Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  He turned to face Leola, crossing his arms. He intended to hear her out, and then send her back to Macomb—right after he called her parents. “Why are you here, Leola?”

  Her shoulders slumped and her expression fell. “Don’t be mean to me, Monroe,” she whimpered. “I love you. I missed you so bad, I had to come—”

  “How’d you get here?” he asked, careful to keep his frustration out of his voice. If Leola started weeping, everyone in the dining room would assume he was mistreating her. He knew she got noisy when she was upset.

  Leola hiccupped. “I hired a driver,” she replied. “I—I remembered you saying something about Promise Lodge before you left us, and he had a gizmo in his car that told him how to get here.”

  Monroe closed his eyes, wondering how to proceed. “It’s a long drive from Illinois. Probably four hours in a car,” he mused aloud. “Where’d you get the money for gas and the driver?”

  Leola looked down at her clasped hands, sniffling. “Mama’s egg money. She keeps it in a teapot in the pantry.”

  He wanted to march her into the kitchen and call her parents immediately, but the Kuhn sisters and the other women would be taking pans of food from the oven within earshot of the strained conversation—and the Duffs had a phone shanty, so he’d only be able to leave a message, anyway. As he’d done dozens of times, Monroe wondered why this vulnerable young woman had become so attached to him, so infatuated. Why did she repeatedly announce that he should marry her because he’d ruined her? He winced as he recalled the expressions on the men’s faces a few minutes ago.

  “And your driver has already left?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Oh, jah. He carried my suitcases to the porch, because I told him I’d be staying. Forever.”

  Monroe swallowed a groan. It would remain a mystery, why God had created Leola with such a pretty face yet so challenged in other areas . . . but it did him no good to wonder about God’s motives. He had to focus on the fact that somehow Leola had left home without her parents’ knowledge, and on figuring out what to do with her until they came for the runaway. He prayed quickly that Christine, her sisters and daughters, and the Kuhns would help keep an eye on Leola—

  Christine. Monroe sighed. She surely must think the worst, after the way Leola had spoken out. He had no doubt that Amos, Eli, and Marlin would demand an explanation—and even though Monroe hesitated to talk in front of Leola, he knew they had a right to hear about his relationship with her. It was her word against his, and he already knew how she would gaze at the preachers with her sparkling eyes and dewy complexion and unwittingly condemn him with every loving word she said about him.

  Monroe stepped away from her open arms. “Tell you what,” he said as he started toward the dining room. “We’ll eat some dinner and get you settled into a room upstairs,” he suggested as Leola caught up with him. “And then I’ll call your parents—”

  “They’re not home!” she said gleefully. “It’s just you and me, Monroe. Just like it ought to be.”

  His heart sank as he saw some of the folks in the dining room turn to follow their conversation. Despite their pleasant chatter—and their speculation about him and Leola, no doubt—her strident voice had carried clearly.

  Monroe put on the best smile he could manage, gesturing toward the buffet tables along the wall. “Shall we eat?” he said gently. “Wedding food is always the best, isn’t it?”

  Leola gazed up at him adoringly. “Dirt would taste gut if I was eating it with you, Monroe.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rosetta savored a mouthful of flavorful “roast” made of chicken, stuffing, and gravy. All around her, folks were eating their meal and speculating about the young woman who’d shown up and said such shocking things to—and about—Monroe. The bishop had guided Leola Duff to one end of the only unoccupied table in the room, and as he ate his dinner, he seemed at a loss for conversation while his unexpected guest gazed adoringly at him.

  Christine, who sat across the table from Rosetta, scowled as she drew her fork through her food without eating it. The lines in her forehead aged her, and Rosetta felt as saddened and perturbed as her sister looked. Their day of celebration for their nephew Roman had spiraled out of control, and no one knew how to recapture the joy they’d all felt earlier, during the service. Beulah and Ruby had cooked a fabulous feast, yet because she felt so concerned for Christine, the food didn’t taste nearly as special as it had at Mattie and Amos’s wedding.

  “I can’t believe things between Monroe and Leola are the way she described them,” Truman remarked as he glanced in their direction. “Something’s going on that we haven’t figured out yet. But my money’s still on Monroe. He’s a gut man.”

  Rosetta sighed. She was extremely relieved that Maria Zehr had returned to Cloverdale and hadn’t come to the wedding—but she had no idea how to discuss her qualms about the pretty blonde with the man who sat beside her. In a way, Leola’s mysterious appearance had provided a diversion from the serious conversation she needed to have with Truman. “Even the best of men fall prey to temptation,” she said softly.

  Truman didn’t seem to notice that her statement might apply to him. “The same could be said for women. I suspect that a fine-looking fellow like Monroe has had plenty of attention from the ladies all his life,” he said. “Stands to reason that at some time or another, one of them might behave in an inappropriate manner—without Monroe doing anything to encourage her. Makes me glad I’m just an average-looking fellow. No spectacular features that call attention to me.”

  Rosetta’s brows rose. With his light brown collar-length hair and hazel eyes, Truman Wickey was extremely attractive, to her way of thinking . . . and it was no secret that Maria Zehr thought so, too. Rosetta set aside her bitter thoughts to concentrate on her sister, who was looking more miserable by the minute.

  “Christine, I’m sorry this situation has hit you where it hurts,” Rosetta murmured. “When we saw Monroe kissing you on the hill after Mattie’s wedding, I was sure he intended to marry you sooner rather than later.”

  “Me, too,” Christine muttered. She set her utensils across the top of her plate, apparently finished with the meal she hadn’t eaten. “Seems he still has entanglements in Illinois, however. I was dreaming of marrying Monroe on my birthday, but I don’t see that wish coming true now. Sorry I’m such bad company. I’m going upstairs.” She picked up her dirty dishes and stood, walking off before anyone could stop her.

  Rosetta felt compelled to follow Christine to the kitchen, but she didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. Her sister’s February twenty-fifth birthday allowed only a month to clarify or forgive Monroe’s apparent detour down the primrose path—if indeed he’d done anything wrong. She watched Mattie rise from her chair, apparently with the same thought, so Rosetta allowed her eldest sister to console Christine.

  Now that she was already in a bad mood—and she was alone with Truman—it seemed like a good time to tell him exactly how she felt about Maria Zehr taking up residence at Promise Lodge. Rosetta gathered her courage, hoping her words came out in a way that Truman would understand her concerns, but he, too, stood up.

  “The pie table’s calling my name,” he said, smiling at her. “What kind shall I bring for you, honey-girl?”

  Honey-girl. The endearment clutched at her heart, yet Truman seemed unaware of her distress. Rosetta gazed toward the dessert table, where several folks were choosing plates of pie, along with the bars and cookies she and Christine had baked. “How about cherry? Or lemon?” she murmured. She might as well have a reason to appear puckered, considering the sour mood she was in.

  No sooner had Truman made his way across the crowded room than Monroe approached Rosetta, with Leola tagging along like a love-struck puppy. The bishop’s smile looked strained. “Rosetta, this is Leola Duff, and she’ll be needing a place to stay for a while,” he said in a low voice. He held her gaze as though he hoped she would read between his lines. “Would you mind
taking her upstairs so she can choose from the empty rooms? I have some business to attend to.”

  Rosetta hadn’t thought about Leola sticking around for any length of time. It was too cold for her to stay out in one of the unheated cabins behind the lodge—and who would invite Leola to stay in their home?—so a room upstairs was the only practical answer.

  Rosetta stood up, managing a smile. “Do you have luggage, Leola?”

  The young woman’s face brightened. “Jah, I left my suitcases out front—packed nearly every dress I have, considering how I’ll be here the rest of my life.”

  Catching Monroe’s grimace from the corner of her eye, Rosetta figured it was time to get Leola out of the dining room so he could gather his thoughts. “Let’s take them upstairs,” she suggested, gesturing toward the doorway that led to the lobby. “We’ll go up the main stairway.”

  Truman was returning to the table with both kinds of pie she’d asked for, as well as his own, but Rosetta smiled ruefully at him. “Don’t wait to enjoy your dessert,” she murmured. “I’m taking Leola upstairs to choose a room.”

  “Ah. Take your time,” he said. “I’ll visit with other folks for a while so we can share our pie when you get back.”

  Nodding, Rosetta led the way into the lobby. The three suitcases sitting beside the stone fireplace looked the worse for wear, but Leola rushed toward them as though she was embarking upon a great adventure. “This place is really something,” she said. She gazed up at the huge chandelier made of antlers and then at the curving double stairway, which was polished to a gloss. “I’ve never known Amish folks to live in a place like this—like a grand hotel!” she gushed. “I’m really going to like it here! But I’ll be living with Monroe, soon as we get hitched.”

  Rosetta grabbed the handle of one of the suitcases, studying Leola while she took hold of the other two bags. She looked about the same age as Christine’s daughter, Phoebe, who was almost twenty-one, yet something about her seemed almost adolescent. Leola’s peaches and cream complexion ripened to a deep pink when she realized Rosetta was looking at her.

  “What?” she demanded. Her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Not polite to stare, you know.”

  Rosetta started for the nearest stairway, cringing. “I wasn’t really staring,” she insisted as she lugged the heavy old suitcase. “This is the first chance I’ve had to really look at you close-up, Leola. You, um, surprised us all when you came in during the wedding. We didn’t hear you knock.”

  “How was I to know about a wedding?” Leola shot back as she started up the stairway with her luggage. “I ducked inside real fast before that black-and-white dog could bite me.”

  Rosetta paused at the top of the stairs. “Oh, Queenie would never bite anybody,” she insisted kindly. “She just greets people who come onto the Promise Lodge property—even the folks she knows.”

  “I hate dogs.”

  Rosetta’s eyebrows rose. “Well, if you’re to live here, Leola, you’ll have to make your peace with Queenie. Once you pat her and give her time to sniff you, she’ll be fine.”

  Leola topped the stairs, looking doubtful. “Doesn’t matter, really. I’ll be with Monroe, in his house, and he won’t let that dog bother me. He loves me, so he’ll protect me.”

  Rosetta blinked. Monroe apparently hadn’t informed Leola that he was staying in Lester Lehman’s house until his own home could be built—when it was warm enough to pour the foundation. She decided to take the girl down the hallway where no one else had selected rooms yet, opposite where she, Maria, and Christine had their apartments.

  “Let’s leave your bags here until you decide which room you’d like,” she suggested. All the doors were open to keep the rooms from smelling musty, so she gestured toward the nearest one. “If you think you’ll be staying awhile—”

  “Forever,” Leola insisted happily.

  Rosetta sighed to herself. Monroe would have an even bigger problem on his hands if Leola decided she was going to stay with him at the Lehman place—an unthinkable arrangement for folks who weren’t married. From what she’d seen so far, however, this unexpected guest didn’t seem to bother with following the rules. “What I mean is that we can paint your room if you’d like,” she went on in a firm voice. “These rooms haven’t been spoken for yet, so we haven’t fixed them up.”

  “Who lives here?”

  Leola’s blunt question took Rosetta by surprise. “I do, and my sister Christine—my other sister, Mattie, just moved out because she married Preacher Amos,” she explained as patiently as she could. “The two older ladies in flowery dresses—they were refilling the pans on the buffet table downstairs—rent apartments from me.”

  Leola appeared puzzled. “This lodge is yours?”

  “Jah. I own the lodge and the cabins behind it, and single Plain ladies can come here to live.” Rosetta entered the nearest room, which had a simple bed and spare dresser in it. “How’s this look to you? It’s close to the stairs—”

  “People pay you money to live here?” she asked abruptly.

  Rosetta smiled kindly. “Jah. That’s how we have money to cook for our residents, and to pay for gas and such to keep the furnace and the stoves going.”

  As she turned away, Leola’s worried grimace suggested that she had no money. She looked around, seeming a bit frantic. “Maybe I better take the very smallest room then,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Or I’ll just have to stay with Monroe until—”

  “That wouldn’t be proper,” Rosetta said sternly. “Don’t worry if you can’t pay any rent. We’ll figure something out.”

  Leola’s face brightened like the afternoon sun. “Can I see your room?”

  Rosetta’s eyes widened. She didn’t really want to give Leola ideas about living in the same hallway she and Christine shared, so she hoped to convince Monroe’s guest to live on this side of the U-shaped floor. “How about if we pick out your room first, Leola?” she asked gently. “You must be tired from your trip, so spending some time hanging up your clothes—or taking a nap—might be just the—”

  “Babies nap,” Leola snapped. “I’m no baby, so stop treating me like one.”

  Rosetta blinked, willing herself to remain patient. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like a baby,” she said carefully. “We have seven open rooms along this hallway for you to choose from. We can move a different bed and dresser, and an armchair, and rugs into your room, and we have some pretty quilts you can choose from.”

  Clasping her hands tightly at her waist, Leola gazed at the open doorways, where afternoon sunlight spilled into the hallway from the rooms’ windows. “Nope, I can’t stay here—don’t wanna be all by myself. I wanna be close to your room.”

  Rosetta was at a loss for an answer. Leola seemed to change moods as easily as most folks breathed in and out. In the opposite hallway, the Kuhn sisters lived in the back corner apartments, and the rooms adjoining theirs were empty. On the other side of the empty rooms was Christine’s apartment, which was next to Mattie’s former place, where Maria would soon be living. Rosetta’s rooms were on the front corner—and she didn’t have the heart to place Leola next to Christine’s apartment, so this hallway and the short end of the U, next to Beulah, were the only logical spots to consider.

  As she met Leola’s eager gaze, however, Rosetta sensed that there would be nothing logical about this young woman’s behavior.

  * * *

  Christine stood at her apartment windows, oblivious to the beautiful day and the bright sunshine that made the snow sparkle on the ground below. Just on the other side of the wooded area behind the lodge, the hilltop where she and Monroe had kissed—the land where he would build his house and barns—taunted her. Until today she had enjoyed gazing at what she’d assumed would be her future home, but that joy was forgotten as she replayed Leola’s entrance in her mind again and again.

  Was Amos right all along? Is Monroe Burkholder too good to be true—a bishop with a tarnished reputati
on who’s tried to escape an inexcusable relationship?

  In her mind, for the umpteenth time, she watched Leola stand on tiptoe to kiss Monroe and heard again the telltale remarks she’d made.

  “Stop it!” Christine muttered, pivoting on her heel. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so angry and frustrated. Or stupid. Ordinarily, she could pray about situations that upset her and gradually become more peaceful, but praying was the furthest thing from her mind. She wanted to throw something heavy and breakable against the wall for the satisfaction of the crash—a sure sign that she wasn’t her normal, rational self.

  It’s almost scary, how easily Monroe sucked you in . . . how quickly you surrendered to his allure. Silly goose.

  The solid knock on her door startled her. With bitter tears streaming down her face and nothing good to say, she was in no mood for company—and her sisters would’ve tapped lightly before letting themselves in.

  So help me, if it’s Leola, I’m going to—

  “Christine ? It’s Monroe. Please, may I have a word?”

  The sound of his urgent, silken voice made her feel hopeful, yet irritated. Why would she want to talk to Monroe, or hear his dubious explanations? Christine stared at the door. If he dared open it without her inviting him in, she would have proof of his impropriety, wouldn’t she?

  “Please, sweetheart? I know you’re probably upset—and with good reason—”

  “You have no idea!” Christine shot back.

  After a pause, Monroe tried again. “I don’t have much time while Rosetta is with Leola,” he pleaded. “If you don’t let me explain, neither one of us will recover—and we’ll not return to the way we were as a couple.”

  The way we were as a couple. Christine sighed. He was right, but she wasn’t ready to fall for his persuasion, his charm, so soon after her illusions had been shattered. It occurred to her that if she didn’t let Monroe in, she’d have no chance to tell him exactly how disappointed and furious and exasperated she was without an audience following their every word.