted back into the congregation’s gut graces, maybe your uncle will decide you should stay in your house instead of being one more female at his place.”
Shaking her head, Regina reached for another slice of pizza. “I can’t see him changing his mind because of that,” she murmured. “Lots of men don’t have any sons or sons-in-law in the house.”
Once again Lydianne squeezed Regina’s shoulder. “We’ll pray that things work out so you’ll be happy, Regina. Maybe that’s God’s will,” she added emphatically. “Who’s to say Clarence Miller has a corner on knowing what God wants, just because he’s a preacher?”
Jo’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t go spouting off on that topic in front of Clarence if I were you!”
“Jah, he’ll think Regina put us maidels up to saying that, and then he’ll be keeping an even closer eye on all of us,” Molly said. She flashed Regina an encouraging smile. “No matter what, we all want the best for you, and we’ll help you however we can.”
Regina was grateful when their discussion turned back to the more cheerful topics of the two new stores that would open on Saturday and the two upcoming family reunions. After they’d finished their meal and cleaned up, she and her friends went out the back way and headed home. Lydianne offered her a ride, so they left together.
“Do you want to be the events manager?” her friend asked after the mare was clip-clopping down the road. Without much car traffic, they moved along freely as dusk was falling.
Regina shrugged. “Hostessing isn’t really my cup of tea,” she replied, “but maybe it would give me something to do—get me out of the house once I’m living with Aunt Cora and Uncle Clarence. Unless you want that job, Lydianne.”
“I suppose if no one else jumps on it, it’ll fall to me as the business manager,” she replied, watching for traffic. “We’ve got some time to decide on that, though. The reunions aren’t scheduled until September.”
As they turned off the blacktop and approached Maple Lane, Regina wondered what she might be doing by September . . . after she and Gabe had completed their four-week shunning and their lives had settled into place again. It would be nice to know that at the end of the rocky path her life had recently taken, better times awaited her.
But life wasn’t a fairy tale. There was no way to predict a happy ending.
After Lydianne dropped her off, Regina hurried past the FOR SALE sign and entered the house. She’d always loved the way evening’s light softened her rooms, and she hoped to savor several more days surrounded by the eclectic furnishings she’d found at flea markets and antique stores. Everything was arranged just the way she wanted it—and once she moved in with her uncle and aunt, she’d have to be satisfied with the furnishings that were already in their guest room.
That’s so depressing. Don’t think about it until you absolutely have to.
Regina entered the kitchen to brew a cup of tea—and spotted a sheet of paper on the kitchen table.
Regina, we got an offer on your house today! It would be a perfect starter home for this young couple and they’re so excited! Once everything’s ’s been approved and signed—probably within the next month—they’ll be able to move in. They love your furniture and would like to buy most of it.
We’ll talk soon. Jessica
Regina sniffled as she reread the note. She’d be leaving by the end of July?
As this painful reality slammed into her, Regina left the kitchen, stifling a sob. She dropped down onto the couch and buried her face in one of the soft cushions—which would soon belong to someone else.
It was going to be a long, lonely night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By Friday evening’s meal the tension at home was so stressful, Gabe wondered who would feel compelled to leave the kitchen first. At the table across the room, his father’s demeanor was so icy that frost could’ve formed on the walls.
Glancing fearfully at Dat’s stormy expression, Kate and Lorena shared none of the usual stories about their day after the silent grace. Mamm fidgeted with the food bowls, making sure Dat could reach everything to serve himself first—and she’d prepared his favorite meals the last few nights—as though these efforts might put him in a better mood. When Gabe had tried to apologize on the previous two evenings, his father had silenced him.
He inhaled deeply before making another attempt. What else could he do? The tension had become more than anyone could bear. He wasn’t supposed to initiate conversation, but how else could he apologize? “Dat, I’m sorry about the things I said at church—”
“Not sorry enough!” his father blurted. “Why should I take your apology seriously? You’ve claimed you regret what you said about our business—and Saul’s—yet you still defend Regina’s sins, and you show no remorse for indulging in your own! You say you’ve gotten rid of your guitar and stopped playing that Methodist piano, but I don’t believe you!”
Gabe clenched his jaw to keep from lashing out in frustration . . . and guilt. His guitar was still hidden i
n the tool chest on his rig. And with so many hours in his workless days to fill, he had indeed played and prayed in the Methodist church’s hushed sanctuary. After Pastor Mike had come to see who was playing the piano, Gabe had even chatted with him a few times. The more Dat railed at him, the less he felt like giving up either instrument.
“I’m not sorry I asked those questions about why the Old Order considers Red’s artistic ability a sin, because I need an answer,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to lie about that, because bearing false witness only adds to the sins that seem to be piling up higher every time I try to talk to you about—”
“This is pathetic! Thomas and Mose would never lower themselves to doubting our faith, much less stand up for a member whose shunning was justified,” Dat retorted. “I should have brought one of them into the business instead of—”
“Martin, think about what you’re saying,” Mamm pleaded. She glanced sadly at her two teenaged daughters, seated across the table from her. “Girls, please take your plates up to your rooms to finish your dinner.”
Lorena and Kate quickly left the kitchen. Gabe envied their escape—and he resented the way Dat had thrown his two older brothers’ names into the fray. Mose had apprenticed with a farrier when he’d turned fourteen—and later married the man’s daughter—while Thomas had relocated to Indiana after answering an ad in the Budget calling for workers in an RV factory. Neither of them had shown any inclination toward furniture making—or for working with their dat—so for better or worse, the foreman’s position had fallen to Gabe.
Dat saw things differently, however. “I’m saying what needs to be said,” he retorted, glaring at Mamm. “I’m trying to bring Gabe back into the fold with a clean heart and pure intent, but his half-baked apologies—and the rumor that he’s been dating Regina—aren’t helping his case.”
Heat flared beneath Gabe’s shirt collar. Had someone spotted them together? Should he rise to Dat’s bait or play dumb? The last thing he wanted was to put Red’s job in jeopardy.
Mamm sat up straighter, struggling to settle her emotions. “Gabe has repeatedly apologized and attempted to bring peace back into this family,” she whispered hoarsely, “yet you judge his apologies as insufficient because they’re not worded just the way you would—”
“His apologies are lame and insincere, Delores,” Dat stated bluntly. “I’ve seen no signs of remorse or—”
“And your attitude has become even more high-toned and inexcusable than you claimed Gabe’s was in church,” Mamm protested more loudly. She swallowed hard, struggling to remain strong in the face of Dat’s rancor. “The finger-pointing must end before the forgiveness can begin, Martin.”
“It’s not your place to tell me how to conduct myself, Delores.”
Gabe’s anger flared. “Despite my apologies, you’ve forbidden me to return to work, and I seem to be a source of constant tension every time you and I are in the same room. I give up,” he added as he rose from his chair. “I don’t know what else I can do to—”
“Jah, that’s it! Run off with your tail between your legs—”
“Gabe, please don’t go!”
As the screen door banged shut behind him, Gabe felt torn between staying at home—mostly because Mamm had stood up so staunchly for him—and leaving town altogether . . . making a clean break with the Old Order.
Gabe instinctively knew Red would understand his dilemma and perhaps shed some light on a solution. As he walked toward Maple Lane, however, he cut across some pastures in case someone from church was watching him. Approaching her house from a different direction, he noticed that the attic windows were dark. His breath caught when he saw the UNDER CONTRACT banner attached to the agency’s sign in her front yard.
Gabe hurried up to Red’s porch and knocked loudly on the screen door. Lamps were lit and the front room was in disarray, but he saw no sign of her. “Red, can we talk?” he called into the house. “It’s me—Gabe.”
A few moments later, she came down the back hallway. Still wearing her stained old dress and kerchief from her day at the furniture factory, Red was a welcome sight, but she appeared pinched and pale. “Hey there, Gabe, come on in. I was, um, packing up the spare bedroom.”
His problems suddenly seemed like molehills, compared to the emotional mountains she was facing. “So your house has already sold?” he asked as he stepped inside. “When do you have to be out, honey-girl?”
She shrugged forlornly. “The real estate agent thinks all the paperwork might be done within a month,” she replied. “Apparently a young couple are buying it as their first home. They want to buy most of the furniture, so I suppose it’s a blessing that I don’t have to figure out where to take it all.”
When Gabe saw the telltale shine of tears in her hazel eyes, he opened his arms. “You’re not sounding like you feel very blessed right now,” he whispered.
As Red rushed into his arms, his heart lurched. She felt thinner, and she was trembling with the effort it took not to cry. Gabe had the overwhelming urge to kiss her—but what would that solve? Instead, he held her close, rocking her gently.
“Denki for understanding,” Red said in a halting voice. “I don’t mean to be such a wet blanket—”
“That makes us two of a kind,” he remarked with a sad laugh. “I left the house under a dark cloud—but I can’t imagine what it must be like to know that in a few weeks, somebody else will own your home. I’m sorry this has happened so fast, Red.”
For several moments they simply stood in one another’s embrace, savoring the warmth that kept each of them from feeling totally alone. Red sighed and eased away. “Jo and the girls are having a packing frolic for me someday soon, but since I’m not painting anymore I had to have something to do tonight.” She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m in such a state, I guess I haven’t even had any supper.”
“I walked away from mine,” Gabe muttered. “Shall we go into town and get something?”
With a disparaging glance at her stained, careworn dress, Red grimaced. “Let’s stay here. I suspect peanut butter and jelly might be the best I can do—”
“But PB and J with you sounds like a feast, considering how everyone at the Flaud house is strung too tight to eat anything,” he remarked under his breath. “Three times I’ve apologized from my separate table in the corner, but—well, I don’t know what else to do. I feel bad grousing about it, considering your situation.”
It was such a simple thing, sitting down across the table from Red, yet Gabe felt so at home. Her oak cabinets glowed in the last rays of sunlight that streamed between the forest green panel curtains. Her walls were painted a bold shade of Granny Smith apple green, and the countertops were covered with cranberry red ceramic tile. She’d painted her table and chairs royal blue, and other details around the room matched them. It was a Plain kitchen, yet it reflected Red’s artistic inclinations.
Red set out two ivory plates with blue borders. When she brought a half loaf of store-bought sandwich bread, a large jar of peanut butter, and two jars of jelly to the table, Gabe felt oddly contented.
Is this how it would feel if you and Red got hitched and lived in this quaint little place?
Gabe banished the thought from his mind immediately. A different family would soon be living in this house, so it was useless to fantasize along that line.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Red teased. “An interesting grin just lit up your face.”
He nipped his lip and reached for the bread bag. “I was just thinking how homey your kitchen feels,” he hedged as he helped himself.
Red’s eyebrow arched slightly as she accepted the bread bag and removed a couple of slices. “So have you ever been serious about making a home with somebody, Gabe? I can’t imagine you’ve come this far without, um, breaking a heart or two.”
He blinked. Why would Red be thinking that?
As he removed a large blob of peanut butter from the jar with his knife, Gabe decided to tell her about his p
ast, because it put his present predicament into perspective. “Matter of fact, I was courting a gal a few years older than me several years ago—which was the main reason I joined the church,” he admitted.
“Jah, that happens a lot in our faith,” she murmured as she, too, began making a sandwich.
Sensing nothing critical in her tone, he smeared strawberry jam on his other slice of bread and put his sandwich together. “Louisa was everything I thought I wanted,” he began in a faraway voice. “I was only eighteen, but her dat invited me to work on his construction crew, and we got on well from the start. I knew we newlyweds would have to live with her folks until I could afford to build us a house—”
The heartbreak came back in such a rush, Gabe slashed through his sandwich with his knife and tore it into two very jagged halves.
“My word, what happened?” Red whispered, quickly grasping his wrist. “Don’t hurt yourself!”
Gabe released the knife, embarrassed yet comforted by her gesture. “Louisa decided another fellow suited her better. A guy who already had a house on a big farm.”
“Ouch,” Red muttered. “I’m really sorry.”
He sighed. It felt good to share the painful story, even if it was the least romantic thing he could possibly talk about. “About that time, my two older brothers were finding reasons to leave town—and I could hardly keep working for Louisa’s father—so when Dat asked me to manage the furniture factory, it seemed like a gut plan for the future,” he explained in a rising voice. “Now that my shunning’s making him show other colors, I’m not so sure—but enough about that. You’re being very generous, sharing your food and listening to my tale of woe, Red.”
She took a big, hungry bite of her sandwich. A dab of apricot jam lingered alongside her mouth as she chewed, enticing Gabe to kiss her. Refocusing, he asked a question of his own.
“So what about you, Red? Have you left a special guy behind?”
Morning Star Page 18
