Christmas at Promise Lodge (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rosetta sighed happily on Thursday afternoon as she and the children stood looking at the long countertop covered with decorated sugar cookies. “What a pretty picture! And what a gift these cookies will be to everyone after church,” she added.

“We're grateful to Rosetta for our lessons in fractions and kitchen math as we measured and baked,” Minerva remarked as she stood with them. “As our treat, we'll each choose one cookie to eat now—and then we'll clean up the kitchen. Let's start with the youngest, and we'll take our cookies to the dining room. Mattie's made us all some cocoa and she'll pour you a cup when you take your seat.”

Johnny Peterscheim chose a snowman with candy eyes and buttons, and his brother Menno snatched up a star that was thick with yellow frosting and multicolored jimmies. Twelve-year-old Lowell could easily have devoured five or six cookies, but he limited himself to a large holly leaf frosted in green with cinnamon imperials for berries. Lily, Lavern, and Fannie chose a wreath, a chocolate-frosted camel, and an angel that sparkled with big white sugar crystals.

“This was a
gut
lesson and fun for all of us,” Rosetta remarked as she chose a yellow bell. “Lily and Fannie kept their brothers focused on figuring the fractions for the flour and sugar, too.”

“They'll make fine teachers someday,” Minerva agreed, lifting a frosted poinsettia from the countertop. “It helped that they reminded the boys we'd all be eating their mistakes if the cookies didn't turn out right.”

Rosetta chuckled as she joined the kids at a table in the dining room. By all appearances, the cookies had turned out delicious: the younger boys had frosting smeared on their mouths, and all the scholars were smiling. Mattie poured three mugs of cocoa for the adults and went to the kitchen to choose her cookie. “I see an angel with my name on it,” she teased.

“Teacher Minerva, I think we should take some cookies to Preacher Amos—especially if he's not able to sit through church,” Fannie suggested.

“Let's take some to Bishop Floyd and Mary Kate, too!” Lily said exuberantly. “We have baby booties and blankets to take over anyway, so cookies would be something everyone in their family could enjoy.”

“That's a very thoughtful idea,” Minerva remarked. “And maybe we could sing them a few Christmas carols when we deliver them.”

“And we could do it during schooltime,
jah?
” Menno asked hopefully.

“Our teacher in Coldstream would've
never
let us make cookies and called it a lesson,” Lavern put in. “We were too busy memorizing looong Christmas poems and Bible stories for the pageant to have any fun like this.”

“
Jah
, but we didn't have a kitchen in the schoolhouse, either,” Lily pointed out.

Minerva chuckled. “Now that you mention it, Lavern, it's time to begin working on our Christmas Eve program. I'm thinking we could do a simple version of the Christmas story, with shepherds and Wise Men—”

“What if Mary Kate played Mary, with her little David as baby Jesus?” Fannie asked, her eyes wide with excitement. “The Christ child was born in the city of David, after all.”

Mattie chuckled along with Rosetta and Minerva. “I don't think we should plan for that until you ask Mary Kate if she's willing to participate,” she said. “David will only be a few weeks old—”

“But if Roman plays Joseph, he'll be with them!” Menno insisted. “And we'll be indoors where it's warm—”

“And we promise not to sneeze in the baby's face or feed him too many cookies!” Johnny put in.

Rosetta was amazed at how quickly the notion of including Mary Kate, Roman, and the baby had captured the children's imaginations. “If the three older boys play the Wise Men, that leaves you as the only shepherd, Johnny,” she speculated aloud. “And what parts will you play, Lily and Fannie?”

“I'm an angel, of course,” Lily replied demurely.

“Hmm . . . I could be the star,” Fannie murmured, “or I could dress up like a shepherd with Johnny.”

“
Jah!
Those guys all wore dresses back then, anyway!” Menno blurted.

“And we could have Queenie help us,” Johnny said, so excited that he stood up to bounce on his toes. “She's a sheepdog, ain't so? And if the girls sewed up some stuffed sheep and a donkey—”

“Fannie can be the donkey! She's a natural,” Lowell said with a hoot.

Fannie swatted at her younger brother while the boys began to bray like donkeys, filling the dining room with their ruckus.

Minerva held up her hand for silence. “I understand why you'd like to see David in your Christmas Eve program, but I'm going to insist that you not even ask Mary Kate about participating. She and the baby need time to get strong—and David's way too young to be exposed to such a crowd yet. Do you understand?”

When the boys appeared ready to protest, Mattie spoke up. “I believe we should go along with what Teacher Minerva says, because she's a midwife—and because we want little David and Mary Kate to stay healthy, ain't so?”

Fannie nodded. “It would be easier to use a doll for baby Jesus anyway,” she said. “A doll wouldn't start crying or fussing during the program—”

“And a doll wouldn't poop its pants, either!” Menno put in.

“Excellent points,” Minerva said as the boys all started laughing and holding their noses. “We've eaten our treats, so it's time to clean up the kitchen. We'll start by gathering our mugs and napkins. Lowell, you and Lavern can wash the cookie cutters, bowls, and utensils,” she instructed, pointing toward the sink, “and the girls can put the leftover frosting in containers. Johnny and Menno, you're just the right height to wipe down the tables. Many hands make light work!”

Rosetta stood back to watch the children carry out their assigned tasks. She smiled at Mattie. “I'm glad the girls suggested visiting our shut-ins,” she murmured. “Now that Fannie and Lily have joined our crochet club, we've got several booties and little blankets finished for the baby. If we join the granny squares we've crocheted, we could take an afghan to Amos, ain't so? It'll be a
gut
chance to look in on him, all of us together.”

Mattie considered this idea. “I suppose so,” she murmured. “And we could make a big wreath for the Lehmans. I suspect Frances and Gloria will be too busy tending Floyd and the baby and Mary Kate to do much decorating for Christmas.”

Rosetta slipped her arm around Mattie's shoulders as they headed toward the kitchen with the empty cocoa pot and ladle. She suspected her sister was more curious about Amos's well-being than she was letting on—and an outing with the kids would give them all a chance to be neighborly without Amos thinking they were being nosy, too. Truman had taken Amos into Forest Grove for an appointment a couple days ago, but he was being very tight-lipped about the preacher's progress. It would be a blessing, indeed, if Amos could resume his preaching duties—he could certainly deliver a sermon from his wheelchair, after all—now that Eli Peterscheim and Marlin Kurtz were the only able-bodied church leaders they had.

It's in Your hands, Lord
, Rosetta prayed as she watched the children cleaning the kitchen.
You've given us these fine kids and a new baby and interesting ideas for the scholars' first Christmas Eve program at Promise Lodge. I know it'll be the most wonderful Christmas ever!

* * *

Amos raised his eyebrows as Roman began removing their supper dishes from the kitchen table. “What's going on that you think I should change my shirt?” he asked. “It's Friday night and we've made no plans—”

“Just saying,” Roman replied in a suspiciously cheerful tone. “Ruby hinted at a surprise this morning when she brought over those wonderful-
gut
sweet rolls for our breakfast, remember? Christmas is the season of mystery, after all.”

“Oh,
jah?
” Amos asked, secretly enticed by whatever might be about to happen. “Now tell me true. Has your
mamm
been cooking something up?”

Roman widened his eyes and looked directly at Amos. “That's not the way I heard it. But that's not to say she won't be involved,” he said. “The Peterscheim boys mentioned cookies and caroling to me, they were all excited about the event. You don't want to be wearing that baggy old soup-splattered sweatshirt if company's coming.”

“Ah. In that case I suppose I'd better be more presentable.”

Amos turned his wheelchair and headed back to his bedroom, almost giddy with the prospect of having kids stopping by . . . and maybe Mattie. Thank God he was feeling much better these days: his headache had disappeared, and the antidepressant had improved his mood, as well. He hadn't told anyone except Truman, but a couple days ago Dr. Townsend had pronounced his concussion nearly healed. The physical therapist had referred him to a massage therapist after a closer look at his X-rays . . . something about his leg nerves getting pinched when he'd fallen from the roof.

Amos didn't know why therapists would have better ideas about treating his condition than a full-fledged doctor would, but he wasn't asking any questions. His first massage had made some of his muscles ache, but wasn't that an improvement over total numbness in his legs? He was doing his exercises—a few more repetitions than the physical therapist had suggested—and he was feeling a lot more motivated, more hopeful about making a recovery. And didn't hope and belief account for a lot of healing? Hadn't the people Jesus had healed regained their strength because they had believed He could make them well again?

Amos took a clean flannel shirt from the drawer and changed out of his old sweatshirt.
Good thing Roman trimmed your hair and beard yesterday, so you don't look like a caveman
, Amos thought as he also put on a clean pair of TriBlend trousers. He was tickled that he could pull them up and fasten them by himself now—he could stand for nearly a minute without any support and without falling back into his wheelchair.

But Roman didn't know these things, and Amos didn't figure on sharing a lot of details just yet. He hadn't told a soul about those nighttime visits from his
dat
and Anna and Allen, either.

In the light of day and rational thought, Amos wasn't entirely sure he'd heard their voices, but their presence had felt very real to him. If Mary and Joseph had received messages from God in dreams and from angels, Amos believed the Lord might have sent those three members of his family to deliver the most important warning of his life. Only a fool ignored God's messages. And Amos was finished with being a fool.

When he'd wheeled himself out to the front room, Amos lit the two battery lamps on his tables. It was December fourth—still three weeks from Christmas, yet Amos yearned for the season's peace and joy. He felt ready to receive whatever gifts the Holy Spirit delivered. A sense of expectation filled his soul. Centuries ago the world had awaited a Savior's birth, and this year Amos prayed for his own delivery from the bondage of illness and physical limitations.

A few minutes later someone knocked very loudly on the door. Roman came out of the kitchen, but Amos had already wheeled himself across the front room to answer it. When he saw the young Peterscheims and Kurtzes, with Rosetta, her sisters, and Minerva standing behind them, he opened the door. “Come on in, folks! What a nice surprise on a snowy evening!”

Johnny flashed a smile with a couple of teeth missing as he thrust a plate of frosted cookies toward Amos. “We brung you some goodies!”

“And we
brought
you a wreath for your front door,” his big sister Lily added as she held it up for Amos to see.

“We made the cookies ourselves, and Mattie showed us how to make the wreath!” Menno exclaimed. “Teacher Minerva lets us do really fun stuff in school.”

Amos's heart was beating happily as he grasped the hands of the kids who stood around his chair. “It's so
gut
to see you all again,” he said, aware that his voice sounded tight with emotion. “And
denki
so much for these wonderful gifts, and for thinking of me, too.”

“We're glad to see you looking so much better, Amos,” Rosetta spoke up from behind the children. She held up a large, bulky item wrapped in a white trash bag. “The crochet club also made you a little present. I'll put it on your sofa so you can open it whenever you'd like. No need to wait until Christmas.”

“It's from the PPCC,” Lavern said with a roll of his eyes. “Only
girls
would belong to a Pajama Party Crochet Club, ain't so, Preacher Amos?”

Amos laughed, imagining a roomful of the women and girls he knew, all of them crocheting in their nightgowns. “Well, at least they get something done besides gossiping and eating,” he remarked with a smile for Rosetta and her sisters. “I've known fellows who don't have anything but dirty dishes to show for the time they spend together.”

Amos was pleased that his remark brought a smile to Mattie's face, even if she wasn't meeting his gaze. He'd been in such pain the last time he'd seen her, he couldn't recall some of the things he'd said and done—except, of course, he remembered that he'd called off the wedding and ignored her birthday. Was it any wonder Mattie didn't want to look at him? Amos was keenly aware that he needed to ask her forgiveness, to repair the damage he'd done to their relationship. And he would find a way.

“Now we're gonna sing some carols,” Lowell said brightly, “and then we're taking cookies and baby things over to Bishop Floyd's house.”