Christmas at Promise Lodge (14 page)

Chapter Sixteen

That afternoon Amos sat in his wheelchair in his gloomy room, praying for God's guidance one moment and cursing his condition the next. Why had Dr. Townsend not provided an answer—or at least a timetable for his healing—so he could make plans? Set some priorities? If his concussion was improving, why did his head still feel as if someone was banging on it with a hammer?

“Why can't I walk?” he muttered. “What's happened to my legs? Is this to be the way of it for the rest of my life, God? I am so
tired
of this darkness in my home—and in my soul.”

Was that the front door opening? Amos stopped his ranting to listen, hoping his visitor hadn't overheard him complaining to God.

“Who's there?” he called out. Amos hated it that his well-meaning friends came and went whenever they saw fit. Whenever they pitied him.

When he saw Mattie stop in his bedroom doorway, Amos swallowed a loud sigh. He'd figured she would come by, and he wasn't ready to address the issues that loomed between them. How could he say what he needed to without crushing her gentle, loving spirit?

“Amos.” Mattie hesitated before coming in, as though she might be afraid of him. When she sat in the armchair, facing him, she put on a smile that looked out of kilter. “It's
gut
to see you sitting up. I hope you feel better—”

“I
wish
I felt better,” Amos snapped. “And I wish I knew why I don't.”

Mattie nipped her lip. “We've all been praying for you.”

“I suppose Truman told you all the bleak details about Townsend not knowing why I can't walk,” he blurted.

“He did. I—I'm so sorry this has happened to you, dear Amos.”

Dear Amos
. He felt like a monster, laying out all his woes like slick mud over ice, knowing that no matter what Mattie said or offered him, she would slip and fall and get hurt in her efforts to care for him.

Mattie reached for his hand. “Let's postpone the wedding, shall we?” she murmured. “We need for you to be feeling better—and it's not like we've got a bishop who can perform the ceremony on Saturday. I doubt you'd want Bishop Obadiah to come from Coldstream to do the ceremony—and I certainly don't.”

It had clearly taken all of Mattie's strength to say that, but she'd also opened the door for him to state the obvious. Amos squeezed Mattie's hand, so small yet so strong, already regretting what he was about to say.

“Mattie, I can't allow you to endure another marriage of caring for a sick husband,” he began in the strongest voice he could muster. “I can't bear to have you spend the rest of your days playing nurse rather than being the wife we'd both figured on when you agreed to marry me.”

Mattie's face fell. In the darkness, Amos saw tears trickling down her cheeks. “Wh—what are you saying?” she whispered. “I believe we're to be together in sickness and in health, or I wouldn't have agreed to marry you. You can't just—”

“You're a strong, desirable woman, Mattie,” Amos interrupted. He had all the best intentions, even though he knew he was shredding her heart into tiny pieces. “You have a lot of love to share, so I want you to focus on managing our new colony and your produce business. Take up with another fellow—if one comes along who'll take
gut
care of you,” he insisted, forcing the words from his mouth for the benefit of both of them. “I love you but I can't marry you now, Mattie. Don't waste your efforts on a man who'll never be strong again. And don't grow old alone.”

Mattie stood up and turned away, covering her face with her hands. “You're having a bad day,” she reasoned. “You surely don't mean—”

“A few days ago I was sure I could lick this situation and get on with my life,” Amos said bitterly. “But that's changed—
I've
changed. I'm not the man you deserve anymore, Mattie. Please don't make this any more difficult. For your own sake, I can't marry you.”

With a sob, Mattie fled his room.

Amos slumped in his chair. He'd said what needed saying, but now his headache was pounding even harder and his heart was broken, too. With a groan he pushed himself up out of the wheelchair and fell toward his bed. It seemed the perfect time to bury his face in the pillow and remain here in the darkness, alone. The way he saw it, he might as well get used to living out his life in this sorry, useless state.

* * *

Mattie sat on the side of her bed, staring through her tears at nothing in particular. Why had Amos given up—on himself, and on the love they'd shared for most of their lives? He'd triumphed over many adversities when he'd been younger, remaining strong in his faith. Even when he'd been too poor for her father to consider him a good match—even after his wife, Anna, had died—Amos Troyer had forged ahead, doing the best he could, confident that God would see him through.

Where was God now?

Don't fall into the same trap Amos did, moaning and groaning so loud that you don't hear what God might be trying to tell you
, the voice in Mattie's mind warned. But she had a right to feel miserable. The man she loved had just shut her out of his life. Try as she might, she couldn't recall any of the Bible verses that had been written for desperate moments such as these. Her mind felt as empty as her soul.

Mattie sighed and looked out the window of her apartment. The wind whistled, driving thick, fat snowflakes, and the sky looked as dark and dreary as her heart felt. How senseless it seemed, that Amos would now remain alone in his new home and she would continue living in these rooms at the lodge—neither of them happy. What a waste of two lives.

The steady ticking of the clock on her dresser brought on a fresh round of tears. Amos had given her the clock as an engagement present when they'd been young people madly in love. He'd probably done without groceries for a while after he'd bought it, yet he'd never let on that it was a hardship. Then, when her
dat
had steered her toward Marvin Schwartz as a more up-and-coming husband, Mattie had carefully wrapped the clock and stored it beneath the linens in her cedar chest. She hadn't been able to part with the clock—and secretly, she hadn't given up hope that God's will and circumstances might bring her and Amos together again someday.

And their lives had worked out that way, just as she'd hoped. But this morning it hadn't been a well-meaning father coming between them. It was Amos himself.

Mattie opened the case of the wooden clock and stopped its pendulum. She couldn't bear to hear it ticking away the moments of her life, like a heart that had lost its reason for living yet went on beating.

She decided to allow herself this evening to mourn her loss—
“to everything there is a season . . . a time to weep and a time to laugh
.
”

Mattie took her flannel nightgown from the drawer. It wasn't even time for supper, yet she was done with this day. No doubt her sisters and the Kuhns would be looking for her when they realized she wasn't in the kitchen helping them cook, but she didn't have the least inclination toward eating—or toward going into detail about why she needed to be alone for a while. They were women. They would understand.

She had just let the nightgown drop down over her arms and body when she sensed someone else's presence. Mattie turned, reminding herself not to lash out at her visitor the way Amos had done to her. “Ah. Rosetta. I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn't hear you at the door.”

Rosetta cocked her head, assessing Mattie for a moment. “What's this? You're not feeling well? Coming down with a cold in this change of the weather?”

Mattie sighed. No sense in gilding the lily. “Amos called off the wedding. Forever.”

“He—oh, Mattie, that's his depression talking, not Amos!”

“I tried to tell him that,” she explained as she picked up her dress and underthings, “but he insisted I'm not to be his caretaker—not to marry a man who'll never be strong again.”

Rosetta's hand fluttered to her mouth and her face clouded over. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “When Truman said Amos was in a bad way, I never dreamed he'd sunk so low emotionally.”

“Me neither. So I've not got any appetite for dinner or company right now.” Mattie shrugged, blinking back tears. “I'll start again tomorrow and figure out where to go from there.
Gut
night, Rosetta.”

Bless her heart, her youngest sister understood Mattie's need to sort things out alone. Mattie watched Rosetta leave and then turned to look out the window again. The snow was still blowing with a vengeance and the ground below was turning white. It was just as well that the days were short and the nights longer at this time of the year. The thought of sleeping in suited her mood perfectly.

Mattie let down her hair and brushed it, trying not to imagine how Amos might've reacted to this simple ritual after they'd married, for he'd never seen her with her hair down. Mattie doused the lamp and sat in her rocking chair with an afghan wrapped around her, knowing sleep wouldn't come anytime soon. Back and forth she rocked, slowly, wondering if this would be the way she spent the rest of her years . . . alone in her room . . .

After a little while Mattie heard whispering in the hallway. Behind her, the door creaked and someone entered her room, but she didn't bother to turn around. The soft glow of a lamp made the furniture cast shadows on the wall.

“Nobody felt like cooking supper, Mattie,” Christine said.

“And since it's just us girls in the lodge tonight,” Ruby chimed in, “we thought a hen party might be fun. How about joining us?”

Mattie smelled something tantalizing. She turned in her chair, ready to insist that she was in no mood for a party. “Oh!” she blurted. “You're all ready for bed, and it's not even six o'clock.”

“
Jah
, it's the sort of night to just get comfy and cozy,” Beulah said. She was holding a small plate with a ball of goat cheese on it, smiling at Mattie. Her silvery hair cascaded over one shoulder and pooled in her lap as she sat on the edge of the bed in her flannel nightgown.

“And what better time to eat goodies instead of healthy stuff like veggies?” Rosetta asked with a giggle. She set a warm crockery bowl in Mattie's lap. “I can't recall the last time I made chocolate gravy, so I thought I'd refresh our memories about how delicious it is!”

“And we can spoon that chocolate gravy over these pumpkin muffins,” Laura suggested as she sat cross-legged on the rug. “I made them for tomorrow's breakfast, but why wait until then when they're warm now?”

“Or we could dip stuff in that chocolate gravy,” Phoebe said as she passed a plate of apple slices and cheese chunks under Mattie's nose.

“And we've got a plate of Deborah's cookies, too,” Christine said as she pulled an armchair beside Mattie's rocker. “But mainly, we have each other, Sister. We couldn't just leave you all by your lonesome after Rosetta told us what Amos said. We're all in this together, Mattie.”

Mattie blinked rapidly. “I'm not very
gut
company tonight, so—”

“Phooey on that! We all love you no matter what, Aunt Mattie,” Laura insisted. “And besides, this is a lot more fun than dirtying up dishes and pans and having to clean up the kitchen after we eat. We brought paper plates—”

“And Happy Birthday napkins,” Rosetta said as she took a plate and a napkin and passed the stacks around. “Because no matter what Amos did, you'll be having a birthday on Saturday. We all want to celebrate the day you were born, because if you hadn't been—why, we wouldn't be at Promise Lodge!”

“I can't imagine my life without you, Mattie,” Christine added. “You've always been the starter-upper, the sister with the best ideas.”

“When Beulah and I first arrived and saw how much garden you'd already planted and heard your plans for this place, we knew this was where we belonged, too,” Ruby insisted with a nod. “So don't go thinking your ideas and your efforts don't matter, Mattie, just because Amos is feeling down on himself.”

“We also figured we could set up a schedule so the rest of us gals can take turns looking in on Amos—or not, if he gets cranky with us,” Beulah suggested. “If he wants to stew in his own juice, maybe that's the best way to handle him. I suspect Amos has gotten so accustomed to all you've done for him, Mattie, that he has no idea how fast his house and clothes will get smelly without somebody looking after him.”

Mattie didn't know what to think. Her sisters, her nieces, and the two Kuhns were all clad in their flannelette nighties with their hair down, passing around the food they'd brought—for a pajama party like she'd had with her sisters and the neighbor girls when they were young. She still didn't think she was hungry, but she split a warm pumpkin muffin on her paper plate and spooned a generous amount of chocolate gravy over it. “It would be very thoughtful of you to look in on Amos,” she murmured. “He's quite capable of doing laundry and keeping his house picked up—but that was before he was in a wheelchair. I don't know what's come over him. He seems to have lost all faith in ever recuperating.”

“He's depressed and disappointed,” Rosetta said as she took a gingerbread cookie from the plate. “He was expecting the doctor to know what's wrong with his legs—like any of us would. Truman told me he and Eli offered to build a ramp up to Amos's porch so he could come and go on his own once he's allowed outside, but Amos wanted no part of that, either.”

“Amos is used to being up and around, busy at building things,” Christine put in. She took a few slices of apple and cheese and passed the plate to Mattie. “He doesn't like to feel useless, and if he peeked out from behind his curtains, I imagine it really bothered him to watch the other fellows putting the roof on Roman's house without his help.”