Free Promise Lodge by Charlotte Hubbard Page A

fingers, considering the possibilities. Isaac Chupp still appeared to be the likely culprit, and Noah got a nasty tightness in his gut when he envisioned the details of the encounter. Deborah claimed she had no feelings for the bishop’s son, yet she’d been within arm’s reach of him. The Bender barn had been on fire, so why hadn’t she run in the opposite direction to alert the men in town? Once she’d known Isaac and his English buddies were drinking in there, why had she gotten involved?
    In his mind Noah saw the old red barn with its gambrel roof standing staunchly on the rise behind the Bender family’s white farmhouse—except now it would be a charred shell, a testimony to the trouble that had festered like an untreated wound in Coldstream. Noah had always wondered how Isaac Chupp could afford beer and cigarettes when the only job he had was occasionally clerking for his dat ’s auction company. What was wrong with this picture? Why hadn’t Bishop Obadiah insisted that his son take up a trade?
    Why doesn’t Deborah tell you exactly what happened? That was the real question, wasn’t it? If she was so innocent, it would seem the easiest, most natural thing for her to tell everyone here the details—the truth—rather than letting them assume the worst.
    Noah glanced at the putty in his hand. He rolled it between his palms to form a rope and then pressed it into the crevice between the wood and the glass with his thumb. Life would be a lot easier if he could press this situation with Deborah into a tight, controlled space, as he was doing with the putty.
    Preacher Amos came into the room and stood beside Noah. “Better luck next time, son,” he murmured. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith—to name a few of the benefits God grants us if we live in Him. Long-suffering is an old word for patience,” he pointed out. “And patience is a virtue.”
    â€œI’m not feeling very virtuous.” Noah sighed and drew his scraper down the vertical line of putty he’d just applied. “ Long-suffering fits better right now. Accent on the suffering part.”
    â€œThis, too, shall pass. Don’t give up on her.”
    When Amos left, Noah wished he had more than the preacher’s platitudes for reassurance. For those few shining moments when he’d held Deborah, he had imagined becoming her husband again—had envisioned the house with the rose trellis he’d promised her. Now, however, he seemed more in touch with the thorns than the blooms of the vision they’d once shared.
    Noah rolled another rope of putty. Old Order members believed the best antidote for any misfortune was hard work and prayer. If he worked hard enough, long enough, he could put his troubles behind him, couldn’t he? The praying part would have to wait. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind for that now.

Chapter Seven
    Rosetta opened her bedroom window Friday morning and inhaled the fresh scent of rain. The patter on the roof made her smile as she looked out over the garden plots that would benefit greatly from the first real moisture they’d received since Christine’s girls and Mattie had planted them. The wet weather brought a welcome day of indoor work for everyone: Roman’s hammering rang out from the barn, where he was building more stanchions and stalls. Noah, Preacher Amos, and Deborah continued their painting and repair work in the cabins.
    Phoebe and Laura were cleaning out a large storage room on the main floor of the lodge, seeing it as a sort of treasure hunt, while their mother and Mattie polished the paneled walls of one of the large rooms that had once served as a conference area. Preacher Amos envisioned that room as a place to hold church services when more families came to Promise Lodge, while the women considered it the perfect area for quilting frolics and other