Christmas at Promise Lodge (11 page)

“We'll see.” Amos grasped the tray and held it for a few moments longer than he needed to, allowing his fingers to close around hers. “God and I have been talking about this today. I feel a lot better this evening, and I predict I'll be right as rain in a few days—sitting through church on Sunday, and helping with Roman's house by next week.”

In the back of her mind, Mattie heard Dr. Townsend's warnings that Amos needed to rest for several weeks—at least until Christmas. “Let's take it one day at a time,” she suggested gently. “And you shouldn't compare your recovery time to Floyd's, either. Something tells me he'll push himself too hard because he believes he must lead us instead of resting.”

In the dimness, Mattie saw Amos concentrating. He set the tray carefully on his lap before he spoke. “Do I recall correctly that as I was falling off the shed, Floyd hollered out for Jesus to send His angels to catch me?”

Mattie nipped her lip, wondering where Amos's question might lead. “
Jah
, he did,” she replied softly. “I wasn't sure what to think about that.”

“Well, as I've pondered Floyd's plea, I keep remembering how—when Jesus was in the desert fasting for forty days,” Amos said in a pensive tone, “Satan tempted Him by telling Him to turn stones to bread. Then the devil told Him to jump from the pinnacle of the Temple to prove God's angels would bear Him up.”

“
Jah
, that's how the story goes in the Bible,” Mattie murmured. “But Jesus refused, saying it's wrong to tempt God.”

“Exactly. The way I see it, I should've known better than to prop the ladder so close to the corner of that roof that we've all agreed needs replacing,” Amos said. “It's my own fault I was so eager to help the girls—and to return to that volleyball game with the fellows—that I didn't pay close enough attention. And although Floyd was making a brave effort to catch me, that wasn't such a smart move, either.”

Mattie took Amos's hand, relieved that his thought process seemed as sound and down-to-earth as it always did. “It was nice he broke your fall—but then, he was expecting angels to bear you up.”

“None of this was God's fault,” Amos insisted, squeezing her hand. “Two men who should've known better made some bad choices. If that subject comes up in church, or if Floyd tries to twist this tale any other direction, I hope you'll set folks straight about how I see it if I'm not there. God did not forsake Floyd by refusing to answer his call for angels. God was being God.”

Mattie felt blessed by Amos's words and by the presence of mind it required to share his faith, his opinion. “I'll do that, Preacher Amos. I wish neither one of you had gotten hurt, but I feel a lot better after hearing you say that. I still believe in angels, though.”

“So do I. After all, here you are when I need you most.” Amos spooned up some soup, inhaled its aroma, and let out a gratified sigh as he swallowed it. “You and this soup are potent medicine, Mattie,” he murmured. “With you and God watching over me—and Roman and Truman, bless them—I'll be just fine in a week or so. Deep down in my soul I believe that, Mattie. Do you?”

Mattie nipped her lip. She
wanted
to believe Amos . . . but she didn't think Dr. Townsend would've warned them about a recovery time of several weeks if the test results hadn't indicated fairly serious injuries. “I believe God knows how this will all work out, and when,” she hedged. “And I hope we'll all listen to His counsel.”

Amos took another bite of soup. “You're a wise woman, Mattie. That's one of the reasons I love you.”

Mattie felt a pleasant heat stealing into her cheeks. “I love you, too, Amos,” she murmured. “That's why I'll do my best to help you—and tell you exactly what I think, if you're not following the doctor's orders. God guides Dr. Townsend, too, you know. No matter what Floyd says.”

Amos burst out laughing, and then he grimaced and his hand went quickly to the side of his head. “
Jah
, well, I feel my instincts come from God, too, so I'll have a lot of praying and listening to do. But we
will
come through this, Mattie. You and me, together.”

“Now
that
I believe, Amos,” she said, gently gripping his wrist. “You and me, together.”

Chapter Thirteen

Rosetta finished arranging the bars of goat-milk soap and then stepped back to see if she liked her new display. Instead of dedicating a room to the gift shop she'd been planning, she had placed a large antique dresser in the lobby of the lodge, off to the side, where folks would see it but it wouldn't be in the way.

“That's better, don't you think?” she asked Ruby, who stood across the lobby. “I like it with your jars of honey in the center and the soap on either side of it—and on days we have Deborah's cookies or other things to sell, we can move our items to make room for them.”

“Or—if Deborah bakes the way I think she will,” Ruby said with a chuckle, “we might want to have a table just for goodies, to the left of the dresser. What with the holidays coming on, and the way local folks have been snapping up our cheese lately, we might do a brisker business than you think. Even after the weather turns cold.”

“We'll hold that positive thought—and plan for happiness!” Rosetta added resolutely. “And if Bishop Floyd sweeps off our merchandise with his arm like Jesus clearing the money changers' tables in the Temple, then we'll rethink our plan.”

“Puh. If Floyd says you're not to have a little shop in the lodge, we'll put your soaps in the front room of our cheese factory,” Ruby declared. “He can't mess with us Mennonites.”

“I think Floyd's got more important matters than your gift shop to be concerned with,” Beulah put in as she came out of the kitchen. “Saw him hobbling around outside his house yesterday, raking leaves. But before he'd been at it for even a minute, he had to sit down on the porch steps.”

“Frances is beside herself. She can't make him stay inside, in a dark room, like he's supposed to.” With a final glance at the display, Rosetta slipped into her coat and tied on her black bonnet. “Let's hope he's not doing more damage, prolonging the healing of his concussion. But there's no telling Floyd how he should do things.”

“Time will tell. I'm glad Amos isn't behaving so foolishly,” Beulah said with an emphatic nod. “Better get back to fixing dinner. Those fellows are working away on the rest of Roman's house, and they'll be here to eat in another hour, I'm guessing.”

“And I'll be back to help you as soon as I put our new sign out by the road.” Rosetta stepped out onto the front porch and picked up the sign Noah had painted for her, along with a rubber mallet to hammer its posts into the ground. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she shivered and looked up at the sky. Gray clouds hung low across the horizon, and a gust of damp, cold wind held a hint of impending winter. Were those tiny snowflakes she felt on her face?

On her way to the road, Rosetta took a moment to watch the crew of men attaching plywood to the triangular roof trusses of Roman's new house. The rapid-fire sound of nails piercing lumber rang out above the hum of the generator that powered their air-driven nail guns. Although all the carpenters looked alike in their dark stocking caps, scarves, and heavy coats, she could distinguish the bulkier frame of Preacher Eli between Noah and Roman's slimmer bodies. Preacher Marlin and his son Harley were up there, as well, while Lester Lehman was beginning to install off-white siding on the front of the house. The three Peterscheim boys and Lowell were on the ground unwrapping large packages of shingles.

Rosetta smiled and hurried toward the road. Even without Amos and Floyd, she was guessing this crew would have Roman's roof shingled and completed by day's end. It was such a blessing that their men worked together as well as the women did. Promise Lodge was indeed the peaceful, productive colony she and her sisters had envisioned when they'd bought this rural property.

They had hoped more families would live here by now, but some of the folks who'd sent letters expressing their interest in the Promise Lodge colony had decided to stay put until spring. Maybe it was time to place another ad in
The Budget—
but she would leave that to Amos. Writing the ad and sending it in would surely be something he could do while he was laid up and not able to build houses.

With several hard whacks of the mallet, Rosetta got her sign firmly situated beside the sign that advertised the produce stand and the Promise Lodge Apartments.

Rosetta smiled at Noah's precise black lettering on the white background—and the top of the sign that was shaped like an arrow, pointing toward the buildings. Now that the produce stand was enclosed with the removable white panels Amos had designed, Rosetta and the Kuhn sisters were hoping their regular produce customers—and many new ones—would venture to the lodge to buy their wares.

Time will tell.
As Beulah's voice rang in her mind, Rosetta walked beneath the arched metal Promise Lodge sign and back down the lane. She smiled at the sight of her goats lining the wire fence—and Christine's Holsteins clustered around the hay feeders near the barn—all of them watching the construction crew on Roman's roof. Another gust of wind whipped at her bonnet and sent dry leaves spinning in circles across the plowed garden plots. The tall old trees near the lodge stood with their bare branches stretched toward the heavens, looking stark against the gray sky. Once again Rosetta felt the sting of tiny snowflakes hitting her cheeks.

From Roman's house, Queenie came bounding over with a large stick in her mouth. Rosetta laughed, grasping one end of the branch, but the Border collie had a firm grip with her teeth. Growling playfully, Queenie tugged backwards until Rosetta nearly lost her balance. “I suppose the boys are working instead of paying attention to you today,” she teased. “
Gut
thing Deborah's allowing you to stay in the house, what with the weather growing colder.”

The dog grunted, still holding the stick firmly in her mouth. When Rosetta released it, Queenie ran back to keep track of the carpentry crew. Hurrying up the lodge stairs, Rosetta entered the warm lobby with a grateful sigh. As she removed her wraps, she inhaled the homey aromas of the dinner Beulah was preparing. “What smells so heavenly?” she asked as she entered the kitchen. “It's getting nippy outside. I'll put on a fresh pot of coffee and some water for cocoa.”

Beulah closed the oven door. “I've made one of my favorite recipes, called Marriage Meat Loaf,” she replied. “As the story goes, some poor Plain fellow married a gal who wasn't such a
gut
cook, but once she served him this meat loaf it saved their marriage. Believe that, or not!”

Rosetta laughed as she filled the percolator and teakettle with water. “No doubt in my mind we'd have bachelors banging the door down with offers of marriage if we invited them for dinner today! What else are you fixing?”

Ruby chuckled. “We've whipped up a cheesy rice casserole, green beans with lots of onions and bacon, and I've just put a big skillet of apples on to simmer.”

“And if you ask me, I'm just as content not to have a bunch of unhitched men begging me to marry them,” Beulah remarked. “At this stage of the game, I'm not inclined to change my ways to suit a man—but of course, we'd make an exception for your Truman.”

Rosetta's cheeks prickled with heat. “Bless his heart, Truman's catching up on some landscaping work that went by the wayside when he took Mattie and Frances back to the hospital yesterday. So I don't figure he'll be showing up today.”

“Not that he needs a meal to convince him to hitch up with you, dearie.” Ruby stifled a smile. “This won't sound very Christian of me, but maybe when Floyd hit his head the other night it knocked some sense into him, and he'll change his opinion about you marrying a nice Mennonite fellow.”

“Ruby Kuhn, I'll pray extra hard for your soul, for saying that,” Beulah chided, but she was chuckling. “If anybody can find a way to bring Rosetta and Truman together, God can. We'll just have to trust that He's got a plan for that—and hope we're expressing an opinion He agrees with.”

“So what's for dessert?” Rosetta asked, mostly to change the subject. She appreciated the support of the Kuhn sisters, but sometimes she wished they had someone else to play matchmaker for. “I sure am sorry to see the wonderful-
gut
cake you made for our party still on the cake stand,” she remarked as she stepped into the pantry.

“I'll put it in the deep freeze,” Beulah said. “We can hope the wedding is still on for next Saturday, and—”

“Do you think Amos and Mattie will call off the wedding?” Ruby blurted. Her forehead creased with concern. “Amos needs a
gut
woman like Mattie more than ever while he recuperates.”

“Mattie says Amos can't stand up for any length of time. And his headache's still so intense, he's got no desire to leave his dark room.” Beulah raised her eyebrows at Rosetta, as though to ask if she knew whether Amos's condition had improved.

Rosetta shook her head as she lit the gas burner to percolate their coffee. “Unless Amos comes around faster than Mattie thinks he will, I can't see him enduring a three-hour church service and then the wedding ceremony—not to mention all that company and the meal. I predict they'll postpone it for a while, but I hope I'm wrong.”

“
Jah
, we always have to allow for a miracle,” Ruby murmured. “I've been doing my part, praying for Amos every time I think of him.”

Rosetta nodded. She, too, had held Amos—and her sister Mattie—up in prayer many times since the accident. When she opened the bread box, she got an idea she knew all those hungry men would enjoy. “I'm going to whip these day-old cinnamon rolls and leftover muffins into a quick bread pudding. We've got plenty of milk and eggs—and if I make it now, it will still be warm when we're ready to eat it.”

“Perfect!” Beulah clapped her hands. “We knew you'd come up with something for dessert, Rosetta, sweet as you are.”

What a blessing it was that the Kuhn sisters could always make her chuckle. Rosetta chatted with them as she quickly crumbled the muffins and cinnamon rolls into a large bowl and poured scalded milk over them. When she'd mixed together the sugar, butter, eggs, and other ingredients, she poured the sweet-smelling concoction into a glass casserole and slipped it into the oven with Beulah's meat loaf. Cooking for family and friends was such a soul-satisfying way to spend her morning, and Rosetta was grateful that the dining room would be filled with warmth and delicious aromas when the men came in for dinner.

Within the hour, the carpentry crew and the girls who'd been painting Preacher Marlin's new home were seated around the table. Christine, wearing an old paint-splotched dress and a faded kerchief over her hair, smiled as she gazed at the meal on the table. “You ladies have been busy this morning while I was painting! Let's wait another moment or two, shall we?” she asked as she glanced at the two preachers. “I saw Mattie leaving Amos's place as I was coming into the lodge.”

“She'd better get here pretty quick,” Johnny Peterscheim said, “or I might just eat half of that meat loaf before we pray. A man works up a big hunger working out in that cold weather.”

As the other boys agreed with him, the closing of the back door announced Mattie's arrival. When she saw everyone watching her, she hurried to the table and sat down. After a moment of prayer, the men wasted no time grabbing the bowls and platters within their reach.

“How's Amos today?” Rosetta asked. Mattie was seated next to her, appearing a bit subdued after spending the morning with him.

Mattie spooned some green beans onto her plate. “I'm not sure,” she replied after a moment's hesitation. “He says his headache isn't as intense, but he was dozing off a lot. I figured he'd probably sleep for a while, so I came over to eat.”

“His painkillers are probably making him drowsy,” Ruby remarked.

“His body's telling him it needs rest to rebuild itself,” Beulah said. “I'm glad to hear he's taking care of himself.”

“Does he still have to use the wheelchair?” Preacher Marlin asked. “I think I'd go crazy if I couldn't be up and around.”

Mattie nipped her lip. “I've seen newborn foals with more strength in their legs than Amos has,” she said in a low voice. “He's getting pretty depressed about it. I—I'd appreciate it, Roman and Noah, if you'd stop over before you go back to your carpentry work, to help Amos to the bathroom. He says I shouldn't have to do that for him.”

“He's embarrassed to have you see him in this condition, Mattie,” Christine said with a shake of her head. She looked down the table toward the men, who were now digging into their dinner. “I hate to sound negative, but do you suppose we should be making plans for the possibility that Amos won't walk again? His house isn't set up for a fellow in a wheelchair—”

“And he certainly won't be able to handle the steps going up to his front porch,” Roman pointed out. “I've been wondering about that, too. I just haven't wanted to think about him being . . . disabled.”

A poignant silence settled over the dining room. Rosetta grabbed Mattie's hand under the table. She could tell her sister was having a hard time accepting Amos's condition.

But then Mattie put on a determined smile. “I think we should allow a little more time before we write Amos off,” she said in a voice that quivered a bit. “He's a hardheaded sort, and he wouldn't want us giving up on him—or giving up on God healing his body in ways we can't yet see. But it might not hurt to have some lumber on hand to build a ramp up to his porch.”