“Sit down, boy!” he commanded. “Get away from that table right now, Riley!”
Jeremiah slipped his arm around the retriever. “Riley, sit,” he murmured.
Riley obeyed immediately. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he gazed adoringly at the bishop.
Pete brushed his shoulder-length blond hair back from his face as he looked around the table. He was wearing a snug black T-shirt with the logo of a rock band on it, along with faded jeans and lace-up work boots. Aromas of grease and cigarettes came in with him, as though he’d recently spent some time at the pool hall. “Sorry I’m late—”
“Take a load off, Pete,” Gabe said, pulling out the empty chair to his right. “Your new landladies were just wondering when you were moving in.”
Pete maneuvered the chair so its back was against the table between Gabe and Glenn and then straddled it. He grinned at the Helfings as though his good looks and charm would make up for any inconvenience he’d caused them. “How about now? All my stuff ’s in the truck.”
Regina thought the twins did a fine job of controlling their exasperation.
“We’ll get you moved in after the meeting,” Marietta said with a frown. “But when we agreed to let you stay at our place, we didn’t know—”
“You have a big dog,” Molly stated sternly. “I’m informing you right now that Riley won’t be allowed on the dawdi haus furniture—”
“And you’ll have to keep him away from our noodle shed, or the health department will be shutting us down,” Marietta said without missing a beat.
“And we can’t be stepping in any poop,” Molly added.
Pete’s eyes widened as though their demands were unreasonable. “Anything else?”
“We’ll think of something!” Molly blurted.
Everyone else burst out laughing, and Gabe slapped Pete playfully on the back. “You’ll have to toe the line now, buddy—but we’re glad you’re here,” he added emphatically. “Say, Dat and some of the guys at the shop are wondering about installing solar panels on the roof of the stable to run the lighting and the kitchen equipment.”
“And we’ll all need plug-ins—along with those gadgets to swipe customers’ credit cards,” Glenn put in.
Folks got quiet. No one had considered the possibility of using solar power.
Pete thought for a moment. “Depending on which way the building’s situated—”
“It faces north,” Bishop Jeremiah said.
“Well then, we could install solar panels on the south side of the roof,” Pete said with a nod. “I assume there’s already electricity to run the stable’s lights. But if you’re wanting to stay Amish and not use that, you might want a gas backup along with your solar power.”
“Let’s keep our options open until the renovation gets underway,” Bishop Jeremiah suggested. He handed Pete a sheet of paper. “Here’s the sketch of how we’d like the shops to be arranged in a U around a central open area. Does that seem feasible?”
Pete glanced at Jo’s drawing. “Depends on where the supports and the weight-bearing walls are located. We can reconfigure whatever’s in place,” he added, “but it’ll take longer if we have to do that.”
Nodding, Bishop Jeremiah pressed on. “Once the congregation votes to buy the property on Sunday, several men will probably be interested in helping with the work. You’re in charge, Pete,” he insisted, “so it’s your call whether or not you accept their assistance. And it’s on you to complete the renovation a week before our June first opening date, so our shopkeepers can set up their spaces. Jah?”
Defiance glimmered in Pete’s brown eyes, as though he’d had all the bossing he could handle. “Today’s May first—and the vote on buying the property isn’t until the fifth,” he noted as he looked at the bishop’s wall calendar. “That’s not much time to work, considering I have a full-time job.”
“We’ve talked about this, Pete,” Bishop Jeremiah stated, holding his nephew’s gaze. At forty-one, he was younger than most bishops, but he had a presence about him that couldn’t be denied.
Pete rose from his chair. “I’m outta here,” he muttered. “Let’s go, Riley.”
After the front door slammed behind him, folks at the table stared at one another. Outside, Pete’s pickup rumbled to life. He roared out of the bishop’s lane, and his tires squealed as he raced down the paved road.
Martha Maude cleared her throat. The hair beneath her kapp was silver-gray, but there was nothing elderly or submissive about her demeanor. “Jeremiah, you’ll be finding someone more dependable to do our carpentry work.”
Chapter Six
As Gabe joined the men gathering outside Elam Stoltzfus’s home before church, all the talk was about The Marketplace—how quickly the plans were coming together, as well as some speculation about whether Pete Shetler would be the lead carpenter.
Everyone liked Pete, and they believed he had the skills to do the stable’s renovation. But they agreed that it was time for him to grow up and accept adult responsibilities.
“We all feel bad that Pete grew up with a dat whose brain disease turned him violent and shattered his family,” Jude Shetler said of his nephew. “But we’ve been helping him as best we can—and at twenty-eight, Pete’s long past the acceptable age for clinging to his rumspringa and his freewheeling bachelor ways.”
Gabe wasn’t surprised by Jude’s remark. Still single at twenty-seven, Gabe was the target of similar remarks—except he’d joined the Old Order nine years ago. He’d been courting a girl at the time, so church membership had been a necessary step toward marriage. After she’d changed her mind, Gabe had often wondered if he’d locked himself into the Amish lifestyle too soon.
But he could never admit his secret doubts or yearnings. It was too late for that.
After the men and women had settled themselves on their respective sides of Teacher Elam’s front room, Gabe sang the first phrase of the opening hymn to set the pitch and the tempo. As the congregation joined in, Bishop Jeremiah, Preachers Ammon and Clarence, and Deacon Saul removed their hats in one sweeping motion. Shortly after that, the four ordained leaders left the singing congregation to gather in another room, where they would decide which Bible passages Deacon Saul would read and who would preach the service’s two sermons.
As they began the fifth verse, Pete slid onto the end of the bench next to Gabe and Glenn. His black broadfall trousers and white shirt appeared clean but rumpled. His blond hair was still wet from his shower.
Gabe flashed Pete a thumbs-up, noting his taut expression as he grudgingly joined the singing. The two of them had been friends since their early grades in school, when Pete had come to live with Jeremiah and his wife, Priscilla, before she’d passed. Pete’s dat, Jacob Shetler, had contracted Lyme disease, and it had advanced into a brain infection that had turned him so violent, Bishop Jeremiah had had Jacob committed to a care facility. Jacob had died there several months later and Pete’s mamm had remarried. Pete had been dead set against leaving Morning Star to live in Indiana with a stepfather he didn’t get along with—so he’d stayed with Jeremiah and Priscilla until he’d moved out on his own.
No one really knew how much emotional and physical abuse Pete and his mamm had suffered at the hands of his dat. At the very least, Gabe figured his longtime friend deserved his continued support, and a chance to do the carpentry work he was so skilled at.
During