Something inside Noah snapped. After dealing with Deborah’s surprise arrival since early this afternoon, he really didn’t care to discuss her any further. “Enough already,” he muttered, resting the butt of his gun on the ground. “Not so long ago my ducks were in a nice row—I had a fiancée, a farm, and a future—until Deborah ditched me, and then Mamm and the aunts got their half-baked idea about starting a new settlement out here in the middle of nowhere,” he ranted. “At least it got me away from Coldstream and the Peterscheims. But why on God’s gut earth has she showed up here, of all places?”
Roman’s eyebrows rose. “Better adjust your attitude before Amos starts preaching at you,” he warned. “It’s no secret how you feel about Deborah—or about being here at Promise Lodge, little brother. Get a grip.”
“I’ll get a grip, all right—around Deborah’s neck,” he muttered. “This wagonload of manure started rolling downhill on account of her, you know.”
Roman’s expression confirmed what Noah already knew: his frustration had gotten out of hand. In the eyes of the Amish, such anger was every bit as sinful as the activities Deborah had attributed to Isaac Chupp. “Now you’ve lost all sense of perspective,” his brother stated. “Maybe Deborah had gut reason to break up with you when—”
“Stifle it, Roman. Is it a gift from God to be right about everything?” Noah exhaled in exasperation. “Sorry. I’m all wound up—”
“Tighter than a top,” his brother agreed.
“—because nothing’s going right in my life anymore. And now Deborah’s shown up to rub my nose in it,” Noah blurted. Then he sighed loudly. “Even Job cried out to God when he’d had too many troubles heaped on his head.”
The two of them stood in silence, except for the reedy whine of the cicadas and the croaking of the frogs. Noah inhaled deeply, hoping the cool night air would settle the fire and brimstone burning in his gut. He’d always been able to keep a lid on his feelings, even during Dat’s nastiest rants when he’d been so sick near the end of his life. Lately, however, his emotions seemed to boil over at every little thing—not that moving away from everyone and everything he’d ever known was a little thing.
“What do you suppose happened to Deborah that she’s not telling us about?” Roman asked as he watched the fireflies rise from the grass. “There’s a story behind that bruise on her neck.”
“She dodged the issue when I asked her about it,” Noah remarked gruffly. “I doubt the women’ll quiz her about that handprint. They probably figure Eli got peeved and grabbed her.”
He didn’t like the path his suspicions were following, but what would it solve if he kept them to himself? “Personally, I think Isaac Chupp did that to her . . . maybe because Deborah saw him in the Bender barn,” Noah speculated. “You’d think she’d know better than to tangle with the bishop’s boy. But then, I suspect Isaac’s the reason she walked out on me.”
Roman scowled. “From what I’ve seen, Isaac flirts with all the girls. That doesn’t mean it’s right if his drinking gets out of hand and other folks lose their barns—or a husband—because of it.”
“Jah, there’s that.” Noah closed his eyes against a fresh welling-up of resentment. Why did one bad thing lead to another and another, like lined-up dominoes falling in succession? Truth be told, Deborah’s rejection had been just one in a series of disasters. “Seems like the trouble started early last year when Dat’s diabetes took him out, and then Mamm’s parents succumbed to the flu, which left Aunt Rosetta alone in that big house. And then Uncle Willis died fighting his barn fire, which left Aunt Christine a widow. That’s a lot of trouble in our family lately.”
“Let’s not forget how Bishop Obadiah kept harassing Mamm and the aunts to get married, practically before Uncle Willis was cold in the ground,” Roman reminded him. “It was only a matter of time before any one of them snapped. They felt God was leading them to this place, so they found a way to afford it.”
“And you agree with that? You like it here?” Noah challenged. After living in Promise for three weeks, Roman was discussing their life-altering move in a tone that sounded downright happy rather than stoically accepting of the hand God had supposedly dealt them.
“You could’ve stayed in Coldstream,” Roman reminded him. “You had a welding apprenticeship, a gut opportunity to—”
“And why would I want to work in Eli Peterscheim’s shop, where I’d see her all the time? And where would I live?”
Roman shrugged in that exasperating way he had. Because he was three years older than Noah, he thought he was so much wiser. “Even the Lord’s will allows us to choose. Frankly, I made the move because none of the Coldstream girls interested me,” he admitted. “Sure, Mamm would’ve fussed if either of us had stayed behind, but she was determined to make a go of this place. While other families buy these lots and repay the initial investment Mamm, the aunts, and Amos made—and they get Rosetta’s apartments and the produce stand going—I figure to keep managing Aunt Christine’s dairy herd and selling the milk. I think we’ll get that old orchard producing again someday, too.”
“You really believe this Promise Lodge thing’s going to fly?” Noah challenged. “I see a lot of opportunities for falling flat on our—”
“Since when did you become such a naysayer?” Roman countered. “Mamm’s willing to try something new instead of struggling to keep up a farm in Coldstream. Plenty of folks have expressed their doubts, but she and Rosetta and Christine refuse to believe them. Maybe we should be taking notes.”
Noah kept his mouth shut. There was no use in trying to talk Roman out of his high-flying ideas. In the silence that stretched between them he heard a singsong yipping, maybe from the orchard.
“I’m going to stay up for a while. Teach those coyotes a lesson,” Noah remarked. “If they keep sniffing around Rosetta’s chickens, we’ll never be rid of them.”
His brother went inside the lodge, and a few moments later the lamps went out. Noah gazed out into the night. The darkness that stretched endlessly in every direction was broken only by an occasional glimmer of heat lightning on the horizon, the sign of an oncoming storm that might bring some welcome rain.
But what of the storm in his soul? What if Roman’s right and I should be making amends . . . making my own choices instead of whining about Mamm’s? After all, Deborah chose to come here—chose to move beyond whatever happened in Coldstream, and to be near me.
And what did that say about God’s will at work in his life?
* * *
Deborah curled into a tight ball as tears trickled down her cheeks. Even though the cabin’s bed with its new mattress was far more comfortable than the one she shared with her sister at home, and the sheets smelled sweet and clean from drying in the sun, she couldn’t fall asleep. The male voices that had drifted through her window had spelled it out: Noah believed she was romantically involved with Isaac Chupp. That idea sickened her almost as much as the resentment that had edged Noah’s conversation with his brother. He sounded very near the breaking point. Not at all like the happy, easygoing young man she’d been engaged to.
Should she go ahead and tell the rest of her story? She had gone against the Ordnung and the long-established understanding that Amish folks handled their own disasters without involving local law enforcement. She was certain, however, that hearing the exact details of that fiery night would only depress poor Christine more, not to mention upsetting Mattie and Rosetta, as well.
And what if she told the truth and no one here believed her? Dat certainly hadn’t.
Deborah stared into the darkness. For better or for worse she’d come here, and she’d told Preacher Amos she would paint tomorrow.
Help me out, Lord. I don’t know what to do.
Chapter Four
“All right, Gladys, you can go first, girlie,” Rosetta murmured as she coaxed the black-and-white doe onto the milking stand. “We’re getting an early start this morning because I couldn’t sleep for thinking about your
old home being set afire.”
When the goat stood contentedly, eating from her feed bin, Rosetta began to milk her in the back stall of the old stable. As the milk splashed rhythmically into the stainless steel bucket, the four other goats munched their ration nearby, unconcerned about the topic of conversation. Queenie, ever the herder, had ushered the chickens out into the fenced area after Rosetta had opened the door, and now the dog watched from her perch on a bale of straw. She was happy to have Rosetta’s company—at least until Noah and Roman came outside.
The morning milking ritual soothed Rosetta, yet a tear dribbled down her cheek as she once again envisioned the barn she’d played in as a child being consumed by flames. Had it happened the way Deborah and Preacher Amos had suggested? And if Isaac Chupp was indeed responsible for two of her family’s barns burning, why wasn’t Obadiah taking his wayward teenage son to task—and why weren’t the other leaders of the church demanding that he punish Isaac, as well?
“Thank God you babies weren’t inside when it happened,” she said in a low voice. “You can bet I would’ve demanded an explanation from the bishop if our barn had burned while we were still living there—and I’ve got to wonder if Deborah’s connected to this disaster somehow. She’s scared. She knows things she’s not telling,” Rosetta murmured earnestly. “I so badly wanted to ask her who put that handprint on her neck, but—well, I didn’t want to embarrass her. Especially if that print fits her dat’s hand. And I didn’t want to upset Mattie, either. She didn’t say anything to Deborah’s face, but I could tell she had plenty of questions when she saw Deborah’s nasty bruise.”
Rosetta shifted the bucket out of the way and released Gladys from the head gate. She vividly recalled the night Mattie had come to their parents’ house with a bloodied broken nose after her husband, Marvin, had been in one of his moods. His untended diabetes had drained the life out of their marriage long before it had finished him off. Mattie had been expected to endure such abuse in submission to her husband and to God’s will.
Rosetta and their mamm had reset Mattie’s nose as best they could and Mattie had spent the night. But once Marvin came for her, Mattie had remained sequestered at home for nearly a month until her face had healed and her black eyes were gone, maintaining the code of silence about such episodes. The women around town had whispered about what had happened, but the men had accepted Marvin Schwartz’s behavior—just as they believed he had the right to refuse medical attention as he deteriorated from his diabetes.
“Your turn, Betsy. Step on up here,” Rosetta said to the gray speckled doe. “You girls know how it is—having a buck around just makes life messier. So we’ll all be happy with our maidel lives, right, Queenie? Not that anybody’s banging the door down to court a gal who’s thirty-seven.”
The dog let out a low woof and met Rosetta’s gaze.
Chuckling, Rosetta fastened the head gate around Betsy’s neck and repositioned her milk bucket. As she milked Betsy, Bernadette, Gertie, and Blanche, she continued chatting in a low voice because her goats were more likely to stand still if they heard her speaking or singing. It was akin to prayer, this early morning time of airing her concerns or talking her way through a project for the day.
“After breakfast I’ll be mixing up a few batches of soap, so the bars will be dried and ready in a couple of months,” she continued. “By then I hope we’ll have new families here, and we can welcome them with a gift you girls helped me make.”
Queenie’s ears perked up and then she dashed out the door, a sure sign the boys were heading to the barn to milk the cows. Rosetta picked up her two pails and walked outside, careful not to slosh any of the goats’ milk. “Gut morning, Roman!” she called to Mattie’s older son.
“Jah, back atcha, Aunt,” Roman replied as he slid the barn door aside on its track.
“Your brother’s not helping you today?”
Roman shrugged. At twenty-four, he was tall and lanky, a conscientious manager of Christine’s dairy herd. “He must’ve slept outside last night, maybe keeping the coyotes away from your chickens. He’ll be along eventually.”
Rosetta sighed and headed for the lodge. Mattie’s younger son had seemed sullen and uncommunicative since they’d moved here—and he’d appeared none too happy about Deborah’s arrival and the work assignment Amos had given the two of them. She suspected Noah still had feelings for his former fiancée, even though she’d broken his heart. All of them were probably in for a bumpy ride as the young couple reconciled—or didn’t. When Queenie loped past her, heading toward the cabins behind the lodge, Rosetta stopped to stare. The dog had gone to her master, who sat propped against the first little cabin, his head lolled to one side as he dozed.
Why is Noah holding his rifle?
When Queenie circled Noah a couple of times and then plopped down to put her head in his lap, Rosetta refrained from rousing her nephew—and possibly startling him into firing his gun. It struck her how much Noah was beginning to resemble his father, especially when he wasn’t smiling the way he had when he’d been living in Coldstream, courting Deborah.
Will the sins of the father be visited upon the son?
Startled by this thought, Rosetta hurried around the lodge’s back door and set her pails on the counter inside the mudroom. Noah had witnessed the way Marvin had mistreated his mamm many times—had been a teenager when his dat broke Mattie’s nose. What if Noah considered it his right to behave the same way when he married? What if he believed Deborah deserved the nasty bruise on her neck, because he’d grown up in a home where the woman had to take whatever the man dished out?
“Oh, we can’t have that,” she muttered as she took her soap-making equipment from the cabinet. “Not here at Promise Lodge.”
“Are you still talking to your goats, Rosetta?” came a teasing voice from the kitchen. “Or has dear old Mamma come back to us?”
Rosetta had to chuckle, because Mattie had once again brought up her penchant for talking to herself, just as their mother had done in her later years. The topic that had filled her thoughts this morning was no laughing matter, however. Rosetta entered the kitchen, where her two sisters were rolling out the sweet dough she’d taken from the fridge before she’d gone out to milk.
“We’ve got to help Deborah and—and stand up for her,” she stated as she went to stand beside Mattie and Christine at the kitchen counter. “That hand-shaped bruise on her neck’s gotten me all riled up. Surely God does not intend for His daughters to suffer at the hands of His sons. It goes against everything Jesus taught us about loving one another—no matter what the men of our faith believe.”
Her sisters’ eyes widened, yet they nodded solemnly. With a sigh, Mattie said, “Jah, when I saw that bruise I right away figured Preacher Eli had lit into her, so she left home. He and Marvin were cut from the same bolt of cloth in many ways.”
“And with him being her father, there wasn’t anything Alma could do about it,” Christine pointed out sadly.
“That’s exactly the attitude we’ve got to stop!” Rosetta cried. “I can make soap from now until Kingdom Come and it won’t wash away the pain and humiliation after a woman—or a girl—gets smacked around. We can’t let those attitudes—those male beliefs—from Coldstream contaminate what we stand for at Promise Lodge. You of all people should be willing to end that cycle of violence, Mattie.”
Her eldest sister’s face fell. When Mattie looked the other way, Rosetta noted the bump in the bridge of her nose, which hadn’t been there before Marvin broke it. “I wish I knew how,” she said in a tremulous voice. “I’ve vowed never to marry again, so as not to subject myself to another heavy-handed man. But I guess that’s not much help for Deborah or the other gals who’ll be coming here, is it?”
“How do we ask Deborah who grabbed her neck, without upsetting her?” Christine said in a low voice. “Maybe she’ll open up to my girls when she feels settled in, or—”
“This is mighty solemn talk from three sisters who usual
ly tickle my funny bone,” Preacher Amos remarked as he stepped into the kitchen. “And it sounds like a topic best discussed by all of the founders of the Promise Lodge colony.”
Rosetta’s throat went dry as she and her sisters exchanged a startled gaze. Amos Troyer was a skilled carpenter whose talents were badly needed as they repaired the lodge, the cabins, and the outbuildings—not to mention when it came time to build homes for the people who answered their ad in The Budget. No matter how vehemently opposed she and her sisters were to domestic violence, they couldn’t afford to alienate this man . . . not that he would leave just because their independent attitudes irritated him. Amos had invested all of his money in this tract of land, just as they had.
Rosetta prayed for the right words. “With all due respect for your position as a preacher,” she began softly, “we were saying how Deborah’s nasty bruise brings up all the reasons we left Coldstream—and Obadiah Chupp—behind. We don’t believe men should be allowed to—to abuse their women,” she went on in a rush, “or to condone such violence when other fellows carry it out in the name of order and discipline as the heads of their households.”
“If we’re going to let heavy-handed men have their way in our new colony,” Christine chimed in, “we might as well go back where we came from. I might’ve gotten a new barn after Willis died in that fire, but I got no justice. And I couldn’t watch Mattie remarry because the bishop insisted on it, and then suffer at the hands of another mean-spirited husband while the church leaders support him and the women have to keep quiet about what he might be doing to her.”
Mattie quickly turned back to the counter and began slicing the long roll of dough into inch-wide segments with her knife. Her cheeks turned bright pink and she sniffled loudly.
Amos let out the breath he’d been holding. His weathered face softened as he went to stand beside Mattie, stilling her knife by covering her hand with his larger one. “I’m a day late and a dollar short saying this,” he murmured, “but when I heard that you’d not been coming to church because Marvin had broken your nose, I confronted him about it. Took him before Preacher Eli and the bishop on the grounds that his violence went against our faith.”
Promise Lodge Page 4
