She glanced at Cyrus and he nodded. When she reached into the sack, she grasped a small wooden crate that felt slightly larger than a cheese box. As she lifted it out, she saw that it contained two bulbous objects covered in colorful coatings.
Cyrus plucked one of the bulbs out of the case, unable to suppress his smile any longer. “The nursery got these in from Holland just yesterday,” he said excitedly. “They’re the newest thing in amaryllis bulbs, because this thick wax coating means you don’t have to plant them and you don’t even have to water them! You just set them in a sunny spot—in the box or freestanding—and pretty soon the shoots will come out. Sometime around Christmas you’ll have flowers.”
Gloria’s heart beat faster. Was it a coincidence—or a sign—that Cyrus had brought her amaryllis bulbs, and that she’d chosen the quilt with those same blooms on them in Nora’s shop? “I love amaryllis,” she whispered. “I don’t have much of a green thumb, but I can get amaryllis to bloom every winter. So this is wax?” she asked, fingering the thick maroon coating on one bulb and the cream-colored coating on the other.
“Yup. I’ve only seen the pictures in the catalogs,” he continued eagerly, “but most of them had three or four big blooms. No need for dirt or water,” he repeated as he gazed into her eyes. “All you add is love. And—and maybe by the time these flowers are in full bloom, we’ll know that our love is in bloom, too, Gloria.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He’d used the L word. And he’d been looking at her straight-on. “Oh, Cyrus,” she murmured. “What a beautiful idea—and a wonderful-gut gift, too.”
“I didn’t know whether you’d rather have red flowers or white, so I got you one of each,” he continued. “I—I’m glad we’re spending time together again, Gloria. It’s only been a few days since you found out about that dumb bet, but the time has made me aware of what I stood to lose if you didn’t give me another chance.”
Gloria set the little crate on the ground so she could hug Cyrus hard. He pulled her close, cradling her head in his hand as he kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. By the time she came up for air she felt light-headed. Her imagination was spinning with pretty daydreams, yet Cyrus felt like the solid anchor she needed in her life.
“We all take our turns at doing stupid things,” she whispered. “Gutness knows I acted like a fool while I was chasing after Roman and Allen. I’m amazed you’d even want to take me out after the way I acted then.”
“You’ve changed,” Cyrus insisted. “Once you took on the management of the lodge apartments and started writing our column for The Budget, I realized you were more than just a pretty face, Gloria. And you’ve shown me that I needed to upgrade my behavior if you’re to seriously consider me as . . . husband material.”
Gloria almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. There was no denying Cyrus’s sincerity as he gazed at her with such hopeful tenderness, however. “Well, now!” she whispered breathlessly. “We’ve given ourselves quite a lot to talk about in the coming days. But after what we’ve learned in Willow Ridge, it’s gut to have such a happy subject we can discuss—because we four have to keep this business about Cornelius Riehl totally quiet, you know. It’s in Bishop Monroe’s hands now.”
“It is,” Cyrus confirmed. “And you’re in my hands. I like the sound—and the feel—of that.”
As he kissed her again, Gloria felt a welling up of joy and hope. Cyrus thought she was pretty—and capable! He believed she’d grown out of her silliness and was ready for a serious relationship. The words I love you so much, Cyrus were on the tip of her tongue, yet she realized they could wait. At this moment, her heart was already so full she just wanted to savor the images and words of a day unlike any other in her life.
Cyrus took her hand and picked up the little crate with the bulbs in it. As she folded the paper sack and tucked it under her arm, Gloria felt bubbly and alive—ready to watch her amaryllis plants send up shoots and burst into bloom, along with her feelings for the handsome young man who was walking beside her.
Full of eager anticipation, Gloria focused on the lodge building down the hill and on the future.
So this is what it feels like when a dream comes true.
* * *
Later that night, Gloria felt like one of Ruby’s bees, buzzing with so much hope and excitement that she couldn’t sleep. What a day they’d had in Willow Ridge, learning the truth about Cornelius—but they’d also met Nora Hooley and Bishop Tom, and they’d eaten a wonderful lunch, and she’d seen a beautiful amaryllis quilt . . . and she’d fallen in love with Cyrus.
This time, she was sure.
The full moon shone brightly through her window, lighting up half her apartment, yet it wasn’t enough. She felt compelled to slip outside and experience its light full-on, despite the chill in the air. Wrapping her cream-colored shawl over her shoulders, Gloria padded down the back stairs barefoot—not that she would waken anyone. At one-thirty in the morning, Irene and the Kuhn sisters were deeply asleep, as were most of the folks who lived at Promise Lodge.
As Gloria stepped out onto the front porch, she held her breath in awe. The moon shone like a golden coin, regal and serene. The night sky was deep blue, cloudless and breathtaking, spangled with stars that sparkled like tiny diamonds. The white homes and buildings along the road took on a special glow, steeped in peaceful silence.
Was it silly to imagine that God had made this night especially beautiful just for her? Was He celebrating the fact that she’d found a man to marry despite her previous fears?
The white porch posts glowed as she leaned against one to turn her face up to the moon and bask in its cool, placid light. Folks often claimed the full moon made people and animals act a little crazier than usual—and she’d done her share of crazy things. Yet this moon was different.
As she gazed up toward heaven, Gloria felt worthy and mature, filled with love come straight down from God into her soul. Mesmerized, she continued to focus on the moon until she attained a still, silent joy.
Is this a gift from You, God—or are you here, too, Dat? Stick around, as we’re not nearly finished with this business concerning Cornelius. And stay with me, too . . . because you both know I need all the light I can get to see my way with Cyrus.
Gloria inhaled the cool night air and let it out slowly, filled with wonder. Then she went upstairs to bed, knowing without a doubt that God Himself had touched her with His love.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Annabelle’s heart was hammering as Phineas knocked on the Burkholders’ front door. It was one of those moments of truth that would determine her future, and she prayed that this unscheduled meeting would go smoothly. As light footsteps approached the door from inside the house, Phineas clasped her hand, appearing almost as anxious as she felt. In his purple shirt, broadfall trousers, and suspenders he looked almost Amish again—except for growing out his hair.
“It’s the right thing we’re doing,” he whispered. “It’ll all work out, Annabelle.”
When the door swung open, Christine greeted them with a bright smile. “What a nice surprise! Come in, come in—don’t mind my mess,” she warned as she waved them into the front room. “I’m rearranging my pantry, figuring out how to store more jars of canned fruits and vegetables in it, so I’ve carried all the contents out here. What brings you folks over on this fine Friday afternoon?”
Sidestepping the bins of flour, quart jars of tomatoes, and stacked cooking pots, Annabelle glanced around. “Well, we’d like to speak with Bishop Monroe—”
“To settle my status with the Old Order, once and for all,” Phineas added firmly.
“Ah. He’s in the stable working with his Clydesdales,” Christine said apologetically. “One of his clients is coming with a trailer to take four horses that are trained and ready.”
Annabelle sighed, disappointed. “I don’t suppose he wants to be bothered, then,” she murmured. “Maybe we should come back later, when—”
“Considering
how important your situation is, I bet he’d be happy to talk with you,” Christine insisted. “This business with Bishop Clayton claiming Phineas can’t come back into the fold has a lot of folks upset, and Monroe would like to see your status resolved the way he—and the rest of us—believe it should go. Head down through the upper gate, across the pasture, and holler into one of the barns. You’ll find him.”
“Denki so much,” Annabelle said. “Truth be told, I’ve always wanted to see what Bishop Monroe’s big barns look like inside.”
Phineas smiled at Christine. “And how about if I take a look at your pantry? Maybe I could design some more efficient shelving—unless Monroe’s already got plans for that project, of course.”
“He’s been so busy getting the horses ready for this pickup date—and so preoccupied with other things—my pantry project’s the last thing on his mind,” Christine admitted. “I’m trying to save myself so many trips to the basement for our canned goods. Nothing earth shattering—”
“But it’s the sort of redesigning project I do all the time,” Phineas put in. “You’re under no obligation to have me do the work after I show you some sketches.”
Christine’s face lit up and she gestured for them to follow her into a large, sunny kitchen. The white cabinets and counters appeared fresh and new. The room seemed more spacious than many Amish kitchens—and Annabelle realized that because the Burkholders had no children to raise, they got by with a much smaller table, the way she and Phineas always had.
It touched her, that Christine and Monroe’s second marriage had so much in common with the relationship she and her husband shared. As Phineas stepped into the pantry and chatted with Christine, Annabelle walked slowly around the kitchen, allowing herself to imagine what her new kitchen might look like when they built their home at Promise Lodge. Their Bird-in-Hand farmhouse had been nearly eighty years old, and the kitchen had only one small window, cracked plaster walls, and cramped cabinet space.
But Annabelle knew better than to set her heart on a new home before Phineas had been readmitted into the Amish church.
“I can think of a couple different directions to go with this project,” her husband was saying as he and Christine emerged from the pantry. “I’ll sketch them out and you can tell me what you think.”
“That would be wonderful, Phineas,” the bishop’s wife said. “Monroe will appreciate your help with this effort as much as I will. Come back for coffee and goodies after your chat, if you’d like. I haven’t seen nearly enough of you folks lately.”
Once again Annabelle set out with Phineas to find the bishop, being careful to close the white plank gate behind them before crossing a lush green pasture where colorful autumn leaves had caught in pockets of tall grass. A few Clydesdales looked up from their grazing to watch her and her husband—such majestic creatures with their muscular necks, thick manes, and shaggy, cream-colored legs that ended in huge hooves. What a picture they made with the two large red barns in the background.
And what will happen to this property—these horses— if our fake bishop bamboozles folks and banishes Bishop Monroe?
Annabelle tried not to let such frightening thoughts overwhelm her. Surely the evidence in her friends’ letters would be enough to prevent Clayton King from taking over, yet Bishop Monroe seemed to be waiting for more proof before he pounced. As this past week had ticked by, Annabelle wondered if Monroe had made any progress.
“I say we try the barn on the left,” Phineas suggested, interrupting her gloomy thoughts. “We need to be careful about spooking these huge horses when we peek inside, though.”
“Jah, we wouldn’t survive if one of them reared up and came down on our heads,” Annabelle agreed as they approached the barn door. “And yet, I’ve seen Bishop Monroe hop on and ride them bareback, without a bridle, so he surely must’ve trained them so they’re accustomed to meeting strangers.”
The walk-in barn door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges. When they peered inside, they were greeted by the scents of leather tack, fresh hay, and the muted pungency of manure. On the wall to their right hung numerous harnesses. The main floor of the barn was divided by a wide pathway between stalls, which were formed by thick wooden support poles. A couple of young horses looked up from their feed bins and nickered, tossing their heads as they eyed Annabelle and Phineas curiously.
“This is the cleanest barn I’ve ever seen,” Annabelle murmured. The thudding of heavy hooves and jingling bells near the back made her look up. “You in here, Bishop Monroe?” she called out.
“It’s Phineas and Annabelle,” her husband added loudly. “Hope we’re not disturbing you!”
The bishop’s familiar laughter rang high in the rafters. “You’re just in time for a show, folks!” he replied. “Open both of those main doors, wide as they’ll go—and then stand back!”
Annabelle and Phineas hurried to do as Monroe had instructed, unbolting the tall metal doors and shoving them in opposite directions on their tracks. By the time they scrambled outside, the concrete floor was vibrating with the weight of massive hooves stepping in cadence. The jingle of bells filled the air as four full-grown Clydesdales thundered out of the barn in black parade regalia, their silver harness and bridle ornaments glistening in the sunlight as they trotted outside.
Perched on the seat of a glossy black wagon, Monroe was grinning like a kid. He allowed the horses to pull the wagon completely out of the barn before he called out, “Whoa, boys! We’re gonna give these folks a ride.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened. She’d watched state fair and holiday parades that featured horses in such ornate bridles and harnesses, but never had she imagined getting to ride behind a team like this one.
“Use those metal steps on the side and grab my hand,” the bishop instructed as he leaned down over the side of the wagon. “This team’s owner will be here in about an hour, and I want him to put these boys through their paces before he takes them home. It’s not often I get to use my parade equipment, so your timing’s perfect.”
Grasping Monroe’s broad hand, Annabelle scrambled up the rungs on the side of the wagon. Phineas followed close behind her, and soon they were seated on the driver’s bench on either side of the bishop.
“Before you ask—I own this fancy gear with all the flashy silver and jingling bells because these Clydesdales have to be trained with such paraphernalia so they’ll be accustomed to it when their owners take them to exhibitions,” Bishop Monroe explained. “These boys are also gut at pulling extraordinary amounts of weight—not just in fancy draft horse competitions but, say, if a loaded eighteen-wheeler needed to be hauled up out of a farmer’s ditch. So they’re not just pretty faces, trained for shows. They’re workers.”
Annabelle gazed at the four huge horses standing perfectly still in front of them. Their brown coats glistened in the sunshine, and their manes had been braided with black ribbons. Their heads were proudly erect, and their ears were up, waiting for Monroe’s next command.
“Easy, boys. Stand and wait,” he said quietly, allowing the lines to relax. He turned to Annabelle and Phineas. “Let’s chat until my assistants meet us at the gate. I’m guessing Christine sent you to find me because you’re ready to declare yourself, Phineas,” Monroe said.
“Jah, Bishop, we’ve come for your blessing,” Phineas confirmed. “I’m ready to make a kneeling confession this Sunday so Annabelle and I can be together again. If you preachers and the members put me on the usual six-week probationary bann, I’ll do whatever’s asked of me.”
“Phineas wants us to start fresh at Promise Lodge,” Annabelle put in eagerly, “and I do, too! We’ve talked things out, like you suggested, and we’ve settled our differences.”
“I’ve fetched the first load of my tools and equipment from Ohio, too, so I can operate my remodeling business in this area now,” Phineas put in.
“Glad to hear it!” Bishop Monroe said as he shook Phineas’s hand, and then Annabelle’s. “We’ll make it happ
en this Sunday, and I have no doubt your new friends here will want nothing but the best for both of you. It promises to be an . . . unusual church service, however, so if things get a little out of hand, hang on and keep the faith.”
Phineas frowned. “Do you expect King to raise such a ruckus that he won’t allow—”
“Keep the faith—and welcome back to it, Phineas,” Bishop Monroe repeated firmly. “That’s all I can say.”
Annabelle blinked. What did bishop mean by a little out of hand? She’d grown suspicious of the way Clayton King had skulked about lately, as though he planned a big set down when he preached on Sunday. She had full faith in God, however—and as far as she was concerned, Monroe Burkholder was next in line behind Jesus and Phineas when it came to ranking the men she believed in.
“And there they are,” the bishop said, gesturing toward the gate. “Lavern and Lowell worked hard helping me train this team, so I told them they could ride along for this final road trial. Shall we go?”
As the wagon rolled forward behind the Clydesdales, Annabelle’s heart thumped like a happy drum. When they reached the top of the pasture, Lavern Peterscheim and Lowell Kurtz opened the white slatted gate. Their eager faces glowed with excitement and true devotion to the horses—and the bishop—they’d been working with for several months.
“Lookin’ real gut!” Lavern called out as the team and wagon passed through the opening. “Nice to see we have honored guests coming along, too.”
“It’s a big day,” Lowell said as he closed the gate behind them. “I’ve been looking forward to this ride forever!”
When the team stopped, the boys scrambled up over the wagon’s sides. Bishop Monroe smiled over his shoulder at them. “Here we go, boys—slow and steady now.”
With a jingle of harness bells, the four Clydesdales eased forward. Yipping once, Daisy raced over from Preacher Marlin’s barrel factory to lope alongside the wagon, as though she was their special escort. When Harley and Minerva waved from their front yard, Annabelle returned their greeting—and then saw that Christine was waving from her porch, as well.
Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 23
