Hidden Away at Promise Lodge, page 6
“The latest clue was when I checked a road atlas and discovered that there’s no such town as Cherrydale, Missouri,” Ruby put in quietly. “Not to mention the zippers in your dresses, and the way you’ve pronounced some of our Deutch words.”
“And you didn’t sing any of the hymns or read the prayer from the book during church this morning,” Sylvia added quietly.
Karen blinked back tears. How embarrassing that these ladies had seen right through their charade from the moment they’d arrived—or maybe since she’d called to reserve their rooms—and yet they’d allowed their two English guests to continue making fools of themselves. “Maybe we should just go upstairs and—I’ll call my brother to come pick us up—”
“I don’t sense any malicious intentions behind your stories,” Rosetta interrupted, glancing at her sisters for their reactions, “so it’s fine by me if you want to stay for the rest of the days you’ve paid for. Will that be all right with you, Beulah and Ruby?”
The Mennonite sisters chuckled as Beulah replied first. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag and we know you were just having fun—”
“You’re welcome to keep your rooms,” Ruby chimed in. “I suppose we should feel honored that you wanted to live at Promise Lodge so you could be like us. It shows that you have the right mindset even if you had a devious way of making your dream come true.”
Andi let out a grateful sigh. “You’re very kind,” she murmured. “And if we’re coming clean, we should tell you that my real name is Andi Swann—”
“And I’m Karen Mercer. And—and I just thought of a way we might make amends for coming here under fake names and false pretenses!” she said with renewed enthusiasm. “Andi and I design websites and online businesses. What if we made Promise Lodge’s products visible to a wider audience by creating a website for you?”
Andi sucked in her breath. “Yeah! You Kuhn sisters could market your cheeses, and Rosetta could sell her goat milk soap,” she said in a rush. “Even if you didn’t want to sell Irene’s pies or Mattie’s fresh produce online, you could advertise your items with color photos. I think potential customers would drive a long way to buy what you bake and raise here.”
“And we could create order forms, so people all over the country could buy your products with just the click of a mouse!” Karen continued excitedly. “Some of you ladies with businesses would most likely double your sales! What do you think?”
Beulah set a stack of dirty dinner plates on the counter beside the sink before glancing at Ruby. “Give us some time to ponder it,” she replied cautiously.
“Jah, and we’ll also need to ask Bishop Monroe and the three preachers for their input and permission,” Mattie pointed out. Her sisters nodded in agreement as they all resumed what they’d been doing before Andi had brandished the aluminum pot lid.
“We run our businesses without consulting our husbands about every little detail,” Christine remarked. “But offering products online—and maintaining a website—would mean that someone at Promise Lodge would have to own a computer. And allowing us Old Order Amish to do that would involve a major turnaround of religious policy, as well.”
Rosetta glanced up from the plate she was washing. “As a Mennonite, I could deal with the computer—and my husband, Truman, could help me with running the online store,” she said in a thoughtful tone. “But jah, that would represent a major step toward allowing technology to become a part of our Plain lives. Not everyone will see advantages to that!”
“We’d also have to purchase boxes and mailers to ship our products—not that we could send our cheese that way,” Ruby put in. “And then we’d have to drive the packages into town to send them to customers.”
“We’ll see what the men and the other residents say. We’ll have an answer before you leave on Sunday,” Christine said with a nod. “Meanwhile, it’s very nice of you to offer your services—and I’m glad we can get to know you two ladies for who you really are!”
“Jah, I’m glad we’ve cleared the air,” Beulah said with a decisive nod. “No matter how smart we are, or how much we think we can hide from other folks, God always knows exactly what we’re up to.”
“And it’s never a gut idea to lie to God,” Ruby put in. “I feel a whole lot better about you gals now that we’re friends with the real-life Andi and Karen.”
“Amen to that!” said Mattie.
Chapter 6
As Sylvia pushed an empty cart into the crowded dining room to fetch more dirty dishes, she passed the eck table where Marlene and Lester sat with the wedding party on either side of them. The table was situated on a dais that was high enough so most guests in the large dining room would have a view of the newlyweds and the huge chocolate cake that would be cut later in the day.
But it was Mose that Sylvia noticed. Mose, and the attractive young woman sitting beside him, laughing and talking as though she’d known him well for many years.
Yet he didn’t say a word about having a sweetheart the other day while we rode that fancy parade wagon. Was it only my lonely imagination—my wishful thinking—that led me to believe Mose Fisher might feel a tingle of attraction for me?
Quickly, before he caught her gawking at him, Sylvia wheeled her cart toward the center aisle that ran between the long dining room tables. Because guests were getting up to choose slices of pie, or chatting with friends, it took several minutes for her to reach the tables farthest from the kitchen. As folks began passing her their soiled dishes, she was glad to have something to occupy her time—and to have a reason for standing with her back toward the eck table.
It was better than gazing at a handsome younger man who had his eyes on someone much more suitable.
As she filled her plastic bins with plates and silverware, Sylvia reminded herself that when she’d come to Promise Lodge, she’d had no plans whatsoever to welcome another man into her life. She’d been hoping to spend her remaining days in peace and relative comfort among like-minded, kindhearted souls until her brain tumor grew so large that it interfered with her bodily functions and she could simply fade away.
Puh! Maybe that scenario was just a fantasy—because who can predict how my condition will progress? I have no way of knowing how long I might last . . . just as I couldn’t have foreseen meeting a fellow who makes me feel younger and more vibrant than I thought possible.
Sylvia focused on her task, occasionally chatting with the out-of-towners who filled the dining room. It took two trips to collect tableware as folks finished their meals—and she welcomed Christine’s offer to take over as the dining room began to empty out.
“It’s a beautiful afternoon, and you could probably use some fresh air after working in the kitchen all day, Sylvia,” the bishop’s wife said with a kind smile. “Or if you feel a nap coming on, that’s fine, too!”
“Denki, Christine. After being amongst all these talkative guests, I think I’ll enjoy a little quiet time outdoors,” Sylvia remarked. “I’m not used to being around so many people anymore.”
As she made her way to the mudroom door, she glanced at the kitchen clock. No wonder her stomach was growling! It was nearly three o’clock and she hadn’t taken time to eat. On an impulse, Sylvia picked up a plate from the worktable. She found a fork and a piece of paper towel before she plucked a couple of chicken legs from a roaster. She added a dinner roll, some green beans from a nearly empty steam table pan, and a spoonful of macaroni salad before heading outside.
“Enjoy your picnic, Sylvia!” Mattie called after her.
She turned to smile at Preacher Amos’s wife, who was stacking clean plates in a lower cabinet. “I intend to!” she said. “Time to get off my feet for a while.”
The moment she stepped outside, where the old maple trees created some welcome shade, Sylvia felt refreshed. Several trees between the lodge and the Kurtzes’ sheep pasture formed a long canopy, so she followed that path across the grass. As she sat down against a tree trunk, the view of Harley Kurtz’s ewes and new lambs soothed her. Across the lush green pasture, Queenie, a black-and-white border collie, spotted her and sat up taller.
Chuckling, Sylvia bit into a chicken leg as she watched the vigilant dog approach her. She’d heard that Queenie belonged to Mattie’s son, Noah Schwartz, but guarding Harley’s sheep had given her a mission that kept her at the Kurtz place most of the day—unless other activities on the Promise Lodge property prompted her to check them out. The dog gradually made her way along the back of Preacher Marlin’s barrel factory, stopping now and then to glance at the sheep before continuing toward Sylvia.
By the time Queenie sat down several feet away, her ears raised in anticipation, Sylvia was chuckling. “You think you’re going to share my picnic, jah?” she asked. “But dogs aren’t supposed to have chicken bones.”
The border collie woofed softly, gazing steadily at Sylvia’s plate.
She finished her macaroni salad, considering how she should handle Queenie’s request for a handout. “If you come closer and lie down, like a gut dog, I might have a couple bites of dinner roll for you,” Sylvia said softly.
As though she’d understood every word, Queenie stopped about six feet away. The border collie sat down in the thick grass before lowering her upper body, never taking her eyes off Sylvia’s hands and plate.
“Such a gut girl you are, Queenie,” Sylvia said with a nod of approval. She took her time catching the last of her green beans with the tines of her fork, pleased with how polite her black-and-white companion was. She wrapped the chicken bones in her paper towel and slipped them into her apron pocket. After taking one last bite of her roll, she broke it into small pieces and left it on her plate, which she placed in the grass beside her.
Obediently the dog waited, her face alight with focus.
“All right, girl, come over and eat.”
Queenie quickly lapped up the scraps of bread before licking the plate clean. After a moment, she leaned against Sylvia as though she expected a nice scratching.
Sylvia closed her eyes as she stroked the dog’s soft coat and massaged between her ears. “I kept a dog around the home place all the time—until my Ivan died a couple years ago. Cocoa passed on shortly after that,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize how much I miss her.”
“Hmmm. Whom do you miss more, Sylvia? The dog or Ivan?” a low, familiar voice teased.
Sylvia jumped, her heartbeat racing. “Mose! I wasn’t expecting—I mean, when I saw you had a girlfriend at the table—”
“You mean Ruth Ellen?” He crouched beside her before settling against the same large tree. “She’s our cousin from Coldstream. Marlene invited her to be a side sitter, and Lester wanted me to stand up with him, so we ended up together. But only for today.”
Even as Sylvia felt a tingle of attraction rushing up her spine, she warned herself not to expect too much from this chance meeting.
Who says Mose came out here by chance? He must have looked in a lot of places before he found me behind this tree . . .
“Ah. It’s nice you two could catch up with one another today,” Sylvia murmured. “I could tell you had a special relationship with her, and—”
When Mose’s large brown eyes focused on her, Sylvia forgot the rest of what she’d intended to say. He appeared pleased that she’d noticed Ruth Ellen—and maybe he sensed she’d been a teeny bit jealous.
“Ruth Ellen didn’t have brothers or sisters, so she spent a lot of time with Marlene and me when we were kids,” he explained. He glanced at the dog that was lolling in the grass with her head on Sylvia’s lap. “Seems you’ve made a new friend. Queenie’s so comfortable, she doesn’t look as though she’s going anywhere soon.”
“Queenie wanted some of my lunch,” Sylvia pointed out with a chuckle. When a yawn escaped her, she added, “I hope you won’t take it wrong if I drift off for a nap, Mose. Now that I’m off my feet and my stomach’s full—”
“You worked hard today, Sylvia, helping with that huge wedding meal. We’ve both been up since before dawn, so I might just doze off myself.” Mose let out a contented sigh. “Gut meal, gut company, a cool place in the shade—what’s not to love about that?”
Sylvia wondered if she was crazy, wanting to nap when the handsome man who’d haunted her thoughts had shown up from out of nowhere. He’d never looked more attractive, wearing his black trousers and vest with a crisp white shirt—and she’d never expected his muscular arm to gently enfold her, coaxing her to rest against him. Her pulse pounded with the unexpected joy of this simple moment.
As Mose’s large body relaxed, he began to snore softly.
Sylvia chuckled. Should she feel disappointed that Mose had fallen asleep? Or should she be delighted that he seemed every bit as comfortable as Queenie, who was also breathing deeply?
When Sylvia closed her eyes, the steady rhythm of Mose’s heartbeat sang a soothing lullaby that soon had her drifting away on a soft cloud of sleep.
* * *
Mose awoke to realize that the bark of the tree was digging into his back, yet he didn’t dare move. Queenie had returned to the pasture, but Sylvia was still snoozing. Something about the way she’d drifted off with her head on his chest and her tiny arm slung over his midsection touched him deeply.
When he’d left the crowded, noisy dining room to look for her, napping had been the farthest thing from his mind. Waking up to find Sylvia in his arms, however, filled him with a contented sense of awareness.
She was so small, so delicate. Through the pale skin of her neck, he saw veins and the gentle flutter of her pulse—and it suddenly saddened him that she’d come to Promise Lodge to die. The unfairness of her condition struck him like a coiled snake, and Mose had to blink back sudden, hot tears.
As though she’d felt the shift in his mood, Sylvia stirred. She reminded him of a little kitten when she yawned, blinking sleepily. At that moment, Mose wanted nothing more than to shelter this woman and protect her forever—even if her version of forever didn’t sound nearly long enough to suit him.
It occurred to him that he was falling in love with Sylvia. And he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it.
“Oh my,” she murmured as she looked around to get her bearings. “I must’ve done some serious dozing off.”
“That makes two of us,” Mose remarked gently. “But it was nice, wasn’t it, to get away from the crowd and give in to what we really needed? I mean—”
Sylvia’s startled expression told him he needed to backtrack. She sat up to put a few inches of distance between their bodies.
He chuckled, already missing her warm weight. “We didn’t give in to anything improper, you know,” Mose assured her. “We were both so tired we fell asleep together—”
“You’d better not tell the others that we’ve slept together!”
He laughed out loud and was then struck by a revelation. “Listen to me, Sylvia. I’m not stuttering and stammering anymore,” he whispered. “That means I’ve gotten so comfortable with you—”
“What caused you to stumble over your words in the first place, Mose? Is that something you care to share with me?”
He swallowed hard. Everyone he’d grown up with—as well as his newfound friends at Promise Lodge—had heard about his childhood trauma, yet he hesitated to tell Sylvia about his darkest hours. Would she reject him? Would she believe he should’ve gotten over that long-ago event rather than allowing it to affect his speech every time he was around unfamiliar people?
Mose sighed. “I—I guess I was about five when our mamm and dat took Marlene and me to the county fair,” he began timidly. “Something caught my eye and—from what they’ve told me—I wandered off in a different direction and got lost in the crowd along the midway.”
“Boys will be boys,” Sylvia remarked gently.
She didn’t appear ready to poke fun at him, so Mose continued. “Next thing I knew, somebody snatched me up from behind. I—I have no idea why they took me, but I vaguely recall that they were a couple, and the man put his hand over my mouth while they hurried to their car with me,” he said. His voice had grown husky with emotion, and he looked away. “I must’ve put up such a fuss that they locked me in the trunk. At that point the details get pretty fuzzy—”
“Well, no wonder!” Sylvia whispered, gazing anxiously at him. “I suspect you were such a cute little Amish boy that they might’ve had bad intentions about—well, who knows what evil they might’ve had in mind?”
Mose shrugged, relieved that she’d taken his side. “I don’t recall how long I was in that trunk, and we don’t know how the police found me,” he recounted in a low voice. “But once I got home again, it was a long time before I wanted to leave, even to go to school.”
He sighed, his pulse revving even now as he recalled his trauma of thirty years ago. “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get three words out without tripping over two of them,” he recalled softly. “My schoolteacher helped me some, but there was only so much she could do. She suggested that my folks take me to a speech therapist, but the idea of working with an English stranger only upset me more.”
Sylvia placed her small, warm hand on his. She was blinking away tears, shaking her head in sympathy and disbelief. “I can only imagine how frantic your family became when they couldn’t find you on the fairgrounds,” she murmured. “Not to mention how the other children probably teased you about your speech pattern. Kids can be so cruel.”
Mose gazed gratefully at her, covering her hand with his. “Denki for understanding, Sylvia. It—it means a lot.”
She glanced away, as though his gratitude felt too intense to bear.
Mose inhaled to settle his nerves, and then let his breath out again. “One thing I do recall is that Teacher Carolyn encouraged me to sing,” he said softly. “We discovered that if I focused on a song or made my words fit a melody, I could express myself more clearly.”
Sylvia’s face glowed. “Maybe that’s why, when I distinguish your bass voice from the other men’s during church, it sounds so special. I could listen to your singing all day, Mose.”
