Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Rosetta closed the drawer of the old dresser and joined him and Christine. “It’s gut we got her room fixed the way she wanted it, then. Sounds like she’ll be here awhile.”

  “She loves the clouds you men painted on her ceiling,” Christine added.

  Monroe smiled ruefully, wishing he could spend some time alone with the woman he loved—Christine had an irresistible smudge of flour on her nose just begging him to kiss it off. “As odd as I thought those clouds sounded before we painted them, they give the two rooms a summertime peacefulness I hadn’t anticipated.” He gazed into her green eyes, happy to see himself reflected there. “Wish I could assure you ladies that those clouds are all we need to keep Leola happy. But God created her as one of His special children. He understands the rhyme and reason of her ways even though we don’t.”

  * * *

  Late Monday afternoon, Rosetta, Christine, and the Kuhns turned off the burners beneath their pots of meat sauce and spaghetti so they could watch from the dining room—out of the way—as Truman and his foreman, Edgar, hoisted a deep blue sofa between them. As they started up one side of the double staircase, Monroe and Roman entered the lobby carrying upholstered chairs that matched the sofa. Amos and Noah held a rolled-up rug between them.

  “You fellows had better wait for this rug to go down before you carry that furniture into Maria’s apartment, ain’t so?” the preacher called up to them.

  “Get it up here, then!” Edgar teased. “And before we carry anything into those rooms, we need Miss Maria to tell us where it goes.”

  As though she knew she was the subject of their banter, Maria burst into the lobby, her arms around a large laundry basket crammed with clothes. She leaned back against the door to close it, grinning up at her helpers. “I’ll be right up. You guys are the best—this is a dream come true!” she gushed.

  She wiggled her fingers at Rosetta and the three women who stood with her. “Hi, there! I’ll be right back down with my rent and deposit,” she said as she started up the stairs. “What with buying my furniture and taking out money for you, my account’s cleaned out—but it’s all gut,” she added quickly. “Truman, wait up!”

  Rosetta crossed her arms more tightly. “We could probably carry more of her stuff from the trucks, but you know . . . the men seem quite happy to help her.”

  Christine elbowed her teasingly. “Do I see your brown eyes turning green?”

  Rosetta let out a humorless laugh and turned back toward the kitchen. “No green-eyed monster here, sister,” she replied. “I’m not envious. I’m just wondering how she’ll keep gas in her car and make ends meet, if she’s broke. We offered her Mattie’s furniture, after all.”

  “We’ll hope she brings you cash,” Ruby remarked quietly. “It won’t bounce like a check might.”

  Beulah brought up the rear of their little parade. “Do I need to pour you cats a saucer of milk?” she asked playfully. “I can recall a few times when I was Maria’s age and low on cash—mostly because the men in our family didn’t allow us to work in restaurants or stores. I squeaked by on egg money and housecleaning jobs. I’m thinking Maria will have more cash in the till tomorrow, after a day in her bakery.”

  Rosetta peered into the big pot of half-cooked spaghetti. “Her timing’s not the best. Our pasta will probably be mushy by the time we sit down to eat.”

  Christine relit the gas burner. “We’ll carry our food to the table when it’s ready. If she wants to eat with us, she’s old enough to warm up whatever’s gotten cold.”

  As Rosetta went to the refrigerator for the grated Parmesan cheese, she listened to the men talking upstairs as they arranged the furniture the way Maria was directing them. Soon their noisy footsteps and chatter filled the lobby as they descended the stairs and went out to the trucks for another load.

  Rosetta peered out the window above the sink, wiping off steam with a tea towel. “Do you suppose that rusted-out red car is Maria’s?” she asked quietly.

  “Smile when you talk about my Scarlett!” Maria called out as she came down the back stairway. “She’s not the prettiest girl on the block, but she gets me where I need to go. Here!” She pulled a wad of paper money out of her jacket pocket before starting through the kitchen. “This should cover the last week of January, all of February, plus those deposits you wanted.”

  Rosetta clasped her hand around the money so it wouldn’t fly all over the kitchen in the wake of Maria’s departure. A quick count settled her—at least a little. “Well, she paid an extra fifty on top of the six hundred.”

  Christine nodded. “Always better to get money than excuses.”

  Once again they heard Monroe, Amos, and Truman’s voices entering the lobby—and then an ear-piercing wail came from the open upstairs hallway where the two stairways met. “Monroe! You left me! I woke up and you were gone!”

  Rosetta set her money on the counter near the phone. “This could get ugly,” she murmured as she started up the back stairway. Leola had been in her room embroidering a dresser scarf, and she’d probably drifted off to sleep and been awakened by the racket the men were making. The young woman was leaning out over the staircase railing, oblivious to the dangerous angle of her slender body as she continued fussing at Monroe.

  “Come tuck me in!” Leola pleaded in a little-girl voice. “You know I can’t go back to sleep without you.”

  Rosetta cringed, imagining what Preacher Amos must be thinking—not to mention Edgar and Maria, who didn’t know about Leola. She approached Leola quickly and quietly, wondering how best to keep her from toppling over the railing. “Leola! Psst!” Rosetta said. “Let’s wait up here, shall we? If you fall over that railing you’ll get hurt.”

  Leola swiveled to look at her. “Did you see all the neat stuff they’re bringing in?” she asked loudly. “How come it’s not going in my room?”

  Rosetta reminded herself to remain calm and to consider the consequences of anything she might say. “We have a new renter, Leola. Her name is Maria, and she’ll be staying in the apartment between Christine’s and mine. Let’s get out of the way—”

  She took hold of Leola’s arm so Monroe and Truman could get past them with a large antique trunk.

  “Monroe!” Leola wailed. “I want that!”

  The bishop stopped to hold her gaze. “Leola, you’re confused,” he said gently. “You have furniture in your room. If you want to take another nap, go on back to bed, all right? I’m sorry we woke you up.”

  Leola blinked rapidly, but tears began streaming down her face. When she tried to follow Monroe down the hallway, Rosetta gripped her arm more tightly.

  “Let’s go this way,” Rosetta suggested. “We can take a peek into Maria’s new room on our way to yours.”

  Amos walked past them carrying a nightstand, doubt creasing his face when he looked at Leola. She appeared fearful, ready to burst into tears again, so Rosetta started down the hallway in the opposite direction. “If we go around this corner—past these empty rooms you looked at,” she added as the young woman followed her, “we’ll end up at your room. We might peek into Maria’s room before the men get there.”

  Leola seemed caught up in the idea of beating Monroe to Maria’s apartment, but they weren’t quite fast enough. The bishop and Truman eased the big black trunk through the doorway, and Leola was right behind them. She stopped in the center of the main room, gawking at the blue furniture and the new rug on the floor—and then at Maria.

  Rosetta smiled at her new boarder. “Maria, this is Leola Duff, and she’s got a room in this hallway for a little while, until—”

  “Nuh-uh!” Leola protested, wringing her arm out of Rosetta’s grasp. “I’m here forever! I’m gonna marry Monroe!” she crowed. Then she pointed toward the bedroom, with its blue walls and clouds on the ceiling. “But how come you’re in my room? Those are my blue walls and clouds and—”

  Monroe and Truman set the big trunk down with a whump. “Leola, you’re confused,” the bishop repeated. “A
fter you saw how we painted Maria’s bedroom, you wanted yours the same. Remember?”

  Leola resembled a deer in someone’s headlights as she fixed her gaze on Monroe. The tension in the room grew almost unbearable as Preacher Amos stepped in with the nightstand and saw the way she was gazing at the bishop.

  “Jah, that’s how it was, Leola,” Amos insisted. “And you’ll be going back to your room with Rosetta now, so we can finish carrying Maria’s furniture up here.”

  Leola blinked rapidly, ready to protest until Monroe raised his hand.

  “Amos is right. You should go back to your room, Leola,” he insisted. “And remember your manners. You’re not to come into Maria’s room unless she invites you, all right?”

  Leola pressed her lips into a tight line and pivoted, stalking out of Maria’s raspberry and cream front room.

  Was it Rosetta’s imagination, or did Maria mutter “Not gonna happen” under her breath? She sensed the relationship between the two young women could be as explosive as tossing a match into a can of kerosene unless she and the other lodge residents were able to convince Leola to keep her distance from Maria—and to stay out of Maria’s apartment. It was probably a good thing that Maria would be spending long hours in her bakery six days a week.

  “Just leave me alone,” Leola pleaded as she entered her room.

  Before she could slam the door, Rosetta caught it. How could she make the poor girl feel better—and mind her own business when it came to their new renter? Truth be told, she wasn’t wild about having Maria here, either, and she’d followed Leola out of her apartment so she wouldn’t have to watch the pretty blonde flirt with Truman. Rosetta spotted the dresser scarf Leola had been embroidering and picked it up off the floor.

  “Oh, look at these birds!” she said, amazed by Leola’s tiny, precise stitches. “Here’s a cardinal and a blue jay—and what’s this one going to be?” she asked, pointing at it. “You embroider a lot more neatly than I do, Leola. My stitches always come out choppy-looking, and all different lengths. Yours are nice and even.”

  Leola cast her a suspicious glance as she thumbed the tears from her cheeks. After a moment, however, she smiled shyly. “I’m gonna make it a goldfinch—dark yellow and black,” she replied. “We have lots of goldfinches at our feeders at—at home. But I might not ever get to see them again.”

  Rosetta carefully hugged Leola’s shaking shoulders. “I bet your mamm’s feeling a lot better now that she’s getting hospital care,” she said gently. “You’ll be back home before the goldfinches turn yellow this spring—or if you’re not, we have goldfinches here, too. We hang bird feeders around the porch, and we see cardinals and blue jays, as well as goldfinches and hummingbirds.”

  Leola gazed steadily into Rosetta’s eyes, swallowing repeatedly to keep from crying. “I like you, Rosetta,” she whispered. “You’re really nice to me.”

  Rosetta sent up a quick prayer of thanks. “I hope we can be gut friends, Leola. We can keep each other out of trouble, jah?”

  Leola nodded, glancing absently at the dresser scarf in Rosetta’s hands. “I’ll get back to my sewing now.”

  “Or,” Rosetta said as she caught the aroma of meat sauce, “we can go downstairs and have spaghetti with Christine and her girls, and the Kuhns. Will you join us for supper? Or would you rather embroider?”

  Leola’s face lit up. “Sketti? I love sketti! Let’s go.”

  As she followed the slender young woman down the back stairs and through the kitchen, Rosetta was pleased that she’d averted another outburst. She was getting used to the fact that, from one moment to the next, Leola might behave as a little girl or as a volatile adolescent—or as the woman determined to marry Monroe Burkholder.

  A little later Rosetta and the other ladies were enjoying a chat over their supper at a table in the dining room—and they’d refilled Leola’s plate of spaghetti and meat sauce twice—when Maria bounded down the back stairway and past their table, with Truman and Monroe following her.

  “I’ve got a big tin of those cream cheese cake mix cookies—the ones your mamm likes so much—in my car, Truman,” Maria was saying over her shoulder. “Will you come with me and we’ll take them to her?”

  Truman waved at the ladies seated around the table, winking at Rosetta. “You don’t think I’m going to let Mamm get a head start on those cookies, do you?” he replied with a laugh. “What flavors did you make this time?”

  “Lemon with coconut, and chocolate with chocolate chips . . .”

  As Maria and Truman passed through the lobby, Rosetta gazed into her plate of spaghetti, no longer hungry. Didn’t Truman have a clue about how his flirtation with Maria hurt her? He might as well be sticking a knife in her back.

  “Mind if I join you?” Monroe asked as he paused beside the table. “That looks like a mighty fine supper.”

  “We made plenty for you, jah,” Christine said as she rose from her chair. “I’ll fix you a plate in the kitchen.”

  “Leola’s on her third plateful, so it must be pretty gut,” Beulah remarked with a smile at the young woman across the table from her.

  Leola was too busy gazing up at the bishop to respond. “Sit by me, Monroe!” she insisted, patting the empty chair beside her.

  Monroe chose the seat beside Christine, who smiled as she placed his supper in front of him. “You fellows had a lot of stuff to move,” she remarked as she sat down. She grabbed the basket sitting in front of Rosetta. “You’ll want some of this bread. My girls made it this morning, so it’s soft and fresh.”

  “Denki, dear,” Monroe murmured as he helped himself. “Maria’s pretty well set, I think. That apartment definitely has a different feel from when Mattie was—”

  “She’s not your dear, Monroe. I am.”

  Everyone got quiet. Leola had placed her fists on her hips and was staring at Monroe and Christine. Spaghetti sauce had splattered onto her chin when she’d sucked up her noodles, but Rosetta knew better than to mention it.

  Monroe sat up straighter, resting his fork on his plate. “Leola, we’ve had this discussion many times,” he said, his tone edged with a hint of impatience. “You and I are not a couple. I’m old enough to be—”

  “But I love you, Monroe!” she blurted. “Stop holding her hand!”

  The bishop sighed, but Rosetta was glad—for Christine’s sake—that he kept hold of her hand beneath the table. “I love you, as well, Leola—the same way I love your Mamm and your Dat and our friends in Macomb—”

  “No! That’s not how it is!” Leola’s face was growing red with frustration as she pointed at Christine. “Make her go away! You belong to me!”

  Rosetta’s heart went out to her sister, who was pressing her lips in a tight line so she wouldn’t blurt anything inappropriate. The Kuhns and Christine’s two girls watched this drama with wide eyes.

  Monroe stood up. In a barely controlled voice, he said, “Leola, you’re out of line. I think you’d better go upstairs to your room.”

  When Leola’s face got redder and her mouth opened in protest, Christine stood up beside Monroe. “He’s right, Leola,” she said firmly. “No matter what you think of me, you’re to obey what our bishop tells you.”

  “I’m not a—a baby!” Leola stood up so fast her chair fell backward and clattered against the floor. She bolted through the kitchen, her anguished cries drifting back to them as the tattoo of her footsteps echoed in the back stairwell.

  Monroe sat down again, and so did Christine. His sigh filled the otherwise silent dining room as he looked at the Kuhns, Rosetta, and Christine’s daughters. “I’m sorry for the way this is turning out,” he murmured, again taking Christine’s hand. “I really appreciate the way you all look after Leola, and as soon as I learn her parents have returned home, I’ll take her back to Illinois. Meanwhile, I’d welcome your prayers.”

  “Jah, Leola needs our prayers even more than she needs her medications,” Ruby murmured. “And you, too, Bishop. We know you didn’t ask for
this, or encourage her to have such a crush on you.”

  “It’ll all work out,” Beulah insisted softly. “God answers our prayers.”

  Rosetta agreed with her, but deep down she wondered if God would answer their prayers before the situation with Leola spiraled into the dismissal of their new bishop. The women understood that Leola was challenged, but it was only a matter of time before Amos convinced the other two preachers to side with him against Monroe in his quest for the details of the bishop’s relationship with Leola.

  Why can’t Amos see how it is with Leola? Rosetta wondered as she pushed back from the table. Christine rose, as well, and her troubled expression pierced Rosetta’s heart. Why are my sister and I being put to the test where our men are concerned? What have we done that You feel we should be punished for, Lord?

  Chapter Eleven

  Over the next three weeks, warmer February temperatures melted the snow and spring fever set in. Mattie ordered the seeds for her produce plots, delighted that she and her sisters would soon be working outdoors again. More local folks were venturing into Promise Lodge to buy Rosetta’s goat milk soaps and the Kuhn sisters’ cheeses, so they were working more steadily to keep their inventories stocked. Amos’s sons-in-law had mailed blueprints for their greenhouse buildings, a barn, and a double-sized home where Bernice, Barbara, Sam, and Simon planned to live and raise their children.

  Monroe also had the plans for his barns and the home he wanted, so he’d asked all the men to gather at Noah Schwartz’s house with Truman on the twentieth of February to discuss excavating the buildings’ foundations. Around eight o’clock that morning they congregated in Noah’s dining room, where the building plans were spread out on the extended table. Monroe was pleased to hear the eagerness of the male voices that filled the room with talk of tilling garden plots and expanding the community with homes and businesses. Roman and Noah stood talking with Preacher Eli and Truman, while Preacher Marlin and his son Harley, who farmed and raised sheep, were catching up on the latest news Preacher Amos had of his family.