When they stepped into the kitchen, the room was redolent with the rich scents of chicken and vegetables. His aunt Nettie, who stood at the old cookstove stirring a pot of soup, turned to greet him—and then her mouth dropped open.
“Aunt Nettie, this is Jerusalem Hooley. She’s come to visit with us for a few days,” he said quickly.
“Has she, now?” Nettie chirped. Her long-handled spoon clanked against the stockpot before landing in the hot soup.
“And Jerusalem, I think you have a great many things in common with Nettie,” Vernon went on in what he hoped was an encouraging voice. “You both like to cook for me and cluck over me, for instance.” And please, Lord, don’t let them start pecking at each other . . .
Jerusalem put on a smile and ventured toward the stove, sniffing deeply. “Mighty nice to meet ya, Nettie. And I can’t tell ya what a treat it is to be welcomed with soup I didn’t have to stir up myself.”
Aunt Nettie glanced from Jerusalem back to Vernon. She laughed quietly. “I’m fixing everybody’s favorite, so I hope you’ll like it, too. Just didn’t realize who I’d be serving. Kind of took me by surprise.”
“I have that effect on folks,” Jerusalem replied lightly. “If you’d have told me two weeks ago I’d be visitin’ a man’s home this way, I would’ve denied it as sure as that cock crowed three times to condemn Peter, in the Bible.”
“And what am I missing out on? Is that you, Vernon?” another voice called from the direction of the front room.
Vernon excused himself to fetch Aunt Florence. As he wheeled her into the kitchen, she checked the oxygen bag strapped to the arm of her chair. “I’m home from a wonderfully productive time in Willow Ridge,” he told her, “and along with seeing my old friend Tom Hostetler installed as the new bishop there—”
“I recall Tommy from when you two were running around in your rumspringa.”
“—I met someone very special,” Vernon continued. He stopped her wheelchair as they entered the kitchen. “Aunt Florence, this is Jerusalem Hooley—”
His aunt wheezed loudly, pressing her oxygen nozzle further into her nose.
“—and she loves to talk about as many different subjects as you do,” he went on. “I hope you three ladies will get to be good friends.”
“She’s still got her coat on, like maybe she’s not so sure about staying,” Florence remarked under her breath. Then she sat straighter in her wheelchair and extended her hand. “You’ll have to excuse me, Jerusalem. Vernon likes to bring us little surprises home every now and again, but you take the cake.”
“Jah, I can see that,” Jerusalem murmured.
Vernon cleared his throat, looking from one startled woman to the next. Then he laughed, at himself mostly. “Now that I’ve upset everybody’s apple cart—especially yours, Aunts—let me tell you how much I appreciate the way all three of you love me and take care of me, even when I don’t warn you about what I’m going to do,” he said. “Trust the Lord along with me, will you? I believe He’s leading us all to make some changes, and that His will and purpose are being worked out even during moments when nobody knows what to think or say.”
Bless her, Jerusalem chuckled as she untied her bonnet and then handed him her coat. “You’re a brave man, Vernon, settin’ yourself up amongst three women who could make ya miserable if we took the notion to—separately, or as a bunch.”
Aunt Nettie grinned as she fished her spoon from the bubbling soup. “I suspect it won’t be long before we are a bunch, hanging together like bananas—”
“Clustered like grapes,” Aunt Florence chimed in as she pointed a playful finger at Vernon. “So you’d best watch out for yourself, young man. You and Abner are outnumbered now. Get used to it!”
As the three women laughed, the tension in the kitchen dissipated like the steam rising from Nettie’s soup pot. Vernon silently gave thanks that they had put their initial discomfort behind them, because all of them had just taken an enormous step forward. Jerusalem’s presence in a home where he had gladly let his kinfolk take charge for these past several years would require a lot of adjustments for all of them.
So maybe it’s time for you to step into being the head of this household again.
That startling thought came at him from out of nowhere, but as he considered it, Vernon recognized the voice of God giving him a prod. He’d been all too happy to immerse himself in leading the people of Cedar Creek . . . perhaps to avoid the emptiness he’d felt in this home after his wife had passed on. It occurred to him that he’d been terribly lonely, even while surrounded by his aunts, Abner, and all of his friends in town, but he hadn’t wanted to give his feelings a label. Hadn’t wanted to face the way his grief for Dorothea had lingered for so long, in the secret depths of his heart.
Vernon smiled at Jerusalem, at the vulnerable yet willing expression on her dear face. God had given him such a gift this past week by bringing her into his life.
“I’ll go on out and tend to Samson,” he said. “You ladies can get acquainted while I catch up with Abner—warn the poor boy what he’ll be up against, dealing with four of us crotchety old senior citizens now.”
“Jah, we’re mighty disagreeable,” Aunt Nettie declared, merrily banging the soup pot with her spoon.
“Puh! Might be just the incentive he needs to get out and court somebody,” Abner’s mother declared. Then she waved Vernon on. “The sooner you head for the barn, the quicker we girls can start our hen party. If you’re lucky, we’ll get most of our gossip out of the way before you come back in, so your ears can stop burning.”
“Jah, the talk’ll be all about you, Vernon,” Aunt Nettie teased. “You’ve opened up the hive now, bringing Jerusalem here. We three will be buzzing like bees for a long while. Hope you can handle that.”
“I’m a doomed man. I don’t stand a chance,” he jested.
But as Vernon stepped into the crisp winter’s afternoon, he felt truly blessed. The Lord had just handed him a chance at a whole new life, with a woman who would help him enjoy it, much as He had created Eve for Adam. His prayers had been answered, even though—until this past week—he hadn’t really known what he was praying for.
Wasn’t it just like God to see to his needs before he realized how needy he was?
Chapter Thirteen
After a filling dinner of chicken soup with Nettie’s homemade noodles, a relish tray, fresh rye rolls, baked pineapple, and a rich bread pudding studded with raisins and apples, both of Vernon’s aunts told Jerusalem to skedaddle.
“We’ve got the kitchen chores under control,” Nettie insisted as she ran hot, soapy water in the sink. “Vernon’s itching to show you around the place.”
“Jah, Nettie washes the dishes and sets them on that drainer so I can dry them and put everything away,” Florence explained. “Vernon built that low cabinet with the extra sink and countertop just for me, so I can be as useful as everyone else.”
“That’s mighty nice, but I feel like I’m slackin’ if I don’t help ya redd up,” Jerusalem protested. It was the cooking and cleaning that made every Plain woman fit in no matter where she visited, because the same jobs had to be done in everyone’s home around mealtime.
“Oh, I suspect you’ll take over your own set of chores one of these days, and you’ll have years and years to clean this kitchen,” Nettie remarked with a knowing smile. “So for now, be our guest, Jerusalem. We’re real pleased you’re here with us.”
“And don’t think you have to entertain me, either,” Abner said as he rose from his seat at the table. He was taller than the rest of them, pudgy from eating his aunts’ cooking; a pleasant fellow of about forty, Jerusalem figured. “I’m going to hole up with my accounts for a while, so that means you’re stuck with Uncle Vernon for company. Gut luck with that!”
“Better with me than with you, Abner,” the bishop teased. His blue eyes twinkled as he gestured toward the door of the front room. “Shall we take their hints and disappear into the nooks and crann
ies of this old home? If it’s all right with you, aunts, we’ll peek at your rooms first and be out of your way in case you’d like a nap.”
“Nap?!” Nettie replied with a hoot.
“Far as I can tell, it’s you who snoozes in your office after dinner,” Florence teased as she wheeled over to grab a dish towel. “You’d have us believe you’re praying in there or studying your scriptures for Sunday service, but you don’t fool me for a minute, young man.”
Vernon tucked Jerusalem’s hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their tour. “I can’t win with those three,” he murmured, “so I pretend to go along with them. You can see how I need someone to take my side, can’t you?”
“Puh! I don’t feel one bit sorry for ya,” Jerusalem said as they entered the large, cozily furnished front room. “Most of us get what we ask for in this life, ya know.”
“You’re absolutely right, Jerusalem.” Vernon’s secretive whisper made her skin shimmer as they chuckled over their private joke. He nuzzled her cheek with a quick kiss before steering her down a hallway to their right. “When we rode in, you probably noticed how this newer wing of the house is just one level. I added it when the aunts and Abner lost their homes in the flood of Nineteen Ninety-Three—three rooms with doorways and a bathroom that will accommodate Aunt Florence’s chair.”
Jerusalem nodded as she gazed at the glossy wood frames around the wider doors . . . a tidy bedroom with yellow walls, and then a similar room painted pale lavender, and a larger room at the end of the hall, which served as Abner’s bedroom and office. “And ya built this wing yourself, Vernon? Do I recall ya sayin’ that ya worked as a master carpenter before ya took on your duties as the bishop?”
“I had help from some wonderful neighbors, getting this wing framed in and the roof put on,” he replied as they headed back down the hallway. “But I did all the interior finishing, yes. Back in the day, I loved nothing better than spending time in my shop, making pieces of furniture Dorothea wanted, but . . .”
He paused, shrugging. “It’s not like we need any more furniture.”
Jerusalem nodded, understanding how Vernon’s wife had taken some of his enthusiasm about working with wood to the grave with her. The large front room was filled with lovely pieces: a china cabinet made of burled walnut displayed a set of old china behind its glass doors, and a matching sideboard served as a place for a swiveling stand where a family Bible rested, open to the second chapter of Luke. Vernon fingered the dresser scarf, which was embroidered on each end with a manger scene.
“Dorothea made this the first Christmas we were married,” he murmured, “and Aunt Nettie likes to get it out each year. And the quilting frame,” he continued, pointing to the work in progress near the big picture window, “is where Aunt Florence spends most of her time. Her eyesight is still quite keen, thank goodness, as she finds great joy in finishing quilts after other ladies have made the tops.”
Jerusalem leaned closer to the framed quilt, an appliqued snowflake design worked in several shades of blue calico. “My word, but that’s a lot of loops and swirls she’s stitchin’ on there,” she remarked. “Never had the patience to do such intricate quilting. I’m better with a crochet hook—or a snow shovel,” she added with a laugh.
Vernon led her by the hand into an alcove built around the home’s front door. “You have more than your share of talents, Jerusalem,” he whispered. “And this happens to be my favorite—so far.”
When he kissed her, Jerusalem nearly squirmed out of his embrace, thinking that any of the three other folks in this home might catch them. Vernon sensed her skittishness and gently tightened his arms around her.
“Nobody uses this door, dear heart,” he said softly, nuzzling her ear. “Even back when the house was built for my grandparents, people usually came in through the kitchen.”
“True of most places,” Jerusalem replied in a tight voice. “But I feel like my backside’s exposed—”
“Now there’s a picture,” the bishop interrupted with a wink.
Jerusalem’s jaw dropped and then she swatted him playfully. “You know what I’m sayin’, so stop makin’ fun of me,” she whispered, fearing her voice might carry out to where Florence would soon resume her quilting. “I’m not used to spoonin’, especially where folks might see—”
“Another little adjustment in everyone’s attitude,” Vernon suggested, his eyes a-twinkle. “I refuse to hide my affection for you, Jerusalem. If that bothers my aunts and Abner, then they are the ones who’ll have to look the other way. It’s my home. And you’re to be my wife . . . I hope.”
“I’m still thinkin’ that over.”
“That’s why I brought you here. Take your time, my dear.” He ran a finger tenderly along the side of her cheek. “Ask me anything that comes to your mind, Jerusalem, for a man and his wife should have no secrets . . . no reservations or unexpressed desires.”
Jerusalem swallowed hard, nodding despite her nervousness. It was one thing to enjoy this man’s sensual suggestions at Tom Hostetler’s place, which was like home turf, but here she was still the guest . . . the young girl looking into the furniture store, daring to dream of the home she would have someday. This opportunity to marry a fine man had come to her unexpectedly, years after she’d given up on the possibility of becoming a wife, and it still scared her if she examined the ramifications of marriage too closely. Holy matrimony wasn’t a state to be entered into lightly . . . especially since she’d thrived for so many years as a maidel.
Once more Vernon kissed her and then he led her past the old stone fireplace, flanked with shelves that were crammed with almanacs and National Geographic books about every place under the sun.
“Dorothea and I spent many a winter’s evening looking at the photographs in those volumes,” he remarked as they went toward another hallway on this end of the house’s older section. “It wasn’t as good as traveling to those places, but we at least got to visit those countries from the comfort of our couch.”
“My family had a lot of those same titles,” she replied, gazing at the parquet oak floors that led to another secluded room. All over this home, fine craftsmanship showed off the love and skill that had gone into building it many generations ago. “So this is your office, where ya take your naps, then?”
Vernon laughed and then winked at her. “All right, I confess. After some of Nettie’s comfort-food dinners, I catch myself dozing off at this rolltop desk, which my grandfather made. But I feel as though I’m in the company of good, solid men who sat here as preachers and bishops before me,” he said in a reverent voice.
“As well ya should, if God chose so many fellas in your family to serve.”
Jerusalem wondered if she dared express the misgivings that had simmered on the back burner in her mind. Would Vernon think she was nit-picking? Making excuses not to give him an answer? “I suppose that’s one thing givin’ me pause,” she murmured. “I’m wonderin’ if I’m cut out to be a bishop’s wife. It’s not like I’m always the biddable, submittin’ type who’ll say and do what I’m supposed to.”
Vernon shook his head good-naturedly. “Not once have I doubted your faith or your integrity, Jerusalem. Nor have I questioned your suitability . . . your willingness to attain the higher level of behavior expected of a bishop’s family. Honesty is a must in a marriage—in a community of faith—even when the truth you speak isn’t what others want to hear.”
Jerusalem’s lips quirked. “Jah, that’s exactly why Hiram Knepp’s no longer in Willow Ridge. And . . . maybe it’s because I believed he might want me for his wife that I’m feelin’ like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. Waitin’ to get hurt again. Wonderin’ what time will tell about you, after this first big bubble of excitement bursts.”
“Who says it has to?” Vernon stood in front of her, taking her hands in his. “When a man and a woman are meant for each other, they find ways to sustain the excitement and to never tire of each other’s company. That
’s how it was between Dorothea and me, so that’s why I believe you and I will share the same sort of love and devotion. It won’t happen overnight, understand. But it will happen if you believe it will.”
Oh, but this man had an eloquence about him, a convincing confidence Jerusalem wanted to embrace. As he lifted her chin for another kiss, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to venture into that deeper water they’d discussed . . . telling herself this man was nothing at all like the banished bishop of Willow Ridge. After all, Hiram had talked a good line but he’d never once kissed her. And these kisses were the stuff dreams were made of...
Jerusalem eased away. Took a deep breath to get her bearings again. She focused on a particularly pretty library table and its four matching chairs, in the center of the room. “My word, you’ve got such wonderful pieces all through your house, but this one’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen, with these carved curlicues along the border and corners.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured as he fondly followed the pattern with his finger. “When Dorothea learned she couldn’t have children, I made this table for the two of us to eat on. We used the larger table, which is now in the kitchen, when we had family and friends here—and after the aunts and Abner moved in.”
“Jah, that would make sense,” she murmured. So many things to know about this man . . . the life he’d lived with his wife. But she set aside her thoughts to find a smile. “It was a relief to see that Nettie and Florence and I get along well. Of course, we were chattin’ about you, mostly, and how I came to Missouri last fall with my nephews. We aunts have a lot in common.”
“I knew you would.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and then led her toward the door. “Ready to see the upstairs? I’ll let you choose your guest room—back in the day, this place was built to house a lot of children, so now we have ample space for visitors.”
An Amish Country Christmas Page 24
