LITMIR.BIZ

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though Plain maidels enjoyed a few more freedoms than their married friends, their faith placed limitations on them. They weren’t allowed to train for careers or travel to faraway places or break out of the mold of conformity. Amish women who’d been baptized into the Old Order knew their place—and they were expected to stay there.

      Jo turned to continue on their walk. “Well, it was an interesting thought, anyway.”

      * * *

      For the next few days, however, Jo couldn’t let go of the idea of a marketplace. She was so engrossed in her vision—even thinking up possible names for the new shopping area—that she planted rows of onion sets where Mamm had intended to put the hills for the zucchini and other summer squash.

      “Josephine Fussner, what’s gotten into you?” her mother demanded in exasperation. “You might as well be living on another planet, for all the response I’ve gotten from you lately!”

      After she endured a talking-to about the garden chart Mamm had drawn, Jo headed into town to do the week’s shopping—and to pay a visit to Bishop Jeremiah Shetler. If the leader of their church district refused to go along with her idea about refurbishing the old stable, she would put it out of her mind and move on. It was a big stretch, thinking the property could ever be brought up to the glowing images she’d seen in her daydreams.

      And yet, as they sat in wicker chairs on his front porch, Bishop Jeremiah listened patiently as Jo described her ideas for shops—and about how she and her four friends would manage the place. She hadn’t exactly gotten full agreement from Lydianne, the Helfings, or Regina, but she felt the bishop would be quicker to approve if she presented an organized business plan, which she’d devised over the past few days.

      “Wouldn’t it be something if we transformed the Clementi stable into shops where local folks could sell what they make?” Jo began excitedly. “It would take a lot of work, but can’t you imagine Amish stores along three of the walls, with an open central area where shoppers could gather at tables and enjoy homemade refreshments? With some fixing up and a fresh coat of paint—maybe some colorful shutters and flower boxes at the windows—it could become a big attraction for Morning Star, don’t you think? If we rented out the shop stalls, we could make money for our church district.”

      The bishop sat forward, as though Jo’s last sentence had snagged his attention. “Jah, I saw that the Clementi place was up for sale,” he said, “and I can tell you’ve given your idea a lot of thought, Jo. Who do you suppose might want to rent space in this new marketplace?”

      Jo blinked. Instead of waving off her dream as something only a silly, impractical maidel would come up with, Bishop Jeremiah was nodding as he listened to her. He was a patient, forward-thinking leader—younger than most bishops, with dark brown hair, expressive brows, and a matching beard. His deep cocoa eyes seemed to search the soul of whomever he was talking to.

      Jeremiah’s steady gaze made Jo answer carefully. “The Helfing twins could sell their homemade noodles. Mamm and I could expand our baking and produce business—and sell those refreshments I mentioned—”

      “And what does your mother say about this?”

      Jo laughed when she caught the twitch of the bishop’s lips. “Well, Mamm doesn’t know about it yet. I figured if you wouldn’t go along with our idea, there was no reason to mention it to her.

      “But think about it!” she continued brightly. “We have a lot of local folks who make toys and furniture and such! Maybe Anne and Martha Maude Hartzler would want to sell their quilts, and maybe the Flauds would put some of their furniture in a booth—and we could advertise for more Plain crafters from this area! We could have the marketplace open only on Saturdays, so nobody would have to mind a store all during the week. That would really cut into a family’s daily life.”

      Bishop Jeremiah stroked his closely trimmed beard. “What about the land? There’s about five acres with the stable, and we’d have to maintain it somehow.”

      Jo hadn’t thought about the pasture, but she hated to admit that when the bishop seemed sincerely interested in her idea. “What if we used it for our annual mud sale to benefit the volunteer fire department—or even for big produce auctions in the summer, like other Amish districts have?”

      This was an all-or-nothing proposal, so Jo gathered her courage as she presented the idea that would make it or break it. “Truth be told, I’m hoping our church district will use the land somehow, because while we maidels could organize the shops, we have no way to pay for the property or for rebuilding the stable. Maybe the church would help with that part, too.”

      After giving the bishop a few moments to contemplate her proposal, Jo held his gaze. “I’m asking for a lot, ain’t so? And maybe nobody but me will see any benefit to this marketplace. But I had to ask.”

      Bishop Jeremiah’s smile brought out the laugh lines around his eyes. “If you don’t ask, you probably won’t receive,” he pointed out. “If you don’t knock, who will know to open the door for you?”

      When the bishop rose from his chair, Jo took his action as her cue to leave—yet she felt greatly encouraged. “Denki for listening,” she said as she stood up. “I appreciate the way you’ve heard me out, because some men wouldn’t have given my idea even a minute’s consideration.”

      Jo immediately wondered if she’d sounded too critical, too much like a maidel with a habit of complaining.

      The bishop chuckled, however. “Some folks—men and women alike—pass over new ideas because they’ll have to put out extra effort or change their habits to make their dreams a reality,” he remarked. “I’ll pray over what you’ve told me today, Jo, and we’ll see what happens. When you skip a little stone across a lake, you never know how far the ripples might travel.”

      Chapter Two

      As the final prayer of the Sunday service ended, Regina Miller opened her eyes. She reached for the Ausbund under her pew bench. Across the room on the men’s side, Gabe Flaud sang the first phrase of the concluding hymn in his clear, melodious voice to establish the pitch and the tempo.

      I could listen to Gabe sing all day, Regina thought as she joined in with the others.

      She would never tell Gabe that, of course. Five days a week she worked as a finisher in the furniture shop his dat owned, staining and varnishing the dining room and bedroom sets the male employees built in the factory. Gabe was the foreman and he was single, but he looked at Regina as though she were a fixture in the shop—just one of the boys. She’d heard rumors that he dated English girls despite the fact that he’d joined the Old Order, yet the church leaders had never called him on it.

      He’s way too adventurous to give a mouse like me a second glance, she mused as she looked at the stained hands holding her hymnal. Why do I waste my time thinking about him? Must be that springtime thing Jo was talking about, wanting something different—something more—in my life.

      Regina had a more compelling reason for not entertaining notions about Gabe, but it was a secret she didn’t dare think about during church. God was undoubtedly displeased with the part of her life she kept hidden away. She’d probably be inviting a visible sign of His judgment—perhaps a lightning bolt shooting through the roof to strike her down—if she allowed her mind to wander to her sinful pastime while she was supposed to be worshipping Him.

      Regina sang louder, focusing on the words. As the congregation plodded through the thirteenth verse at the methodical pace with which they sang their hymns, Regina’s stomach rumbled loudly. She often wondered what had possessed the Amish songwriters of the sixteenth century to ramble on at such length.

      Beside her, Jo Fussner rolled her eyes as they began verse fourteen. Regina stifled a laugh. In front of them, Lydianne Christner rubbed the small of her back while the Helfing twins leaned into each other and began to sway subtly to the beat. The five of them often joked about having calluses on their backsides from a lifetime of endless Sunday services—it was another detail

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