Christmas at Promise Lodge (20 page)

He really was losing his mind. As the minutes dragged, he closed his eyes. His fingers and toes went numb . . .

“What've we got here?” a familiar voice called out. “That's a wheelchair by the phone shanty.”

“Amos? Are you in there?”

A dog barked urgently. Amos roused himself, grinning when Queenie jumped up to look through the glass in the shanty's door. “Queenie, you're a
gut
girl!” he cried.

After Noah and Roman helped him into the sleigh, where Deborah and Mary Kate sat in the front- and backseat beneath the blankets, Amos didn't lie, but he didn't elaborate either. He simply told them he'd called his daughter, and by that time Mattie's boys were helping him into the house. Noah went back to get the wheelchair while Roman and the girls sat down at the kitchen table with Amos.

“How about if I fix you some cocoa? You look half frozen, Amos,” Deborah said as she found a pan for the water.

“That sounds mighty nice,” he replied. Amos gazed at their rosy young faces, briefly recalling when he and Mattie were their age. “If you want, you kids could stay and have cocoa with me—but I'll understand if you've got more sleigh riding to do. Never miss a chance to have fun with folks you love.”

The boys gazed knowingly at the girls, who were peeling off their coats and bonnets. By the time they'd all sipped cocoa and the kids had caught him up on the chit-chat from the afternoon at the lodge, Amos felt better than he had since he'd fallen from the roof. Mattie's boys were truly a blessing, and he was pleased that both of them had found young women who suited them so well.

Someday soon, Amos would figure out how to restore Mattie's faith in him. He knew better now than to let his vanity and stubbornness prevent him from living with the love of his life ever again.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Roman! Roman, come quick!”

As Roman left the barn Tuesday morning after he'd finished milking the cows, the alarm in Gloria's voice made him break into a jog. He peered through the early morning snowfall, and saw her rushing down the road toward him, her scarf fluttering behind her. He'd been on the way to tend the Lehmans' animals anyway, and he hoped Gloria's father hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

“The baby's coming!” she cried as she approached him. “We need to find Minerva.”

Roman's heartbeat accelerated. As he imagined Mary Kate struggling with labor pains, he sent up a prayer for her strength and comfort. “Minerva's probably setting up for school,” he reminded Gloria as he pointed toward the lodge. “How about if I bring her to the house, so you can go back and help your
mamm
and Mary Kate with—”

“I've heard all the moaning and crying I can take,” Gloria muttered. “Her pains started in the middle of the night, so—why don't
you
go to the house, Roman? Mary Kate will feel a lot better knowing you're there.”

Roman's eyes widened. From what little he knew about birthing, men weren't welcome because the women either found their presence inappropriate—or because guys got in the way.

“Go on,” Gloria urged him. “Maybe by the time I get there with Minerva, you'll have Mary Kate calmed down and ready to have that baby.”

As Roman rushed up the snow-covered road toward the Lehman home, his mind spun like snowflakes caught in a whirlwind. What if he got nervous and only made Mary Kate more uncomfortable? What if Frances shooed him away, incensed that Gloria had sent him to their house?

When Frances opened the door, however, she welcomed him in. “Roman, I'm glad you're here,” she murmured. “Mary Kate's out of her head, I think, and if you could just hold her hand—”

A sudden cry of pain rang out in the bedroom above him. Roman swallowed hard.

“Let's go upstairs,” Frances murmured, grasping his hand as they left the kitchen. “Floyd's beside himself, thinking something horrible must be happening to Mary Kate. If you can calm her down, you'll be doing us all a big favor.”

Roman sensed this request was highly unusual—and that Frances was so concerned about her daughter, she was willing to overlook the usual propriety. As they passed through the front room, Roman saw that Floyd was on the sofa fidgeting with a magazine. Roman spoke to him, but the bishop's only response was a fast, wide-eyed glance.

At least he's sitting upright, trying to read
, Roman thought.
That seems like an improvement.

Upstairs, Roman stopped in the doorway to Mary Kate's room and inhaled deeply to settle his nerves. The poor girl in the bed looked pale and exhausted, and her next wail set him on edge. She was covered by blankets, so it wasn't as though he'd be seeing body parts he wasn't supposed to look at.

“Hey,” Roman murmured as he approached her. “Looks like the baby's making a grand entrance, eh?”

When Mary Kate's brown-eyed gaze held his, Roman's heart went out to her. She looked so young and frail—not much different from the way he pictured the Virgin Mary, bearing her first child as an unmarried young woman caught up in circumstances other folks considered extremely dubious. At Frances's nod, he went to the bedside and took Mary Kate's hand.

“Sit with me,” she pleaded. “Stay with me, Roman. It hurts so bad I think I might die—”

“No, no,” Roman hastened to reassure her as he gingerly eased onto the mattress beside her pillow. “Minerva's on her way. She'll know exactly what to do.”

“Hold me. Give me your strength.”

How could he refuse? Frances nodded her consent, so when Mary Kate shot bolt upright with the next labor pain, Roman slipped behind her and sat against the headboard. She felt as weak as a kitten when she settled back against him, yet her sigh suggested she already felt calmer, cradled in his arms. Somehow he found quiet words to comfort her, not expecting her to respond. He heard Minerva speaking loudly to Floyd downstairs, and when Frances left the room to greet the midwife, Roman nuzzled Mary Kate's temple. He took the liberty of stroking her wavy brown hair away from her flushed face, aware that only husbands were allowed to see a woman with her hair down. The thought made his heart flip-flop.

“I won't leave you, Mary Kate,” Roman murmured, his heart in his throat. “Stay strong for the baby, and we'll get you through this. It's a big day—and you'll feel a lot better about all of this when you see your little one's face.”

Why was he telling her these things? What if they weren't true? Or, God forbid, what if the baby was breech, or Mary Kate developed other complications? Roman knew from assisting cows and mares that the birthing process was messy in the best of circumstances and downright terrifying when things went wrong. But he dismissed these negative thoughts. Mary Kate seemed calmer now, and he didn't want her to pick up on his concerns.

When Minerva entered the room, she nodded at him. “Roman, you're a
gut
man,” she said. “Keep her still while I see how she's progressing.”

He wrapped his arms more snugly around Mary Kate as the midwife went to the end of the bed and folded the blankets up onto Mary Kate's bent knees.

“We're moving right along.” Minerva opened her black bag and slipped on latex gloves. “Mary Kate, I want you to push back into Roman and at the same time push the baby toward me. Take a deep breath first. You're doing fine.”

“Give it your best shot,” Roman murmured as he felt Mary Kate gathering her strength. “It'll be over soon—”

“Oh,
oh!
” Mary Kate hollered as another pain wracked her body. But she pressed her slender shoulders against his chest, clenching her jaw as she pushed the baby. Mary Kate put her whole body into the effort for as long as she could, and then she collapsed.

Roman admired Mary Kate beyond belief. Birthing seemed to be so much easier for animals. When he considered how large she had grown, he had a hard time imagining what she was going through as the baby came out.
Lord, please help us. Don't let her rupture anything—and please let the baby be strong and healthy.

“Here's the head!” Minerva announced as she leaned in closer. “Give me another big push—that's the way—”

Hovering beside Minerva, Frances was watching anxiously. “Oh, here it comes! Don't stop, Mary Kate—you're almost there!”

Rivulets of sweat had dampened Mary Kate's flushed face and her breathing sounded shallow and desperate. She screwed up her face, and with great determination she pushed again.

“It's a boy!” Frances crowed.

“He looks fine and dandy, and now we're going to open up his lungs,” Minerva said from the other side of the tented blankets.

Roman heard a wet smacking sound. When a shrill wail filled the room, his heart thudded in his chest. “You did it, Mary Kate,” he whispered against her temple. “You have a son!”

“We'll tend to the finishing details and clean him up for you, sweetheart,” Minerva said as she worked efficiently behind the other side of the blankets. “
Gut
work! Rest for a minute and think about what to name this fine fellow.”

Mary Kate managed a smile as she sank into Roman's embrace. “
Denki
so much,” she murmured as she gazed up at him. “Dat was frantic and Gloria ran off, but you stuck by me.”

“It—it was an honor,” Roman replied in a breathy voice. After Frances helped Minerva give the howling baby a quick bath, Mary Kate's
mamm
approached the bed with the blanketed newborn cradled in her arms.

Roman saw a puckery red face and tiny hands flailing above the blanket as the baby continued to fill the room with his cries. When Frances stopped beside him and he got a look at the little boy's fuzzy dark hair and bow-shaped lips, Roman fell head-over-heels for the helpless little fellow who'd just undergone the tremendous effort of being born. “Ohhhh,” he murmured, daring to stroke the boy's pudgy cheek. “Wow. Aren't you something? Just plain amazing.”

Mary Kate sat up straighter, gazing at the baby as her mother handed him over. “So here you are,” she whispered in awe. “Maybe you were worth all this trouble after all.”

When Mary Kate smiled at her newborn son, Roman suddenly knew he was meant to be the man of this little family. Was it his imagination, or had a glow settled over the three of them? Roman could hardly breathe, knowing full well that under normal circumstances he wouldn't have been present for this miracle—let alone encouraged to sit behind Mary Kate while she was giving birth. He felt immensely grateful that Frances and Minerva had ignored the traditional boundaries their faith placed between unmarried men and women . . .

“We're so blessed that everything went well, and that the baby's perfect,” Frances murmured as she gazed at Mary Kate and her son. “And we're blessed that you were willing to lend us your strength and compassion, Roman. I—I don't know how I'd have gotten through these past few weeks without you helping us in so many ways.”

Roman blinked. “Whatever you folks need, let me know,” he murmured. “It's no trouble at all.”

Minerva joined them at the bedside, her bag in hand. “I'll be back later today to check on you all,” she said. She smiled at Roman. “Maybe you could walk me out, Roman? I suspect our boy's hungry.”

The thought of Mary Kate nursing her newborn made Roman's face flush, but he nodded. “See you later,” he whispered to Mary Kate. He longed to kiss her cheek, but thought better of it with the two women looking on. “Can't wait to hear what you name him.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Roman saw Mary Kate's
dat
standing at a window, gazing out. “Congratulations, Floyd!” he said as he approached the bishop. “You have a fine new grandson, and your daughter's doing well.”

When Floyd turned around, his words came out in an unintelligible rush. Because half of the bishop's face was sagging, Roman couldn't tell if he was pleased about the baby or not. Floyd's expressions gave little clue about what was going through his mind.

“I'm going outside now to do your horse chores,” Roman said slowly and distinctly. “Would you like to come with me?”

The bishop waved him off with his good arm and turned to stare out the window again. Roman and Minerva were silent as they put on their heavy coats, until they stepped outside.

“I don't know what to think,” the midwife murmured with a shake of her head. “Floyd seems steadier on his feet now, but I can't tell that his speech is progressing any. If he's not able to talk clearly soon, I suspect he'll dismiss his speech therapist.”

“It's very sad,” Roman murmured. “Frances has a load on her shoulders.”

Minerva's face glowed within the confines of her black bonnet as she gazed upward into the snowfall. “I wish this snow could brighten the Lehmans' household the way it refreshes the landscape,” she said wistfully. Then she gazed speculatively at Roman. “Are you thinking of marrying Mary Kate? Not that it's any of my business.”

Roman smiled with more confidence than he felt. “When I saw the baby for the first time—and the way Mary Kate held him in her arms—I was totally sucked in,” he whispered. “Had you and Frances not been there, I might have proposed right then and there.”

Minerva's happy laughter rang out as the snow began falling more heavily. They stopped at the spot where she would head for the lodge and Roman would turn toward the Lehmans' barn. “I think you'll make a wonderful husband for her, Roman—and you'll be a blessing to that entire family. But it's not a decision to be made lightly, considering Floyd's condition and Gloria's, um, crush on you.”

Roman nodded. “I think Gloria and I have reached an understanding now,” he said, glancing toward the Lehmans' big home. Was it his imagination, or had a curtain fluttered when Gloria stopped looking out the window at him? “But,
jah
, the whole family can use our prayers and our help.”

Minerva nodded. “I'd best get back to my scholars. I'm sure Rosetta and Christine have them reciting their addition and subtraction tables and working on their spelling lessons for the week, but the Peterscheim boys and Lowell can get distracted in the blink of an eye.”

“Especially with Christmas coming,” Roman said with a chuckle.

“So true! We're going out this afternoon to cut evergreen branches,” Minerva said. “Your
mamm
has volunteered to show the kids how to make fresh wreaths, and Rosetta has offered us a lesson in making sugar cookies. We'll bake and decorate them for the meal after church on Sunday.”

“If any cookies are still around by then,” Roman teased. “Have a
gut
rest of your day, Minerva.”

“You too, Roman. God be with you as you make your important decision about hitching up with Mary Kate and her baby.”

As Roman strode toward the Lehmans' barn, he hummed a Christmas carol. He was guessing at least three inches of snow had fallen since Gloria had summoned him to help with Mary Kate, and the dull gray sky suggested that the snow wouldn't stop anytime soon.

He slid the barn door open, smiling as the horses all turned to look at him. “‘What child is this, who laid to rest, on Mary Kate's lap is sleeping,'” he sang softly. It seemed his heart was filled with Christmas cheer earlier than usual, and every fiber of his being was telling him he belonged with Mary Kate and her newborn son, to care for them and provide them a home as Joseph did so long ago for the Virgin Mary. It was indeed an important decision, yet Roman sensed he'd already made it.