Love Blooms in Winter

by Lori Copeland

  By midafternoon they learned the new supply train had arrived safely beyond the wreckage site. A bunch of burly men went to meet it, and soon they were back and unloading from the wagons much-needed supplies: tents, cases of canned goods, blankets, and warm clothing.

  Sitting with a group of women, Mae tried to locate Tom. Dogs and cats roamed the site, sniffing out tasty treats left by small children. Jeremy, ropes tied around his waist, struggled to control the animals and keep them away from the crowd.

  Tom’s eyes caught sight of the woman who filled his heart. When he realized the train was going to wreak havoc on Dwadlo, his only worry had been for Mae, Jeremy, and Pauline. He’d become very fond of the lovely postmistress. No, it was far more than that—he loved her. There, he’d admitted it. He loved Mae Wilkey. Now he had to decide what to do about it.

  Actually, he knew exactly what needed to be done. He had to talk to her before he did one thing more. He needed to settle a large part of his life, and it couldn’t wait. “Mae.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice.

  “Will you come with me, please? I need your help with something.”

  He heard the other women telling her they were fine and for her to go with him. She approached him looking more tired than he’d ever seen her. He put his arm around her shoulders, and they began to walk up the street. “How’s Pauline?”

  Mae sighed. “She’s very cold. Are the blankets unloaded yet?”

  He nodded toward the large crates stacked on the right. “In there.”

  “I’ll take her one.”

  “Hold on. I want you to come with me.” Folks were forming a crowd, vying for supplies, but he led her away. He was confident someone would look out for the elderly woman.

  Walking toward the river, Tom rubbed the kinks from his neck. Mae watched from the corner of her eye, wishing she could do that for him. “Where are we going?” A sharp wind was slicing through her, and she longed for the campfire. She needed to claim a large tent and get it set up before dark. Pauline and Jeremy would stay with her until—until what? She rebuilt her tiny home?

  Thank God for C&NW’s generosity in financially helping Dwadlo pick up the pieces and put it all back together. She didn’t have the funds to rebuild, nor did the other residents. She had a jelly jar she had kept in the cabinet for emergencies, and this was certainly an emergency, but she didn’t have nearly enough to build a new home. Besides, she wasn’t sure she would even find the jar.

  Winking, Tom smiled. “Just follow me. Hold your questions.”

  She did as she was told, wondering where he could be going when his help was sorely needed in town. Approaching her house—or where her house had once sat, she winced when she saw what remained. Windows had been shattered by flying debris. Broken two-by-fours were lying like matchsticks in the yard. Yet on closer inspection, she realized that even with the massive damage the house might be salvaged. Pausing, Tom verified her thoughts. “It needs a new roof, new windows, and quite a bit of other repair, but we should have you back in your home in just a few weeks.”

  Sighing, she sagged against him for support. His arms closed around her, and they nestled together against a stiff gust of wind. For a moment the world felt right again. Her gaze strayed to Pauline’s place and then her heart broke. Her house appeared to suffer massive damage, and the poor woman barely had enough money for food. Lumber and bits of paper—like bank notes—littered the ground. The bank was gone, as well as Jake’s office. Perhaps that was good. He wanted to leave his former life behind. Maybe God had helped him make a clean break.

  “What are we doing here, Tom?”

  “We’re taking stock of our lives.”

  She glanced up. “Our lives?”

  “You didn’t think the news of your engagement being off wouldn’t race through town like wildfire, regardless of the disaster and countless other problems?”

  “That was yesterday, and you haven’t said a word.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been a little busy. Besides, I didn’t feel it was my place to mention it. We really haven’t known each other long enough for me to pry into your personal life.”

  Snuggling closer, she whispered, “I feel I know you well enough to tell you anything. The length of time we’ve been acquainted with each other doesn’t matter.” She’d known Jake forever, and in many ways he was still a stranger.

  His hold tightened. “I figured you would tell me when the time was right.”

  “And you think this is the proper time to discuss my spinsterhood?” She looked away. “I don’t know if I’ll ever marry. There’s so much to do here, I’d never be able to leave.”

  “Jeremy?”

  She nodded and looked up at him. “He’s a part of me, Tom. He’ll be with me the rest of his life.”

  “And then there’s Pauline.”

  “There’s always Pauline. I am so deeply sorry about the mistake. I should have made certain you were kin before I sent the letter, but I had exhausted all means of finding her family—”

  “I’ve been meaning to mention that. I had lived a carefree bachelor life for years and just received a good promotion—one that would set me up for life. Then your letter came. A month passed, and the second letter turned up.”

  “You didn’t answer. I was afraid the first letter hadn’t reached you, so I wrote another one.”

  “I got both letters, but I thought my men were pulling a joke on me. I knew I didn’t have kin in Dwadlo, North Dakota.”

  “Then why did you respond?”

  “Well, there was always the slim chance I could be mistaken. Once both my parents had passed, I didn’t keep up with family matters. I had a sister, but she had passed away, so when your second letter came it raised doubts. I thought maybe I did have kin here and just didn’t know it.”

  She shook her head. “I gather the Curtises weren’t a close family.”

  “Not close. Not after I left home. I misled the railroad and told them I was seventeen to get my first job. I was fourteen, but I worked as hard as any man older than me.”

  “You lied?”

  “I misled.” His gaze fixed on Pauline’s place. “I lied. I’m not proud of it, but I wanted that job so badly I could taste it, Mae. Have you ever wanted anything that badly?”

  Her eyes searched his and then she smiled. “Yes.” She snuggled deeper into his arms. “I’m glad you’re going to stay and help us rebuild.”

  Pulling slightly away, he studied her. “How do you know I plan to stay?”

  “You said so in the telegraph you sent Clive.”

  “Actually, I’m going to rebuild the station—only this time I’m going to do it right. The railroad will pay Pauline’s asking price. If today doesn’t prove that C&NW needs that track to run to Pine Grove, then I’ll eat my hat.”

  Smiling, she hugged him. “I’ll help you.”

  “You can’t help. You’ll be too busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Well, here’s my plan.” His gaze shifted back to Pauline’s property. “That’s a handsome piece of land. What does she own? Thirty, forty acres?”

  “About that.”

  “It doesn’t take thirty or forty acres to lay track and build a decent station.”

  “No, I wouldn’t imagine.”

  “And I’m thinking that Dwadlo wants to remain small.”

  “I could use a bit bigger house.”

  “You can build as large of a house as you want. The way I figure, I’ll talk Pauline into selling the railroad enough land to bring the track through her property, but I’ll advise her to hold back enough to build a good-sized home—a big one.”

  “What will Pauline do with a big house? She couldn’t manage the little one she had.”

  “Agreed, but times are changing. Folks can’t always take care of their own. I want to put up a place that will house widows and even widowers. Take care of them. Feed them. Give them back a small semblance of life, respect, and care in their old age.”
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  “Goodness, Tom, like one of those places we talked about sending Pauline to? Who could picture such a thing in Dwadlo? Folks take care of kin regardless of the changing times.”

  “But there are others like Pauline who have no family. I can imagine it. It’ll work, Mae, and Pauline will be our first resident. We’ll name it the Pauline Wilson Rest Home.”

  “Rest home!”

  “It has a nice ring to it, honey. And it’s needed. The world is changing, and we’re going to change with it.”

  “Tom!”

  “Mae, face it. When you get to be Pauline’s age you’re in the way. If you’re fortunate to have a Mae Wilkey in your life, you’ll do fine, but most folks aren’t that lucky. If God allows a man or woman a good long life, eventually everybody they know and love dies. There’s no one to take care of these folks. Dwadlo is the kind of town they could spend their last days in peace and—”

  “Tom!”

  “What?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, most folks—”

  She stopped him. “Before that.”

  “The world is changing?”

  “Before that.”

  Grinning, he said. “Honey. I called you honey, all right? You’re not engaged to Jake anymore, and honestly, Mae, I’ve wanted to call you that for a while…” He paused. “Look. You might as well know right now that I’m not good at this sweet talk stuff.” He turned toward the General Store. “I have an idea. Come with me.”

  A few minutes later Mae found herself back at the debris site of the store. “Tom, I’m half frozen, and I really need to claim a tent.”

  “You have one. I set it aside earlier, along with food, blankets, clothing—everything you need.” He shoved a broken counter aside and made his way through the rubble and paused before the telegraph machine, where he typed a message.

  IF I STAY STOP WHAT ARE THE CHANCES OF US—YOU AND ME STOP YOU KNOW

  Deciphering the code, Mae broke into a grin. He met her gaze expectantly.

  “Are you planning to send that?” she asked.

  “I just sent it…to you.”

  “Well, as you say, times are changing. Do you want me to tap out my reply?”

  Giving her a slow, easy grin, he winked at the woman he loved and said, “I’d rather get the message in person.”

  Shoving a board aside, she moved to give her answer. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she smiled. “I’d say the chances are as good as they get.”

  His gaze softened as he pulled her to him. “I might want to stay around a long time, Miss Wilkey. Could be a lifetime.”

  Kissing him softly, she whispered, “Why, Mr. Curtis, that’s what I’m counting on.”

  Discussion Questions

  1. Mae assumed her life was settled until Tom came along. Has God ever changed your plans (as we say in Missouri) “in the middle of the stream”? Discuss.

  2. Mae didn’t realize it, but she was settling for something less than love. Can you think of any time in your life when you’ve settled for something less than you wanted?

  3. Did Mae have the right to contact Tom and hand off her problem to him? In small communities the citizens often bond as a family. Did Dwadlo residents have a responsibility to their elderly?

  4. Can you think of specific instances in the Bible where God speaks of His family? What are His instructions for family responsibilities?

  5. If you, like Tom, were told you had a distant relative who needed care, how would you respond? Would you answer the call?

  6. Dale is a colorful character in Love Blooms in Winter. Have you known people with a similar personality? Shy and unable to express thoughts and feelings? How do you react to such a person? Do you make an effort to bring him or her into your circle of friendship? Why or why not?

  7. How difficult is it for you to follow 1 John 4:11, “Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another”? Was Mae truly trying to help her friend Pauline, or was she trying to make her personal life easier? To what extent does the Lord expect us to closely follow 1 John 4:11, and why do we so often fail in our efforts?

  8. Pauline is another lively character in the story. Does anyone in your group have a “Pauline” in his or her life? God tells us to care for the widows and the elderly. To what extent are we commanded to do this? Are nursing homes an easy way to solve the problem? Discuss the pros and cons of caring for the elderly.

  9. Jake loved Mae, and Mae loved Jake, but they had outgrown true affection. Have you experienced this in your own life? Have you witnessed marriages where love has turned to dutiful indifference? Do you think that can happen to God’s children if deep love isn’t present? If someone came to you with such a problem, how would you advise them?

  10. If you could glean one specific personal or spiritual lesson from this story, what would it be?

  About the Author

  LORI COPELAND is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books’ Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame.

  Lori lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, their three children, and five grandchildren.

  Coming soon from Lori Copeland and Virginia Smith, Book 1 in their brand-new Amish of Apple Grove series

  THE HEART’S FRONTIER

  Chapter One

  Mid-July, 1881, Apple Grove, Kansas

  Nearly the entire Amish district of Apple Grove had turned out to help this morning, all twenty families. Or perhaps they were here to wish Emma Switzer well as she set off for her new home in Troyer, fifty miles away.

  From her command post on the porch of the house, Emma’s grandmother kept watch over the loading of the gigantic buffet hutch onto the specially reinforced wagon. Her sharp voice sliced through the peaceful morning air.

  “Forty years I’ve had that hutch from my dearly departed husband and not a scratch on it. Jonas, see that you use care!”

  If Maummi’s expression weren’t so fierce, Emma would have laughed at the long-suffering look Papa turned toward his mother. But the force with which Maummi’s fingers dug into the flesh on Emma’s arm warned that a chuckle would be most ill-suited at the moment. Besides, the dozen or so men straining to heft the heavy hutch from the front porch of their home into the wagon didn’t need further distractions. Their faces strained bright red above their beards, and more than one drop of sweat trickled from beneath the broad brims of their identical straw hats.

  Emma glanced at the watchers lined up like sparrows on a fence post. She caught sight of her best friend, Katie Beachy, amid the sea of dark dresses and white kapps. Katie smiled and smoothed her skirt with a shy gesture. The black fabric looked a little darker and crisper than that of those standing around her, which meant she’d worn her new dress to bid Emma farewell, an honor usually reserved for singings or services or weddings. The garment looked well on her. Emma had helped sew the seams at their last frolic. Of course, Katie’s early morning appearance in a new dress probably had less to do with honoring Emma than with the presence of Samuel Miller, the handsome son of the district bishop. With a glance toward Samuel, whose arms bulged against the weight of holding up one end of the hutch, she returned Katie’s smile with a conspiratorial wink.

  Her gaze slid over other faces in the crowd and snagged on a pair of eyes fixed on her. Amos Beiler didn’t bother to turn away but kept his gaze boldly on her face. Nor did he bother to hide his expression, one of longing and lingering hurt. He held infant Joseph in his arms, and a young daughter clutched each of his trouser-clad legs. A wave of guilt washed through Emma, and she hastily turned back toward the oxcart.

  From his vantage point up in the wagon bed, Papa held one end of a thick rope looped around the top
of the hutch, the other end held by John Yoder. The front edge of the heavy heirloom had been lifted into the wagon with much grunting and groaning, while the rear still rested on the smooth wooden planks of the porch. Two men steadied the oxen heads, and the rest, like Samuel, had gathered around the back end of the hutch. A protective layer of thick quilts lined the wagon bed.

  Papa gave the word. “Lift!”

  The men moved in silent unity. Bending their knees, their hands grasped for purchase around the bottom edges. As one they drew in a breath, and at Papa’s nod raised in unison. Emma’s breath caught in her chest, her muscles straining in silent sympathy with the men. The hutch rose until its rear was level with its front, and the men stepped forward. The thick quilts dangling beneath scooted onto the wagon as planned, a protective barrier from damage caused by wood against wood.

  The hutch suddenly dipped and slid swiftly to the front. Emma gasped. Apparently the speed caught Papa and John Yoder by surprise too, for the rope around the top went slack. Papa lunged to reach for the nearest corner, and his foot slipped. The wagon creaked and sank lower on its wheels as the hutch settled into place. At the same moment Papa went down on one knee with a loud, “Ummmmph.”

  “Papa!”

  “Ach!” Maummi pulled away from Emma and rushed toward the oxcart. Heart pounding against her ribcage, Emma followed. Men were already up in the cart to check on Papa, but Maummi leaped into the wagon bed with a jump that belied her sixty years, the strings of her kapp flying behind her. She applied bony elbows to push her way around the hutch to her son’s side.

  She came to a halt above him, hands on her hips, and looked down. “Are you hurt?”

  Emma reached the side of the wagon in time to see Papa wince and shake his head. “No. A bruise is all.”

  “Good.” She left him lying there and turned worried eyes toward her beloved hutch. With a gentle touch, she ran loving fingers over the smooth surface and knelt to investigate the corners.

  A mock-stern voice behind Emma held the hint of a chuckle. “Trappings only, Marta Switzer. Care you more for a scratch on wood than an injury to your son?”