Morning Star

Book 1: Maidels of Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; General Fiction

Synopsis

When five maidels join forces to turn an abandoned barn into an Amish marketplace, the unmarried women have community in mind. But their fledgling enterprise promises to reap surprising rewards for each in turn, including the gift of unexpected love . . .



For Regina Miller, the new Morning Star Marketplace is a chance to share her secret work with the world—without revealing herself. Old Order Amish forbid the creation of art without purpose, but without a husband, Regina has been free to explore the joy of painting in her attic. Yet when Gabe Flaud's curiosity leads him to speculate that Regina herself is the painter, the full weight of their community's judgement falls on her shoulders.



When Gabe stands up to defend Regina, questioning the Order's restrictions, he reveals his own guilty secret and is shunned along with her. Forced to turn to each other for companionship, the young couple must learn to balance their own needs with their deep faith . . . and a love that will show them all things are possible.

Release date: July 28, 2020

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 323

Sample

Spring had painted the Missouri countryside with a palette of vibrant greens and gentle pastels only God Himself could have created. The pastures were lush with new grass, and the dogwood and redbud trees added splashes of pink, cream, and fuchsia to the untamed landscape. Jo Fussner and her four maidel friends were on their usual afternoon walk on a visiting Sunday, soaking up the midday sunshine. An occasional car passed as they strolled alongside the county highway, but otherwise, Morning Star seemed to be nodding off for its Sunday nap.

As they reached the edge of town, Jo gazed at a dilapidated white stable that sat back from the road, surrounded by a few acres of land. The plank fence around it was also in a sorry state of disrepair. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen horses in the pasture, or any sign of the English folks who owned it. The harsh winter hadn’t done the stable any favors, and Jo thought the place looked sadder than usual as the April breeze riffled some of its loose shingles.

The wooden sign posted on the fence alongside the gate startled her. “Did you know this place was for sale?” Jo blurted. “I haven’t seen this sign before.”

“Me, neither,” Molly Helfing replied. She glanced at her rail-thin twin sister, Marietta, who was recovering from chemo treatments. “Last I knew, that Clementi fellow who owned this property died in the nursing home—”

“And his kids have been squabbling over the estate,” Marietta put in. Despite the spring day’s warmth, she pulled her black cloak more closely around her. “I still haven’t figured out how the English can bear to put their parents in places like the senior center. It seems so cruel, separating older folks from their families.”

“Jah, Mamm exasperates me, but I could never shut her away in a care facility—especially now that Dat’s passed on,” Jo agreed. An idea was spinning in her head—an adventurous, totally impractical idea—as she gazed at the long white stable with its peeling paint and missing boards. Her longtime friends would think she was ferhoodled, yet her imagination was running wild with possibilities.

“The kids must’ve decided to sell the place rather than keep it in the family,” redheaded Regina Miller remarked. “I can’t think it’ll bring much, though, run-down as it is.”

“Anybody who bought it would have to invest a lot of money to make it usable as a stable again. And replacing the slat fence would cost another small fortune,” Lydianne Christner said with a shake of her head. “Folks around town have been hoping the family will just tear this eyesore down—”

“But wouldn’t it make a great place for some shops?” Jo blurted out. “You Helfings could sell your homemade noodles, and Mamm and I would have more space to display our bakery stuff and our summer produce—and we could get other local folks to rent spaces, and—and it’s on the main highway! Think of how much more business we’d attract here than we do at the roadside stands in our yards.”

Her friends stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second head.

Molly’s brow puckered. “How could we run a store on this side of town—”

“—while we were making our noodles in our shop at home?” Marietta finished doubtfully.

Regina appeared more positive, yet she shook her head. “Would Bishop Jeremiah allow that? He’s always preaching about how we should keep our businesses to a manageable size. When some of our men have talked of expanding their shops, he’s reminded them that bigger isn’t better.”

“Are you talking about us running such a place?” Lydianne asked with a frown. “How would we pay for the property, much less the repairs it needs?”

“And what makes you think a handful of maidels could manage a bunch of shops?” Marietta chimed in again.

Jo planted her fists on her hips, grinning despite her friends’ very reasonable objections. “What makes you think we couldn’t?” she challenged. “We manage quite well without husbands, ain’t so? We’ve been supporting ourselves for years, so we certainly have the smarts to keep a joint business afloat—especially since Lydianne’s a bookkeeper. I think it would be great fun to run a marketplace!”

“Puh! Your mamm would never go along with that!” Regina teased.

“Jah, I can already see Drusilla shaking a finger at you,” Molly agreed as she shook her own finger. “And I can just hear her saying, ‘No gut will ever come of such an outrageous idea, Josephine Fussner! Who ever heard of unhitched women doing such a thing?’”

Jo laughed along with her friends at Molly’s imitation of her widowed mother. “You’ve got her pegged,” she said, even as she gazed wistfully at the stable. The weather vane on the center cupola had lost its rooster, and enough boards were missing that she could see daylight on the structure’s other side. Even so, she could imagine the building glowing with fresh paint. She could hear the voices of shoppers who’d be delighted to discover the products Plain folks from the Morning Star area would display in their tidy open booths.

“We’ve got our homes and our work—not to mention the Gut Lord and our church family to sustain us—and we get by just fine,” she continued in a voice that tightened with unanticipated emotion. “But haven’t you ever wanted to do something just for the fun of it? Something new? Whatever happened to sayings like ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way’—and Bible verses like ‘With God, all things are possible’ and ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me’?”

Her friends got quiet. The four of them stood beside her in a line along the fence, gazing at the forlorn stable and the pasture covered with clumps of green weeds, yellow dandelions, and the occasional pile of dried horse manure.

Regina finally broke the silence. “You’re really serious about this.”

After a few more moments of contemplation, Lydianne squeezed Jo’s shoulder. “I can see how opening shops might be fun, but—”

“It sounds crazy and impossibly expensive,” Jo admitted, “and it would take an incredible amount of carpentry work and elbow grease and commitment and organization, but I just thought... ”

As her voice trailed off into a frustrated sigh, Jo gazed at the long barn with the three cupolas along the top of its roof. “Without a house on the property, I can’t think many folks will want to buy this place. It would be such a shame to tear the stable down—”

“We know plenty of men who could fix it up,” Regina said, “but why would they want to?”

“—and maybe it’s just me,” Jo continued softly, “but come springtime, when Mother Nature puts on her pretty, fresh colors, I wish I could take on a whole new appearance, too—like the rebirth Bishop Jeremiah preached about on Easter Sunday. When I turned thirty last year, I accepted that I’ll never have a husband or kids, but some days I long for something different. Something more. You know?”

Her four closest friends did know. For one reason or another, each woman believed marriage wasn’t an option for her. Jo didn’t regret her unwed state, yet the way Marietta sighed when Molly hugged her angular shoulders, and Regina gazed into the distance, and Lydianne pressed her lips together told Jo that sometimes they, too, grew weary of their solitary state . . . and a future that held little opportunity for change.

Even 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.”

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 that bound them together as the maidels of Morning Star, a bit of irreverent humor they shared only among themselves.

Regina and her friends let out a sigh of relief as the final note of the hymn died away. When Bishop Jeremiah stood to give the benediction, they bowed their heads to receive his blessing. The five of them took their Old Order faith seriously, even if they sometimes muttered about its inconveniences.

“I know you’re ready to devour the common meal,” the bishop said after the benediction, “but I’m calling a Members Meeting. An opportunity has presented itself in the form of property that’s gone up for sale.”

Regina’s eyes widened. Had the old stable caught the bishop’s eye? If he’d decided to buy the land for himself, he wouldn’t be bringing it up at church—yet she couldn’t imagine Preacher Ammon Slabaugh or her uncle, Preacher Clarence Miller, buying that dilapidated building or the pastureland surrounding it.

“You’re all familiar with the Clementi place at the edge of town,” Bishop Jeremiah continued, “and I’ve heard an intriguing idea about how the stable might be turned into shops where our members and other Plain folks could rent space to sell their wares, as well as a suggestion to use the pastureland for mud sales, produce auctions, and other events.”

Regina elbowed Jo. “You talked to the bishop?” she mouthed in amazement.

Jo’s tight, hopeful expression confirmed Regina’s assumption.

“When I approached our preachers and Deacon Saul, they hesitated—until I suggested that our church could collect a commission from the shops’ sales, which would go toward building a new schoolhouse,” the bishop continued as he looked out over the crowd. “Preacher Ammon pointed out that we often run short of parking space at our mud sales—”

“Are you saying our church district would buy the property?” Elva Detweiler asked loudly. She was hard of hearing, and she spoke as though everyone else was, too. “Won’t that deplete our emergency aid fund?”

“Why would we waste money rebuilding that rickety old stable when we could build a new one cheaper?” Gabe’s dat, Martin Flaud, challenged.

“What with that big Plain gift shop just down the road in Willow Ridge, why would we open the same sort of store here?” Gabe asked.

Bishop Jeremiah held up his hands for silence. “I’m pleased that you’re questioning this idea, rather than rejecting it flat out,” he said. “I’m surprised the Clementi family doesn’t want more money for this property. They’re hoping to unload the place quickly to settle the estate, and because we could pay cash up front, they’ve agreed to accept less than their listing price. Deacon Saul feels it would be a gut investment—”

“Jah, I’d sell my pastureland for twice as much,” Saul Hartzler chimed in from the preachers’ bench. “We wouldn’t be out anything but some grass seed to make it look better. Mowing it before mud sales and auctions would be the only other maintenance.”

“I’m in favor of refurbishing the stable rather than tearing it down because the main structure is basically sound, and we wouldn’t have to replace much wood,” Preacher Ammon replied to Martin. “It also has a character about it you don’t see in modern-style stables.”

“I’m hoping to hire my nephew Pete to do that carpentry work for us,” the bishop said with a knowing smile. “Maybe it’ll set him onto a straighter path than working at the pet food factory. And maybe it’ll get him to church more often, too.”

Regina and several other folks chuckled. Pete Shetler was in his late twenties, seemingly stuck in perpetual rumspringa. He tended to frequent the pool hall after working the night shift, so he sometimes came to church wearing clothes that reeked of grease and cigarettes.

“I also believe English shoppers will flock to a quaint stable with cupolas on top, and colorful shutters and flower boxes—not to mention plenty of parking space,” Bishop Jeremiah continued, painting them a bright picture. “And because our shops would be individually operated by folks selling their own products, only on Saturdays, I don’t think we’d be competing against the Simple Gifts store in Willow Ridge.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out and you’re ready to put money on the table, Bishop. So why’re you bringing this up to us?” Elva asked. “We pay you such a princely sum, you can surely afford it on your own.”

The room erupted in laughter. Because Amish bishops serve without pay, Bishop Jeremiah was laughing the loudest of all.

“The preachers, Deacon Saul, and I are bringing this matter before the congregation because we see it as a possible way to support the construction of a new schoolhouse—to replace the current one, which is becoming too crowded,” Bishop Jeremiah replied patiently. “We could even build it on the new property, where we wouldn’t face flooding like we had last spring.”

Several parents of school-age children nodded. They all recalled the terrible mess they’d had to clean up—and the days of school the scholars had missed—because several inches of water from the Missouri River had inundated the little white building.

“Is there more discussion, or shall we vote about whether to buy the Clementi property?” the bishop asked.

Martin Flaud quickly spoke up. “With all due respect, Jeremiah, I can’t imagine that you will take charge of these shops—or that you came up with the idea for them. Who’s going to manage this place?”

“Jah, and who would rent space there?” Gabe chimed in. “No sense in proceeding with this purchase unless several folks are willing to invest themselves in making it work.”

Regina held her breath, noting how intently Jo was focused on the bishop—probably concerned about having to convince the local men that her plan had merit. The idea Jo had blurted on the spur of the moment during their walk last Sunday had become a full-blown business possibility in a very short time, mostly because Bishop Jeremiah seemed sold on it.

When Lydianne, Molly, and Marietta turned to look at Regina and Jo, their faces were lit with hopeful excitement—as though Jo’s idea suddenly felt more appealing because it had a chance to succeed.

“One of the first names that came to my mind as a potential renter was yours, Martin,” Bishop Jeremiah replied. “You and your employees produce some of the finest furniture I’ve ever seen, yet your showroom’s too small to do it justice. What would it hurt to display some pieces where new customers could run their fingers over your glossy tabletops and picture one of your beautiful bedroom sets in their homes?”

Regina’s eyes widened at the bishop’s praise. Customers had no way of knowing that she and Lydianne did most of the staining and finishing at the Flauds’ factory, yet she and her friend took pride in giving each piece all the time and attention it deserved before it left the workroom.

“And what about you, Glenn?” Preacher Clarence asked. “The wooden toys and rocking chairs you handcraft would be a big hit at a Saturday marketplace. I see these shops as something akin to a flea market, except the items would all be new, top-notch Amish products instead of antiques or estate sale stuff that vendors have hauled from one place to another.”

Jo chuckled under her breath. “Who knew your uncle would ever get so excited about shopping?” she whispered.

“I had no idea any of these men would support your plan,” Regina murmured. “The bishop’s really enthusiastic about this!”

“He’s being smart about it, too, keeping my name out of it,” Jo remarked softly.

Meanwhile, Glenn Detweiler had stood up to survey the crowd. “All right, I’m in!” he exclaimed. “I’ve sold several things through the consignment shop in Willow Ridge, but I’d much rather attract shoppers to Morning Star! Who’ll join me?”

Regina and Jo sucked in their breath, and the Helfing twins turned to look at them. “Can you believe this?” Molly whispered. “Your idea for saving the stable is taking off like a shot!”

Without warning, Marietta rose to her feet. “We Helfings will rent a booth to sell our noodles,” she declared.

From a couple benches in front of them, Martha Maude Hartzler—Deacon Saul’s mother—stood up, too. “This sounds like a fine opportunity to get some of my quilts out of the closet and sell them—”

“Amen to that,” Saul put in with a roll of his eyes.

“—and I’d be delighted if any of you other quilting ladies would join me,” she continued.

“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 wo. . .