The Proving

by Beverly Lewis

  Trina reached for a sirloin steak in the meat section, thinking ahead to the meal she was formulating. She had a wonderful recipe for steak with garlic butter, and this noon was the perfect time for it. A side of green beans with lemon and almonds would be an ideal accompaniment. Her mouth watered.

  Trina’s only sibling, her younger sister, Janna, often said how amazing Trina was in the kitchen. But then, Janna was known to be lavish with compliments. Too bad they lived two and a half hours from each other—Janna in St. Cloud, where she worked as a consultant for a marketing firm.

  To her credit, Janna had called and visited more often since Trina had lost the love of her life to a fatal car crash caused by a drunken driver. Janna seemed to understand the heartache Trina bore in the wake of the painful loss, one Trina had been reminded of twenty-four seven back when she still worked at a local nursing home.

  I loved Shawn so deeply, Trina realized. And it’s made a mess of my life.

  If there was anything Trina didn’t like, it was messes. She liked to be neat and efficient—a fact few of her acquaintances seemed to appreciate.

  More than once, Trina had heard the words control freak thrown around when the other certified nursing assistants assumed she was out of earshot. But the fact was that her straightforward manner was the most effective way to get things done. As far as she was concerned, if people would just let her handle things, the world would be a better place. Hadn’t Gail Anderson told her exactly this with a sweet smile? Actually, wasn’t that what dear Shawn had always said, too? She glanced at her engagement ring and wondered how many other young women continued to wear theirs after the loss of a fiancé.

  Is this normal? she wondered, hurrying to the checkout with a week’s worth of items. Quickly, she paid for them and pushed the cart out to her car.

  The sun hid behind the clouds, but autumn’s scent lingered in the air. A few stubborn oak leaves still clung to the trees. The leaves had been raucous this year with the reds, oranges, and golds that Shawn Franklin had photographed through the years. His studio had been absolutely aglow with fall foliage, and Trina cringed even now at the memory of having gone there immediately after the funeral. She’d broken down and sobbed.

  One year already seems like ten, she thought miserably.

  Glancing in her rearview mirror, Trina was surprised at her disheveled state, her shoulder-length wavy brown hair tangled in places. Running her hand through her hair, she was anxious to return to her small condo and what had become her new normal. She remembered Shawn’s attentive hovering as she worked in the kitchen the evenings they’d enjoyed dinner together. And his endearing grin and smiling brown eyes as he acted as sous-chef, allowing her to direct him.

  “I can’t argue with the results,” he would tease.

  It had been so easy to fall in love with him; he’d never minded her frank opinions and let her be who she was. Prior to Shawn, few men had made the effort to pursue her.

  “I’m cool with that,” she said aloud. Better one Shawn than a dozen other guys.

  Trina was coming up on the street where, for three exhausting years, she had turned off for her former workplace. The nursing home had given her the boot six months ago. “Good riddance,” she murmured, glad to have connected instead with the home health service and her affirming charge. Gail was a reminder that something wonderful had come out of recent difficulties.

  In fact, Trina looked forward to her weeknight shifts at the Anderson home. Gone were the daily dustups with other staff, many of whom Trina thought took their responsibilities too lightly.

  Initially, Gail’s family had questioned the woman’s insistence she employ someone at night, but Gail definitely had a mind of her own and money in the bank. More important, she was considerate and appreciative, and Trina prided herself on anticipating the woman’s every need. It felt good to be so needed. A natural night owl, Trina also enjoyed the chance to catch up on her reading prior to drifting off to sleep on the daybed in the sitting room a few steps from Gail’s room.

  Typically, for the first few hours of their evening together, Gail sat and talked until she grew too tired, and Trina helped her to bed. Gail’s mind was active and strong, and her body in fairly good shape for a ninety-one-year-old. Yet Gail confided in Trina that she feared being alone at night after the passing of her husband of sixty-six years.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Trina would reassure her, patting her arm. “You can rest easy.”

  “Oh, and I do now,” she readily agreed. “You have no idea.”

  Occasionally, one of Gail’s granddaughters came to spend the weekend, relieving the weekend nurse, though Gail was always waiting near the front door for Trina’s arrival following such a visit. Her apparent fondness was a surprise to Trina, who didn’t often click with people . . . not anymore, anyway. “I was afraid you’d forget me,” Gail would say, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Then what would I do?”

  At least Gail understands me. . . .

  With her fiancé gone and buried, there was really no one else for Trina to look after. I might adopt a child someday, she occasionally considered, before just as quickly shaking off the fanciful notion. She still hoped to have a family of her own someday, knowing she’d be a terrific mom.

  But men weren’t exactly beating a path to her door.

  Chapter

  5

  I’m in a daze, just thinking ’bout this,” Mandy told Eilene that Tuesday afternoon, following a morning of sorting her things. Mandy explained that, in a staggering turn of events, her mother’s Amish B and B had been left to her. “Honestly, I’m still trying to process it.”

  “Well, no wonder.” Eilene steered her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her to sit down.

  “There are conditions, though.”

  “Here you are sick with grief . . . and now this.” Eilene sliced some applesauce bread and poured some coffee for Mandy, like a good Amish mother might. The gesture of kindness made Mandy smile, and she thanked her for the years of hospitality. “You and your husband have been so generous to me.”

  Eilene gave a small shrug. “It’s our pleasure, Mandy. Besides, you’re part of God’s family . . . and we’ve enjoyed having you here.”

  “I hope my leaving won’t be a problem . . . well, be inconvenient to you and your husband,” she said, explaining that she needed to move back east as soon as she could to oversee her mother’s inn. “I’ll pay my next month’s rent, of course.”

  Eilene declined and thanked her. “Don’t be concerned about us. God will bring along someone to rent your room, just as He sent you to us for a time.” Her mouth turned down slightly. “But we’ll miss having you here.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Eilene sat at the table with her, and they nibbled on the moist sweet bread and sipped coffee, talking softly, reminiscing.

  “I’ll keep in touch,” Mandy assured her.

  This seemed to ease Eilene’s sad expression. “We’ll look forward to that.”

  Glad to have been blessed with such a nurturing landlord and friend, Mandy excused herself to finish going through her few things.

  By the next day, Mandy had packed up her car for the two-day trip and left hours before dawn. Kind as she was, Winnie had asked if she might call her once Mandy was settled again in Gordonville, even though Mandy couldn’t promise a return to Kansas at the end of a year’s time.

  “I don’t know where I’ll land ultimately,” she admitted aloud now, certain it would not be Lancaster County. Maybe someplace where I can set up a florist shop of my own. She stared at the long road ahead as the car sped east through the flat prairie toward home. For better . . . or for worse.

  Mandy checked into a motel for a warm shower at seven o’clock, and later walked across the parking lot to the restaurant for a hot meal. Wanting to rise early again the next morning, she headed right to bed, hoping for a midafternoon arrival in Lancaster County tomorrow. Lord willing.

  She was tha
nkful for traveling mercies and let her thoughts fly back to her growing-up years on the farm. She recalled the severe June hailstorm that had wiped out her father’s crops of corn and wheat, yet he had bowed his head at the supper table and thanked almighty God for His sovereign will. Dat had such a strong, unshakable faith, she thought.

  After Dat died, no one sat in his oak rocking chair near the coal-burning stove in what had later become private family quarters when the B and B opened. Mandy could still picture that grand rocker with its slatted back, specially made padded brown seat, and wide, firm armrests.

  It’ll seem strange going home without either of them there. Mandy shuddered at the thought and turned over in the double bed, trying to stretch out the stiffness in her muscles after the long drive.

  Mandy felt all in by late morning the next day, weary of driving. To maintain good time, she’d limited her stops to no more than every three hours.

  She felt trapped in a kind of limbo as she neared the Amish farmland of her childhood, not sure what to expect. She could almost hear her father’s deep voice as he called for her and Arie to come inside for supper, his dear face tinted with sunburn. And the way he’d always held the driving lines when out in the family carriage, giving them a gentle snap, so Ol’ Tulip would take off trotting. An image of Mamma in the big kitchen also flitted across her mind, Mamma hard at work to prepare yet another scrumptious meal.

  If only Mandy could keep her mind on those happy memories, she thought as she drove east on U.S. Route 30. Then, her heart in her throat, she reached the turnoff to Old Leacock Road.

  Seeing the neighbors’ horse fence rimming the road, she recalled the time she’d taken off in the spring wagon, and a whole pile of pumpkins meant for market had fallen out. The load had splattered onto the narrow road near here, blocking passage. Dat had been forgiving of the expensive mistake, but Mandy had regretted not paying more attention and resolved to be more responsible in the future.

  Mandy recalled all this in a flash as she passed by the Gordonville Book Store on the right, still heading toward the B and B. A ways up, the white clapboard homestead owned by Josiah’s parents came into view, and she remembered the many times she’d gone with him to the fishing hole, carrying the pail of wiggling worms they’d dug together, and taking along peanut butter sandwiches with strawberry jam slathered on them—two sandwiches for Josiah Lantz, since he was a growing boy, his mother said. Just a couple years older than me, Mandy thought. From the start, the boy with only brothers had claimed her and Arie Mae as his so-called sisters. But Mandy had felt sure Josiah would be not just her inseparable childhood friend, but also her first beau . . . and her future husband.

  At the simple sign for The Butterfly Meadows Amish Bed-and-Breakfast, Mandy pulled into the lane and caught her first sight of the grand dame of a house—her childhood home—its rusty red brick still as striking as ever. The B and B was gracefully situated on a slight rise and surrounded by well-trimmed yards and gardens freshly tilled for the coming winter.

  Am I ready for this?

  She parked off to the side in the vacant guest parking lot and switched off the ignition, renewing her resolve. At least she’d thought to do up her hair in a formal bun and wear a modest top and skirt.

  Pressing the release for the trunk, Mandy got out and went to retrieve two boxes, leaving her suitcase where it was. She would trust it was safe there for now and come back for it.

  She made her way up the lane, thinking, Under any other circumstances, I would never have come home.

  Mandy recalled one of her mother’s letters, written three years ago. Your sister is engaged to marry Josiah Lantz come fall. Even though Mandy had known that day might come, she had taken the news hard and sent Mamma a note asking not to be informed of any further news on the subject.

  In that particular letter, she had also written that nothing could induce her to return to Gordonville. To Mamma’s credit, she had never stopped trying to connect with her, and Mandy had looked forward to the occasional letters, as well as the birthday and Christmas cards they’d exchanged over the years.

  Mandy caught sight of one of her mother’s several birdbaths and the perfectly trimmed hedges near the long paved walkway that led up to the front porch, which faced the east meadow, where the butterflies arrived in the first golden days of spring. The porch was not visible from the road, so guests had some privacy as they sat there. It had been the family’s sanctuary, too, before the house was filled with tourists. Before Mamma had to stretch to make ends meet.

  Mandy noticed the stone tablet set into the home’s brick exterior at a grown man’s eye level. Built by William Dienner in the year of our Lord 1920. She couldn’t help wondering what her great-grandfather would think if he knew that one of his descendants was temporarily moving back onto his original property after five years of living in the world. Was this beautiful place truly going to belong to Mandy someday?

  On the opposite side of the house, down near Mamma’s rose garden, the old rope swing caught her eye, as well as the white trellis she and Arie had had fun painting every other year. In some respects, it seemed as if things had never changed.

  Mandy’s gaze lingered on the swing, where she and Arie had swung double and giggled till they were nearly hoarse, often with one of them standing and pumping extra hard while the other sat and squealed with glee.

  On the front porch, she set down the boxes and took note of the blooming mums—purple, gold, and orange. Mamma had always loved making this porch a special spot, and Mandy and her sister had helped decorate for the seasons, with Mamma’s vision in mind.

  But now that she was here, Mandy began to dread even more the thought of seeing Arie again. What will I even say to her? She turned to walk the length of the porch, the same welcoming rockers lined up in their usual places. The way Mamma wanted them. Her mother had always been such a presence; it was hard to believe she was gone.

  Reluctantly, Mandy meandered back to the front door and rang the bell, clenching her jaw at the sound of the battery-operated door chimes. It wasn’t but a minute and here came pretty Sadie Kauffman to the door, clad all in black, her face solemn. Mandy was truly relieved to see Sadie first.

  Sadie, however, didn’t bother to conceal her shock at seeing Mandy and took an obvious step back. “Arie said you’d be comin’, but we were thinkin’ next week or even later.”

  “S’pose I should’ve called ahead.” Mandy moved the boxes just inside the door as Betsy joined them in the hallway.

  “Honestly, ya chose a gut time to arrive. Ain’t any guests arriving today,” Betsy told her. “Rare durin’ wedding season.”

  Mandy was glad to hear she could catch her breath and get settled in a bit following the grueling drive.

  “Are ya here to stay, then?” Like her older sister, Betsy looked mighty mournful in her black dress and full cape apron. Each sister had her dishwater blond hair parted down the center and pulled back properly, a dark bandanna tied tightly over the hair bun.

  “You’ve prob’ly heard that I’m supposed to take my mother’s place here,” Mandy said, glancing back out the open door at her car. “Ach, my suitcase is still in the trunk.”

  “I’ll go an’ get it,” Sadie said, giving Betsy a furtive look as she slipped out the door.

  Mandy wondered why the young woman had seemed so eager to rush off. “Is Arie Mae around?” she asked Betsy, who was wringing her hands, looking for all the world like she didn’t want to be left alone with Mandy.

  “She’s getting a few groceries over at the farm on Paradise Lane.” Mandy could picture the small Amish-run store where Arie had gone. The delay in seeing her sister made her feel all the more rattled.

  “Willkumm Heem,” Betsy said, offering a small smile now as she picked up one of the boxes. The friendly Deitsch words sounded surprisingly good to Mandy.

  Nodding and carrying the other box, Mandy let Betsy lead the way past the old rolltop desk, where Mamma had always kept the reservation
book. They turned right toward the intersecting hallway to the back of the house, where three bedrooms and a small sitting room and bathroom were tucked away from the kitchen, breakfast room, and the common areas on the main level at the opposite end. Mamma had requested electricity be hooked up in the spaces for the paying guests back when she first had the idea to open their family home as an inn. Thankfully, their bishop had approved.

  “Which room do ya want?” asked Betsy with a glance over her shoulder.

  “Oh . . . my former bedroom’s just fine, if it’s available.” She hadn’t given much thought to this as they passed her mother’s spacious room, where at first glance, the place looked unchanged. With Mamma’s passing so recent, Arie and their sisters-in-law probably hadn’t had time yet to go through her things.

  “Arie Mae was real sure you’d choose your old room,” Betsy said. “But there’s also your Mamma’s bedroom if you want to settle in there.”

  Mandy’s heart ached at the thought.

  Once in Mandy’s old room, Betsy asked where to put the boxes, helpful as she’d always been.

  “Over in the closet for now. Denki.” Mandy handed her the second box, then moved to the windows overlooking the famous butterfly meadow and the hay fields beyond. “Some of my brothers must still be farming Dat’s old land,” she stated absently.

  “Jah, they pitch in when they can. The neighbor up the road, Karl Lantz, has been working here for some time now and comes every day to tend to the horses and clean the stable. He and his son moved here a year ago from Platteville, Wisconsin, after Karl lost his wife.”

  “Is Karl Amish?”

  “Oh jah.” Betsy nodded. “And related to some of the oodles of Lantzes round here, though I’m not sure how closely. His little boy, Yonnie, tags along. Cute as a bug’s ear.”

  “I’m glad to hear there’s someone to look after the barn and the animals.”