Morning Star. Charlotte Hubbard
gaze—as though the two of them had recently exchanged some tough words.
All signs of discord eased from the bishop’s face, however, as he rose to begin the service. “May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you on this Sabbath day, the fifth of May,” he began in his resonant voice. “Let us never forget that we’re here to worship God and to submit to His will.”
Gabe believed the Morning Star district was particularly blessed to have Jeremiah Shetler as its bishop, because he had a positive, relatively progressive attitude. He could set aside his personal preferences to embrace the wide variety of personalities he dealt with—yet church members knew they were expected to uphold the tenets of the Amish faith, without exception. Pete would receive no special treatment because he was Jeremiah’s nephew.
As Preacher Clarence rose to deliver the opening sermon, Gabe sighed to himself. Clarence Miller spoke in a singsong voice that lulled folks into a daze as he meandered from topic to topic, so after about ten minutes Gabe found himself gazing absently between the older men’s heads to the women’s side of the room.
Red was nodding off. Her head drifted lower and lower until she jerked and sat upright again—and the cycle repeated. Gabe chuckled. What might keep a quiet mouse like Regina Miller from getting her rest? Did she stay up late into the night reading romance novels? Was she a light sleeper, easily awakened by traffic noise?
And how did she come to know the guy who painted those amazing nature pictures? He doesn’t live here in town . . .
The remainder of the prayers, hymns, and the second sermon that Preacher Ammon Slabaugh delivered went by a lot faster because Gabe was speculating about his reclusive redheaded employee. Red had been very quiet during the most recent meeting at the bishop’s house—had she turned in a rental form for her artist friend? It occurred to Gabe that he went for days at a time without talking to her because she worked in the staining room, which was enclosed to prevent sawdust from drifting onto the wet furniture. Before they’d become involved in developing The Marketplace, they’d had little in common, it seemed.
Maybe Red had a date with that artist last night! All this time we’ve thought of her as a quiet, unassuming maidel when she might really have an English boyfriend—which is totally forbidden!
Gabe stifled a laugh. It was far more likely that Red and Lydianne had gone out for Saturday night supper together, considering that they preferred talking to each other during breaks rather than to the male employees.
“May God bless us and keep us and make His face to shine upon us,” Bishop Jeremiah intoned in his benediction. “Amen.”
Folks sat up taller, anticipating the Members Meeting—and the vote about buying the Clementi property. Deacon Saul rose to speak, gazing first at the men and then at the women.
“At our previous meeting, some of you had reservations—and rightfully so—about buying the Clementi place on such short notice,” he began. “Jeremiah was excited about acquiring the property, so he’s asked me to report our findings today, to present a second opinion, as it were.”
Folks around the room nodded. They respected Saul Hartzler, not only because he was in charge of the district’s finances but because he was one of the foremost businessmen—Plain or English—in Morning Star.
“After Ammon, Clarence, Jeremiah, and I looked that stable over closely and walked the pastureland,” Saul continued, “we concluded that the property is well worth the asking price, and that it would be a suitable place to set up rental shops and to build our new schoolhouse. We have also studied Jo Fussner’s proposed floor plan—and in answer to Martin’s request for a commitment from potential shopkeepers, we have already received seven signed rental agreements.”
Saul paused, allowing folks to absorb what he was saying. “Because two of those renters want double-sized spaces, and we’re asking forty dollars a month in rent,” he continued, “those nine stalls would bring in three hundred sixty dollars each month. Assuming these shopkeepers stay for a year, that total rent would be four thousand three hundred and twenty dollars—and in addition to that, our church district will receive ten percent of the shops’ gross sales. The committee is proposing to call this project The Marketplace, and they’ve already devised an advertising plan.”
Bishop Jeremiah rose from the preachers’ bench to stand beside Saul. “Does this satisfy your need for more commitment, Martin?” he asked as he gauged the congregation’s reaction to Saul’s report. “Does anyone else have any questions before we vote on whether to buy the property?”
“Jah, we need a reliable carpenter committed to renovating the stable in time for our June first opening date,” Martha Maude said loudly.
Pete stiffened. He scowled, looking away from the women’s side, where Martha Maude sat near the front.
Bishop Jeremiah picked up some papers from the preachers’ bench. “Pete realizes our opening date is approaching very quickly, so he has signed a contract for installing the plumbing, the restrooms, and the electricity required by the health department, as well as some solar panels. He will also lead a construction crew, which will include volunteer carpenters from the congregation, to refurbish the stable’s main structure,” the bishop announced. “Glenn Detweiler has also signed a contract to head up the interior finishing work, in lieu of six months’ rent on his shop. We don’t usually require contracts for such things, but we felt folks might be more comfortable seeing these agreements in writing.”
“We Flauds and some of our furniture crew will be helping,” Martin put in. “And as you know, Martha Maude, we’re also providing the tables and chairs for the central refreshment area—because we believe The Marketplace will benefit our church and the entire Morning Star community.”
“That ought to shut her up,” Pete muttered.
Gabe elbowed him playfully. “Hey, we all want this to work out—and we’re glad you’re still in on it,” he added softly.
Pete shrugged, frowning. “I get tired of the Hartzlers throwing their weight around just because they’re the wealthiest family in the district,” he shot back under his breath. “I’ll uphold my end of this bargain, but you’d better keep Martha Maude—and Saul—out of my hair. I won’t tolerate them watching my every hammer stroke or telling me my work doesn’t suit them.”
“Not to worry,” Gabe murmured, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “Dat and Glenn and I will be working right alongside you. We’ve got your back, buddy.”
“Jah, and I’m glad you’re to be the foreman,” Glenn put in, leaning in front of Gabe to focus on Pete. “Saul builds a fine carriage, and his money comes in handy for the expenses a project like this requires—only he’s a man you can work for but not with. That’s the way some of his employees tell it, anyway.”
Gabe nodded. “He told Dat he’s had an influx of orders for buggies and wagons this spring, so I doubt he’ll spend much time around the site anyway. It’s all gut, Pete,” he added with a smile. “You’ll do us proud.”
Meanwhile, folks around them were murmuring as Martha Maude and a few others looked at the contracts. When Bishop Jeremiah called for a vote, the ayes bounced along the rows of the men’s side like a rubber ball and did the same as the women expressed their opinions. A big cheer erupted when the district’s youngest member—Gabe’s teenaged sister Lorena—spoke the final vote in favor of The Marketplace. As folks rose from the pew benches, talking and laughing, a new sense of energy filled the big room.
When Gabe saw Red and her friends heading toward the kitchen, he turned to Pete. “How’s it going, living at the Helfing place?”
Pete rolled his eyes. “It’s a gut thing I still have a full-time job and that Riley goes with me,” he replied. “At ten months, he’s still got a lot of puppy in him, so he’s full of energy. Molly gave him what-for after he snatched one of her dresses off the clothesline on Friday.”
Glenn laughed. “At least he didn’t go after