Christmas at Promise Lodge (4 page)

Mattie's eyebrows rose. She recognized the voices of Preacher Eli Peterscheim and Preacher Marlin, which meant that either the bishop had called the three ministers together or they had cornered him to challenge his sermon. It was improper to eavesdrop on their meeting . . . but anyone coming out of the lodge could've heard them talking.

“And the way
I
see it,” a fifth man added testily, “Rosetta and I could probably be husband and wife before the snow flies—but you've forbidden a Mennonite to marry her! And you insinuated that I'd be putting her on the path to perdition if I did. I resent that, Floyd. I'm every bit as sincere in my love for Christ—the Savior of us all—as you are. God sent his Son to save the world, not to condemn it.”

Truman Wickey, you said that just right
, Mattie thought as she walked a little closer to the cabin where the men were meeting. Although she'd been instructed all her life that the Old Order Amish faith was the one true church—the sole path to God's salvation—she was having a harder time believing that as she got older. She'd met plenty of Christians of other persuasions who believed God's grace and mercy were intended for them—and for all of His children. Why would He create so many followers, so many souls who called Him their God, only to condemn them to hell if they weren't Amish?

“And we know of other colonies hereabouts that permit Amish and Mennonites—or German River Brethren—to marry each other without any shunning or separation from the Amish congregation,” Eli pointed out. “Here in Missouri—”

“Well, I come from an Ohio district that has remained true to the Ordnung and the old ways,” Bishop Floyd interrupted loudly. “I believe that if Amish congregations start allowing small changes in the faith—like permitting intermarriage, or allowing women to own businesses—before you know it our people will be driving cars and using cell phones. Just like English.”

Amos cleared his throat. “There are cell phones without Internet connections made especially for Plain people,” he pointed out. “You see them advertised in
The Budget
all the time.”

“Seeing something in print doesn't make it appropriate!” Floyd countered.

Mattie stopped at the corner of the cottage where the men were talking, noting the rise in the pitch and volume of their voices. She stood where the curtain panel would hide her, and when she glanced through the window she could see the five fellows in the main room. The three preachers and Truman were seated in chairs or on the edge of the bed while Bishop Floyd remained standing . . . as though using his stature to place himself above the others and refute everything they said. It made for a very uneven conversation, from her viewpoint—

Mattie blinked. The thought had come to her unbidden, yet unerring. It was wrong for her to judge the bishop, but her sudden flash of insight resonated with an uncomfortable truth. No matter what any of the other men said, Floyd Lehman would remain rooted in his own convictions, his mind closed to their ideas. And if he paid no attention to what the three preachers suggested, he certainly wouldn't listen to the women's opinions.

When she focused on Amos, who sat facing the window, Mattie admired him for speaking his mind—and for standing up for her and her produce stand. He looked robust and handsome dressed in his wedding best, with his hair and beard neatly clipped to follow the shape of his weathered face. Apparently the men in Floyd's previous district preferred the U-shaped style of beard that was allowed to grow as it would, untrimmed—messy, in Mattie's opinion. It shouldn't matter how their bishop looked, yet Floyd's unkempt, unruly appearance made it harder for her to accept his criticism.

But Mattie forgot all about beards and grooming when she realized Amos had spotted her. His face remained placid as Floyd pontificated further on the merits of the one true Old Order faith, but Amos stood up, waiting for a break in the conversation.

“No offense, Bishop, but I sense you'll remain unconvinced of anything we're going to say,” Amos remarked quietly. “Rather than wasting any more of this special day, I'm going to eat some of the fine meal the ladies have prepared and visit with friends who've traveled here to celebrate with us.”

As Amos headed for the front door, Mattie's heart sped up. Would Floyd see her through the window and realize she'd been spying? Perhaps she should slip back to the lodge and wait for Amos there, so Floyd wouldn't—

Smiling resolutely, Mattie held out her hands to Amos when he stepped outside. “I was beginning to think my dinner date had ducked out on me,” she teased. She turned to smile at the men who were following him out. “Truman, Eli—the first-shift folks are coming out of the lodge, which means the tables are being reset for the rest of us. I know a couple of ladies who've been cooking and serving all day, who'd be grateful to sit down and eat with you. Marlin, we'd be pleased if you'd join us,” she added as their newest preacher stepped outside.

Amos tucked her hand under his elbow and started toward the lodge with her. “
Gut
timing, Mattie,” he murmured near her ear. “Had you not given me a reason to leave, we might've been stuck in there with Floyd all afternoon. And we wouldn't have accomplished a thing, unfortunately.”

“
Jah
, I'm ready for some pleasant company,” Truman remarked softly as he fell into step with them. “We might as well have been talking to the wall—and I'm sorry to say that about your bishop, understand.”

“Oh, we understand,” Mattie replied with a sigh. “We started our Promise Lodge colony hoping to allow for a more progressive, positive lifestyle that would still embrace our bedrock faith. The bishop God brought us has different ideas, however.”

As they met up with folks coming out of the lodge, Mattie and Amos stopped to talk with them, which allowed the serving ladies time to reset the tables for the second dinner shift. She felt a little odd not helping them, but she also felt good standing beside Amos, who'd kept her hand tucked in his elbow for all the world to see.

Mattie blinked. Most Amish men didn't display affection in public, even when they dearly loved their wives, so it pleased her that Amos wasn't afraid to show his feelings—and that he wasn't keeping her hand in the crook of his elbow to establish his control over her. And he certainly wasn't cozying up to her to win Floyd's favor.

When they'd finished talking to some of the Peterscheims' cousins, Amos smiled down at her with his warm brown eyes. “Let's head on in to eat, shall we?” he murmured. “I hope it's all right that I let Marlin and Truman go in ahead of us, hoping to have you to myself for a little while.”

Mattie's heart fluttered. She couldn't seem to stop gazing up at him. “That sounds lovely, Amos,” she murmured. “
Denki
for thinking to do that.”

Amos's smile brought his dimples out to play. “It's a rare day when you're not bustling around cooking and serving. I'm glad you've taken some time off, and that you're spending it with me.”

Mattie's thoughts were spinning rapidly. Her resistance to Amos's proposal suddenly seemed silly and irrelevant. “What if I want to spend more than just today with you?” she blurted. Her heart was pounding so hard she wasn't sure she'd get any more words out. “I—I want to accept your offer. I want to be your wife.”

The sudden joy on Amos's face stunned her. He glanced around, slipped his arm around her waist, and quickly walked her behind the lodge. “Really?” he whispered as he pulled her close. “You're not saying this because of what Floyd preached—”

“Puh! He'll probably take credit for it,” Mattie said with a short laugh, “but no bishop is going to tell me—or you—who or when to marry, Amos.”

“
Jah
, you've got that right. Oh, Mattie!” Ever so gently, Amos took her face between his large, sturdy hands and kissed her. It was a feathery brushing of lips, mere seconds of contact, yet it awakened feelings she'd not known since she'd been an innocent young woman.

“I was seventeen the first time you kissed me, and so crazy head-over-heels for you,” she recalled in a dreamlike voice.

“I remember that day like it was yesterday,” Amos murmured. “We were kids taking the long way home after a Singing when I finally worked up the nerve to kiss you. But we knew our hearts. We would've made it work.”

“I believe that, too,” Mattie whispered.

“I've always loved you, Mattie. I buried those feelings when your
dat
wanted you to marry Marvin and I hitched up with Anna,” Amos recalled softly, “but that doesn't mean my heart forgot you. And now, at long last, you're making my dreams come true.”

Mattie felt tears trickling down her cheeks as she buried her face against his sturdy chest. She felt the rumble of his chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her. For several moments she savored Amos's warm strength as they stood in blissful silence. The beating of his heart calmed her, set her life into rhythm again like the steady, dependable ticking of the clock he'd given her as an engagement gift . . . the clock she'd stored away during her marriage and had taken out again after Marvin's passing.

“I love you, too, Amos.
Denki
for your patience, your understanding—”

His kiss was more fervent this time, sweet and tender. Then he eased away to look at her. “I suppose we'd better behave ourselves, considering how many folks could catch us spooning out here. But I'll take up where we left off, next time we're alone together.” He gently thumbed away the wet streaks on her cheeks. “Take a minute to pull yourself together, dear.”

Mattie chuckled, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “I'm out of practice at feeling so happy—but I think I can get used to it.”

“I'll be sure you do,” he murmured. “I intend to make up for a lot of lost time and make you glad you married me. Every single day. Ready to go in?”

Mattie nodded, straightening her
kapp
and smoothing her apron. “Ready—for whatever comes along.”

Chapter Four

As Roman polished off his slice of peach pie, he eyed the untouched slice of coconut cream pie beside his cousin Phoebe's plate. Phoebe was chatting with Gloria Lehman, but the bishop's daughter wasn't fooling him: she was standing in front of the
eck
table to be sure he saw her. Gloria's behavior was about as subtle as a wag-tailed puppy's, so he looked for a way to stall getting up from the table. She was sure to follow him wherever he went.

“You going to eat this, Cuz?” he asked, tapping the pie plate with his finger.

Phoebe shook her head. Her knowing smile suggested that she knew what Gloria was up to and that Roman intended to avoid spending time with her. “Go for it. I'm saving room for some wedding cake later.”

“Happy to help,” Roman said as he set her plate on top of the one he'd just emptied.

“So you like coconut cream pie?” Gloria asked coyly. “I'll have to bake one for you sometime. I use cream instead of milk—and lots of brown sugar.”

Roman shoved a large bite of the pie into his mouth so he wouldn't have to answer. He knew a lot more about eating than about cooking, but it seemed odd to him that anyone would make a creamy-white coconut pie with brown sugar.

“That looks like the pie Ruby made, using milk from the cows Roman milks. She puts toasted coconut on top of hers,” Phoebe remarked matter-of-factly. “The Kuhn sisters say Christine's Holsteins give such rich milk, their cheese tastes better than any they've made before.”

“Mmm,” Roman said, nodding in agreement. The pie was fabulous, thick and creamy and sweet. The second bite he took was smaller so he could stretch out the time it would take to eat the rest of the slice.

“You must make a lot of money for your aunt, selling her herd's milk, if she can pay you enough to build a new house,” Gloria said. She gazed sweetly at Roman, batting her long eyelashes.

Roman stopped chewing. It wasn't particularly a secret that his mother had given him and Noah their choice of lots or that Amos had insisted on building him a home before winter set in. Roman had bunked in the barn loft over the summer so the lodge could be properly maintained as apartments for ladies. Noah and Deborah had offered him a room at their new place, but Preacher Amos had sensed that Roman and the newlyweds would both be more comfortable having separate homes.

Not that he cared to discuss any of this with Gloria. She was fishing for information concerning his livelihood—how well he could support a wife—and he wasn't biting.

“Along with helping your
dat
with his window and siding business, Roman milks twice every day and helps maintain all the common buildings on our property,” Phoebe reminded Gloria as she flashed Roman another secretive smile. “Not everyone would rise before the sun, winter and summer, to tromp around in that barn and handle all those cows—and to muck out their manure.”

When Gloria wrinkled her nose, Roman wondered if she practiced that expression in front of a mirror. “I sure hope your new house has a mud room—and a hose outside the back door so you won't track in anything stinky.”

Roman shrugged. “When you work with cows, you're going to step in it,” he remarked, hoping to dissuade her. “Some of my clothes and boots have spent so much time in the barn, no amount of scrubbing gets the odor out.”

Gloria pressed a fist to her hip as she twirled one of her
kapp
strings. “I bet
I
could wash up your clothes so they smelled clean!”

“If that's an offer, I'd be silly to turn it down,” Roman remarked as he cut another bite of pie. His mother had shown him how to operate a wringer washing machine so he'd be more self-sufficient when he moved into his house, yet he suddenly wanted to see how far Gloria would go in her efforts to impress him. “What say I give you a shot at washing my barn clothes after I tend this afternoon's milking and mucking?”

Gloria's dark brown eyes widened as she considered the pros and cons of making good on her boast. “You're on!” she said brightly. “What time shall I come by the barn for your clothes?”

Roman nearly choked on his bite of pie. Gloria made it sound as if he'd be peeling off his clothes and handing them to her. “Might be better if I brought them to your house,” he suggested. “That would give me a chance to clean up and put the clothes into a bag for you. Once I turn the cows back outside—”

“I could come and help you!” Gloria blurted. “I've always wanted to see a dairy cow up close and—”

“Absolutely not.” Roman set down his fork and focused on her. “I have to maintain health department sanitation regulations, so I can't have other folks coming in and out of the milking barn on a whim, Gloria,” he explained in a low but firm voice. “Your presence—any stranger's arrival—would make the cows nervous, too. If one of them stepped on your foot, I'd have a serious issue to deal with right in the middle of the milking. Stay home. Please.”

Gloria's eyes widened as though she might burst into tears. “You don't have to be so mean about it,” she whimpered.

From a few seats down, Noah joined the conversation. “Roman's just following regulations, Gloria,” he reiterated kindly. “He has set procedures, as far as getting the milk into a refrigerator tank and doing things just right to prevent any chance of contamination goes. Running a dairy's a lot different from a family keeping a milk cow or two.”

“And I might work longer than you realize after the milking's done,” Roman continued, trying to be patient. “The truck comes to fetch our milk early tomorrow morning, so everything's got to be ready. And then I have to feed and water the herd, muck out the barn, and sanitize the milking equipment.”

He smiled, hoping to avoid a scene. His two aunts, Gloria's
mamm
, and the other ladies had probably been following this conversation as they reset the long tables for the second shift of folks that were coming in to eat. “I'll understand if you don't want to wash my clothes, Gloria,” he repeated in a low voice. “I doubt you'll want to mix my grungy stuff in with your family's other laundry, and I certainly don't expect you to do my pieces by themselves. Nor would it be nice of me to bring over the whole week's worth of my barn clothes so you'd have a full load.”

Gloria's expression told him she hadn't considered these details in her eagerness to please him, to win some time alone with him. “Maybe you're right, Roman,” she murmured. “I—I just wanted to help.”

“And I appreciate it.” He had the distinct impression that Gloria wanted him to make her a better offer—to suggest something fun they could do together—but he kept quiet. After the enjoyable time he'd spent with Mary Kate on the Lehmans' porch, he knew better than to mix it up with two sisters. Gloria was completely different in temperament and intention, and no matter how nice he was to both of them, one sister was bound to get her feelings hurt—or he'd get caught in the middle and they'd both turn on him.

“Well, I guess I'll get back to the kitchen and help with the cleaning up,” Gloria said with a long-suffering sigh. “Seems to me that Mary Kate could've stuck around here to help us, considering how Dat told her not to show herself at the wedding. I bet she's had a fine, restful day playing with the cats . . .”

Her sentence drifted off as she turned to leave. Roman glanced at the last bite of his coconut pie and left it. Why did girls have to be so complicated? He hadn't given Gloria any encouragement that he knew of.

Noah, Deborah, and Laura rose from their places to stretch and walk around as the new shift of folks took their seats. “Careful there,” his brother murmured when he passed behind Roman's chair. “Something tells me that the four-legged Lehman cats have nothing on Gloria, when it comes to claws.”

“I suspect you're right,” Roman replied. He glanced at Phoebe. “
Denki
for helping me out. Gloria's been trying to get my attention ever since the Lehmans moved here—”

“Because you're the only guy her age at Promise Lodge—and because you're building a new house and you have a steady income,” Phoebe pointed out. “With Noah married, you're the obvious choice for any single girls who come here. Lucky you, Roman.”

“
Jah
, right.” He watched his mother come into the dining hall with her hand in Preacher Amos's and a glow on her face. When Mamm beckoned to him and then to Noah and Deborah, Roman stood up. “Well, now.
This
looks interesting.”

As he approached them, he couldn't miss the way his mother beamed. Amos's wide smile formed little curves on either side of his mouth. “Noah and Roman,” his mother said as she reached happily for their hands, “I've just agreed to marry Amos! We wanted you boys to be the first to know—and you, too, Rosetta and Christine.”

Roman's two aunts and Deborah immediately laughed and began hugging Mamm and Amos, congratulating them loudly enough that everyone in the room wanted to be a part of the celebration.

“High time,” Noah teased as he pumped Amos's hand. “Maybe Deborah and I were your inspiration, eh?”

Amos laughed. Years had fallen away from his leathery, tanned face and he exchanged yet another smile with Mamm. “Patience and persistence are a man's best friends,” he replied. “I've loved your mother since I was a lot younger than you boys. I promise to take
gut
care of her. She's a woman to be prized and cherished.”

Roman shook hands with Amos, as well. “Happy for both of you,” he murmured as he returned his mother's hug.

He stood back to allow the Kuhn sisters and Frances Lehman to express their congratulations, knowing his mother would be a lot happier with Amos than she'd been alone. His thoughts took him back to his childhood and youth . . . the times he'd realized that Dat was mistreating his mother both verbally and physically, and he hadn't known what to do about it. Their bishop in Coldstream had considered it a man's right to discipline his wife, even after his father had broken Mamm's nose—

But that's behind us now
, Roman reminded himself. Amos Troyer was a different sort of man altogether, compassionate and caring even when he had to reprimand church members for behavior that didn't honor their Ordnung or God. Now Mamm had someone to see to her needs and keep her company—

Roman blinked. After assuming responsibility for his
mamm
's care—considering himself the man of the family after Dat's passing—it seemed strange that his mother would soon be going by a different name. She wouldn't be cooking regular meals for him anymore or confiding in him as much, although he knew he'd always be welcome at her and Amos's table. She wouldn't need him in the same ways—although Mattie Schwartz had never allowed widowhood to hold her back or make her dependent upon anyone. Her successful produce stand was proof of that.

Noah came over to stand beside Roman as they watched other well-wishers crowd around Preacher Amos and their mother. “This should get the bishop off their backs,” he murmured.

“
Jah
, and we'll see what happens to the roadside stand and the garden plots,” Roman replied. “So, is it just me or does this make you feel kind of funny—thinking of Amos as our step-
dat?
Or is he just Mamm's second husband, because he didn't raise us and won't be supporting us financially?”

“Haven't thought much about such things,” Noah replied with a shrug. “But I'm grateful to Amos for seeing to Mamm's needs so we no longer have to, in ways we're not able to. He makes her happy—and their marriage will free up our time and energy so we can focus on our own families. Our futures.”

Easy for you to say
.

Roman wondered where this unspoken retort had come from, because he wished Noah and Deborah every blessing as they began their life together. He was feeling like the odd man out, however, the last single man remaining—except for Truman Wickey, who had also come into the dining room with Marlin Kurtz and his kids to congratulate the engaged couple.

Preacher Amos flashed Roman a thumbs-up from the center of the crowd that had gathered around him and Mamm. It seemed to Roman that romantic matters must come easier for folks the second time around, because they'd gotten past the bumpy roads of adolescence and dating, finding mates, and setting up households. Older folks had their priorities and preferences figured out and they were established in their occupations. They knew their places in life, and the paths God intended for them to follow—didn't they?

Preacher Amos made love look as easy as casting a line and catching a big fish from Rainbow Lake. Roman couldn't imagine himself looking so happy if he were standing beside Gloria Lehman—not that he'd ever ask her out, much less ask her to marry him.

When he glanced toward the doorway, he saw Mary Kate's unmistakably pregnant profile as she paused to look into the kitchen. Her hand moved slowly over her belly, as though comforting her baby was already second nature to her.

Can she feel it shifting, kicking? Does it respond to her touch?
Roman wondered. Curiosity made his fingers tingle—although he would never ask Mary Kate if he could place his hand on her roundness to get the answers to his questions.

As though she sensed his presence, Mary Kate surveyed the dining hall until her gaze met his. Her smile lit her face slowly, much as a sunrise painted the morning sky with strokes of peach and pink and shimmering light. When she entered the kitchen, Roman felt compelled to follow her.