Christmas at Promise Lodge (26 page)

Mattie didn't dare drop her gaze, even as Amos clapped the lines lightly across Mabel's back. Amos seemed to be keeping secrets, wondering how to say what was on his mind as the sleigh lurched and then slid over the snow-covered ground. The bells on the mare's harness kept time with Mabel's leisurely trot, and a few snowflakes kissed Mattie's cheek. As they passed near Rainbow Lake, several skating kids waved to them, as did Truman and Rosetta. Once the sleigh started up the hill and away from watchful eyes, Amos slipped his arm around her.

“Mattie.”

She scooted against him, deliriously happy that he wanted to hold her again. “
Jah?
” she whispered. “I'm listening.”

“Of course you are. And had I followed your lead—had I listened with my heart instead of my hard head—we wouldn't have spent the past month apart,” Amos murmured. “Can you forgive me for shutting you out, sweetheart? I've been such a stupid fool.”

Mattie rested her head against Amos's shoulder. “We all take our turns at playing the fool, Amos. I'm so tickled that you're feeling better now—and you know, it doesn't matter one bit to me about your being in a wheelchair.”

“Well, it matters to
me
,” he retorted. He kissed her cheek, returning to his amiable mood. “But what matters more is that you've agreed to be with me again, to let me start over at trying to win your heart.”

“Oh, Amos,” Mattie said with a dreamlike sigh. “You've had my heart since we were kids. I—I might've set aside my feelings while we were married to Marvin and Anna, but I've always loved you, Amos. I don't know how to stop.”

“It's been the same for me,” he insisted. “But I've got to settle something today. I just hope I won't fall flat on my face. Or my backside.”

Mattie blinked. Amos had steered the sleigh past the orchard and Ruby's beehives, up the gently rising hill behind the two Lehman homes. Despite the carefree jingle of the sleigh bells, Amos now seemed so serious, so set on doing something exactly right for her.
Surely he knows he doesn't have to impress me anymore. We're beyond those adolescent expectations . . .

When Mabel slowed down on the snow-covered path that led into the woods, Amos pulled the mare to a halt. With a nervous sigh, he looked at Mattie. “Why don't you walk ahead of us, into the shelter of those old evergreens? Wait for me there, okay?”

Mattie's eyes widened. She hadn't seen Amos's wheelchair folded in the backseat—not that he'd be able to propel it across the uneven ground, or through the snow that had piled up over the past few weeks. What on earth was he thinking to do?

The earnest expression on Amos's dear, weathered face told Mattie not to ask any questions. She slipped out from under the quilt and onto the ground, glad she'd put on her boots before she'd left the lodge. Mattie walked toward the impressive evergreens, which were dressed in their lacy-white winter finery, praying that whatever Amos had in mind, it would go smoothly.

When she reached the edge of the woods where the evergreens formed a windbreak, she turned—and gasped. Amos was following her! His progress was slow, but with the aid of a cane he was carefully lifting one foot and putting it in front of the other. Mattie wanted to rush to him, shouting for joy, except she didn't want to distract Amos from a task that was requiring his utmost concentration.

Lord,
denki
so much for whatever it's taken to get him walking again!
Mattie prayed as she watched each step he took. Her heart was thumping so hard Amos could probably hear it, because she felt such joy—such pride in his accomplishment. Now she understood why Amos had been secretive. He'd probably stashed his cane beneath the seat of the sleigh so she wouldn't quiz him about it. No doubt he'd been working very hard with his physical therapists, but the real proof of his recovery—at least to Amos—depended upon his ability to walk without anyone else's help.

A couple of yards away, Amos stopped. He placed his cane in front of him to lean on it for a moment as wisps of his breath encircled his head. “How's that?” he murmured, fighting a grin.

“Amos, look at you! It's our Christmas miracle!” Mattie cried, rushing toward him with her arms open wide. “I'm so—I'm so proud! And excited!”

“Watch out, now. Pride goes before a fall,” he murmured as she wrapped her arms around him. “And now that I'm this far from the sleigh, I
don't
want to fall!”

Mattie laughed, exhilarated when Amos slipped an arm around her waist and claimed her lips in a long, thorough kiss. “Oh, Amos,” she whispered when she'd caught her breath. “This is the best Christmas gift ever, seeing you up and walking again. You've been working very hard.”

“You've got that right,” he said with a chuckle. “But when the therapist looked at my X-rays and found a few nerves that appeared pinched, he suggested some massage and some exercises that would get the blood pumping where it needed to be again. And I have to admit that taking the antidepressant Dr. Townsend prescribed was what got me on the road to recovery.”

“You could've ignored the doctor's advice, like other men have done.”

When Amos smiled, the lines around his brown eyes deepened. “I was on a mission to walk—to be a whole man again—for
you
, Mattie. By the New Year, I hope to get you out on the lake, skating alongside me. Sometimes I'm too vain for my own
gut
, but this time that vanity spurred me on to get well. I never wanted to see pity in your eyes again, sweetheart.”

Mattie blinked back tears, speechless. She'd assumed Amos had cast her completely out of his life and thoughts these past lonely weeks, so it was a sweet relief to realize she'd served as an incentive for his recovery.

“I want to marry you as soon as we find a bishop who can tie the knot,” Amos murmured. “Is that still all right with you?”

“All right?” she challenged breathlessly. “It's all I've ever wanted, Amos.”

“Shall we seal that intention with a kiss?”

Mattie's cheeks went hot as Amos straightened to his full height. When he took her in his arms, she lifted her face to receive the blessing of his affection. At long last they were ready to marry, to become life partners in the truest sense. Amos lingered over the kiss, and when he eased away, Mattie stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his again.

Amos chuckled low in his throat. “What a happy day this is, and what a wonderful woman you are,” he murmured as he gazed into her eyes. “I'm a blessed man, Mattie. Now let's turn around and survey our domain.”

When Mattie pivoted, her breath caught. From this vantage point, they could watch a few skaters gliding across Rainbow Lake, while other folks practiced walking on their skate blades by holding on to partners or to the dock that extended out over the ice. Wisps of smoke curled up from the lodge chimney. Snow covered the hillsides in a flawless blanket and decorated the rooftops of all the new houses and barns, while Rosetta's goats, Christine's cows, and Harley's sheep munched contentedly at the hay in their outdoor feeders.

“It looks like one of those miniature villages you see in the stores around Christmas—except prettier,” Mattie murmured. “All we need is a train—”

“No, all we need is each other,” Amos corrected gently. “And with all of our kids settling down here at Promise Lodge, the world feels cozy and complete now,
jah?
”

“It does,” Mattie agreed. “You've said it all, Amos.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

As Roman watched the scholars' Christmas Eve program from his seat in the large lodge meeting room, he had to smile. Who would've thought Lavern Peterscheim would play such a concerned, compassionate Joseph beside his twin sister, Lily—who, at thirteen, wasn't much younger than Mary had been when she'd given birth to Jesus? Lily tenderly cradled a doll while Fannie Kurtz told the familiar Christmas story from the book of Luke.

“‘And she brought forth her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger,'” Fannie recited with a peaceful smile on her face, “‘because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field—'”

Roman chuckled. On cue, Menno and Johnny came in from the other room, wearing old bathrobes with towels tied over their heads. Queenie walked obediently beside Johnny, panting slightly, as though the two crocheted lambs Menno carried were real sheep that needed her attention. As a kid, Roman had played the part of a shepherd with Noah many times, until he'd been promoted to being a Wise Man. His final year in school, he'd had to memorize this same passage from Luke so he could recite it with meaning, allowing time for the younger kids to find their places and act out their parts in this perennial Christmas tradition.

Roman smiled at Teacher Minerva, who stood off to the side watching her scholars. She'd worked hard to get the Peterscheim boys and Lowell Kurtz to wear costumes and listen for their cues when their young minds were more excited about ice-skating than a story that had happened so long ago and far away.

But the coming of the Christ child became pertinent again with the birth of each new baby, didn't it? Wasn't a newborn a sign that God wanted the world to move forward with the new opportunities for grace and meaning He would provide?

Roman shifted in his chair, eager to visit Mary Kate and David after the scholars' program ended. The Peterscheim boys had told him of their plan to invite her and the baby—and him—to play the holy family, but Roman was pleased that Teacher Minerva's wisdom had prevailed. Mary Kate was adamant about keeping the baby at home, away from crowds, for several more weeks.

She's such a loving, levelheaded young mother
. Roman was sorry Mary Kate wasn't able to watch the program this evening, but her sense of responsibility was one of many reasons he'd set his heart on marrying her . . . even if they had yet to convince her father that their union was a good idea.

Roman glanced across the room at the bishop, who sat slumped to one side in his chair. A lot of folks had felt Floyd Lehman was too conservative—and too outspoken—to serve as their new colony's leader, yet now that a stroke had robbed the bishop of his ability to speak clearly, everyone felt compassion for him and his family. Floyd's condition put the Amish residents of Promise Lodge in a difficult position: Old Order bishops were chosen to serve for the remainder of their lives. What if Floyd never recovered his ability to speak? How would he be able to tell them of God's will?

As a stirring in the crowd brought Roman out of his deep thoughts, he realized it was time for refreshments—food he would skip in favor of enjoying whatever Mary Kate might have baked. She had convinced Roman to visit with her and David whenever he could, hoping that her father would someday accept his presence again.

When the folks around him stood up, Roman did, too. He spoke with Preacher Marlin and Harley, moving toward the lobby to get his coat—until something made Roman turn around. Bishop Floyd was thumping toward him with an awkward, purposeful gait, leaning heavily on his cane. The bishop's facial expression seemed harsher than usual, but because his stroke had frozen half of his face, it was hard to determine his mood. Maybe Floyd sensed Roman was headed over to the house to spend time with Mary Kate, and he intended to prevent the visit.

Roman braced himself for the possibility of another loud, unintelligible lecture as Mary Kate's father stopped in front of him. “
Gut
evening, Floyd,” he said cordially. “I thought our scholars did a fine job portraying the folks who were present for Christ's birth. If it's all right with you, I'd like to go and tell Mary Kate about the program—”

An expression that resembled a grimace crossed Floyd's face as he fumbled in the pocket of his baggy brown sweater. He pulled out a small piece of paper and waved it toward Roman.

“For me?” Roman asked. He certainly hadn't expected a note from Mary Kate's
dat
, but when Floyd grunted and gave him a lopsided nod, Roman accepted it.

 

Be
gut
to MK. She needs you, Roman. You have my blessings.

 

The words were written in an uneven scrawl, but there was no mistaking their meaning.

Roman looked up and thought—for a fleeting moment—that he saw a sparkle in Bishop Floyd's eyes. “
Denki
so much!” he whispered. “I'll take very
gut
care of her and David—and I'll watch over you and the rest of your family, too.”

With his good arm, the bishop waved him off.

Roman rushed through the lobby, grabbing his coat as he went. When he opened the door, Queenie raced past him, and when they got outside they were pelted with huge, white snowflakes. This new winter storm had piled another few inches of snow on top of what was already on the ground, and it showed no sign of stopping.

Roman looked again at the scrap of paper in his hand. He let out a whoop—which inspired Queenie to bark and jump around him, snapping gleefully at the snowflakes. Roman began running down the snow-covered road toward the Lehman place, eager to share his news with Mary Kate. He had asked Mamm to crochet a simple shawl for Mary Kate and another stuffed toy for David, as his Christmas presents to them, but who could've guessed her
dat
's acceptance of him would be the greatest gift of all?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“My word, would you look at that snow coming down!” Rosetta murmured as she peered out the kitchen window. “I was so engrossed in the kids' program, I haven't looked outside in a while. I'm glad Truman won't have far to go when he takes his
mamm
home.”

Beside her, Mattie chuckled and placed more cookies on a tray. “Why do I suspect Truman won't be staying home once he gets Irene inside?”

“And why do
I
figure Amos's kids will be heading upstairs to their rooms long before their
dat
is ready to go home?” Rosetta fired back.

When Mattie giggled, Rosetta slung her arm around her sister's shoulders. “And aren't we glad it's worked out that way for us?” she murmured. “Now, if we could only find a worthwhile fellow for Christine.”

“Keep the faith, Sister. He'll show up when God decides it's time.” Mattie picked up the big tray she'd loaded with cookies. “Let's enjoy this first Christmas Eve with all our friends, shall we? Everyone's in a
gut
mood after the kids put on their program, and we've got so much to celebrate and be grateful for.”

“We do,” Rosetta agreed. She followed Mattie into the dining room, where their friends and neighbors had gathered for refreshments. Rosetta smiled over the top of the coffee urn she carried when she spotted Truman at the end of a table. “And I, for one, am grateful that a solemn Christmas Day gives my poor backside a chance to recover from falling on the ice so many times. I'm sure Truman will want to resume my lessons on Second Christmas.”

Mattie laughed. “Maybe I can learn from your mistakes. Amos seems determined to get me on skates when his legs are stronger—and after the recovery he's made, I wouldn't dream of disappointing him.”

Christine came over to help Rosetta and Mattie set out the second round of coffee and cookies. “Can you believe how many of these treats we're going through tonight? You'd think nobody ate supper before the program.”

“Oh, let's be honest,” Rosetta teased. “The three of us Bender sisters, teamed up with the two Kuhns, have baked the best goodies any of these folks have ever—What on earth can Queenie be barking at? Sounds like we've got company.”

“Who would be out on such a snowy night?” Christine asked as she, Rosetta, and Mattie hurried into the lobby. “Surely can't be anyone local, so maybe they're lost.”

When Rosetta swung open the front door, snowflakes swirled inside with a cold blast of wind. “Hullo out there!” she called loudly when she saw an enclosed buggy had pulled up beside the porch. “Queenie, come here! Stop your barking.”

“She's got every right to bark,” a melodious male voice replied. A very tall, burly fellow was getting out of the buggy, shielding his face from the snow with a gloved hand. “Dogs only bark at strangers—and there's nobody stranger than me! But I guess I should let you folks form your own opinion. I hope I've reached Promise Lodge?”

“
Jah
, you have,” Rosetta replied, holding the door open for him. “We weren't expecting anybody on such a night—”

“And I wasn't expecting to get waylaid by nasty weather and snow-clogged roads. I'd hoped to arrive in time to see your scholars present their traditional Christmas Eve program,” their guest replied. “But I couldn't ask the kids to do it over, just for the likes of me.”

Rosetta stared as the fellow removed his broad-brimmed black hat. He sported thick brown hair and his curly beard framed a friendly, masculine smile. She was guessing he was in his forties—and he was the best-looking man she'd ever seen. He was gazing at her with eyes as green and serene as a pine forest.

“Would you happen to be the Rosetta Bender who writes the
Budget
posts for Promise Lodge?” he asked.

“I am!” Rosetta replied. “And these are my sisters, Christine Hershberger and Mattie Schwartz. The three of us—and Mattie's fiancé, Preacher Amos—sold our farms and pooled our funds to start this place up last spring.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to be here.” The man removed his heavy coat and leaned cordially toward them. “I'm Monroe Burkholder. I was the bishop of my settlement in Illinois, but the district's growing so large we're reorganizing—not that I need to burden you with all the details,” he added apologetically. “Just from reading your weekly column in
The Budget
, I've felt compelled to come to Promise Lodge. See? I told you I'm strange! But I've followed God's lead and here I am.”

Rosetta exchanged glances with her sisters, smiling widely. “You have no idea how happy we are that you've come, Bishop Monroe,” she murmured.

“And your timing is perfect,” Mattie insisted as she gestured toward the meeting room. “Nearly everyone's still here, and we've just set out more cookies and coffee.”

“May I take your coat, Bishop Monroe?” Christine asked. In the subdued light of the lobby chandelier, her face took on a hopeful glow as she gazed up at their attractive guest.

Rosetta exchanged a quick glance with Mattie, unable to suppress a grin. “We'll go tell everyone you've arrived, Bishop, and whenever you're ready, Christine will be happy to introduce you around,” Rosetta said. “Before the evening's over, we'll find you a place to stay and you'll have lots of new friends!”

“I'll get a couple of our boys to tend your horse,” Mattie put in. “We've got plenty of room in the barn across the road.”

“
Denki
so much,” Monroe murmured. “I feel at home already—and Clyde's ready for a
gut
rubdown and some feed after our day's journey.”

Rosetta grabbed Mattie's hand and hurried into the meeting room, feeling ready to burst with excitement. “Did you
see
that man? He could be our new bishop!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “He could perform weddings!”

“I heard no mention of a wife, so he could be the man of Christine's dreams, too!” Mattie murmured. “But we can't let our wishful thinking color our impression of him. And we can't assume he'll be taking Floyd's place. The preachers and Floyd—and God—have the final say on that.”

“
Jah
, but Monroe Burkholder certainly gives us something fun to think about,” Rosetta said as she slipped behind the serving table to pour coffee. She spotted Truman chatting with Preacher Amos across the room, and she gave him a little wave. “If you ask me, it's time to start planning for a whole new kind of happiness.”

* * *

Amos felt his entire body thrumming when he saw Mattie approaching him and Truman with a freshly loaded cookie tray. While his fiancée had always been a hostess who saw to everyone's needs, Amos sensed she had more than dessert on her mind as she made her way through the crowd. Mattie stopped and whispered something to Lavern Peterscheim and Lowell Kurtz, who set out toward the lobby as though a great adventure awaited them.

“Here comes a woman with a story to tell,” Amos remarked to Truman. “She and Rosetta both look ready to let some big cats out of the bag.”

Truman laughed. “Who knows, with those two? Wherever they are, excitement seems to follow. We'll never lack for entertainment in our lives, you and I.”

Amos stood taller when he caught sight of a stranger entering the large, crowded room. “And who might that be with Christine? Is he a local fellow—someone you know?”

Before Truman could reply, Mattie reached them. “You won't believe this!” she said in an ecstatic whisper. “The fellow Christine's introducing around is Bishop Monroe Burkholder, and he's coming to live at Promise Lodge! He got waylaid by the weather—”

“You'll never lose him in a crowd,” Truman murmured. “My word, he must stand seven feet tall.”

“—but he saw Rosetta's columns in
The Budget
and felt God was leading him here,” Mattie continued in a rush. “He's the answer to our prayers!”

Amos's eyebrows rose as he chose a dark chocolate fruitcake bar from Mattie's tray. “Be careful what you pray for, dear,” he murmured. “We've already got a bishop who came here for the same reason, and Floyd's been a challenge at times—at least before he had his stroke, he was.”

“Floyd's a challenge for a different reason now,” Truman remarked as he took a sugar cookie shaped like a sleigh. “Have you folks decided whether he can continue as your bishop, seeing's how he can't talk anymore?”

Amos looked around the room until he spotted Eli Peterscheim and Marlin Kurtz. “No, we haven't, but that will be a hot topic in a matter of minutes, as folks here find out about this new fellow. Excuse me while I call an informal preachers' meeting, will you?”

Amos held Mattie's gaze for a moment. Her pretty face was an open book: she saw this Burkholder fellow as the bishop who could perform their marriage ceremony—and who might be open to Rosetta's marrying Truman, as well. A lot rode on what Amos might learn about their guest this evening. He wanted to ask the right questions and listen very carefully to the answers.

As Amos made his way through the crowd toward Marlin, he caught Eli's eye and waved him over.
Give us Your guidance, Lord
, Amos prayed as he carefully crossed the floor with his cane.
Help us to see with eyes fully open and minds attuned to Your will for us.

Marlin smiled as Amos approached, pulling a chair from a nearby table. “Take a load off, Preacher,” he said. “It's mighty
gut
to see you walking again, and we don't want you overworking those legs.”

“I've got a better idea,” Amos murmured, gesturing toward a quiet corner of the room. “Let's you and Eli and I have a quick conference before that new fellow makes his way over here to meet us. He's a bishop. Told Rosetta and Mattie that God has led him to Promise Lodge, to live here.”

“You don't say,” Marlin murmured as he looked toward the man Christine was showing around. “You hear that, Eli?”

“Another bishop, eh?” Peterscheim asked as he followed Amos and Marlin to the corner. “And what do you suppose Floyd's going to say about that?”

“Frances took Floyd home a few minutes ago because she thought he was getting too tired.” Amos looked earnestly at Marlin and Eli, both of them good, solid leaders of the faith and of this colony. “What we find out about this Burkholder fellow tonight may well decide the future of Promise Lodge. It's in our best interest to ask him some pertinent questions, because we've all invested a lot of ourselves and our money to make this place home.”

“
Jah
, and after dealing with Bishop Obadiah in Coldstream—and putting up with some of Floyd's quirks,” Eli murmured, “I'm not of a mind to let just any bishop take the reins here. God has the final word, certainly, but we preachers have a responsibility to our congregation—and to our families.”

“I say we mosey on over and introduce ourselves,” Marlin proposed quietly. “If we take the initiative and stand together, we'll be able to sound him out—and he'll get a feel for how we do things here. He might decide, after he visits for a few days, that we're not the sort of flock he's looking to shepherd.”

“Let's do it.” Amos stood tall, leaning his cane against the wall. He felt stronger, more in control of this situation, walking without assistance as he made his way over to the knot of friends who surrounded the newcomer. Amos could tell by the rapt expressions on their faces that Minerva, Harley, and Alma Peterscheim were already impressed by the man who stood among them—and Christine seemed even more taken by Burkholder than her two sisters.

When Minerva noticed the three of them approaching, she waited for their guest to finish his sentence. “Bishop Monroe Burkholder, I'd like to introduce our colony's leaders,” she said, gesturing to each man as she named him. “This is Preacher Amos Troyer, a founder of Promise Lodge,” she began. “On either side of him are Preacher Eli Peterscheim and my father-in-law, Preacher Marlin Kurtz, who's serving as our deacon. I believe Bishop Floyd has gone home—”

“
Jah
, Frances took him just a few minutes before you arrived, Bishop Monroe,” Amos said as his hand got swallowed in their visitor's firm grip. “He's recently suffered a stroke, so we're watching over him and his family pretty closely these days.”

“Christine has mentioned your bishop's infirmities, and I'm sorry to hear about them,” Monroe said as he shook hands with Eli and Marlin. “Please don't think I intend to take over Floyd's position—unless God and your congregation decide I will. When folks break away to start a new colony, they often want things to be different from what they could no longer tolerate in their previous place,” he continued in a flowing baritone. “I have no way of knowing your preferences, so I can't presume to become your leader.”

The folks around Burkholder were nodding in agreement. The Kurtzes and Lehmans had found their own reasons for pulling up roots and relocating, but everyone who'd left Coldstream had a very specific reason for coming here: a bishop they could no longer tolerate. “So where'd you come from, and why did you break away, Monroe?” Amos asked in a purposeful tone. “And what made you choose Promise Lodge—besides reading Rosetta's columns in
The Budget
?”

Burkholder clasped his hands in front of him, gazing down at Amos with penetrating green eyes. “Why do I suspect you three preachers are checking me out?” he teased. “Would it be best if we went somewhere quiet to talk amongst ourselves?”