* * *
Rosetta smoothed her cream-colored apron over her brick red dress, pleased that she looked fresh and relaxed after a day in the kitchen. She’d showered and rewound her bun and put on a fresh kapp, even though Truman would be happy to see her even if she wore the old gray dress she gardened in. She grabbed a shawl and started down the back stairway, figuring to take her time walking out to the road and up the hill to the Wickey place. She hoped to get better acquainted with Truman’s mamm, Irene, meanwhile picturing herself a married woman living in her mother-in-law’s home. It would be an adjustment, but Rosetta believed with all her heart that she could make a happy marriage with Truman in the house where he’d grown up.
As Rosetta reached the kitchen, a commotion in the lobby made her hurry in that direction. The last thing she’d expected to see was Bishop Monroe guiding a wailing Leola inside, followed by Christine—who was carrying a crushed yet familiar-looking pie.
Rosetta’s eyes widened. “What happened?” she whispered to her sister as Monroe started up the big staircase, gently steering Leola ahead of him. “And what’s that on your apron?”
Christine shook her head ruefully. “You won’t believe it. Leola saw me going to Monroe’s, and she followed me with this pie. She claimed she’d baked it for him, but when he refused to accept it—or her pleas that I should leave and she should stay,” she added, “Leola threw the pie at me.”
“Oh, no. I was hoping it would be a wonderful evening—”
“And Monroe had planned one of those,” Christine put in as they headed for the kitchen, “but the date came to a halt when our, um, visitor, let herself into the house.”
As her sister set the crushed cherry pie on the counter, Rosetta shook her head. “This can’t continue,” she murmured. “Surely somebody back where Leola and Monroe came from could take responsibility for her. Surely her parents will be home soon.”
“Monroe’s taking her to a doctor first thing next week, to figure out what sort of medications she’s supposed to be taking.” Christine sighed. “I’d better go upstairs to help him. I have no idea what we’ll do if she refuses to stay in her room.”
Rosetta sighed. “Well, I hope you can still spend some time with him tonight.”
“Me, too. Monroe made dinner, and had a cake and a card—and the biggest bouquet of roses I’ve ever seen—waiting for me,” Christine added wistfully. Then she grabbed Rosetta’s hand, her face alight with a smile. “He asked me. And I said jah.”
“Oh, Christine!” Rosetta hugged her hard. “That’s the best news ever. I’m so happy for you!”
Christine eased away to gaze at her. “I’ll be praying that your evening with Truman is just as romantic—without any surprise visitors.”
Rosetta nodded happily. Maria usually worked late on Saturday, preparing some of her dough and frostings so they’d be ready when she went to work early on Monday morning. Rosetta watched Christine climb the back stairway, sending up a prayer for a peaceful conclusion to this unsettling episode with Leola.
When she stepped out to the lodge’s porch, a siren and flashing blue and red lights made her frown and jog toward the road. An ambulance was rushing up Truman’s driveway! Rosetta ran faster, watching as the paramedics wheeled a stretcher into the Wickeys’ front door. Was Truman ill, or was it his mother who needed emergency help?
Rosetta reached the county road and jogged to her left just as a familiar red car topped the hill coming toward her—and then swerved into the Wickeys’ driveway. How did Maria know just when to show up?
By the time Rosetta reached Truman’s place, the paramedics were coming out of the house with Irene on the stretcher and Truman in their wake. Maria rushed from her car and grabbed Truman in a hug, babbling something about going with them—and then she followed the stretcher into the ambulance. Truman ran toward his garage, oblivious to Rosetta’s presence. When the ambulance raced down the driveway, Rosetta could only step back out of the way, gawking in disbelief.
A few moments later, a big white pickup sped out the driveway, throwing gravel—until Truman saw her and stopped. “Mamm passed out and I couldn’t bring her around,” he explained. “I’ll keep you posted when I get back.”
Nodding, Rosetta watched his truck race the rest of the way down the driveway. When his tires squealed on the county road, she prayed earnestly. Keep him and his mother safe, Lord, and guide the folks who are caring for Irene.
Sighing, Rosetta started home. She felt bad that their date had been canceled by such an emergency, and she understood why Truman had probably forgotten all about it.
But why had Maria rushed into the ambulance, as though she were family—as though she and Irene were close? Had Truman called Maria after he’d phoned 911? The timing of her arrival was too perfect to be a mere coincidence—wasn’t it? It wasn’t as though he’d told Maria to return to her car—and he hadn’t given a single thought to asking Rosetta to go with him.
Rosetta took her time walking home. As she passed beneath the curved metal Promise Lodge entry sign, it still seemed strange to gaze past the garden plots to where so many large trees had been cleared. The concrete foundations had been poured for a greenhouse and a large nursery building, and—across what would soon be a parking lot—the basement for the Helmuths’ double house and the slab for their barn rose up from the mud. Ahead of her on the road, Monroe and Christine walked hand in hand toward Lester Lehman’s house to continue their date.
At least those two will have a nice time tonight, she thought.
Rosetta entered the lodge through the mudroom and was glad to see Ruby and Beulah in the kitchen. “Got enough leftovers for me, too?” she asked.
The gray-haired sisters turned, their eyebrows rising. “Thought you had a date,” Beulah said. “We just got your sister and the bishop squared away. What can we do for you, sweetie?”
“We’re glad you can join us, understand,” Ruby put in gently. “But we’re sorry about whatever happened with Truman.”
Their kindness almost made Rosetta cry. “Who’s watching Leola?”
Beulah shook her head as though the situation with their guest was beyond her comprehension. “Phoebe and Laura are crocheting in her room while Leola embroiders, and—”
“We took them up a big tray of sandwiches, cookies, and milk,” Ruby added. “That young lady’s getting more confused by the day, and she’s making it look bad for your bishop, too.”
Rosetta nodded. “I’ll be back after I change out of this dress. Denki for looking after us all, ladies.”
Chapter Fourteen
Christine sat between her sisters on a pew bench Sunday morning, following Monroe’s flowing voice as he brought the second, longer sermon to a close. It was no coincidence that he had spoken at length about the way Jesus had accepted men and women from every walk of life. He had eaten with tax collectors and healed people simply because they—or their friends—believed He could perform a miracle for them.
“Jesus is our example,” Monroe said, meeting the gazes of folks in the congregation. “He healed a Roman centurion’s servant from afar with just a word—even though Rome had occupied Jerusalem for decades—because for Jesus, the centurion’s faith overrode the day’s political difficulties. He loved little children, he respected women—which wasn’t common in Bible times,” he continued earnestly, “and he took pity on lepers and those who were possessed by demons. Today we don’t think of people being possessed, but I’d like to suggest that diseases such as cancer, Alzheimer’s, and mental illness qualify as demons.”
Christine held her breath when Monroe smiled at her before he continued preaching. He had a way of holding everyone’s attention, applying lessons from the Bible to their everyday lives—just as he constantly let her know she was loved and cherished. The supper, conversation, and cake they’d shared yesterday evening had made her believe even more fully that Monroe was a man of God—and the man with whom God intended her to spend the rest of her life.
/> “What a wonder it would be if Jesus returned in our lifetime and wiped out those demon diseases,” Monroe continued with awe in his voice. “Until He does return for us to take us into His kingdom, however, we must watch and pray. We must care for those who are ill and can’t help themselves.”
Mattie was nodding, no doubt recalling the demon of diabetes that had tortured her first husband and wreaked havoc on their marriage. Frances Lehman sat with her hands clasped in her lap, most likely worried because Floyd hadn’t felt strong enough to come to church this morning. Christine sent up a prayer for Irene Wickey, hoping she would soon be well enough to come home, and she prayed for Leola and her parents, as well. It would indeed be a blessing if Jesus could cast out the demon of Leola’s mental challenges . . .
They sang a final hymn, filling the meeting room with the men’s resonant baritone voices and the women’s sweet harmonies. As the familiar song ended, Bishop Monroe closed his hymnal and smiled at all the folks around him. “Do we have announcements or concerns to share before we eat?” he asked.
Rosetta sat straighter on the bench beside Christine. “Truman’s mother was rushed away in an ambulance last night, unconscious,” she said.
As folks were murmuring about that, Frances Lehman spoke up. “Floyd complained of feeling weak and very tired this morning,” she said in a tight voice. “If you’d care to visit him later in the day, it might perk him up.”
After another moment passed, Monroe suggested they go to the dining room—but he was interrupted.
“Monroe, I wore my new blue wedding dress today!” Leola proclaimed proudly. “Now we can get married, just like you said!”
Christine turned, pleased to see that Phoebe and Laura were trying to get Leola to hush and sit down, but the awkward subject of her relationship with Monroe had already made folks gaze at the bishop with questions in their eyes.
“Leola, I’ve told you time and again why that won’t happen,” Monroe said patiently.
“But you ruined me!” she cried out ecstatically, hurrying to the end of the row to rush toward him. “Now you’ve gotta marry me, coz I love you so much, Monroe!”
Christine’s stomach tied itself in a knot when Preacher Amos rose from the preacher’s bench to stand beside Monroe, who was doing his best to hold Leola at arm’s length.
“What’s going on, Bishop?” Amos asked loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “This isn’t the first time Miss Duff has claimed that you ruined her—and I saw her walking up the road to your place with a pie and a big smile last night,” he continued tersely. “I insist you give us a full, valid explanation of your relationship with her.”
Monroe stood head and shoulders taller than Amos. In an attempt to settle Leola, he allowed her to wrap her arms around his waist as he put an arm around her shoulders. “We’re taking her to the doctor as soon as we can get an appointment—hopefully tomorrow,” Monroe said. “She’s been off her medications since she left home, so I’m hoping we can get prescriptions for—”
“The question I asked you has nothing to do with medications, Burkholder,” Amos snapped. “She’s been chasing after you—all the way from Illinois—and she obviously has reason to believe you’ve behaved inappropriately. Did that happen again last night?”
“This isn’t what it seems,” Christine blurted out, popping up from the pew bench. “I was at the Lehman place with Monroe when Leola arrived, and I can assure you that nothing inappropriate happened. Leola is confused—”
“Nuh-uh!” Leola cried out. “Monroe has to marry me, coz I love him.”
Christine paused, praying for patience and for Amos’s open mind. “I love him, too, Leola,” she said, “so that means we have to help Monroe instead of getting him in more trouble. Please be quiet.”
Leola frowned, not fully understanding. At least she complied as she leaned against Monroe.
Christine looked at Amos, who’d suffered a brief physical disability—and with it depression serious enough that he’d broken his engagement to Mattie. “Remember how you lost your senses last winter when you were confined to a wheelchair? And how taking antidepressants brought you back to the land of the living?” she asked him gently. “Leola was upset when her mother was taken away to a distant hospital, and she came here without her medications—”
“When you make excuses for Leola, you don’t relieve my suspicions about Monroe’s relationship with her,” Preacher Amos interrupted. He looked over at the men’s side, as though asking for their agreement. “Our bishop still hasn’t given us a straight answer about coming here to Promise Lodge, or about this young woman who followed him, or—”
“Here’s my answer,” Christine cut in. It was rude and improper to challenge a leader of the church, but Amos was just wrong to be stirring a pot of misinformation and suspicion. “Monroe asked me to marry him last night, and I’ve agreed—we’re engaged,” she continued boldly. “I can assure you I saw no signs of inappropriate behavior as he tried to explain to Leola that she shouldn’t have come to his house alone or uninvited. If I had, I would’ve walked away from our engagement,” she stated, gazing steadily at Amos. “Apparently you saw Leola walking up the hill, but you didn’t see the three of us returning to the lodge about ten minutes later.”
When Amos remained silent, Christine sat down. Rosetta and Mattie took her hands, nodding their support.
“Leola looks perfectly normal to me,” Preacher Eli said as he rose from the preacher’s bench with Marlin.
“Jah, but appearances can be deceiving,” Phoebe put in as she stood up, extending her hand toward Leola. “How about you and I go to the kitchen, Leola? We can start putting out the food while these folks finish talking. You can help me cut that chocolate pie.”
Leola brightened. When she looked up at Monroe and he nodded his encouragement, she followed Phoebe out of the meeting room.
“Amos, I believe we’ve settled the matter for now,” Mattie said, standing up to make her point. “After what Christine went through when her first marriage ended with a barn fire, I can assure you she’d not be sticking up for Monroe if she didn’t believe he was a decent, respectable man. We should keep Leola and her parents in our prayers, asking God to bring them all home and back to their normal lives.”
Preacher Amos’s expression hardened, and he appeared ready to put Mattie in her place. Christine figured she might be in for a lecture, as well. Preacher Marlin came up beside Amos, however, and said what was probably on a lot of people’s minds as most of the women went to the kitchen to help set out the food.
“It’s a puzzlement, Amos, because Leola doesn’t look like folks who have Down syndrome or other obvious disabilities,” he said quietly. “But the more I hear what she says, over and over, the more I suspect she has difficulty functioning both socially and mentally.”
“Still doesn’t feel right to me that Monroe sticks up for her, yet he won’t give me a straight answer about what he has or hasn’t done to her,” Amos muttered. “Somebody has to hold him accountable, because he’s had the women wrapped around his little finger since the moment he arrived. He’s the bishop, for Pete’s sake—our model of Christ’s behavior.”
Knowing nothing she could say would change Amos’s harsh opinion, Christine let him and Marlin pass ahead of her, headed for the dining room. She waited at the end of the pew bench for Monroe, who was chatting with Frances and Gloria Lehman about Floyd’s deteriorating condition. After those two ladies thanked him, they congratulated him and Christine and proceeded toward the meal that awaited them.
Monroe approached her and took her hand. They were the only ones who’d remained in the meeting room, and he gazed at her for a long moment. “I wish you didn’t have to defend me,” he murmured, “but I appreciate it. I just feel really uncomfortable talking about Leola’s condition as though she’s not in the room—and Amos always puts me on the spot when she and everyone else can witness it. Countless hours he and I worked together on the new foundations this past
week, yet he never asked me about my relationship with Leola.”
Christine smiled sadly. “Amos is a strong leader—a man whose heart is in the right place,” she said softly. “We couldn’t have come nearly so far with our businesses had he not come to Promise Lodge with us. But for some reason he believes everything Leola says.”
She paused, holding Monroe’s green-eyed gaze. “Why has she latched on to you so fiercely, Monroe? What makes her think you’ll marry her?”
He shook his head, sighing loudly. “I wish I knew. Even if I understood what’s going through her mind when she says I ruined her, I doubt she’d stop saying it. She behaved this way back in Macomb every now and again—but she’s gotten a lot worse since she’s been off her medication.”
“I’ll pray that the doctor you see understands Leola’s condition and prescribes whatever will bring her back into balance.”
Monroe licked his lips. “I was hoping you’d go with me, Christine. It doesn’t look so good for an unrelated male to take her to the clinic—and who knows what she might say about me to the doctor?”
Christine had no trouble imagining what Leola might say or do if she got upset in the doctor’s office—and folks all over the clinic would hear her piercing voice and her unflattering accusations. “Jah, I’ll go,” she agreed. “Just being in the waiting room with English folks and the doctor might be enough to set her off. Between the two of us, we’ll have a better chance of getting her in and out of the clinic than if you take her by yourself.”
“You’re an angel and I love you,” Monroe whispered. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, his dimples winking at her when he smiled. “Shall we join the others? If there’s chocolate pie, I want to grab a piece before it’s all gone.”
Christine chuckled, feeling young and desirable—and needed—as they entered the dining room. Later she would be praying for strength and patience to face their trip to the clinic, but for now she wanted to enjoy the company of the man she loved.
Weddings at Promise Lodge Page 13
