Christmas at Promise Lodge (12 page)

Roman nodded as he stabbed another slice of meat loaf from the platter. “Amos's arms seem to be just fine,” he said. “He'll be a lot happier if he can get around in a wheelchair than if he has to depend on some of us fellows to carry him in and out of his house. Let's keep praying for his full recovery, though. If anybody has the faith to pull himself through, it's Amos.”

“Amen to that,” Rosetta chimed in. “And has anybody seen or heard how Floyd's doing? I'm awfully glad he's not been trying to help you fellows with Roman's house today.”

“I stopped by his place this morning,” Lester said. He took a second helping of the rice casserole and passed it to Eli. “Just between us, I suspect Frances slipped some pills into my brother's breakfast, because he was napping in the recliner. She says Floyd's determined to be at church tomorrow, however—and he intends to preach.”

Rosetta's eyes widened and a few other folks seemed surprised, as well. “I guess we'll see what happens,” she murmured.

Beside her, Mattie shook her head. “
Jah
, I guess we will.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Mattie, I'll be fine while you go to church,” Amos insisted. He held her gaze to convince her of his sincerity. “I promise you I'll not be running outside the minute you leave, or getting into any other mischief. I really can behave myself while you attend the service and eat dinner with the others.”

Mattie's pained expression—the way she looked away from him—made Amos kick himself for his poor choice of words. It didn't take a genius to realize he wouldn't be getting out of his wheelchair anytime soon, and bless her, she'd been avoiding that subject out of the goodness of her heart . . . a heart he feared he'd taken advantage of.

“All right then,” Mattie murmured. “I'll be back with your meal. Take care, Amos. We'll be praying for you.”

Take care.
The words seemed more appropriate coming from other friends than from the woman who'd agreed to marry him. As Amos heard the front door close, he wondered if Mattie was having a change of heart—not that he could blame her. She hadn't figured on his becoming an invalid, after all.

Amos sighed loudly. It was a relief not to have Mattie trying to entertain him with chatter and smiles that were starting to falter. A morning alone would give him a chance to think things through, to pray . . . to plan. He'd fallen from the roof three days ago—had come home from the hospital two days ago, fully expecting that his headaches and inability to walk would have improved by now.

“‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?'” he muttered, knowing he had no right to cry out as Jesus had from the cross—knowing full well he was feeling sorry for himself. But plenty of men in the Bible had railed at the Lord when they'd felt forlorn and defeated—

“Troyer, are you still in that dark room? In that wheelchair?” a loud, familiar voice demanded.

Amos winced. He was in no mood for a visit from the bishop.

“So this is to be the way of it? Are you so pathetic you've also lost your ability to speak?” Floyd leaned on the doorjamb, scowling. “Take up your bed and walk, Amos. A man with any sort of faith—a preacher who believes in the healing power of Jesus—wouldn't be wallowing in self-pity, sitting alone in his room. If you believe in the miracles Jesus performed, come to church with me.”

Amos remained silent. Was it his imagination, or did Floyd sound out of breath—and maybe out of his head? Did the bishop's relaxed posture suggest he had recovered from the fall he'd taken, or was he leaning on the door frame because he didn't have the strength to enter the room?

Before Lehman could rail at him again, Amos raised his hand. “I heard you loud and clear,” he muttered. “If I were able, I'd be preparing to preach this morning, but my body is telling me to rest instead. The Psalmist tells us to rest in the Lord and to wait patiently on Him—”

“So if I'm the one who took the worst hit—the one who fell to the ground beneath your weight,” Floyd countered, “how is it that I'm up and around while you say you're not able to walk? That makes no sense to me.”

“I don't like it, either!” Amos retorted. “I don't know the answer to your question, but I'll tell you that my headache was barely noticeable this morning until
you
showed up. Spare me your sarcasm, Floyd. Something tells me you'll need all the strength you can muster to make it through the service.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” the bishop taunted.

“In Deuteronomy and in the story of Jesus's temptation, we're told not to put God to the test,” Amos replied impatiently. “Be careful, Floyd. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.'”

“I can trade verses with you all morning or I can go preach the Word to folks who'll listen. As for me and my house, we'll worship the Lord.” Floyd gazed at Amos and then sneered. “As for you, Preacher, this must mean it's God's will for you to be a cripple for the rest of your life.”

Amos gripped the arms of his wheelchair to keep from shouting at the insolent man in his doorway. When Floyd left, the sound of the door slamming echoed accusingly throughout the house.

Amos exhaled. Was he wrong—and was Floyd right? Was he so caught up in the self-pity the bishop had spoken of that he'd lost his will to recover? If he'd prayed harder, or more correctly, would God already have healed him? Or were his injuries linked to his sins? Jesus had often healed people and then added, “Go and sin no more”—

Answer me, Lord! Your servant Amos believes in Your miracles, in Your ability to heal. If it's Your will, help me stand up. Get me out of this chair and out of this misery
.

Amos sucked in a deep breath, gripping the arms of the wheelchair. He placed his feet on the floor and pushed himself up, willing his legs to support him. Once he was standing upright, with his arms out for balance, Amos dared to believe that his prayer had been answered—

But a wave of dizziness overcame him. When his knees buckled, it was all he could do to fall back into the chair rather than forward, onto his face. Sweat ran down his temples. He swallowed repeatedly, refusing to vomit. He could not have Mattie find him splattered with his half-digested breakfast.

When Amos's pulse returned to normal, he heaved a sigh.
Well, I didn't like Your answer, Lord, but I see it as a sign I'm to remain in this wheelchair for now. Make Your presence known to those in church this morning, and especially to Bishop Floyd. Forgive my impatience with him. Create in me a clean heart . . .

* * *

As Roman sat on the men's side of the congregation gathered in the lodge's large meeting room, he felt a thrum of tension. Seated with Lester, Noah, and Harley Kurtz, with the younger boys behind them, Roman sang the final verse of the hymn. Preacher Marlin stood up to read from their big King James Bible. Because Marlin had arrived at Promise Lodge after Eli Peterscheim and Amos were already serving as ministers, he had taken on the duties of the district's deacon.

“Our Scripture passage today is from the Book of Luke, the fourth chapter and eighteenth verse,” Marlin began, his clear voice ringing in the low-ceilinged room. “‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.'”

When Marlin sat down, all eyes were on Bishop Floyd as he rose from the preachers' bench. The bishop looked at the men on his left and then at the women to his right, as though awaiting the Lord's guidance for the sermon he was about to preach. Roman wondered if Floyd was standing with his legs so far apart to keep himself from falling. The bishop didn't look very steady, and one of his arms hung limp at his side.

“The spirit of the Lord is upon me,” Floyd began in a booming voice. “As you all know, it was God's idea for me to come to Promise Lodge to preach the gospel, to heal the brokenhearted—or whomever among you needs my counsel—and to—to—”

A couple of the women gasped when Floyd's face went slack and his eyes rolled back. Marlin and Eli quickly stood up and grabbed Floyd from either side so he wouldn't fall. They guided him backwards toward the bench and lowered him so he'd be propped up by the wall, but the bishop showed no sign of opening his eyes.

“Floyd! Wake up!” Lester said as he hurried over to kneel in front of his brother.

Preacher Eli gently slapped the bishop's cheek. “Bishop, you'd better come around, or we'll have to carry you home to bed.”

Floyd's eyelids fluttered. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. When the bishop tried to slap at the hands that were holding him upright, he appeared to be waving sideways, missing his aim completely.

Frances hurried forward and stood in front of her husband, shaking her head. “I was afraid of this,” she muttered. In a louder voice, she said, “Floyd, can you answer me? Can you walk home with help, or do we need to make a stretcher and carry you?”

Roman and the fellows around him got very quiet, watching for the bishop's response. Floyd's expression appeared belligerent, as though he intended to rebuke his wife for suggesting he go home, but he couldn't seem to put his thoughts into words. His face looked out of balance, which made his scruffy U-shaped beard lower on one side than on the other.

Frances planted her hands on her hips. “The spirit of the Lord is indeed upon you, Floyd—and He's giving you an undeniable sign that you've got to stop this foolishness and get back to the hospital.”

Minerva Kurtz had slipped up from her seat to look at the bishop, as well. Her expression appeared grave as she studied him. “Floyd, listen closely to me. This is a test. Give me a big smile.”

The bishop looked ready to do anything but smile, yet he focused on Minerva. His eyes widened and his lips curved—but only on one side.

“Raise both of your arms for me,” Minerva insisted.

Floyd appeared puzzled as his right arm rose partway but his left hand remained on his lap. He was trying to talk, but couldn't.

“Someone needs to call 911, right this minute!” Minerva said, looking at Rosetta and her sisters. “Floyd appears to be having a stroke, and every second counts if he's to recover from it.”

Rosetta rushed toward the lodge kitchen to make the call, with Frances close behind her. “I'll pack him a bag—again,” she said as she left the meeting room. Gloria gazed fearfully at her father and then hurried to catch up with her mother. Alma Peterscheim was talking in a low, concerned voice with Mattie and Christine, while the younger girls whispered among themselves.

When Roman saw Mary Kate rise from her seat, her arms wrapped around her belly, he feared this frightening episode had made her go into labor. He started toward her, but then he realized that while Mary Kate's brown eyes were wide with concern, she seemed calm and in control of her emotions. She walked toward the preachers' bench and sat down beside her father.

“Hang on, Dat,” she murmured as she took his hand between hers. “You did your very best to convince yourself you're okay, but your head and body have other ideas now. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Floyd looked at his younger daughter with eyes that widened like a startled horse's. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to settle himself.

“The ambulance is coming for you,” Mary Kate explained patiently. “You're going to the hospital again.
Please
let the doctors help you this time, Dat. We all need you to be healthy.”

Roman's heart went out to Mary Kate and his admiration for her soared. She was speaking calmly, showing concern, yet insisting that her father focus on what she was saying.

“When you hit the ground with Preacher Amos last Thursday, you might have caused more than just a concussion.” Minerva took up where Mary Kate had left off. “Truly, Floyd, I think the Lord's trying to get your attention. If you don't listen to Him and the doctors this time, you may be incapacitated for the rest of your life.”

In the distance, Roman heard the wail of sirens. He went through the lobby and out to the porch of the lodge, waving his arms above his head to attract the attention of the emergency workers. When Queenie raced toward the approaching vehicles, barking as though the drivers needed her directions, Roman called her over and commanded her to sit beside him. He was relieved to see that one of the paramedics hopping out of the ambulance had been here Thursday evening.

“One of the fellows you took to the hospital is having a stroke, we think,” Roman said. “He's inside, first room on your left past the lobby.”

The men nodded and hurried inside with a stretcher. When the police officer and the firemen established that there were no other emergencies, they went on their way, and by that time the paramedics were wheeling Bishop Floyd through the lobby. Roman held the door for them, and when he saw Frances Lehman rushing around the side of the lodge he called out to the paramedics.

“Could Mrs. Lehman possibly ride to the hospital with you?” Roman asked the men. “The fellow who drove her the other night is attending his own church service—but I bet Truman would join you later today, Frances,” he added. “Do you want me to go with you?”

The bishop's wife gave him a grateful smile. “I know more about what to expect this time, and which doctor to request,” she replied. “I'm not leaving until I'm sure Floyd is staying put, undergoing treatment. But
jah
, if you could have Truman check on us later, that would be helpful.”

Roman nodded and helped her into the ambulance after the paramedics got Floyd's stretcher situated. The array of blinking, beeping medical machinery and the quick efficiency of the paramedics amazed him—and frightened him. The determined expression on Frances's face as she sat on a small bench inside the vehicle suggested she was rising above her fears better than he probably would.

Their neighbors had gathered on the porch to watch the ambulance race down the lane. When its pulsing lights and wailing siren were headed down the county road, everyone began talking at once.

“Frances will have her hands full if Floyd gets contrary again.”

“
Jah
, but what if he doesn't come out of it?”

“What are we to do if he can no longer carry out his duties as our bishop?”

“My word, first Amos is laid low and now Floyd. Is God trying to tell us our leaders aren't behaving the way He wants them to?”

“Let's head back to our worship service,” Preacher Marlin said above the chatter. “If ever we needed a time for prayer and contemplation, this is it.”