Promise Lodge (17 page)

Isaac seemed to think escape was the better option, as well. He was close on Kerry's heels—until the Hershberger girls launched their garden tools at his feet and tripped him.

“Don't let him get away!” Laura cried as he hit the ground.

“We can do this, girls! We've got him outnumbered,” Phoebe said as she and Mattie rushed around to either side of him.

Rosetta hurried over before Isaac could get his feet under him and stuffed the plastic scrub bucket over his head. Deborah and Christine joined the fray, bringing along the partial bolt of fabric, which was coming unwound.

“Roll him up like a rug,” Christine muttered. “I think we've got enough fabric here to do the job.” She tossed the bolt to the ground and began to unwind it on one side of Isaac while her sisters and daughters pinned his flailing hands to his sides and grabbed his feet. When they had shoved him onto the loose end of the fabric, Deborah tucked the sturdy cotton around him and held it in place. She pushed him from the middle while the others rotated him at the ends, until Isaac's arms were bound close to his sides and he couldn't move his legs. With a look of great satisfaction, Christine removed the last of the fabric from the cardboard center of the bolt.

The bucket had rolled away, revealing Isaac's paint-splotched, egg-smeared face and his saturated blond hair—not to mention his startled expression. Out near the campground entrance, a car engine roared to life. Tires squealed on the blacktop.

“That jerk's driving off in my car!” Isaac protested, struggling frantically to loosen the fabric that was bound around him.

“Silly you, leaving the keys in it. So now you've missed your ride,” Laura remarked. “Fair enough, considering how you tried to hurt Deborah
again
.”

“Get those bungee cords Amos keeps on the basement shelf,” Rosetta suggested. “We can secure the fabric with that and leave him here until the men come—”

“You
won't
get away with this,” Isaac muttered as he kicked and wiggled.

“You don't have a leg to stand on, and we're all witnesses to what you've tried to do to Deborah today,” Christine replied. She and her sisters and Deborah stood along either side of him, pinning him with their feet while Laura ran to fetch the cords. “So tell me this, Isaac. Was it you who set the barn afire at our place, too?”

Isaac's eyes widened in his eggy, paint-splotched face, but he quickly resumed his defensive attitude. “You've got no proof about any of—”

“Well,
God
knows,” Rosetta interrupted him. “And Deborah witnessed your latest escapade, too.”

“I'm calling your
dat,
” Mattie said. “We'll see how eager the bishop is to come get you after I tell him what you've done.” She wrapped an arm around Deborah's shoulders. “Come inside with me, dear. You've gone through enough for one day.”

Deborah didn't realize how tightly wound she was until she nearly stumbled trying to keep up with Mattie's stride. Noah's
mamm
slowed her pace then, lowering her voice as they ascended the stairs to the porch. “You're shaking like a scared rabbit, and it's no wonder,” she murmured soothingly. “Let's sit you down with a glass of lemonade while I make that phone call.”

Deborah nodded mutely, allowing Mattie to steer her through the lobby and the dining hall toward a stool in the kitchen. She was still horrified at how Isaac and Kerry had sneaked up on her—how they had carefully checked everyone else's whereabouts before they'd trapped her. How long had they been at Promise Lodge? Had they made it all the way upstairs without Rosetta and Christine becoming aware of them? Or had they heard the women's voices and continued their search for
her
?

She didn't really want to know. Deborah sipped gratefully at the lemonade Mattie had poured, but she had no appetite for the brownie Noah's
mamm
put in front of her.

Mattie opened a kitchen drawer near the wall phone and pulled out a small directory. “
Gut
thing we brought this with us from Coldstream,” she remarked as she thumbed through the pages. “Obadiah's most likely at the auction barn, so I'll call there first.”

Resolutely, Mattie gazed at the phone, gathering her thoughts. Then she punched the number buttons and waited.

“
Jah
, Mose, this is Mattie Schwartz,” she said brusquely. “Put your
dat
on . . . no, I won't give you a message for him. Get him
now
. Your little brother's in big trouble.”

Deborah's eyes widened as she broke off a corner of the brownie. She'd
never
heard Mattie speak in such a sharp tone—and to a man, no less. Mattie squared her shoulders, gripping the receiver. “Obadiah, this is Mattie Schwartz and we've got Isaac here at Promise Lodge,” she said. “He came after Deborah, to
hurt
her again—still up to no
gut,
after he set the Bender barn afire. If you're not here by one o'clock to fetch him, we're turning him over to the sheriff.” Without waiting for the bishop's response, she hung up.

Deborah let out the breath she'd been holding. “So, what'll we do with Isaac?”

“Leave him right where he is,” Mattie replied. “We'll let him sweat it out until his
dat
gets here—or the sheriff comes.”

Mattie's shoulders relaxed. She reached for the pitcher of lemonade and another glass. “I hope to
gut
ness Amos and the boys come back before Obadiah arrives,” she murmured. The stream of lemonade shimmied as she poured it. “We'll hear no end of the bishop's accusations and threats if it's just us women here. That's a sad thing to say about the leader of our home church district, but it's true.”

Nodding, Deborah took a long drink of her lemonade. “I—I was never so glad to see you three sisters and the girls,” she murmured. “What's scary is how Isaac and Kerry watched Amos and the boys leave, and then figured out where all the rest of you were, so they found me painting by myself.”

“Which tells you how smart Isaac is, but in the wrong ways. We fixed their wagons, though,” Mattie replied with a shaky laugh. “I'm not quite sure how we did it, but the
Gut
Lord was working right alongside us or we'd never have caught Isaac.”

Deborah breathed deeply, finally able to believe she was in no further danger today. “Let's take the lemonade and brownies out to the porch. The others have surely worked up a thirst.”

Once the six of them had placed the wicker porch chairs around the table where the treats were, they were smiling again.

“This was a fine idea,” Laura said as she took a second brownie. “We planted a lot of sweet corn this morning, and it was getting hot out there in the garden.”

“Christine and I were making
gut
progress on our curtains, too,” Rosetta said.

Deborah sighed as she gazed beyond the bushy trumpet vines toward the line of brown cabins. “I'd better mop up that paint I threw at Isaac and Kerry. It'll be drying on the floor—”

“Phoebe and I can help you with that,” Laura insisted. “With some scrub brushes and elbow grease it'll look
gut
as new.”

“You were mighty quick-thinking, to slow those boys down with your paint,” Christine remarked with a nod. “It's a
gut
thing you hollered for us when you did, too. Out here where we don't know many folks yet—and where we're a distance from the Wickey house—we've got to watch out for each other.”

“Hey!” Isaac hollered from his spot in the yard. “I have to
go
.”

The women and girls glanced at him. “How's that, again?” Rosetta asked.

Isaac glowered. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Nice try, but we're not about to turn you loose,” Phoebe said.

“
Jah,
don't let us stop you,” Laura chimed in. “We won't watch, we promise.”

When Isaac smarted off in protest, Rosetta stood up to glare at him, placing her hand on her hip. “High time you got a taste of humiliation, even if wet pants aren't
half
of what you and that redheaded friend of yours heaped on Deborah,” she said sternly. “Consider this fair warning that we folks at Promise Lodge won't tolerate your lies and wrongdoing.”

“Puh!” he replied, struggling against the fabric and the bungee cords. “When my
dat
sees what you've done to me, he'll—”

“He'll be getting a head-on dose of the truth about the trouble you've been stirring up,” Mattie informed him in the same tone her sister had used. Then she looked out toward the road. “And here come Preacher Amos and my boys. I'm sure they'll want to hear every detail of your visit.”

Chapter Fifteen

As Noah listened to the women's account of how Isaac and Kerry had slipped onto Promise Lodge property, catching Deborah unaware, his heart rose into his throat. It was all he could do not to kick at Isaac as the blond troublemaker lay in the yard wrapped in the wet blue fabric that was secured with three bungee cords. While the chain of events his cousins and aunts had described was almost comical—wrangling Isaac with a scrub bucket, their rakes, and a bolt of fabric—Noah was gravely aware of what would have happened had Deborah not gotten away from the intruders.

Preacher Amos was interrogating Isaac about the Bender barn fire, gazing sternly down at the bishop's son, so Noah joined Deborah, Laura, and Phoebe as they went to clean up the paint-splattered cabin. “All three of us fellows probably shouldn't leave the property at the same time anymore,” he remarked. “At least until we're sure Chupp and Corbett won't be back.”

“
Jah,
that might be wise,” Phoebe replied. “The way we women were all spread out, busy at our projects, it's a wonder we got to Deborah in time to help her.”

When Noah stepped inside the cabin, he stopped immediately so he wouldn't step in puddled paint. His eyes widened as he took in the ladder on its side, the overturned paint tray in the center of the room, the roller lying a few feet away—and beige paint flung in so many directions, it appeared that Deborah had thrown an entire gallon of it.

“Oh, my,” Laura murmured. “I've never known you to be so messy, Deborah.”

Noah smiled halfheartedly at his younger cousin's attempt to lighten the impact of the struggle that had taken place in this room. He put his arm around Deborah's shoulders. “I don't know how you kept away from them,” he said earnestly, “but so help me, if those guys had gotten hold of you—”

Deborah placed her finger across his lips. Her green eyes were wide, as serene as a shady glen on a summer day. “It's behind us now,” she said. “I prayed for Jesus to help me, and He came through. ‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.'”

“Can't argue with that,” Phoebe remarked. She went down on her knees to sop up the nearest pool of paint with an old towel.

Using steel wool pads, scrub brushes, and lots of water, the four of them made good progress at cleaning up the cabin. As they worked, Noah described the many items for sale at the mercantile. He was answering the girls' questions about other places to shop in Forest Grove when raised voices drifted through the screen door from the yard.

“I don't know what you people think you're doing, holding my boy hostage,” Bishop Obadiah said hatefully. “And I will
not
tolerate any more phone messages from you in such a
tone,
Matilda Schwartz. You know better than to address me—”

“You should keep your son at home where he belongs,” Preacher Amos countered. “We've seen what the Coldstream paper reported about the fire on the Bender place, and we've heard Deborah's account of what Isaac and his friends were doing there that night—and now he's come all the way to Promise Lodge to get his revenge against her. It only confirms the wisdom of breaking away from your district, Obadiah. We pray each day that you'll come to see what's going on right under your nose and
deal
with it, rather than turning a blind eye.”

“‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor, '” Obadiah intoned as though he were warming up to give a blistering sermon.

“‘He that hath ears to hear, let him hear,'” Amos shot back before the bishop could continue.

Noah and the girls stood in the cabin's doorway to watch the conversation, which was escalating into a shouting match. It went against their most basic Old Order beliefs for members to speak to each other this way, to vent frustration and anger rather than showing patience or giving the benefit of the doubt.

But nobody here doubts what has really happened,
Noah thought as he felt his muscles tightening. “I've seen enough,” he murmured. “It's probably best if you girls stay here until the Chupps have gone.”

As Noah started across the yard, it appeared his aunts were agitated enough to break the silence that was expected of women in situations such as these.

“Wait just a moment,” Rosetta insisted. “We're not finished talking about false witness until you see the letter your wife wrote, Bishop. I'll fetch it.”

“Bertha wrote no such letter!” Obadiah cried as Rosetta hurried up the porch steps and into the lodge.

“Fine. You can tell us who did write it,” Noah's mother chimed in. “Somebody from Coldstream wasted stationery and a considerable amount of time telling us how sinfully we've all behaved—”

“And it's a pack of lies,” Aunt Christine put in. She crossed her arms, daring to hold Obadiah's angry gaze. “I have an idea who really wrote it, but I want to hear what
you
think, Bishop.”

Noah suddenly realized that his mother and aunts had made a good point yesterday, about Bertha Chupp not being the type to write a lengthy letter to women she'd seldom spoken to. And when Isaac stopped squirming in the grass and protesting, Noah wondered if the bishop's son could've written the letter. It seemed unlikely, however, that Isaac could've composed such adult-sounding sentences. And why would he have written to Rosetta instead of to Deborah?

The screen door banged shut behind Rosetta as she returned to the gathering and handed the letter to Obadiah. “Is this your wife's handwriting?”

The bishop sneered as he snatched the pale blue pages from Rosetta's hand, but his eyes widened as he scanned the first page. His graying U-shaped beard fluttered in the breeze beneath his sweat-stained straw hat as he turned the page over and kept reading.

Noah saw a familiar white van parked down by the arched entry sign to the campground. He waved at Dick Mercer, who did a lot of driving for Plain folks around Coldstream, and then he went to stand beside Roman, near the women. Obadiah reached the end of the letter. His
mamm,
his aunts, and Amos remained silent, waiting for the bishop to speak first.

Obadiah cleared his throat. “While my wife and I have discussed our concerns about the way you people left our church district, Bertha would never write such a letter—”

“So who did?” Amos interrupted tersely. “Do you understand now why I called you about these accusations?”

“And why
I
called you to come fetch your son after he attacked Deborah today—
again?
” Noah's mother demanded.

“Maybe we should ask Isaac who wrote it.” Aunt Christine stared sternly at the young man who lay on the ground wrapped in her curtain fabric. “Did you listen to your parents' conversations and write down what they've been saying about us—maybe adding in some drama to make us angry?”

“Have you practiced copying your mother's penmanship, to make us believe
she
wrote this letter?” Rosetta asked in a rising voice. “How often have you forged her signature or—maybe you started out when you were still in school with notes to Teacher Catherine, excusing yourself from class, eh?”

Isaac's eyes widened in his paint-splotched face, but he quickly resumed his usual defiant demeanor. “Why would I waste my time writing to an old
maidel
like you when it's Deborah who needs to be set straight about calling the—”

“And how did you know it was addressed to Rosetta?” Preacher Amos interrupted him. “No one has mentioned that—except you.”

“Grab his feet,” Noah muttered to his brother. “Let's get this show on the road.”

Roman nodded. Without a word, the two of them scooped Isaac from the ground, placing their arms beneath his shoulders and his knees. As they walked awkwardly toward the van with Isaac slung between them, Obadiah and the others continued their strained conversation near the lodge. But the bishop had lost some of his bluster.

Isaac gawked at Noah and Roman in disbelief. “You can't believe I wrote that—you've
got
to unfasten these stupid bungee cords and—”

“We don't have to do any such thing,” Roman said coolly.

“I figure if your
dat
unwraps you, you can answer his questions about what you were doing way out here in our colony—and maybe about what you really did on the night of the fire,” Noah explained. “Don't mess with Deborah again, understand me? Next time we'll deal with you the old-fashioned way—an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”

Isaac stopped his squirming. His eyes narrowed. “Do you really think I can leave her alone?” he asked in a throaty voice. “She's addictive, man. And now that I've had a taste, I'll find a way to come back for more . . . because she wants
me,
too.”

“I don't
think
so,” Noah retorted. “Not after you grabbed her neck and threw her into that ditch and then
left
her.”

“That's what she told you?” Isaac asked with a derisive chuckle. “She's a sly one, Deborah is. She was putting on that innocent act for me, too—until I got into that ditch
with
her.
Jah,
I grabbed her neck, because I had to hang on for dear life.”

The pictures running through Noah's mind made him stop breathing. He roughly shifted his grip on Isaac's shoulders as he and Roman lumbered closer to the van. “You are so full of—”

“You think so?” Chupp challenged. “She was crazy for me, Schwartz. Kissing me and calling out my name—but then, I doubt you'll ever be able to bring out that side of her, now that she's been with me.” He laughed again, louder this time. “There's only one word for Deborah Peterscheim.
Wildcat
.”

“And the word for you is
dreamer
. Not to mention
liar
and
loser,
” Roman retorted, jostling Isaac as he got a better grip on his bound legs.

Noah focused on the remaining distance between them and the white van, too disturbed to say any more. He was glad to see Dick Mercer hurrying around to open the van's hatchback.

“Here's where the baggage goes,” the driver remarked as he folded down the back seats. “No need to get paint on my upholstery. And I hope the Peterscheim girl is doing all right. I was . . . rather concerned when I drove her out here.”

“Deborah's stronger than we ever suspected,” Noah replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He shoved Isaac's feet out of the way and shut the hatchback with a loud
whump
. “Give her family our best, will you? Tell them she's making herself right at home in Promise.”

“Happy to do that.” Dick glanced back toward the lodge, and they saw that the bishop was striding their way, looking none too happy. “You fellows take care. I'm sure it'll be an interesting three hours back to Coldstream.”

Obadiah glared at Noah and his brother, got into the front seat, and slammed the van door. As he headed back down the lane with Roman, Noah felt relieved that their uninvited guests were departing. What he'd seen and heard since he'd returned from the mercantile had given him plenty to think about.

“Do you suppose Obadiah's going to make Isaac ride all the way back to Coldstream with those bungee cords around him?” Roman asked as they started back toward the lodge.

“I really don't care,” Noah replied. “But if Isaac comes back here, we're calling the sheriff.”

He hoped his voice expressed all the disgust and irritation Isaac had inspired, rather than his fears about what the bishop's son claimed he'd done with Deborah. Try as he might, Noah couldn't rid his mind of the images . . . Deborah writhing in the ditch with Isaac, in passion rather than pain—

Noah caught sight of Deborah coming out of the cabin she and his cousins had been cleaning. He told himself not to believe what Isaac had insinuated about her. Surely he knew his former fiancée better than Chupp ever would. He'd accused her of being sweet on Isaac earlier, yet that purple handprint on her neck had imprinted her with lingering guilt even as it faded from her skin. Deborah had convinced him with her eyes and her words that she had no feelings—except negative, regretful ones—for the bishop's wayward son.

Hadn't she?

What if her
dat
had it right? What if Preacher Eli sent Deborah away because he saw through her sob story—believed that she'd invited the trouble she'd gotten into?

Noah exhaled loudly. Instead of going back to the lodge with Roman to talk to the others, he headed toward the shed. It felt like a fine time for some target practice.

* * *

Deborah watched the cans fly off the top of the woodpile in rapid succession, sensing she should leave Noah alone. It was just as well. Now that the Chupps had left, her legs and arms felt rubbery from the ordeal she'd endured. While she and Laura and Phoebe were helping with supper preparations, Deborah allowed them to carry the conversation—which was mostly about Isaac, Kerry, and the bishop of Coldstream. They were aghast at the sheer
nerve
of the two boys, and at how Obadiah Chupp had refused to acknowledge his son's role in the fire, his attack on Deborah, or as the author of that awful letter.

But Deborah's thoughts remained worrisome. What if she was a magnet for trouble? What if today's surprise visit was only the first, because the two boys didn't feel they'd gotten even with her? Considering all the sheds and animals, and the vegetables that were now growing in straight, green rows, it wouldn't take Isaac and Kerry long to destroy the progress her hardworking friends had made at their new home. Deborah had no trouble imagining Christine's cows and Rosetta's goats being frightened out of the barn—or left inside it after the boys set the hay on fire. Or they could drive a car through the garden plots and lay them waste within minutes, all to get back at
her
.