Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “And I can’t thank you enough for looking after Leola, Bishop Monroe,” Chester put in as he shuffled up the aisle toward the center of the room. When he reached Monroe, he stuck out his hand. “Mighty gut to see you again, Bishop, despite the circumstances.”

  When Monroe clasped Chester’s hand, he was aware of how weak his old friend’s grasp felt. Before he could say anything, Chester turned and extended his hand to Amos. “Couldn’t help overhearing your . . . insinuations as I came inside, Preacher,” he said as their hands clasped. “Sounds like I’m more than a day late and a dollar short, far as getting here in time to prevent the doubts that cloud your mind. If you—and you fellows,” he said, turning toward Eli and Marlin, “will sit with the others, I can talk without my back to you.”

  The room was absolutely still as the three preachers took places on the men’s side. Monroe let out the breath he’d been holding. “Want me to sit down, too, Chester?”

  Leola’s father linked his arm through Monroe’s. “Bishop, you’ve been my rock for more years than I can recall,” he replied earnestly. “I might need to lean on you a bit. It’s not my way to tell preachers where to go—or to think I’m worthy of standing here beside you.”

  The men chuckled and relaxed. The women leaned forward, smiling again as they prepared to listen to Chester.

  Monroe nodded at the short man who was hanging on to him. The Duff family was quietly humble and faithful—and he was grateful that his old friend Chester had made the trip to fetch Leola and was setting aside his customary shyness to speak in his behalf.

  “Like Bishop Monroe told you, I’ve had my hands full keeping my wife alive for the past several weeks,” Chester began softly. “When we finally got home this past week, I was astounded at the number of phone messages he’d left—and all the times he’d called my sister Polly after Leola had run away from her place to find Bishop Monroe. My girl has a knack for figuring things out when she has to,” he added with a shake of his head. “When I learned that she’d flushed her medications down the toilet, I knew I’d better hire a driver and come after her soon as I could. I’m sorry I wasn’t here weeks ago.”

  “You’re Leola’s father,” Preacher Amos protested. “You saw the way she was clinging to Monroe, and several times she’s said he ruined her. That can only mean one thing. How can you condone his behavior?”

  Chester tensed, frowning. “Surely by now you realize that Leola is one of God’s special children,” he stated protectively. He sighed as he glanced back at his daughter. “For reasons He alone knows, He created her with a body that became a woman’s while her mind has remained a child’s.”

  The room rang with a strained silence. Monroe saw Phoebe reach for Leola’s hand, murmuring something in her ear when the young woman’s expression crumpled.

  Chester let out a resigned sigh. “I know it looks improper, the way Leola throws herself at Bishop Monroe,” he admitted. “It started on the day she was baptized and accepted Jesus Christ as her savior. We were gathered on the bank of the creek, and the three other young folks had already been immersed. Leola’s deathly afraid of moving water, but she had faith in the bishop and in the Lord, so she grabbed Monroe’s hand and walked out waist-deep into the creek with him.”

  The women were nodding their encouragement as the men followed Chester’s words with earnest attention. In his mind, Monroe was reliving Leola’s baptism as her dat recounted it. Would Chester’s explanation convince Doubting Amos that his intentions, his relationship with Leola, had remained above reproach? His whole future was hanging on whether Leola’s father could win over the preacher who harbored such serious doubts about him.

  “Monroe was gentle, talking softly to Leola and telling her he’d have ahold of her as he immersed her,” Chester continued. “But once she went underwater, she floundered and flailed—sucked in water and was choking something awful. When Monroe brought her up, he held her and patted her back . . . kept telling her she was God’s own child, safe in the arms of Jesus, who would always love her. Leola gradually settled down and got quiet. Her face was radiant. It . . . it was a holy moment,” he whispered. He smiled at Leola then, his face alight with love.

  “You’ve probably heard about how newly born ducklings bond with the first creature they see,” Chester went on in a stronger voice. “That’s how it was when Leola stopped choking and gazed up at Bishop Monroe. She loved him to pieces because, to her way of thinking, he’d saved her from drowning—and from sin. Not long after that, Leola heard a song playing in a café where the singer said she was ruined, and she loved it. But you must understand,” he insisted, gazing at Amos, “that Leola has no idea about men and women getting physical in the marriage bed. She just says those words because the song stuck in her head and they make her happy.”

  Amos crossed his arms as he held Monroe’s gaze. “This still doesn’t explain why you showed up on Christmas Eve—the holiest night of our faith—out of the blue, without writing first or letting us know you were coming,” he said tersely. “You told me your family was all gone, but I’ve never been convinced you were telling the whole story. Seemed to me you were running away from something—that you’d set your sights on being our bishop no matter what we had to say about it.”

  “Amos Troyer, you’ve crossed the line,” Mattie muttered.

  Preacher Marlin stood up beside Amos. “I believe Monroe is innocent of the sordid stuff you’re accusing him of, Amos,” he said fervently.

  “And I believe God called Monroe to be our bishop because He knew Floyd’s health was failing,” Preacher Eli said as he, too, stood up. “And now that I’ve heard Chester’s story—and watched Monroe care for a member of God’s flock who can’t look after herself—I feel we’ve been blessed beyond belief. I stand with Bishop Monroe.”

  Monroe’s heart pounded as, one by one, every person in the room rose from the pew benches, their faces alight with love and loyalty—everyone except Amos. Even so, he felt exonerated; free from the burden of proving himself to the people who’d welcomed him and helped him build a home. When he met Christine’s loving gaze, Monroe knew she would stand by him no matter what—even if he’d been forced to return to Macomb.

  Chester crossed his arms, imitating Amos. “You want to know why Bishop Monroe came here all of a sudden?” he challenged. After a moment, he regained control of his emotions and went to stand in front of the doubtful preacher. “Monroe left our district with everyone’s blessing, because they understood that after losing his wife, he needed to start fresh in a place where Leola’s affection wouldn’t interfere with his finding another woman to marry. In late December he showed us the ad for your new colony in the Budget, and after we prayed over it, we sent him off toward a new future with our Christmas blessings.”

  Monroe smiled at Christine. “Your prayers have been answered, Chester, as I have indeed fallen in love again,” he said reverently. “Our new home is nearly complete, and I’ll marry Christine as soon as I find a bishop to perform the ceremony.”

  Chester turned to smile at him. “I’m so pleased to hear that, Bishop. You deserve your happiness.” He turned again to Preacher Amos, sighing loudly. “You appear unmoved and still hard of heart, my friend. Earlier you asked how I as a father could condone Bishop Monroe’s relationship with my daughter, so I’ll repeat that I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never repay. Despite the way she ran off from her Aunt Polly’s, and flushed her medications, and has apparently caused you a great deal of turmoil and doubt, Bishop Monroe looked after Leola when her mother and I could not,” Chester insisted. “Please accept my apology for Leola’s unseemly behavior. She truly can’t help herself.”

  Amos blinked. Everyone else in the room remained standing, entreating him with their gazes, yet he didn’t reply to Chester.

  Chester cleared his throat. “My English driver’s waiting, so I’ll be taking Leola home as soon as she can pack her clothes,” he said softly. “Preacher Amos, I hope you’ll find it in your hear
t to rethink your opinion of Bishop Monroe once we’ve gone back to—”

  “But Dat, I can’t leave!” Leola wailed. “I love Monroe and I’m going to marry him!”

  With weary determination etched on his face, Chester approached his daughter and took her hand. “If somebody’ll show us where to get a glass of water,” he said, “Leola can take her pills and then we’ll pack her suitcase.”

  “Please stay and eat dinner with us—your driver, too,” Rosetta insisted as she stepped from the pew to escort the Duffs to the kitchen. “We’ve got more than enough pot roast and sides to go around.”

  “You’re very kind,” Chester said above his daughter’s blubbering, “but it’s best if I get Leola back home. I don’t want to leave Edna alone overnight—and you folks are due for some peace and quiet.”

  The men began to murmur among themselves, their voices optimistic. The women started for the kitchen to set out the food—except for Christine, who hurried forward to embrace Monroe.

  “I knew we’d see this situation to an honorable solution,” she said, gazing at him with deep green eyes. “I’ve never doubted you for a moment, Monroe.”

  Monroe longed to kiss her, but knew better than to make such a public display of his love for her. “I couldn’t have gotten through this without your patience and understanding, Christine,” he murmured. “You’re a special woman, and I love you.”

  Their romantic mood was interrupted by Mattie’s voice behind them. “Amos, you owe our bishop a huge apology,” she said tersely. “You can only hope Monroe will forgive you and not believe you are the one who’s unfit to lead us.” The tattoo of her footsteps rang on the hardwood floor as she left the room, followed by most of the men.

  Monroe nodded at Amos, who remained on the front pew bench, and then headed for the dining room with Christine. He was grateful to Phoebe and Laura for going upstairs to help Chester pack Leola’s belongings, because Leola was too upset to do it herself. His heart overflowed as Rosetta, Frances, Amos’s twin daughters, and the Kuhn sisters hugged him, and he eagerly gripped the hands of the men as they stated their confidence in him.

  Within half an hour, he’d escorted Leola and her dat to the car where their driver awaited them and Leola had bid him a tearful, subdued good-bye. She was so quiet that Monroe knew her sedative was already at work, and he prayed she would regain control of her emotions and be content to remain at home with her parents. It saddened him that a pretty, sweet girl like Leola would be challenged to find a mate and that her parents would probably need to find her a guardian as they approached the end of their lives. But God knew what He was doing, and His plan would suffice.

  When the car had turned onto the county highway, Monroe strode back to the lodge to enjoy the dinner his friends had postponed until the Duffs’ departure. The spring sunshine warmed his face, and he felt happier, more peaceful, than he had since Leola’s unexpected arrival. He was reaching for the doorknob when the door swung open.

  Preacher Amos blocked his entry. His expression was somber, yet his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “Burkholder, it seems I’ve been unreasonable—as stubborn as a Missouri mule—and I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I hope you can forgive my unfounded accusations about Leola . . . all the trouble I’ve caused you. Now I understand that when you showed up out of the blue on Christmas Eve, you were being spontaneous and open to change. And those are qualities we folks at Promise Lodge have always valued.”

  Monroe gazed at Amos’s face. The preacher’s skin was weathered, and lines scored his forehead and bracketed his lips. Even if his black hair and beard hadn’t been shot with strands of silver, he would’ve exuded a sense of wisdom that came with age and experience—and a healthy sense of doubt when newcomers seemed to challenge the Old Order ways. When Amos extended his hand, Monroe clasped it.

  “Apology accepted,” said Monroe. “We all make mistakes—and I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about the details of my departure from Illinois. Given the circumstances, you were right to question me. You were watching out for the folks who’ve come here and placed their trust in us.”

  Preacher Amos squeezed his hand and released it before standing aside to let Monroe enter. “I should’ve listened to what Mattie and her sisters were saying all along about Leola’s mental state,” he said softly. “My wife will never let me forget that, either.”

  Monroe loved the way Amos’s laughter blended with his to fill the front lobby with mirth. “Women are gut at reminding us of our shortcomings,” he agreed as they entered the dining room together. “They keep us honest and humble—whether we need it or not.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As the Monday morning sunrise shimmered with glorious streaks of peach, yellow, and lavender, Rosetta paused outside the barn to count her blessings. She’d just finished milking her five goats, and the two large buckets of milk she held would make a lot of fresh soap to replenish her display in the lodge’s lobby. In two more days she’d be marrying Truman at long last, and she’d never felt happier. Her wedding dress was sewn, hanging with the beautiful apron Irene had made—and Ruby was going to frost and decorate the two chocolate wedding cakes today, to be ready for all the friends who’d be coming from Coldstream and from the Wickeys’ Mennonite church in Cloverdale early Wednesday morning.

  Rosetta held her face up to the rising sun, unable to stop smiling. Who could’ve imagined, last year at this time, that she and Mattie and Christine would all be engaged or married by now? Just last spring they’d discovered this property—an abandoned church camp—and they’d quickly sold their farms to purchase the place and start fresh.

  From where she stood, near the barn that housed Christine’s dairy herd and the Kuhns’ little cheese factory, she could see the houses that belonged to Noah and Roman Schwartz, the Peterscheims, Preacher Amos and Mattie, the two Lehman places, and Bishop Monroe’s new home atop the hill near Preacher Marlin’s house and barrel factory. Directly ahead of her, the new Helmuth double house rose above their nursery buildings and barn, and rows of salad greens were peeking out of the earth in Mattie’s garden plots. The lodge still needed a new roof, but she’d heard the men talking about tackling that job in another week or so. The cabins stood in a tidy line beneath the large old trees that shaded them. So much progress . . . so many new friends who’d come to join them here.

  When Rosetta inhaled, the aromas of yeast, pastry, and sugar made her stomach rumble. She gazed at Maria’s bakery building and decided it was time to mend some fences. The pretty blonde had been working long hours, baking and delivering her doughnuts, breads, and other goodies to Cloverdale and to the grocery store in Forest Grove, so she hadn’t been around much lately. Maria was doing her best to earn a living all by herself—and she’d paid her April rent on time. Wasn’t that the kind of work ethic and mission that Rosetta and her sisters had embraced when they’d come to Promise Lodge?

  Rosetta set her pails of goat milk in the grass, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached the bakery’s door. The Kuhns still had the goodies they’d purchased earlier from Maria to serve for breakfast when her wedding guests arrived, but what would it hurt to buy some fresh doughnuts and pastries to enjoy with their breakfast this morning? She could pay Maria later, from the teapot of money where she kept what she earned from her soaps.

  Rosetta smiled as she opened the door, again inhaling the heady aromas of fresh bread and sweets. “Maria, it smells so wonderful-gut in here—”

  Rosetta gasped, pressing her hands to her heart. Behind the glass display cases, between the stove and the worktable, Maria and Truman stood in a close embrace. Their arms were wrapped around each other—and by the time Maria caught sight of her in the doorway, Rosetta had seen enough.

  “Oh!” she cried out, hoarse with disgust and dismay. “Truman, I—I can’t marry you if you keep—the wedding’s off !”

  Rosetta’s heart was pounding so loudly she couldn’t understand his reply—and she didn’t care. Sh
e rushed outside, racing past her buckets of milk, blinded by tears and Truman’s betrayal. Why hadn’t he left for his landscaping job at the townhomes? What had been going on between him and Maria behind her back? What if Maria had been gone so much because she’d been with Truman instead of delivering her pastries?

  “Rosetta, wait!” Truman hollered behind her.

  She slipped on a clump of damp grass but somehow kept from falling. She made it to the lodge steps before he caught up to her.

  “Please listen,” Truman pleaded breathlessly. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “I know what I saw!” Rosetta countered, wrenching her wrist from his grasp. She glared bitterly at him. “She’s had your attention ever since she moved here.”

  “You are the woman I love, Rosetta,” he declared. His hazel eyes held hers doggedly as they both struggled to catch their breath. “All I did was—”

  “I don’t care what you did! She was holding you—standing with her body close against yours, as though she does that every chance she gets,” Rosetta retorted. She burst into tears and then mopped her face with the sleeve of her barn coat before continuing up the stairs.

  Beulah opened the door, a kitchen towel over her shoulder as she gazed outside. “I heard you two squabbling and wondered what on earth—”

  “The wedding’s off!” Rosetta sobbed as she pushed past her friend to go inside. “I’ve had enough of catching him and Maria together.”

  “Maria was only hugging me because I found her another store that wants to sell her pastries,” Truman protested. “Please let me come in so we can talk this out.”

  “Too late for talk!” Rosetta called over her shoulder. “Actions speak louder than words.”