Christine held her breath when Monroe straddled the gelding and sat down, taking sections of its luxurious black mane in both his hands. The horse rose, quivering with excitement, and then took off in an easy canter. As Monroe circled the pasture on his huge mount, he appeared to be having the time of his life guiding the Clydesdale into figure eights. When he’d pointed the horse toward the gate again, Monroe rocked forward, got his legs under him, and stood up, his arms extended to help him balance as his mount continued to canter.
“Oh my word,” Christine whispered, her heart pounding against her rib cage. “I had no idea he was a trick rider.”
“And a fine one, too!” Mattie agreed as they watched the horse and rider approach.
When the men and boys broke into applause, Christine and the other ladies joined them. Monroe slowed the huge horse with a quiet command until it stopped directly in front of her. He lowered himself until he was sitting on the horse again, towering above them all.
“This is Gabriel,” Monroe said as he stroked the horse’s broad shoulders. “He’s my personal mount, and I use him to train the younger Clydesdales that will eventually perform in show rings and competitions.”
The horse whickered as though he knew he was being praised.
“Can you teach us to ride like that, Bishop?” Lowell asked eagerly.
“Jah, that was awesome!” Lavern blurted.
Monroe swung one leg over Gabriel’s neck and dismounted, as nimble as a man half his size. “I don’t see why not,” he replied. “Gabriel’s trained, so it’s a matter of you boys learning to give him the correct commands—”
“Maybe with a saddle, until you boys get the hang of handling such a huge horse,” Preacher Marlin said. “Bishop Monroe makes it look easy, because he’s obviously been riding and training Clydesdales for a long time.”
“Jah, since I was about your age, Lavern,” Monroe said, smiling at the slender thirteen-year-old. “Took my share of tumbles, and I’m really lucky that I rolled out of the way before I got trampled—more times than I care to remember. We’ll start you boys slow and work you up, so your parents don’t have heart attacks when they watch you.”
Christine laughed along with everyone around her. For a golden moment, Monroe focused on her as though he didn’t notice anyone else was around. Then he nodded at the crowd gathered at the fence.
“This friend who came back from Macomb with me is Bishop Ralph Byler, and we’re having a special supper at the lodge tonight to get acquainted with him,” Monroe announced, gesturing toward Ralph. “He’ll be performing the wedding ceremony for Christine and me this Saturday morning—and you know that means the Kuhns, Christine, and her sisters will be cooking up a storm to get ready so quickly. If all your families could bring food to share tonight, we’ll have a wonderful time.”
Christine smiled at Mattie. “Did I find a gut, thoughtful man, or what?” she teased.
Mattie hugged her. “I think we both did well, sister. Now we need to help Rosetta work things out.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rosetta had her head in the mudroom’s upright freezer, carefully removing pies, when she heard the outside door open.
“Oh! I—I thought you’d be gone to see the horses with the other ladies.”
Maria. Rosetta’s heart began to pound as she carefully backed out of the freezer with a stack of pies in her arms—purposely blocking the kitchen doorway. Maria had been noticeably absent the past few days, and her statement confirmed Rosetta’s suspicion that the blonde had been avoiding her. “Christine’s getting married Saturday,” she explained, praying for patience and a civil tongue. “Since Truman’s and my wedding was canceled, we’re using the pies we’d baked for that occasion.”
Maria’s eyes darted toward the kitchen, but there was no escape from the mudroom when Beulah and Ruby came to stand in the doorway. “I—I have no idea why you called off your wedding,” Maria protested in a tight voice. “Truman was really upset when you—”
“Truman isn’t my concern right now.” Rosetta handed her stack of frozen pies to Ruby and turned to face Maria, her pulse accelerating with pent-up frustration. She’d wondered how she would handle this conversation with her tenant, and the words she’d tried out dozens of times in her mind suddenly evaporated like mist rising from Rainbow Lake. “I want to know why you had your arms around him, Maria. You knew Truman and I were engaged.”
Maria’s blue eyes resembled saucers. “I—I was just thanking him for finding another store that wants to sell my pastries.”
“And what was Rosetta supposed to think about that?” Beulah muttered. “If it had been me walking in on you and my fiancé, I’d have started throwing things, young lady.”
“Jah, you’re young, but you’re certainly old enough to know when to keep your hands to yourself,” Ruby put in. She and her sister filled the doorway, crossing their arms as they awaited Maria’s reply.
Maria’s face turn deep pink as she clasped and unclasped her hands.
“I suspect you’ve left early and come in late these past few days because you knew I was upset with you,” Rosetta said, holding Maria’s gaze. “Or maybe you just stayed at Truman’s house, like you did when his mamm was sick. How do you like that dining room furniture I picked out? Have you been trying out the new bedroom set, as well?”
Maria gaped. “It’s not that way, Rosetta! Truman and I have been friends for years—”
“And every time I’ve seen you in the same room with him, you’ve had your hands on him—or he’s had his arm around you,” Ruby remarked. “If I were Rosetta, I’d be wondering if you didn’t intend to marry him yourself.”
Rosetta wanted to hug the Kuhn sisters for supporting her—for expressing all the disturbing thoughts she hadn’t had the nerve to say out loud.
Shock had overtaken Maria’s flushed face. “Marry him?” She spat the words as though she’d taken a bite of something sour. “Truman’s old enough to be—well, he’s just old!”
Deep down Rosetta felt relieved, but she didn’t relax her stern stance. The blonde was probably ten or eleven years younger than Truman—not an insurmountable gap in age, but the idea of marrying someone who was thirty-three obviously didn’t appeal to Maria. “So how are you and I to go forward, considering that your apartment is next to mine and your business is on my property?”
Maria’s chin quivered. “I . . . I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry, Rosetta. I didn’t know I was out of line.”
Rosetta softened a bit, but Maria hadn’t really answered the question—and probably had no idea what to suggest about their future relationship.
“If it were me,” Ruby said, “I’d find every way possible to prove my intentions toward Truman were nothing but honorable—”
“And I’d do everything in my power to make it up to Rosetta . . . and maybe find someplace else to go,” Beulah added in a low voice. “It’s serious business when a wedding is canceled over such a misunderstanding. The couple’s entire future—their love and trust for each other—has been destroyed.”
Maria let out a sob. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I—I just want to go to my apartment now—”
When the Kuhn sisters stepped back into the kitchen, Maria bolted up the stairs, her rapid steps echoing in the stairwell.
Rosetta let out the breath she’d been holding. “Denki so much for your help,” she said as she took Ruby and Beulah in her arms. “Maybe I overreacted to—”
“You caught them together and you called it like you saw it,” Ruby reassured her.
“High time somebody held that girl accountable,” Beulah insisted as the three of them eased away from one another. “Maybe she’ll be more aware of how she comes across to other folks now. And maybe Truman will man up and explain his part in it, as well.”
Rosetta sighed. She was glad she’d be cooking for the rest of the day. It gave her a chance to reevaluate the scene she’d witnessed in Maria’s bakery—and to mull ove
r Maria’s reaction to the idea of marrying Truman.
Guide me in the way You’d have me go, Lord, she prayed. Now it’s up to Truman and me to figure this out—and we need Your help.
* * *
Saturday morning was barely a glimmer on the horizon when Christine awoke. The aromas of coffee and bacon made her stomach rumble as she peered out her window. The pearl gray of the approaching dawn had a hush about it, a sense that a glorious day was about to bless everyone at Promise Lodge as they attended the wedding ceremony at Monroe’s new home and enjoyed the meal in the lodge dining room. Christine slipped into an old dress for a trip to the barn, smiling with joy—and a secret. Not only was she marrying their handsome, compassionate bishop today, but she was also the bearer of a sealed envelope she dropped into her apron pocket.
“Gut morning, dear friends,” Christine said as she reached the bottom of the back stairway. “Denki a hundred times over for the wonderful-gut food you’re cooking today.”
Ruby and Beulah turned to smile at her. Work aprons covered their finery—Ruby sported a new purple dress with big pink polka dots, and her sister glowed in a splashy print of pink, orange, and purple tulips. “It’s your big day, Christine, and I wish you and Monroe all the happiness your hearts can hold,” Beulah said cheerfully.
“It’s an honor to prepare your wedding meal, dearie,” Ruby put in as she placed the lid on a blue enamel roasting pan. “We have Maria to thank for the boxes of breakfast pastries we can enjoy and share with your guests from Coldstream.”
“Glad to hear that,” Christine said, patting her apron pocket. “Rosetta’s in the barn milking her goats, so I’m going over to deliver this letter Truman slipped to me last night.”
The sisters’ eyes lit up. “What’s it say?” Ruby whispered gleefully.
Christine laughed. “I didn’t steam open the seal, but I suspect we’ll all be able to read Rosetta’s face later today,” she replied. “I certainly hope it’s a note of encouragement, since Truman and Rosetta will be facing each other all morning, as our side-sitters.”
“Jah, it wouldn’t do to have them glaring at each other while you and Monroe exchange your vows,” Beulah said. “Take a plate of those pastries to sweeten the visit.”
On the way through the dining room, Christine placed a couple of cream cheese Danish, an apple fritter, and a chocolate cake doughnut on a plate. When she stepped out onto the lodge’s front porch, she paused to take in the beauty of the morning. Rays of the sunrise glimmered on the white blossoms of the serviceberry trees near Rainbow Lake as two pairs of mallard ducks splashed down into water that reflected the morning sky. In the wooded areas, redbud trees and dogwoods were starting to show off their springtime colors. Her Holsteins lowed in the red barn where Roman was milking them. As Christine headed for the smaller white barn, her heart thrummed with the beauty of the day—and with the hopeful feeling Truman’s letter gave her as it rustled in her pocket.
She stepped carefully between chickens pecking at grain and entered the barn. Rosetta was seated at the milking stand with Gladys. The other four goats lifted their ears and approached Christine, bleating their greeting.
“And gut morning to you girls, too,” she replied. She held her plate of goodies higher as she scratched between the curious goats’ ears.
Rosetta turned to face her, rhythmically splashing milk into her pail. “I wasn’t expecting to see the bride out here on her wedding day,” she remarked. “Whatever you’ve brought has certainly sparked Gertie and Blanche’s curiosity. Be careful, or Bernadette will bump you while Betsy catches what falls off your plate. They’re partners in crime, you know.”
Christine laughed as cream-colored twins Bernadette and Betsy seemed to follow Rosetta’s prediction. “I know what you girls are up to,” she teased, walking toward the milking stand. “But I’m not sharing Maria’s goodies, because I can see your rations in that pan over there.”
Rosetta glanced at the pastries. “Are these the ones Beulah bought a while back and put in the freezer?”
“Nope. This morning Maria provided two big boxes of fresh rolls and doughnuts for us and our guests.” Christine waved the plate in front of her sister, watching for her reaction.
“She’s doing penance after the Kuhns and I put her on the spot the other day,” Rosetta said. “It’s a nice gesture. Give me a bite of that chocolate cake doughnut, please.”
Christine detected no undercurrent of bitterness or frustration in her sister’s voice—a definite improvement over Rosetta’s earlier moods. She held the glazed cake doughnut so Rosetta could bite into it. Christine chose a Danish for herself and set the plate on a nearby feed cabinet. “Whatever you said to Maria must’ve cleared the air, jah?”
“Thanks to the Kuhns, she knows she crossed the line,” Rosetta replied after she’d chewed and swallowed. “The best part was the expression on her face when Ruby hinted that maybe Maria wanted to marry Truman. You’d have thought we’d washed her mouth out with lye soap.”
Christine relished a big bite of her pineapple cream cheese Danish, pleased that her sister’s sense of humor and perspective had returned. “Speaking of Truman,” she said as she reached into her apron pocket. “He asked me to give you this. If you’d like to read it now, I’ll be happy to finish milking Gladys for you.”
Rosetta’s brown eyes widened. “I’m finished,” she said. When she moved the milk pail and released the head gate, Gladys hopped away to join the other goats. “So you’re passing notes, like we used to do in school?”
Christine handed her the large yellow envelope, which bore Rosetta’s name inside the outline of a heart. “I have a feeling this is the most important piece of writing I’ve ever delivered. I’ll leave you to read it in private, if you want.”
Rosetta gazed at the heart and her name, and then ripped open the envelope. “What did Truman say when he gave it to you?”
Christine smiled. “He implored me to get this to you before the wedding so there’d be no eyes sending daggers between the two front rows during the ceremony.”
Rosetta waved her off. “Truman would never—oh, look at this pretty card,” she said with a wistful sigh. “‘Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’” she read from the front, and when she opened it, a folded letter fell out. “Well, it’s a gut sign that he doesn’t expect the card to do all the talking.”
Christine stuffed the rest of her Danish into her mouth, hoping Truman’s message was as sweet and satisfying as the pastry. Rosetta read silently, quickly skimming the tight lines of Truman’s handwriting. She blinked back tears, and by the time she’d read the back of the second page her chin was quivering.
“Oh, Truman, why did I ever doubt you?” Rosetta murmured as she wiped her eyes with her apron. She looked up at Christine with a tremulous smile. “He says he’s as much to blame as Maria for upsetting me, and—and he’s asked me to be patient. He’s checking into a café that’s now for sale in Cloverdale, where she can reopen her bakery without moving her building,” she said in a rush. “He wants me to have no doubt about his love for me . . . and he’s asked if we could talk this afternoon, after your wedding.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long while,” Christine said. “What do you think, sweetie? Does he deserve a second chance?”
Rosetta sniffled, but she was chuckling. “I want to see the look on Maria’s face when Truman informs her of his plan,” she said. “She might be in for a shock.”
“Or she might recognize an opportunity to expand her business in a bigger town.”
Rosetta sighed happily, holding Truman’s letter to her heart. “If anyone can make this happen, it’s Truman—and truth be told, I’d be willing to buy the bakery building if she leaves it behind.”
“If she leaves her appliances, maybe Deborah or my girls will want to open a bake shop,” Christine mused.
Rosetta stood up with a big smile on her face. “I think we should get ourselves dressed for your big day, Chr
istine. Before you know it, it’ll be time to walk to Monroe’s place!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rosetta finished dressing and twisted her hair into a fresh bun. She glanced in the dresser mirror to place her new kapp on straight, liking what she saw. Christine had bought fabric in a deep shade of teal for her and Mattie’s dresses, to complement the celestial blue of her wedding dress. The rich color flattered Rosetta’s brown hair and eyes.
Will Truman like it? Will he think I’m as pretty as—?
Rosetta laughed at herself, refusing to finish the comparison. She’d been foolish to believe that the man she loved would find Maria more attractive, more desirable than she was—but perhaps calling off their wedding had inspired a worthwhile change of heart and a major change at Promise Lodge. Rosetta wanted to like and trust Maria—wanted to forgive and forget, as the Ordnung prescribed—but her heart would always remember the scene in the bakery. She grabbed Truman’s note to read it one more time before she left for Christine and Monroe’s wedding.
My dearest Rosetta,
I hope you can forgive me for being oblivious to your needs and feelings. I count myself even more to blame than Maria for your heartache, because I’m old enough to know better, to realize how inappropriate any displays of affection with her appear. Please believe that although Maria is a longtime friend, she’s the last woman I would want for a wife. From the moment I met you, Rosetta, my heart knew you were The One.
Rosetta sighed wistfully. “I’m the one who needs to be forgiven, Truman,” she murmured. “I jumped to a stupid conclusion.”
If you can accept this written apology, I’d like to spend the rest of the day with you after Monroe and Christine’s wedding, to apologize in person . . . to figure out how we can point ourselves toward the altar again after we kiss and make up.
Rosetta smiled. Only a dead woman wouldn’t respond to Truman’s soulful kisses, and just the thought of him pressing his lips to hers made her shiver with anticipation. She’d heard folks joke about squabbling just because making up was so pleasurable—but she hoped she and Truman would never trivialize their affection by purposely disagreeing, or so one of them could be right. She was old enough to believe that being happy and loved trumped being right and in control.
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