Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Gabe motioned for his father to follow him into the office, where they could speak privately. “Truth be told, we went to the Realtor’s office to take Red’s house off the market this morning, but somebody snatched it up on Sunday afternoon,” he began with a shake of his head. “So we’re regrouping. Drove around a bit, looking at other places that’re for sale—because now that I’m engaged, I need to provide my future wife a home. Which means we need to discuss a hefty raise in my pay, Dat.”

  His father swiveled in his wooden desk chair, laughing—but it was joy Gabe heard in his voice, rather than ridicule. “Gut for you, son! Congratulations!” he crowed. “Your mother’ll be mighty happy to hear that. And I’m pleased that you and Regina are figuring out how to handle setbacks together. But I’ll not be raising your pay.”

  Gabe blinked. A protest was on the tip of his tongue, because he’d worked for his father all his adult life without asking for more money—yet something in Dat’s expression made him pause. It was a fine sight, watching his father laugh as though he’d made the best joke ever.

  Dat tented his hands under his chin. “So you talked to Jessica this morning? And she broke the startling news?”

  Gabe frowned, wondering where this odd conversation was headed. “Jah,” he replied softly. “Red and I were so disappointed we couldn’t see straight—”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  Gabe stared. Could his dat be having a reaction to his medication? Why else would he be downright giggly after learning that his son and future daughter-in-law had been dealt such an emotional blow—and after flatly turning him down for a pay raise?

  Dat rolled his chair around the desk so he was sitting close to Gabe. “Your mamm and I bought Regina’s house for you, son,” he whispered. “We want the two of you to have it, so—”

  “You paid cash, too!” Gabe shot back. “We could’ve saved you all that money, if you’d let us take it off the market.”

  “But we took it out of Regina’s name, mostly so Clarence can’t cry foul,” his father explained. “Now she’ll be a traditional Amish wife, allowing her husband to support her, and you won’t have to spend your early years in a bedroom between your parents and your sisters. Your mamm thinks she’ll have grandkids sooner—and more of them—if you have your own place. If you get my drift.”

  Gabe nearly choked. His mother never mentioned such things. “Mamm said that?”

  His father shrugged. “She and I spent several months living with her parents before we could afford a home,” he explained. “What with her grandmother and two brothers in their twenties in bedrooms adjoining ours, it wasn’t exactly a newlywed couple’s dream.”

  As Dat’s information sank in, Gabe’s heart swelled with hope. “Well—wow,” he murmured. “Wow. That’s quite a gift—way better than a raise, or any other place you could’ve picked for us. Denki, Dat. I’m—we’re—delighted!”

  “But keep it under your hat,” his father insisted, suddenly serious again. “This sort of announcement—including your engagement—is best saved for after you’ve been reinstated into the congregation. If folks realize you’ve been courting and having such a fine time while under the bann, it won’t sit well with Clarence and Ammon. Those two preachers are starched so stiff, I wonder if they ever have any fun—or ever give their wives anything to smile about.”

  “Even so, Red has to go to the Millers’ on Friday—”

  “But not for long—and not forever,” Dat put in quickly. “Meanwhile, you and I can fix anything in Red’s house that might need attention, jah? Does she have hardwood floors that could use a face-lift?” he asked eagerly. “Or maybe the rooms need some fresh paint—and your mamm’s offered to sew new curtains. We could even build new kitchen cabinets, or fronts for them—”

  “Out of the flawed wood in the scrap bin!” Gabe put in excitedly. “When Lydianne told me Red was so taken with that swirl-topped coffee table, I put a SOLD sign on it so I could give it to her as an engagement present. She’ll really sparkle if we replace her cabinet doors to include a few knotholes and irregularities in the grain!”

  When Dat rocked back in his chair, he looked happier than he had in a long time. “You’re getting the idea, son. I can’t wait to see Regina’s face when she finds out about all these surprises you’ll have for her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Because they had no church service Sunday morning, the Miller family stayed at home for a day of quiet contemplation—and after only two days at their house, Regina was already going crazy, shrinking into herself. Her young cousins had been eagerly trying to engage her in conversation all weekend, and she’d tried to be patient with them, but she felt her fuse growing shorter.

  How could she explain to Emma, Lucy, and Linda that she was upset about having to leave her home—mourning the loss of her independence? They were young enough to obey their dat’s every command without question, because he had absolute authority over them and their mother—and because, as a preacher, he expected nothing less than complete compliance. More than once Regina wanted to tell her young cousins that there was another way to live, a freer lifestyle that still conformed to the Old Order way. But with her uncle and aunt following her every conversation with their impressionable daughters, Regina knew better than to encourage the girls to ask questions or think for themselves.

  Because her small room didn’t have a window, Regina couldn’t stand to spend much time there. Despite the July heat, the windows in the rest of the house remained closed to prevent the odor of Uncle Clarence’s hogs from permeating the indoor air. Battery-operated fans ran in the kitchen and front room, but they were just moving hot air. Aunt Cora was making meals that didn’t require the oven—or even much time at the stove. Uncle Clarence didn’t seem to notice the stifling heat as he read his big King James Bible in his recliner.

  At a loss for something to do in the endless stretch of time between washing the breakfast dishes and setting out their cold Sunday lunch, Regina carried her embroidery into the front room. She sat on the end of the sofa nearest the window’s light, focusing on the brilliant crimson of the cardinal she was embroidering on a napkin for the customer who’d ordered the tablecloth set. She tried to ignore the way her dress was sticking to her damp body.

  Uncle Clarence looked up from the big Bible in his lap. “You know better than to work on the Sabbath, Regina,” he scolded her. “You’re selling that handiwork for money, so you must put it away. Perhaps reading the Martyrs Mirror will put you in a proper frame of mind.”

  Regina closed her eyes against tears. The huge volume her uncle pointed to held a place of honor in the center of the coffee table. It contained stories of early Anabaptists who’d been persecuted—even burned at the stake—for following their faith during the centuries before believers had migrated to North America to seek religious freedom. Written in Dutch, in 1685, the accounts of such violence and hatred had always depressed Regina rather than giving her any spiritual guidance.

  But what else was there to do? Aunt Cora and the girls were also reading their Bibles—or pretending to—so Regina had little choice but to follow their example. She carried her embroidery into her airless room and stood for several moments with her hands on the top of the old dresser, desperately trying to compose herself.

  Someone knocked at the front door. A few moments later, Bishop Jeremiah’s greeting filled the front room, and he exchanged small talk with Uncle Clarence and the others. “And where’s Regina?” he asked pleasantly.

  “She’s putting away her embroidery,” Uncle Clarence replied sternly. “I have half a mind to forbid her to do any further business at The Marketplace. We’ve seen how spending so much time among English, engaged in earning money she doesn’t really need, has skewed her priorities, after all.”

  Panic filled Regina’s soul as she gripped the top of the dresser. If her uncle no longer allowed her to spend Saturdays at the shops with her friends, how would she survive emotionally? At Martin
’s suggestion, she and Gabe had agreed that it was better for him not to call on her at her uncle’s home until after they’d been reinstated into full church membership—a week from this morning.

  It was going to be the longest seven days of her life.

  “Regina? How’s it going, dear?”

  Bishop Jeremiah’s gentle voice nearly made her blurt out the truth, but somehow she held her emotions in check. When she turned, she saw that the bishop had stopped in the doorway, filling it with his tall, sturdy form as he took in the daybed, the three pegs on the wall where her dresses hung, and the small dresser behind her. His scowl could’ve curdled milk.

  “I had no idea—” he muttered before striding back into the front room. Jeremiah Shetler was the most patient man Regina knew, but waves of his anger washed around her in his wake.

  “Clarence, that’s the most deplorable thing I’ve ever seen!” the bishop exclaimed. “You and Cora and the girls have normal-sized bedrooms upstairs—with windows!—yet you’ve confined Regina to a dim, airless space the size of my mother’s pantry. Why is that? And how does it reflect any sort of hospitality, much less love for your niece?”

  Regina’s eyes widened and she held her breath—mostly so she could hear her uncle’s answer. She sensed it might be better if she weren’t present when he replied to the bishop’s outburst—

  And then she walked into the front room and resumed her place on the couch. She might know better, but watching Uncle Clarence squirm was the best entertainment she’d had in days, and she didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

  Aunt Cora and the three girls sat riveted in their chairs, not daring to speak.

  Uncle Clarence seemed unable to get out of his recliner. His complexion was somewhere between the red of a raw beefsteak and the color of a turnip. “The upstairs rooms are all—all occupied,” he sputtered.

  Bishop Jeremiah frowned. “As I recall from being up there for pre-church preachers’ meetings, you folks have at least four bedrooms—yours and Cora’s, and two for the girls,” he said, counting them off on his fingers. “What about the other one?”

  Uncle Clarence glanced quickly at Aunt Cora, whose jaw was clamped shut. She seemed as fascinated by the men’s conversation as Regina was—and she was letting her husband respond, as was proper.

  “It’s a sewing room,” Lucy put in quietly. “Mamm has her quilting frame and both of the sewing machines in there.”

  Uncle Clarence shot his daughter an irritated glance. The bishop seemed to conclude that although Aunt Cora had claimed the room for her own use, she’d followed her husband’s instructions about where their too-independent niece would be staying.

  After an uncomfortable pause, Bishop Jeremiah said, “Clarence, your current arrangement is unacceptable. You may either shift your wife’s equipment into the space where Regina is now and allow her to have that upstairs bedroom—or, Regina, you may come and stay at my place.”

  The bishop lowered himself to the other end of the sofa so he could speak with Regina at eye level. “Mamm and I would be happy to have you in one of our spare rooms,” he said kindly. “I understand that your home has sold very quickly—for sure, this time—so if you’d like to shift some of your belongings to my house before you let it go, we’ll be fine with that. You’ve been through a lot these past few weeks.”

  “But Regina’s my responsibility,” Uncle Clarence protested weakly. “I’ve done the right thing by bringing her into my home—”

  “Your niece is a responsible adult,” Bishop Jeremiah pointed out. “She has a job that allows her to be self-supporting, and—until you made her sell it—she had a perfectly acceptable home. Regina confessed and gave up her artistic pursuits of her own accord, and I see absolutely no need for her to keep paying for her perceived sins simply because you believe it’ll keep her humble and compliant with the Ordnung. End of discussion.”

  Regina forced herself to breathe so she wouldn’t pass out from sheer joy. She could leave! She could live out the remainder of her bann at the bishop’s house—and Uncle Clarence couldn’t make her stay.

  “I accept your generous offer, Bishop Jeremiah,” she said before Uncle Clarence could say anything further. “It won’t take me but three minutes to pack.”

  Regina hurried to her room, stuffed her underthings and kapps into her suitcase along with her embroidery, and grabbed the dresses hanging on the wall pegs. “Denki for taking care of me,” she said to her family as she followed the bishop to the front door. “I’ll see you in church.”

  Just like that, she was free! Regina clambered into the bishop’s buggy. She held her breath until they reached the road, wondering if her uncle would come outside to have the last word.

  “Denki, denki, denki—from the bottom of my heart,” she blurted. “I don’t know what brought this on, but—”

  “I’ll tell you how it came about, but you have to keep it under your kapp,” Bishop Jeremiah put in as he turned onto the paved road.

  Regina crossed her heart with her fingers, nodding eagerly.

  “Your Aunt Cora told me a while back about where you were to stay when you got to their house. She said Clarence had insisted that she not clear out her sewing room to accommodate you,” he added softly. “She knew you were going to be miserable—and that she would be, too.”

  Regina’s heart softened. She’d often thought of her aunt as regimented and set in her ways, but she owed Aunt Cora a huge debt of gratitude.

  “I stopped by today with the hope that Clarence had changed his mind,” Jeremiah continued amiably. “I’m sincerely sorry he’s remained so hard-hearted, Regina. Do you want to swing by your house and pick up anything else?”

  Regina nodded gratefully. “When the other maidels helped me pack Thursday night, we put my personal belongings in a couple of boxes—and I know right where they are,” she added. “The new owners want my furniture, so there’s not much else to claim.”

  The bishop smiled as he guided his mare toward Maple Lane. “The Bible tells us the Lord makes all things new,” he said kindly. “You’re still going through some rough waters, but soon your troubles will be behind you. Do you believe that?”

  As Gabe’s handsome face—and their plans to marry—came to mind, Regina nodded. “I’m ready for a fresh start, Bishop. I can’t thank you enough for helping me get it a little quicker.”

  * * *

  Gabe sighed with satisfaction as he stepped away from the ladder Tuesday evening to look at the kitchen walls he’d just painted a deep apple green. He’d kept Red’s color scheme because it was fresh and vibrant—and because he loved every detail of the home that expressed exactly who Red Miller was. He saw no reason to change the palette of her life when she became Regina Flaud.

  When the sound of the sander died away, Gabe called toward the front room. “How’re you coming with that floor, Dat?”

  “Just finished,” his father replied. “We can apply the new stain tomorrow evening—”

  “Or Thursday,” Mamm put in firmly from the back bedroom. “You’ve exerted yourself enough for now, Martin. We want you to be around for the wedding, after all.”

  “Jah, we do,” Gabe agreed as he tapped the lid onto the paint can with his hammer. “Won’t take me but half an hour to put up the new cabinet doors, and I’m calling it gut for the evening. How about if you sit out on the porch and wait for me?”

  His father let out a few disgruntled words in German. “What I need is a few more folks bossing me around.”

  His sisters, who were helping Mamm make the new curtains, laughed. “We just finished hemming this pair, so we’ll pour some lemonade and join you out there, Dat,” Lorena said.

  “Jah, we want you around for our weddings, too!” Kate chimed in.

  Gabe began driving the screws into the cabinet hinges with his battery-operated drill. As he mounted each new oak door, he thought about how tickled Red would be when she saw the beadboard insets he’d chosen, as well as the interesting knotholes
and irregularities in the wood he’d salvaged from the scrap bins.

  “This home is so cute,” his mother said behind him. “It’ll make you kids the perfect place to start out.”

  “Who says we’ll ever need to leave?” Gabe asked as he hung the final cabinet door. “What with the two big rooms upstairs—and a backyard large enough that we can add on as more kids come along—we’ll be here till we’re old and gray. Or at least as old as you and Dat,” he teased.

  “It’s a joy to hear you saying such things, son,” Mamm said as she slipped her arm around him. “And it’s such a blessing that you and your dat are working together again, as close as you ever were.”

  “It is,” Gabe agreed as he hugged her. “You two have given Red and me an amazing gift, Mamm. Not just the house, but your forgiveness. Your acceptance and belief in us.”

  His mother blinked away the dampness in her eyes. “That’s what family is all about,” she whispered. “One of these days, when you’ve got kids of your own, you’ll know even better what I’m talking about, Gabe. I wish you and Regina all the best.”

  “We can’t wait to come over for Sunday visits,” Lorena said as she moved a chair toward one of the kitchen windows. Tall as she was, she easily reached the brackets to put up the fresh pair of royal blue curtains Kate had slid onto a curtain rod.

  “And what about overnights, too?” Kate’s dimpled face lit up. “It would be great fun to set up a tent in your backyard, ain’t so?”

  Gabe smiled, loving the glow that filled the kitchen as his mamm and sisters finished hanging the curtains. When he and his family left for the evening, Gabe felt tired—but he’d never felt more blessed.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  At long last the Sunday service ended and Bishop Jeremiah called the Members Meeting. Although Regina didn’t doubt their bann would be lifted, she prayed that their responses would be deemed acceptable as she and Gabe went down on their knees. The preachers asked the necessary questions: Do you believe your punishment was deserved? Do you believe your sins have been forgiven through the blood of Jesus Christ?