She hadn’t forgotten what it was like to introduce wide-eyed Englischers to the Old Ways. New guests had arrived every few days, some coming from as far away as England and Germany just to spend time in Amish farmland. There had always been such good fellowship around the table with Mamma’s regulars, too, while Arie and Mandy served them scrumptious high-cholesterol breakfasts by the cozy hearth in the large breakfast room. Eggs made to order, bacon and sausage, and fluffy pancakes topped with handpicked berries and real whipped cream . . .
Her mouth watered at the thought of Mamma’s cooking, which never failed to draw rave reviews from the guests. Indeed, her mother’s cooking was one of the primary reasons people returned year after year.
On chilly autumn or wintry days, Mandy had made extra-rich hot cocoa for the guests while Arie played the harmonica Dat had given her for Christmas one year. And when winter came in earnest, Mandy and Arie had accompanied any guests who wanted to ice-skate on Uncle Mel’s pond up the road, the soft snowflakes tingling against their cheeks. Sometimes, a few of their boy cousins had built a bonfire in the late afternoon, which brought contented oohs from the delighted guests.
But Mandy had especially liked the summer and autumn seasons, when she had showed families with small children around the farm, letting them pet the barn kittens and giving carriage rides.
Why am I thinking about this now? she wondered.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Mandy noticed a yellow school bus make a turn onto the road. “So many differences here on the other side of the fence,” she murmured, recalling the initial jolt of becoming established so far from home—Kansas might as well have been a foreign country. But I’ve managed all right so far. . . .
Mandy spotted the florist shop and felt a twinge of sadness, not for herself so much but for Karyn and Tom, who’d been so good to her. During her coffee break, she would call the bakery and hope for the best. And if that job or another didn’t bring in enough, she’d try to get part-time work on weekends.
Her father’s words returned to her unbidden: “The Lord’s Day isn’t meant for work.”
Yet what would Dat say now if he knew of her plight?
I’ll be fine, Mandy thought. Someone will give me a chance.
Chapter
2
Back to the drawing board, Mandy told herself during her lunch break, setting down her phone after learning that the bakery position had been filled earlier that morning. Missed it by minutes.
The other listings in the paper led to similar dead ends, and her in-person inquiries at the other shops in town after work didn’t turn up any opportunities, either. Maybe one of my church friends will know of something. . . .
The next day, Mandy worked diligently, still determined to finish her time at the florist well.
When there was a lull in calls and walk-in customers on Wednesday, she asked Karyn if she knew of anyone hiring in the area. “I’d do most anything,” Mandy admitted. They both knew her options were limited without a college degree, though she’d gotten her GED after leaving home.
Karyn stopped working on the arrangement she was preparing for a bridal shower and looked concerned. “I hope you know how much Tom and I dislike having to let you go, Mandy.” She paused and then removed a stray leaf from a ranunculus. “You’ve been an excellent worker. And though Tom dreams of retiring, that’s not in the picture.”
At least now Mandy didn’t have to fret that she wasn’t doing a good job. “My father always said he’d work till he drew his last breath,” she said softly. “Sadly, he died much too young . . . doing just that.”
“I know you miss him terribly.” Karyn’s eyes were watery. “I felt that way when my father died, too.”
Mandy nodded, not wanting to talk more about this, sorry she’d brought it up.
Determined to keep her chin up, she returned to cutting stems and arranging flowers, wondering as she often did about the people who would receive these bouquets her hands were touching. Was the birthday girl shy or excited about turning sweet sixteen? Did she already have a boyfriend? How sick was the man receiving these get-well flowers? Did his family live nearby?
All this giving of joy is about to end, she thought.
Sighing loudly, her neck and shoulders knotted up as the questions poured over her mind. I shouldn’t put myself in a stew.
Her mother had taught her, as a little girl, to look to the Lord when troubles arose. “Worry makes things worse,” Mamma had repeated through the years.
“Okay, Mamma,” she whispered, forcing a smile. “I can do this.”
On the way home from prayer meeting, Mandy turned the car radio to an easy-listening station, thinking maybe the music would ease her tension. The few people she’d mentioned her quandary to at church seemed to sympathize and had said they would put out feelers, but the search looked like it might take more time than Mandy had anticipated, and she didn’t want to have to rely on the reserves in her bank account.
But by the following Sunday, not a single lead had materialized, other than an offer of baby-sitting.
“Something will turn up,” Don said later while eating a fruit cup. “It’s hard not to give in to discouragement.”
Mandy shrugged. “I’m okay.”
Eilene nodded her head, giving a ready smile. “You’re in our daily prayers.”
Don reached for a cookie. “It takes times of challenge for us to grow.”
“My father believed that, too,” Mandy told him as she looked at the collage of family pictures on the wall. “I never knew him to give up on anything.”
“I would’ve liked your father,” Don said.
Everyone did. And in that moment, she missed him and Mamma more than she could say.
Mandy rarely received any mail, so when Eilene called up the stairs to say there was a certified letter for her on Monday afternoon, Mandy was bewildered. “Who from?” she murmured, running down to see on this, her first day of unemployment.
Signing her name for the amiable mail carrier, she thanked him, as well as Eilene for alerting her, then hurried back upstairs, where she made note of the return address. Her pulse sped up. “Jerome?” Had Mamma given her eldest brother her address here?
Ever so curious, Mandy tore open the envelope. Whyever was he writing now?
Dear Amanda,
If you’re reading this, this address is evidently correct. None of us is certain where you are, considering you don’t stay in regular touch with Mamma.
Well, I dislike being the bearer of bad tidings, so I offer an apology in advance. You see, Mamma passed away unexpectedly yesterday morning. The coroner says it was likely a stroke. Only our heavenly Father knows for certain.
By the time this letter reaches you, the funeral and burial services will have taken place, but given the circumstances, the family wanted you to know directly.
When you receive this, please call my number at the bottom of the letter—my barn phone. There is something I need to discuss with you.
Again, I am sorry to burden you. This loss is a hard one for our family.
Your brother,
Jerome
Mandy’s knees suddenly felt weak, and she settled down in her chair to catch her breath. Never had she expected such terrible news—Mamma had always been sturdy and hardworking, rarely sick a day in her life.
Getting up, Mandy paced about the room, then stopped to look in the mirror, staring at the young woman who now had lost both of her parents.
Looking at the date on the postmark, three days ago, she realized the funeral had most likely taken place this very day. It wasn’t hard to imagine her four older brothers and wives, and their children—Arie, too—gathered at the fenced-in Amish cemetery a few miles from the inn to silently mourn with Mamma’s many relatives and friends. Hundreds, perhaps, were in attendance, all having donned the black Sunday attire to pay their respects to Saloma Dienner, who had owned and operated the most highly respected and recommended Amish B and B in the county.
Always booked up months in advance, Mandy thought of the spic-and-span place she’d once called home.
It was possible some of the regular guests had received word and traveled to be present, as well.
A numb feeling overtook her as she continued to ponder this dreadful turn. Who was keeping Butterfly Meadows afloat? Were sisters Sadie and Betsy Kauffman still around to help Arie Mae manage without the matron of the inn, the grandest cook and baker around? Not to mention the work of changing bed linens and towels and the careful cleaning each time guests vacated and new ones took their place. The heaps of laundry alone were daunting, she recalled. And then there was the care of the horses and chickens that remained after they sold off the goats and ponies to downsize following Dat’s passing.
Feeling absolutely dazed, Mandy wandered downstairs with the letter in hand. She headed for the front porch, where she sat on the wooden swing and pushed her foot against the floor, rocking back and forth.
Oh, Mamma . . . how can this be? She wiped away a tear, then steeled herself against the knowledge that her mother was gone. Drawing a breath, she realized suddenly that there was no way to fix the past, or to face up to harbored regrets, though she wouldn’t have known how to address them if Mamma were still alive.
Mandy sighed. It’s too late.
Chapter
3
Winnie Maier pulled into the driveway a short while later, surprising Mandy where she still sat on the porch mulling over her brother’s startling news. She must have looked downright peaked, because her closest friend wore a concerned frown as she walked to the front steps in black dress pants and a long-sleeved white blouse.
“Are you all right?” she asked, coming to sit with Mandy on the swing.
“My mother passed away.” She lifted the letter, then dropped it back into her lap.
Winnie looked astonished. “Oh, Mandy! I’m so very sorry.” Her frown deepened. “What can I do? Just say the word . . . anything at all.”
“I’m still trying to believe it. She always seemed so healthy. . . .”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Winnie asked, turning to face her. She must have come straight from her office in Garden City, a half hour away.
Mandy expressed her sadness, though didn’t offer much detail. Truth be told, Winnie knew little about Mandy’s family.
“I’ve been trying to contact you,” Winnie said. “You’ve been hard to reach this past week.”
“Oh, sorry—I’ve been job hunting in my spare time.” Mandy filled her in, trying not to make things sound as problematic as they were.
“As you know, it’s not easy to find a good job in a town this small.”
Groaning, Mandy said, “If I can’t find a job here, I’ll have to move.”
The swing swayed with their combined weight.
Winnie’s eyebrows rose. “Where to?”
“I haven’t given it much thought . . . maybe to a city.” Mandy laughed softly. “Can you imagine me in an office building? Former Amish girl goes urban?”
Winnie joined in her laughter, and they sat there, swinging gently for several minutes. Mandy thought of her brother’s request to call him, and it made her nervous, wondering what was up. If only she could have been present for the funeral, difficult as it would have been to face her family again.
“Are you hungry?” Winnie asked, studying her. “We could go out for supper. My treat.”
Not in the mood, Mandy suggested a rain check. “Okay?”
“That’s cool.” Winnie got up from the swing. “I’ll see you later, then . . . and take care of yourself, okay?”
“Thanks for listening.”
Bobbing her head, Winnie paused at the steps. “Text me if you need me,” she said and then headed to her car.
“Thanks for dropping by,” Mandy called and waved. Winnie had come to cheer her up at exactly the right time.
The next morning, after a leisurely breakfast with the Bradleys intended to bolster her spirits, Mandy placed the call to her brother as requested. The barn phone rang so long, she was certain it would go to voice mail, but suddenly Jerome was on the line. “Hullo, Dienners.”
Tempted to hang up, she hesitated before saying, “It’s Mandy.”
“Denki for getting in touch with me,” he said. “I take it you got my letter.”
She closed the door to her room and moved to the window, where she stood looking out at the landscape below. “Jah, what terrible news.”
“Dreadful to hear by mail.” He sounded apologetic. “None of us expected Mamma would die this young.”
Like Dat, she thought.
“’Twas quite a crowd at the funeral yesterday. We held it at my place. More than six hundred. People from all over Lancaster County, and Arie Mae said she recognized quite a few guests from the B and B, too.”
Hearing him refer to their sister so casually made Mandy more tense, but Jerome went on to say that their mother had gone to see a Lancaster City lawyer to update her will just a few months before she died. “She made me her executor.”
Mandy couldn’t fathom it. “But why bother with a will?”
“I was baffled at first, too. But I met briefly this morning with the attorney representing her wishes, and he told me that Mamma was quite astute. Evidently, she knew exactly what she wanted to happen to her treasured inn when she passed.” Jerome fell silent for a moment.
Mandy waited for the pointed words she knew must be coming. But what he said instead was a shock.
“Mandy, you are to inherit the farmhouse, including the business of the inn.”
She could scarcely find her voice to respond. “Ach, this must be a mistake,” she told him, shaking her head as she talked into the phone, feeling befuddled. “The house . . . and everything related to the inn . . . shouldn’t that go to Arie Mae?”
Jerome cleared his throat. He stumbled a bit as he explained how a will worked, sharing with her that it was the decision of the deceased to assign property. “The inn will be yours, although under certain stringent conditions.”
Her brain was fraught with questions she wasn’t sure how to articulate. Finally, still thinking of what this might mean to the rest of her family, she asked, “What if I just couldn’t . . . accept this? What then?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Jerome said flatly. “I’m sorry, Amanda.”
This struck her as strange.
Several moments passed as she tried to make sense of this. What am I supposed to do with it? she thought. I haven’t been home in years!
When she spoke at last, Mandy tried to joke. “Maybe you should just refer me to a real estate agent in Lancaster County.”
Jerome didn’t comment at first; in fact, he seemed all the more serious when he did speak. “Well, ya can’t just sell it outright, Mandy.” His voice had turned stiff. “In order to claim full ownership, you must manage the inn for twelve consecutive months. And it must remain profitable.”
So there was a catch. Of course there was—one that would force her to return home. Her heart slammed against her chest.
Everything came back to her—the past with Arie, Mamma’s parting words. All of it. Mandy had a mind to refuse the inheritance. Why should she move back there against her will?
Mandy remembered how her mother had sided with Arie Mae, all the while completely in the dark about what had been going on in the shadows. She cringed anew. “Who’s running things now at the B and B?”
“Well, Arie Mae, of course . . . and the Kauffman sisters.”
Her stomach clenched, and Mandy wondered what Arie would think of this turn of events—that is, if she didn’t already know. She’ll feel perplexed, even slighted . . . if not offended.
Still, Mandy couldn’t help thinking of her present unemployment. It was downright embarrassing to be without work, enough so that it would be foolish for her to turn down the inheritance. Taking a breath, she worked up her courage.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll plan to arrive in Gor
donville as soon as I can pack up and drive back.”
“So you’ll take over the care of the inn?”
“I will,” Mandy said, noting the surprise in his tone. She brushed aside the fact that Arie was involved. She would have to deal with that once she got there, but she was pleased to know the Kauffman sisters were still assisting with the day-to-day responsibilities.
At least there’s that.
They talked awhile longer, then Jerome told her, “We can discuss more when you arrive.”
And because of everything that had transpired in the past, Mandy could only hope the months till the deed was signed over to her might pass swiftly. A full year! Once the conditions were met, she would put the inn up for sale.
All in good time, she thought, dreading to see her twin again. How can we possibly work together?
Chapter
4
Twenty-five-year-old Catrina Sutton got up later than usual that Tuesday morning for her weekly trek to her Rochester, Minnesota, grocery store. She chose black yoga pants and a long-sleeved pale blue top and, as she often did, lightly touched the elegant engagement ring she still wore on her left hand.
She thought of Shawn, gone more than a year now, and sighed. Her late fiancé had made even mundane tasks like grocery shopping fun.
At the store, she parked her car and headed through the automatic door, hungry for something besides a salad or sandwich for lunch. Fourteen months since Shawn’s accident, and her appetite was finally returning. She had once mentioned her lack of hunger to the gracious elderly widow she cared for five nights a week in her work as a home health aide. “How long before you felt like eating, after your husband passed away?” she’d asked Gail Anderson.
“Months,” Gail had told her, gray eyes blinking back tears. “And I lost weight I didn’t have to lose.” She had patted her nonexistent hips through her bathrobe.
The grief-stricken woman said she had worn sunglasses for months after her husband’s funeral, and most days, Trina wished she might do the same. But there were other ways to mask grief, and it was her job to press on as best she could.
The Proving Page 2
