“What a great idea!” her daughter-in-law, Anne, chimed in. “I’m already feeling inspired to make some new quilts to sell!”
As three other women waved their hands above their heads, Regina got caught up in the energy that filled the room. Folks were whispering excitedly, looking around to see if anyone else might volunteer, while a dangerously daring thought came to her mind.
Don’t even think about it! Don’t you dare say a word! Regina’s inner voice warned.
Beside her, Jo stood up. “You know, Mamm and I could sell a lot more baked goods and produce at a stall in this marketplace than we do at our roadside stand,” she stated as she focused on Bishop Jeremiah. “Maybe we could even sell refreshments to the shoppers! I’d be willing to organize and manage this endeavor—perhaps instead of paying rent on a shop?”
“And I’ll keep the books!” Lydianne put in as she, too, rose from her seat. “And if you Flauds decide to rent a space, I could help you oversee it.”
“Wait just a minute, Josephine!” From the second row, Drusilla Fussner stood up to face her daughter. “I’m busy enough with our baking and gardening—and redding up the dawdi haus for tourist rentals—without you piling more work on me. This sounds like some crazy half-baked scheme that blew in out of nowhere, and I want no part of it!”
Jo clasped her hands in front of her. “I understand your concerns, Mamm, and I’ll assume the additional work it’ll take to maintain a stall at the new marketplace,” she said calmly. “I see this as a way to increase our income while we also support a new school building—by donating a percentage of everyone’s sales,” she added for clarification. “It was never my intention to force you into this. We’ll discuss it more when we get home.”
“Jah, you bet we will!” Drusilla clucked.
As Jo’s mamm sat down, Regina caught a conspiratorial sparkle in the bishop’s eyes.
“I think the new marketplace will be in gut hands if Jo and Lydianne manage it,” he said as he looked out over the congregation. “Does this make you feel better about acquiring the property, Martin? As your bishop, I intend to keep an eye on how things are done. I’m greatly encouraged by the enthusiasm folks are showing—”
“Put Flaud Furniture down for a double-sized stall, maybe in a corner so we’ve got more room,” Gabe called out. “I’m all for trying something new—and meanwhile we’ll be funding the schoolhouse. Seems the least we can do, as one of the largest family businesses in Morning Star.”
Regina counted on her fingers. Five stalls had already been spoken for.
If Martha Maude can sell the quilts that’re stacking up in her closet, why can’t you empty out your attic the same way?
Regina’s cheeks went so hot, she thought her freckles might pop off. She hoped Jo wouldn’t notice how antsy she was getting as these forbidden thoughts raced through her mind.
This is a bad idea! How can you possibly hope to pull this off ? Imagine the consequences if anyone finds out—
Even as the warning voice in her head was wailing like a fire siren, Regina stood up to speak before she lost her nerve. “I’d be willing to help Lydianne staff the Flauds’ stall, and I’ll help Jo with the organizational stuff, too,” she began in a halting voice. “And I have a—a friend who’s looking for a place to display some of his pieces. So that’s already six stalls we’ve accounted for.”
“That’s all well and gut,” Martin objected, “but why are we rushing into such a major undertaking before we’ve thought this through? Why don’t we call another meeting after church in a couple of weeks, and see some signed agreements from folks who’ll commit to renting stalls? And why don’t we make sure Pete’s willing to do the carpentry work—or get other men to say they’ll rebuild that stable? And why don’t we see some concrete plans from our volunteer managers concerning rental contracts and how they’ll advertise this marketplace?”
Bishop Jeremiah smiled as though Martin had played into his plans. “Excellent ideas,” he said. “How about if all the interested parties meet with me after we’ve eaten our lunch, and we’ll set a time to discuss the nuts and bolts of making this marketplace happen? We’ll report back to the congregation in two weeks.”
“I like that idea, Martin,” Deacon Saul chimed in. “You and I know that a business needs a plan if it’s to succeed.”
Regina agreed with Saul, because his carriage shop employed even more Amish men than Flaud Furniture and was the most lucrative Amish business in Morning Star. The new marketplace would only succeed if the entire community stood behind it—and it would fail if Martin or Saul spoke against it. Several folks were nodding as the meeting adjourned. The women rose to set out the food for the common meal.
As they headed toward the kitchen, Jo nudged Regina with her elbow. “So who’s this friend, Miss Miller?” she teased.
“Jah, Regina,” Molly joined in from behind them. “What juicy secrets have you been keeping from us?”
Regina’s throat closed up. Already she was paying for her impulsive decision, and she suddenly needed to concoct a plausible story that wouldn’t get her into deep trouble. “It’s no one you know,” she insisted. “Just a—a guy I met a while back who was looking for a place to display his nature paintings. He might not even agree to rent a space—”
“Do you suppose we should allow English to participate?” Marietta asked as they entered the kitchen.
“Unless we have more Plain shopkeepers than we have space for—and unless the bishop thinks English items are a bad idea—I’d hate to limit renters this early,” Jo replied. “It would be gut to offer a variety of merchandise, especially if this man’s pieces sell well and bring in a lot of commission. Funding a new schoolhouse was Bishop Jeremiah’s idea, and I’m glad he thought of it!”
“Jah, the marketplace takes on a higher purpose if some of the proceeds are dedicated to such a worthwhile project,” Lydianne agreed. “Did you see how everyone was nodding, agreeing that we need a bigger schoolhouse in a safer location?”
Relieved that her curious friends’ conversation was no longer focused on her, Regina busied herself with filling water pitchers at the kitchen sink. It was only moments later, however, that her aunt Cora was at her elbow to take the filled pitchers.
“So this friend,” she began with an expectant smile, “is he a nice Amish fellow who makes a gut living from what he sells?”
Regina kicked herself. Why had she blurted out that the potential stall renter was a male? Why had she even opened this can of worms, which was leading her into deeper spiritual quicksand than she already struggled with?
As Cora’s three daughters smiled at her, carrying trays of sandwiches, Regina reminded herself that she was setting an example for her cousins Emma, Lucy, and Linda—and that her well-meaning aunt deserved a straightforward answer. Aunt Cora and Uncle Clarence had helped Regina recover after her parents died in a nasty bus accident ten years ago, and she was grateful for all they’d done. Where would she be if they hadn’t helped her through her grief?
But you can’t tell them the truth.
Regina put a patient smile on her face. “No, Aunt Cora, he’s an English fellow. Merely an acquaintance whose paintings I’ve admired.”
Her aunt’s smile fell. “Oh. I was hoping—”
“Sorry,” Regina put in softly. “No need to plan a wedding.”
As her aunt carried the pitchers toward the front room, Regina regretted disappointing her aunt yet again. Even though she was content living her maidel life—and had remained in the house on her parents’ acreage and supported herself with her earnings from the furniture factory—traditional women like Cora