Christmas at Promise Lodge (13 page)

When everyone had resumed their seats, they focused on Marlin as he stood in the space between the men's side and the women's. Roman saw how Gloria clutched Mary Kate's hand, her brown eyes wide with fear.

Lord, we could use Your comfort and consolation
, Roman prayed as he briefly bowed his head.
Help me to be a source of strength and reason during this confusing time.

“The spirit of the Lord is indeed upon us,” Preacher Marlin said as he gazed around their small congregation. “We should never forget that even in emergency situations, He is with us—just as He's with Floyd, Frances, and Amos—and He'll show us the path we're to take if we listen for His still, small voice. ‘Be still, and know that I am God,' He insists in the Scriptures. Let's unite in silence, praying on our bishop's behalf and listening for God's message to us this morning.”

For several minutes the meeting room resonated with the sounds of deep, even breathing, punctuated by an occasional sigh and the soft ticking of the wall clock. Roman felt a unity of spirit among these new neighbors and friends, much stronger than he'd ever sensed during their church services in Coldstream. Or was he simply more attuned to this atmosphere of reverent purpose because he'd taken on more responsibilities as an adult?

“Amen.”

When Preacher Eli rose, the folks in the room opened their eyes and sat up straight to hear what he had to say. His solemn expression was accentuated by the deep lines carved around his eyes and bearded chin.

“It's understandable for us to wonder what the future holds, as far as the leadership of our community,” Eli began. He clasped his hands and thought for a moment. “While we should indeed consider the need for another bishop, if Floyd doesn't recover as we've prayed he will, I believe we should wait a bit and see what God has in mind for him—and for Amos—before we rush into choosing new leadership. Marlin and I are both experienced in our role as ministers, and unless somebody says differently, I believe he and I are prepared to maintain the Promise Lodge community until it becomes apparent we should hold a drawing of the lot for a new bishop.”

A few folks whispered to one another, nodding.

“I'm fine with that, Eli,” Lester spoke up. “We've been blessed with three strong preachers—and I believe Amos and Floyd are too tough to let infirmity get them down. I'm confident you and Marlin can lead us in the meantime.”

“That's the way I see it, too,” Rosetta said, and the women around her nodded in agreement.

“Rather than preaching today, or proceeding with our regular worship service,” Eli went on, “I feel God is calling us to a time of silent reflection. There's great power in communion with our Lord, whether individually or as a body united by a common purpose. I would like us to pray again, and then continue in our observance of the Sabbath by remaining silent as the ladies set out our meal and as we partake of it together—and then as we depart toward our homes.”

Preacher Eli paused, gazing at each member in turn. “We have a lot to think about,” he continued pensively. “We might have some amazing insights to share as we begin our work week tomorrow, after spending this morning listening for the voice of God rather than talking amongst ourselves.”

The folks around Roman seemed as surprised as he was by Eli's idea, but everyone bowed their heads again. After a while, the women and girls got up and set their simple meal on the table in the dining room. Everyone passed the food and ate in a contemplative silence. The mood felt hopeful and helpful—not at all depressing. No one seemed deprived of the visiting that ordinarily filled the afternoon of their church Sundays. In short order, Roman and the other folks ate the sliced ham, fresh bread, gelatin fruit salad, slaw, and pies, all of which the women had prepared on Saturday.

Before he left, Roman filled a plate for Amos and covered it with foil. His mother nodded at him, squeezing his arm gratefully. Roman figured she might clean up the kitchen with the other women and then rest this afternoon rather than rushing over to spend the remainder of the day with Amos. He suspected his
mamm
felt bewildered by her fiancé's condition, and was wondering when Amos would show some improvement.

When Roman stepped outside to take Amos's meal to him, fat, white snowflakes were swirling lazily in the air. He stopped for a moment, looking toward the sky to enjoy the fluttery, feathery prickles when the cold flakes landed on his face. Although winter sometimes brought on weather-related problems with the cows and other livestock, Roman enjoyed the colder weather . . . the hushed beauty of snow-covered hillsides. He recalled the old sleigh Amos had brought from Coldstream, now stashed in the shed, and an idea made him smile.

Did Mary Kate enjoy riding in a horse-drawn sleigh as much as he did? It was a question worth asking her sometime—at least when enough snow covered the ground.

Roman took Amos's porch steps two at a time and knocked loudly before entering the preacher's house. “How're you doing, Amos?” he called out as he wiped his feet on the rug.

“Still here,” came the reply from the back room. “What was all that commotion with the sirens a while ago?”

Roman entered Amos's room and allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness before he sat in the chair beside the bed. The preacher was propped upright against the headboard with a pillow behind his back, which meant he'd maneuvered himself out of the wheelchair and into bed—a positive sign.

“Floyd was launching into his sermon about how the spirit of the Lord had anointed him to preach, when he nearly fell over,” Roman replied. “Minerva believes he was having a stroke—said he might be incapacitated for the rest of his life if he didn't get medical attention right away, so Rosetta called 911.”

Amos's eyes widened. “A stroke? They say that's like having a heart attack except it's happening to your brain,” he murmured. “Do you suppose this has been building up inside him for a while? Might account for the crazy things Floyd's said and done lately, like running underneath me to catch me when I fell. And this morning he told me it's God's will that I'll always be a cripple, because I couldn't get out of my wheelchair and walk.”

“The bishop said that? Well, I don't believe it for a minute.” Roman unwrapped the meal and handed it to Amos, observing the way he firmly gripped the plate. Roman was pleased to hear Amos reasoning and speaking clearly. “You might have something, though, about his stroke being in the works for a while. Minerva thought Floyd's fall might've set him up for it.”

Amos shifted on the bed. His quick grimace suggested he might not be feeling as chipper as he was trying to appear. “How'd the rest of church go, after the excitement died down?”

“Eli suggested that he and Marlin—and you—would be fine leading the colony until we see whether Floyd recovers,” Roman replied. “He had us spend the rest of the morning in prayer and silence, even while we ate—listening for God's counsel rather than finishing the regular service or chatting with each other.”

“Really? Peterscheim did that?” Amos bit into a slice of bread, thinking. “That sounds more like what I'd expect Marlin to say. I always considered Eli pretty heavy on the traditional, conservative side—but every preacher's got a few surprises up his sleeve.”

Roman wondered if Amos would elaborate on that statement, or reveal his thoughts about his upcoming wedding. He had heard some of the ladies discussing this topic before church—and he suspected Mamm was
very
curious about Amos's plans, what with the ceremony only six days away.

Roman's eyebrows rose as another thought occurred to him. “If Bishop Floyd's laid up, who's going to conduct the wedding service for you and Mamm next Saturday?”

Amos blinked. “That's a very good question, son. And right now, only God knows the answer.”

Chapter Fifteen

“That snow we got Sunday afternoon did us a real favor,” Mattie remarked as she and her sisters yanked the shriveled squash and pumpkin vines from the garden plot nearest the lodge. “It made these last plants easier to clear away—”

“And it stopped before we had to do any shoveling or plowing!” Rosetta chimed in. “Missouri weather isn't a bit different here than it was in Coldstream. If you don't like it now, wait fifteen minutes and it'll change.”

Christine dropped her armload of vines onto the tarp and stood up to stretch her back. “I'm so glad the men got the roof on Roman's house before winter hit us. Now they can take their time with the interior finishing work.”

“Marlin's told me again and again how much he appreciated you and the girls doing his painting,” Mattie remarked as she, too, stood up. “Now that he and Harley have moved their furniture into the house, Minerva's been sewing the curtains and making everything look real homey. She's really happy to be out of the cabin. Said it was getting chilly at night, without any heat.”

“Those little cabins have served us well. We'll hope more folks want to join us here at Promise Lodge come spring,” Rosetta said in a wistful voice. “I thought we'd have more residents by now—”

“But what we lack in quantity we make up for with quality,” Christine insisted. “We couldn't ask for any nicer renters than the Kuhns. And who would've thought we'd have a cheese factory here, not to mention Marlin's barrel business and the Lehmans' window and siding company?”

Mattie shielded her eyes with her hand, gazing at two cars driving slowly down their lane. The first car parked in front of the cheese factory, and the second one continued until it was a few yards in front of them. “Wonder who this is?”

The lady driving rolled down her window. “Where might I find the gift shop?” she called over. “I want to see that goat-milk soap mentioned on the sign out front.”

Rosetta's face lit up like the morning sun. “You're almost there! Follow me to the lodge just ahead of you.”

Mattie chuckled and resumed pulling squash vines alongside Christine. The sun was bright, but she was glad to be wearing her flannel-lined barn jacket, which blocked the brisk wind. “Hard to believe we're just a week away from Thanksgiving,” she said. “I saved back some of the nice acorn squash we grew to have for our—oh! There's Truman's truck!”

Mattie waved eagerly as the pickup rumbled under the arched metal entry sign. Truman had taken Amos for his follow-up visit at the medical center in Forest Grove. She'd been on pins and needles all morning, wondering if the doctor had revealed anything new—or promising—about Amos's concussion and his inability to walk. Amos had hurt her feelings a bit when he'd insisted that she not go to his appointment with him, but Mattie had chalked it up to Amos having a tough morning. His headache was back, and he'd complained long and loudly about being cooped up in a dark bedroom for a week. Amos had appeared very downhearted about Truman and Roman making a chair with their arms beneath his bottom and behind his back to carry him to the truck.

“How'd the appointment go?” Mattie asked when Truman stopped alongside them.

“Didn't learn a lot new,” Truman murmured. “Amos wants to get to bed now. Maybe he'll feel more like telling you about it later.”

Peering into the truck, Mattie gazed at Amos on the passenger side. His head was bowed as though his wide-brimmed black hat was weighing it down.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Christine murmured. “We'll check on him after a bit.”

“
Denki
for taking him, Truman—and for all the ways you're helping him.” Mattie gazed purposefully at their neighbor, hoping he'd stop on his way out to tell her more about Amos's situation. “He's got clean sheets and towels, and I gathered up his dirty clothes to wash with our laundry tomorrow.”

Truman nodded.
I'll be back
, he mouthed as he rolled up his window.

Mattie's heart thudded as she watched the big white pickup roll on down the road toward Amos's house. What could be so wrong that Amos hadn't even looked at her? She'd sensed he wasn't doing well yesterday when she'd taken him the noon meal—he seemed fidgety and depressed—but she didn't know what to do about it. Until Dr. Townsend told them Amos was allowed to open the curtains and spend time out in the sunshine, she intended to be sure he followed the original instructions. Too much was at stake—for her, for Amos, and for everyone at Promise Lodge—if Amos's health deteriorated.

Christine sighed. “I wish Truman had had better news for us. Or even just a hopeful expression on his face.”

Mattie nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. “I'll go in and make coffee and cut one of the pumpkin pies we baked this morning. The least we can do is feed Truman while he talks with us.”

“I'll finish up here and send him inside when he comes by,” her sister said as she slipped her arm around Mattie's shoulders. “Maybe Truman just didn't want to go into any details while Amos was feeling so poorly.”

As she headed for the lodge, Mattie reminded herself that Dr. Townsend had predicted a recovery time of several weeks or maybe months—and who would be in a good mood, having to endure Amos's pain and lack of activity? She was doing everything she could think of—or at least everything Amos would allow—to make him comfortable and cheer him up, but they had a long haul ahead of them. Mattie trudged up the steps and into the lodge, sighing.

“Rosetta, I'm so delighted I've met you. I can't wait to try these soaps!”

Mattie closed the lodge door behind her and smiled at the English woman standing in front of Rosetta's display. Her plastic sack bulged with several bars of soap, some jars of honey, and she held a covered pan of Deborah's orange bars.

“We're glad you stopped by to check us out, Pam,” Rosetta replied, handing her a business card. “Let me know which kinds of soap you like best and I'll keep them on hand for you. With the holidays coming, our Deborah's hoping to take orders for cookie trays or other goodies you might like, too. And the Kuhns are making cheese today, so you might want to stop by their factory before you leave. You can watch them through their showroom window.”

“I'll do that—and I'll bring my sisters with me next time!” Pam said with an emphatic nod. She breezed out the door with another smile for Mattie, who couldn't help noticing how depleted the soap and honey display was.

“
Gut
for you, making a new customer so happy,” Mattie said. “Truman's just come back with Amos. He's going to stop by on his way out—and I have a feeling his news isn't going to be nearly as cheerful as your visit with Pam.”

Rosetta stopped taking fresh soaps from the top drawer of the dresser. “Oh dear. Sounds like we'd better sweeten things up with some of that pumpkin pie—”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Mattie turned when she saw motion through the lobby window. “Here comes Truman now.”

Mattie added fresh water to the coffee that remained in the percolator and lit the burner beneath it, thinking it would take forever to make a fresh batch. She was grateful for Truman's patience with Amos, and glad that preparing a snack kept her from wringing her hands. Worrying about Amos wasn't a productive way to spend her time—or a good excuse for losing sleep—but Mattie had been feeling the strain of caring for him the past few days when she'd seen no visible signs of improvement.

“Always smells so wonderful-
gut
in here.” Truman closed the door against the chilly breeze and paused in the lobby. “My word, look at your soaps, wrapped in pretty ribbons—and Deborah's been giving her new oven a workout, by the looks of these goodies.”

“I bet your
mamm
's ready for a fresh bar of soap—and here,” Rosetta added, “I want you to have a bar of the orange cornmeal soap for scrubbing up, Truman.”

“I'll pay you for these when I have—”

“No, you won't,” Rosetta insisted as she pressed the two bars of soap into Truman's large hands. “Now join us for pie while you tell us about Amos.”

“I want to hear about him, too,” Christine said as she came in from outdoors. “Maybe you can tell us what else we can do for him. He looked so despondent when you brought him back.”

When the four of them were seated around the worktable in the kitchen with coffee and pie, Truman let out a sigh. “There's
gut
news, and not-so-
gut
,” he began. “Dr. Townsend says Amos's healing seems to be on target, far as his concussion goes. But he has no idea why Amos's legs are so weak.”

Mattie frowned. “But he's a
doctor
. And he ran so many tests, you'd think—”

“
Jah
, Townsend said the same thing,” Truman murmured. “Amos didn't like it one bit that his doctor didn't have an answer—except to recommend some physical therapy sessions. But Townsend wants to give the concussion another couple of weeks to heal before Amos starts any sort of moving around. Needless to say, Amos wasn't happy to hear he's got to stay cooped up in that gloomy room, dependent on folks to help him.”

“Can't say I blame him.” Christine reached for Mattie's hand. “But if his concussion has improved, then we should keep following the doctor's recommendations, don't you think?”

Mattie nodded emphatically. “
Jah
, we've seen what happened to Floyd when he didn't do as he was told.”

“The bishop's in a bad way, but at least he's getting treatment now,” Truman said. “Amos and I peeked into Floyd's room at the hospital. He was out getting physical therapy so we chatted with Frances. Dr. Townsend has told them Floyd will be paralyzed—useless—on his left side unless he works with the therapists. I sure don't want that to happen to Amos.”

“Nobody does,” Rosetta agreed. “I'm just glad Frances convinced the bishop to stay in the hospital.”

“This time they didn't give Floyd any say about it,” Truman said as he cut into his pie. “He's hooked up to monitors so they can watch his blood pressure, and they've put him on a medication to dissolve blood clots, and meanwhile he's getting speech therapy and seeing other specialists, too,” he added. “Might be another day or two before he's released, and Frances says home care therapists will be coming after that.”

Mattie set down her fork, no longer enjoying her pumpkin pie. She was pleased to hear about Floyd's treatments, but some of his earlier remarks hadn't set well with her. “Right before Floyd had his stroke, he told Amos it was God's will that he'd always be crippled because he refused to believe he could walk,” she murmured. “What's your opinion of that, Truman? You Mennonites sometimes see things in a different light.”

Truman grasped her hand and gazed earnestly at her. “I've thought about this a lot lately, Mattie. Amos chose to climb up on that weak roof—just as Floyd, of his own free will, dashed beneath Amos to catch him,” he said softly. “I don't believe God wanted that accident to happen, or that He has condemned either man to be an invalid. I do believe the Lord provided emergency services and a
gut
, concerned doctor to help their healing.”

Truman's expression grew more pensive. “Now, Amos and Floyd have the choice about accepting medical help. God watches over us all, but He gave us free will—and our bad choices bring on most of our problems, rather than God causing them.”

Mattie sighed, nodding along with her sisters. “Religion gets tricky sometimes,” she murmured. “I hope we can all have the faith to love and help Amos—and Bishop Floyd—the way God wants us to care for them.”

“Amen to that,” Rosetta whispered.