Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  When she arrived in the kitchen, she stopped in her tracks. Bacon and scrambled eggs were being kept warm on the stove. Christine and her girls were putting pies into the oven—pies to serve Wednesday at the wedding meal—while Ruby stood at the worktable lavishing mocha frosting on the large bottom layer of a chocolate wedding cake. The four of them looked at her in stunned silence until Christine set down the pie she was holding.

  “Rosetta, what happened?” she asked as she crossed the kitchen. “I’ve never heard you speak in such a tone, much less yell at Truman.”

  Rosetta fell into her sister’s arms, blubbering desperately against her shoulder. She felt so overwhelmed by the memory of Maria and Truman’s embrace replaying continuously in her mind, she couldn’t respond to Christine for a long while. She felt Phoebe and Laura hugging her from either side, and she sensed the presence of Beulah and Ruby, who looked on in puzzled silence. The kitchen rang with her sobs until she finally ran out of steam and had to gulp air.

  When she was able to release Christine, Rosetta eased away, managing a tearful smile for her nieces. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell Monroe that Truman and I are—are not getting married, and if you’d call our friends in Coldstream so they won’t—”

  “Hold on, dearie,” Ruby interrupted softly. She crossed her arms, holding a spatula coated with chocolate frosting in one hand. “What could possibly have happened to separate you and Truman? Beulah and I had just set foot at Promise Lodge last summer, and you two were the first folks we met—”

  “And the moment we laid eyes on you,” Beulah continued, “we knew you and Truman were meant for each other. Maria’s just a girl—and a clueless one, at that. Surely you’re not going to let her come between you.”

  Rosetta sniffled loudly. “I didn’t let her do anything,” she muttered. “Ever since she’s moved to Promise Lodge, she and Truman have been way too cozy. I was going into the bakery to—to compliment Maria on working so hard lately, and what did I see? That sneaky little blonde and Truman were hanging on to each other—crushed so close that if I’d arrived a few minutes later, I might have caught them . . . well, you know.”

  The Kuhns’ eyes widened. Christine stepped back, studying Rosetta’s face. “I heard Truman say he’s found Maria another place to sell her baked goods,” she recalled softly. “And I can imagine she was excited and grateful to him—”

  “Jah, Maria gets pretty excited whenever Truman’s around,” Phoebe murmured.

  “—because they’ve been friends for a long while,” Christine continued earnestly. “Are you sure you’re not overreacting, Rosetta? Truman is deeply in love with you. He’s committed to your future together. Ready to welcome you into his home.”

  Rosetta scowled. “It was one thing for Leola to grab Monroe and say she was going to marry him,” she retorted, “but it’s another thing altogether when Maria hugs Truman—mainly because Truman hugs her back. They were sharing quite a clinch in the bakery. I know what I saw.”

  Ruby sighed. “Maybe you should eat some breakfast and give yourself time to cool down, to think about what you’re doing,” she suggested. “Breaking an engagement—calling off your wedding so suddenly—is serious business, Rosetta.”

  Rosetta let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry you’ve all gone to so much trouble already, baking and planning, but—but my heart shattered into a million pieces when I walked in on my fiancé clinging to another woman,” she explained with a hitch in her voice. “And I’m even sorrier that I let Maria come here with her bakery. If I can’t trust Truman to keep his hands off her, I’ll forever live in doubt about the two of them. That’s no way to start a marriage.”

  The sadness filling the kitchen nearly suffocated her. Rosetta returned the sorrowful gazes of her family and friends, clasping her hands tightly. “I’m going upstairs to sort out my thoughts about . . . what comes next,” she whispered. “I’d appreciate it if somebody brought in the buckets of goat milk I left outside the barn.”

  “I’m on it,” Laura said resolutely. She started toward the mudroom door, but turned to smile at Rosetta. “No matter what, we’ll always love you, Aunt Rosetta,” she promised.

  “And we’ll always be here for you,” Phoebe stated. “Anything you need, you just let us know.”

  Rosetta nodded numbly, grateful for her nieces’ show of loyalty. She headed toward the back stairway, glancing at the six unbaked pies on the countertop beside the oven. Her body felt heavy and sluggish as she climbed the steps. In the upstairs hallway, she sighed. Her apartment was her haven, but it adjoined Maria’s rooms, so there would be no way to avoid her pretty young renter.

  Avoid her—really? Rosetta’s thoughts challenged. Whose lodge is this? Maria’s the one who needs to relocate.

  She passed her apartment to stand in front of Maria’s door. She knew she had no business snooping in her tenant’s rooms—But you’re the owner, so you have a right to look around, right?

  Rosetta opened the door and entered the main room, allowing her gaze to travel up the deep raspberry walls that faded to cream at the ceiling. The furniture was nothing fancy, but she recalled how Maria had admitted to overspending. . . said she’d underestimated the cost of moving her bakery building.

  You underestimated a lot of things, girlie. Including me.

  Rosetta blinked, unaccustomed to thoughts that felt so spiteful. When she stepped into the bedroom with its delphinium blue walls and ceilings, she rolled her eyes at the white clouds. Monroe and the preachers had so eagerly bowed to Maria’s whims and painted these rooms on short notice.

  You men fell at her feet after just one taste of her goodies, she thought with a loud sigh. And Truman? Who knows how many times he’s sampled what she’s offering?

  Rosetta knew she was going overboard with her unspoken accusations, yet in her current frame of mind, Maria’s unmade bed and the clothes scattered on the floor seemed overtly suggestive. She left the apartment, slamming the door behind her. What she needed was peace and quiet. Time to think . . . to consider her next move, now that she was to remain a maidel.

  She thought sadly of the beautiful table and chairs that filled the Wickey dining room and recalled the joy she’d felt while selecting the bedroom set she and Truman were to share. It’s only stuff—pricey stuff, she reminded herself as she entered her apartment. Serves Truman right that he’ll have to look at all that shiny new furniture and explain to his mother why I won’t be living there, using it.

  Rosetta drew all the curtains to shut out the bright morning sunshine before plopping down on her bed. Bowing her head, she asked God to forgive her nasty thoughts about Truman and Maria and to forgive her for breaking the most important promise she’d ever made—except for her vow to belong to Jesus and the Old Order Amish church.

  “And I almost broke that promise, too,” she said sadly. “Is this canceled wedding—this coming face-to-face with Maria and Truman—my punishment for wanting to marry a Mennonite? Have I been listening to my own desires rather than to Your voice, Lord?”

  The silence held no answers.

  * * *

  Around noon, Christine knocked on Rosetta’s door and listened for a response. “She surely isn’t snoozing,” she murmured to Mattie, who held a plate of hot roast beef with potatoes and gravy. “Rosetta’s not one to nap—or to skip breakfast, for that matter.”

  “I’m surprised she’s been holed up in her apartment all morning,” Mattie remarked with a frown. “And I’m really surprised that she’s broken up with Truman. I thought they’d ironed out their differences about Maria and—”

  The door opened and Rosetta peered out at them. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her hair was mussed beneath her rumpled kapp, and she looked twenty years older. “Jah? Hi,” she mumbled.

  “We brought you some lunch,” Christine said as she entered Rosetta’s main room. “Truman came by before he went to work to see if you’d talk to him. But we said you were busy.”

/>   “I was really sorry to hear about this blowup, sweetie,” Mattie added as she handed Rosetta her plate of food. “Are you sure you won’t talk to him? Sometimes men do things—stupid things—that appear a lot more serious to us women than they really are.”

  “Maybe it’s Maria you should be quizzing,” Christine suggested. “If her story matches Truman’s about having a new outlet for her baked goods, you could just tell her to keep her hands to herself.”

  Rosetta gazed gratefully at the roast beef dinner, sighing. “I prayed about this and cried myself to sleep,” she admitted, “but my heart still feels heavy. If there was a way to move Maria and her bakery someplace else, I would. She’s so much younger and prettier than I’ll ever be. It’s no wonder Truman finds her desirable. That thing between them won’t go away, you know.”

  Christine slipped into one of the two upholstered chairs, observing Rosetta as she sat on the couch so she could put her plate on the coffee table. It was so unlike Rosetta to harden herself against anyone—especially because she’d always been so crazy about Truman. It wasn’t Rosetta’s way to be so critical of herself, either. Christine was relieved to see her younger sister take a big forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy. “Monroe is concerned about both you and Truman,” she said. “Will you talk with him? I’ll be there, if you’d like me to.”

  Rosetta chewed her food, considering this request. “I don’t know what the bishop could say that would change my mind. But thank him for his concern.”

  Christine shared a glance with Mattie, who sat in the recliner. “We don’t have to tell you that Monroe and Amos and the other preachers will strongly encourage you to forgive Maria and Truman . . . which implies that you’ll again be willing to marry him.”

  Rosetta’s eyes widened. “Why is that? Jah, I’ll need to forgive him, but taking up where we left off isn’t a requirement of the Ordnung. When a woman sees irreconcilable differences—traits she didn’t notice in her man before he proposed to her—then she should walk away from the relationship before she marries him and can’t get out of it. Isn’t that what the engagement period is all about?”

  Christine couldn’t argue with that, but she’d wanted to try one more time. Rosetta’s words saddened her, because she felt her sister was giving up on a chance at lifelong happiness with a wonderful man.

  Mattie sat forward, gazing intently at their younger sister. “When Bishop Monroe visited with us a little while ago, he said that if you were absolutely sure the wedding is off, he would have Truman and two of his men drive their big trucks to Illinois to fetch his Clydesdales and furnishings.”

  “Gut!” Rosetta said defiantly. “That means he and Christine can marry sooner. And it means Truman won’t be over here pestering me to talk to him.”

  Mattie sighed loudly. “I’m sorry to hear about this misunderstanding, Rosetta. I hope you won’t live to regret this,” she said softly. “Do you want us to stay while you eat, or leave you to your thoughts?”

  “You probably have better things to do than watch me pout,” Rosetta replied quickly. “Tell Monroe he should go to Illinois. I’m sure he’s eager to settle all his business there and get his horses moved. Denki for thinking of me.”

  Christine rose from the chair, squeezing Rosetta’s shoulder before leaving her apartment. Mattie followed her down the back stairway to the kitchen, where Monroe was finishing a piece of peach pie as he chatted with the Kuhn sisters.

  “What did you think?” Christine asked her sister. “In my opinion, Rosetta’s not handling this well at all. I’m worried about her.”

  “Me, too,” Mattie said as they approached the table. “I think she’s making a huge mistake, not letting Truman explain his situation with Maria.”

  Monroe looked up at them. “She’s really canceling the wedding, then? No last-minute reconciliation?”

  “Nope. She was very clear about that,” Christine replied.

  “She wants you to go ahead and fetch your horses and household belongings,” Mattie confirmed. “Maybe it’s best that you and Truman aren’t here on Wednesday so she can move on past the canceled wedding. And maybe you’ll hear Truman’s side of this story and figure out what to do next. I can’t believe he’ll accept this canceled wedding as an end to their relationship.”

  Nodding, Monroe rose from his chair. “I’ll give him a call so he can plan to be gone for a few days. Denki for the pie, ladies,” he added, smiling at the Kuhns.

  “You’re always welcome, Bishop,” Beulah said. “It was one we’d baked for Rosetta’s wedding.”

  “Jah, if you’re interested, I know where there’s a whole lot of chocolate cake,” Ruby put in sadly. “We can freeze it—along with the rest of our pies and the beef roasts and the chickens we won’t be cooking tomorrow. But I sure don’t like doing that.”

  “When Maria breezes through here on the way to her room, I have a mind to sit her down for a stiff talking-to,” Beulah said gruffly. “I don’t care how excited she was about having another place to sell her baked goods. She needs to keep her hands off another woman’s man. I’m not sure I would’ve tolerated seeing her in Truman’s arms any more than Rosetta did. But what do I know?” she added as she rose from the table. “I’m just a crotchety old biddy who’s set in her ways.”

  “You’re Rosetta’s friend, too,” Christine pointed out. “She could use any advice and company you care to share with her.”

  “We’ll fetch her plate a little later. See how she’s doing,” Ruby said. “If we find something to keep her busy—maybe remind her she’s got milk to make more soap—she’ll be better off.”

  “I’m sure you’ll all do your best with her,” Monroe said. “We’ll compare notes when I get back from Illinois.”

  Christine placed her hand on his arm, entreating him to stay a moment longer. “You know, Rosetta made a good point to us. Had Leola been in her right mind, aware of what she was doing and saying, I would’ve become very upset about the way she clung to you, Monroe,” she said softly. “When Rosetta saw Maria in Truman’s arms, she lost all confidence in herself. She thinks that because Maria is younger and—supposedly—prettier, Truman surely must find her more attractive.”

  Monroe’s forehead furrowed as he considered this. “I don’t understand that,” he remarked. “Rosetta is much more mature and better suited to Truman than—”

  “But it’s that maturity issue that’s bothering her,” Mattie put in gently. “Rosetta’s thirty-eight now, and she’s feeling past her prime—a lot older than most gals when they marry the first time. It’s not that she envies Maria’s youth or looks—she fears them. She believes Truman must be attracted to Maria, or he wouldn’t be putting his arms around her when they’re alone in the bakery.”

  “And there’s no denying how you and Amos and the other men fell all over yourselves when Maria showed up with that basket of goodies,” Beulah pointed out.

  “You fellows went out of your way to get Maria’s apartment painted in short order, too,” Mattie added. “I suspect you’d have felt differently if she didn’t have blond hair and sparkly blue eyes when she batted her lashes at you.”

  Monroe stifled a smile. “Well, you might be right about that part,” he admitted. “I’ll discuss Maria with Truman during our four-hour ride to Illinois. Denki for pointing out these details. It’ll help if he sees this situation from Rosetta’s viewpoint.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  By eight o’clock Tuesday morning, Monroe was sitting in the cab of Truman’s big white truck, heading onto the highway that ran past Promise Lodge. Two more trucks with large trailers, driven by Truman’s employees, Edgar and Harvey, followed them as they headed for Illinois. The sunrise made the buds on the trees shine neon green, as though they emitted their own light, and the glass windows of the Helmuths’ new greenhouse sparkled. Monroe opened the window and waved to Sam and Simon, who were coming from their barn.

  “Have a gut trip !” one of the slender redheads hollered.

>   “See ya when you get back, Bishop!” his brother added with an exuberant wave.

  Truman shifted the truck into a higher gear, glancing out at the Helmuth place. “Those fellows should be receiving their shipment of new plants any time now,” he said. “I’ve asked them to join me at one of the townhome communities I’m landscaping, to be sure the plants I’ve suggested will be suitable for the soil and the sunny areas where they’ll be planted. The developer took out all the big trees, so it’ll be a few years before those yards have any shade to speak of.”

  “Seems a shame to get rid of trees,” Monroe remarked, raising his window. “But I suppose those contractors want a certain variety of trees, arranged just so, instead of where Mother Nature put them.”

  “That’s how it is—and some of the trees there weren’t going to live much longer, anyway,” Truman said. “Because we were allowed to take them down and run them through our big chippers, we made a huge amount of mulch we can use next year after it decomposes a bit. The developer was pleased that in exchange, I’ll use my seasoned mulch for their landscaped areas instead of the store-bought kind. Saved them a pile of money.”

  Monroe nodded. He had plenty of time to quiz Truman about his relationship with Maria, so he didn’t push that subject. “I appreciate you rearranging your schedule for these next few days during your busy season,” he said. “I called some of my friends in Macomb. They’ll help with the loading, so it shouldn’t take long to get the horses and my stuff on the road again.”

  Truman’s lips formed a thin line. “Just as well I’m going to be gone for a few days,” he said with a sigh. “There’s no living with Mamm now that the wedding’s been canceled. And frankly, I’m wondering if I want to keep that new furniture I bought, because . . . well, it’ll remind me every day that Rosetta was to be sharing it with me.”

  Regret edged Truman’s words, and he stared through the windshield as though he was seeing a lot more than the blacktop. Since he’d mentioned the subject, Monroe decided to ease into it, as well.