Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  The air was redolent with aromas of chicken baked with stuffing, creamed celery, fresh bread, and mashed potatoes—traditional wedding dishes—as well as many other favorites, including the baked venison roast Amos had requested and the corn casserole Mattie had always adored. Fruit salad and slaw rounded out the menu. The Kuhn sisters had outdone themselves making a tall white wedding cake with the newlyweds’ names on it, which sat proudly at the eck—the corner table where the wedding party was gathering before they filled their plates. The cake they’d frozen after Amos had fallen during their engagement party graced the dessert table, along with dozens of pies and bars. Christine’s daughters, Laura and Phoebe, stood behind the table to cut and plate slices of pie, while Marlin Kurtz’s daughter-in-law, Minerva, was arranging the bars on platters.

  “Bishop Monroe says we can eat first!” Lavern Peterscheim crowed as he and Lowell Kurtz burst into the dining room. “We’re starving!”

  Minerva gazed purposefully at the boys. On ordinary weekdays she was their schoolteacher, so she was adept at dealing with them. “You know that members of the wedding party are the first to fill their plates,” she reminded them. “They won’t be doing that until all the food’s been set out, so cool your heels, gentlemen.”

  “But the side-sitters are all busy,” Lowell protested as he watched Truman set the large metal pan of creamed celery on the serving table.

  “Shall I find you fellows a job?” Minerva countered. “You could help fill the water glasses.”

  With loud sighs, Lavern and Lowell went over to where Amos and Mattie were talking with Amos’s son. “Bishop Monroe said we could go first,” one of them murmured—and Preacher Amos heard his plea.

  “Tell you what, fellows,” Amos said as he reached across the table to shake their hands. “This isn’t like a wedding where it’s two young people getting married, and we older folks are liable to chatter all day while you boys wither away. When Truman says everything’s ready, you can load your plates.”

  Rosetta chuckled when a couple other boys slipped into the dining room to await Truman’s signal, as well. Including Truman’s mother and some longtime friends from their former home in Coldstream, nearly seventy people were present for this happy occasion—and everyone could be seated for dinner at the same time. Rosetta was pleased that her lodge building could be the center of social life at Promise Lodge, because its meeting room and dining room—and its commercial-sized kitchen—made it much easier to accommodate everyone at special gatherings.

  “Come on in, folks,” Truman called out over the men’s conversations. “Soon as our cooks join us, we’ll be ready to eat this fabulous feast!”

  A few moments later, the women brightened the room with their warm smiles and lively chatter. When Truman handed a plate to Lowell Kurtz, the boys rushed over to start the buffet line. Amos and Mattie followed them, and Rosetta waved Christine and Bishop Monroe toward the line before joining Truman and Amos’s son.

  “Might be an advantage to being in the wedding party,” Allen Troyer remarked as he gazed at the food on the serving table. At twenty-three, he was taller than his dat and wore his black hair a little longer then most Amish fellows. “A crowd like this can go through a lot of food.”

  “Never fear,” said Rosetta. “Ruby and Beulah have more of everything ready to serve. From the amount of food I saw this morning, we’ll probably be eating leftovers for days after the guests leave.”

  “I hope I’m invited to help you get rid of those leftovers,” Truman hinted as he picked up a plate and his silverware.

  Rosetta’s stomach fluttered when he held her gaze with his soulful hazel eyes. “Don’t wait for an invitation, dear,” she murmured. “You’re welcome here any time you care to come.”

  “Ooh—sounds like there might be another wedding soon,” Allen teased as he followed them through the line.

  “Might be,” Truman affirmed, and he didn’t miss a beat tossing the topic back at Allen. “How about you? Got a special girl in Indiana you’re bringing back with you?”

  Allen laughed. “Haven’t felt the need for any such entanglements,” he replied breezily. “The bachelor life has its advantages—”

  “But if you change your mind,” Rosetta interrupted, “you’ve known Laura and Phoebe Hershberger all your life. Gloria Lehman’s single, as well.”

  “You sound like Mattie, trying to match me up,” Allen protested. “From what Dat’s told me, I’ll have plenty to keep me busy when I move here, what with building houses for my sisters, as well as the Helmuth Nursery buildings and Bishop Monroe’s house and barns. No time to fiddle-faddle around with the women.”

  Rosetta took a big scoop of mashed potatoes and a large portion of the chicken and stuffing, then spooned creamed celery over everything. The ladies in the kitchen had been speculating about Allen, too, and it was no secret that Gloria Lehman had her eye on him. As Rosetta recalled the way Gloria had gone all out to win Roman Schwartz’s heart—until he’d proposed to her younger sister, Mary Kate—she had a feeling Allen would receive a lot more attention than he anticipated.

  She wondered if Amos’s son was staying single because he hadn’t felt compelled to join the Amish church, but it was a topic she didn’t feel comfortable asking him about in the presence of all these people. Rosetta was pleased that Barb and Bernice had talked Allen into moving here with them. Younger folks were the key to Promise Lodge’s growth.

  When she sat down at the eck table beside Truman, the light in his eyes made her hold her breath.

  “Honey-girl, if your new bishop allows us to marry, when do you want to tie the knot?” he murmured as he grasped her hand. “I fell head over heels for you the moment I met you last summer, making dinner in that big kitchen—”

  “Jah, the way to a man’s heart has always been through his stomach,” Rosetta teased. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she suddenly felt like a tongue-tied teenager. It still surprised her, the way Truman made much of her and waxed so romantic, considering he was somewhat younger than she was.

  Truman smiled. “I have no fears of going hungry after we marry,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her hand. “But my clock’s ticking. I’m thirty and I want a family—I can’t wait to watch you grow big with our children, Rosetta.”

  Rosetta held her breath. She, too, had dreamed of mothering a large family, but the years after losing her first fiancé and then caring for her aging parents had slipped by. Even though God granted children to women who were older than she, at thirty-seven, Rosetta was concerned about getting such a late start. “My clock’s ticking, too,” she murmured. “I—I hope I’ll be able to have healthy, normal babies—”

  Truman squeezed Rosetta’s hand, gazing at her until her worries disappeared. “We’ll do our best,” he stated. He smiled playfully. “Maybe we should slip away and start practicing right now—and keep at it until we get it right.”

  Rosetta felt her face flushing. Truman’s way of making her feel desirable was only one of the reasons she loved him. “We’d better speak with Monroe soon,” she teased. “And, gee, since the tables are already set up for a crowd—and we’ll still have lots of food—maybe he’d marry us tomorrow.”

  Truman picked up his fork. “That would suit me fine, time-wise, but you deserve better than someone else’s leftovers, Rosetta. We should have our own special day. Soon.”

  She gazed at her loaded plate, blinking back happy tears. Truman’s gentle voice and his way with words had always made her feel especially blessed. Although Rosetta loved living in the lodge and renting apartments to single Plain women, she suddenly knew that for Truman, she would leave that life to live in his home up the hill. “I love you, Truman,” Rosetta whispered as she dipped her fork into her mashed potatoes.

  “I know,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I love you more with each passing day, pretty girl. My heart’s in your hands.”

  Rosetta’s heart swelled. She’d prayed about it often, and there was no
way around it—she loved Truman so much she would leave the Old Order and become a Mennonite if Bishop Monroe refused to marry them. For Truman alone she would endure whatever separation and censure the folks of Promise Lodge dished out if she left her lifelong religion behind.

  “You’re looking awfully serious, considering we’re at a party, Rosetta.”

  Rosetta smiled at Mattie, who sat on her other side, and she realized her fears were unfounded: her sisters and the new friends who’d come to live here all adored Truman. The strictest Amish settlements believed that if a member left the Old Order to marry a Mennonite, the deserter would lose all chance of the Lord’s salvation—and that family members should no longer associate with them.

  But Rosetta knew her sisters would never shut her out. She and Mattie and Christine had sold their farms to buy Promise Lodge, to start a colony where spousal abuse wasn’t tolerated and peace was part of the promise of living here.

  Rosetta smiled as she slipped an arm around Mattie’s shoulders. “It’s the best party ever, too, seeing you and Amos together at last,” she said. “Never fear, sister. I may look serious, but I’m planning for happiness in a big way—and it’ll happen soon!”

  Chapter Three

  Christine couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so happy. Even though she and Monroe were seated at the end of the eck table with the wedding party—on display for all of the other guests—she forgot about being nervous when the handsome bishop smiled at her as though she were the only person in the room.

  “What say we slip away for a while?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Those slices of pie are tempting—but not nearly as tempting as the chance to spend some time with you when folks aren’t gawking at us.”

  Christine smiled. “Jah, I can tell that our friends who came from Coldstream—where we used to live—are curious about you and me being . . . together.”

  Monroe’s eyes sparkled. “Well, if they’re gossiping about us, they’re giving somebody else a rest,” he joked. He focused intently on her. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Give me a few minutes, and then wait for me out on the porch, okay? You’ll want your coat and boots.”

  Her eyes widened. Before she could quiz him about his plans, Monroe excused himself by congratulating Amos and Mattie again before exiting the crowded dining room. As he slipped out through the kitchen, Mattie leaned forward to look past Amos and down the table at Christine.

  “What’s Monroe up to?” she asked. “He hasn’t had his pie yet.”

  Christine shrugged, wondering if her smile appeared as giddy as she felt. “He says he has a surprise for me.”

  Preacher Amos let out a laugh. “Jah, I know a little bit about that, too, but my lips are sealed. Behave yourself, Christine,” he said, playfully wagging his finger at her. “You’re the mother of two young women who’ll model their behavior after yours.”

  “I hope they do!” Mattie blurted. “Laura and Phoebe couldn’t follow a finer example.”

  “Have a gut time, Christine!” Rosetta rose from her chair and walked behind their table, placing her hands on Christine’s shoulders. “You’re due for some love and laughter—and meanwhile, I’ll save you back some pie. What kind do you want?”

  Christine glanced toward the pie table, where a few of their guests were gathering to choose their desserts. “Rhubarb—and I want a slice of that chocolate cake we didn’t get to eat at Mattie’s engagement party, too.”

  “And for Monroe?”

  Christine looked up into her younger sister’s glowing face. “I have no idea.”

  “I say that any man who leaves before dessert should have to settle for whatever’s left,” Amos teased as he stood up. “But really, how could you choose the wrong pie for him? Monroe impresses me as a man who would enjoy whatever kind you gave him—and he’d be too polite to complain if he didn’t.”

  “That’s probably right,” Christine murmured. There was a bit of an edge underlying Amos’s remarks, but she didn’t feel like challenging the preacher on his wedding day. “If you save back a piece of pecan and a piece of lemon meringue—and some of that chocolate cake—that should keep him from fainting away with hunger. Denki for thinking of us, Rosetta.”

  Her sister leaned down to hug her. “Anything for you, Christine. Go have a gut time.”

  Was it her imagination, or did everyone in the dining room watch her leave? Christine hurried through the kitchen and up the back stairway to her apartment to fetch her wraps. She buttoned her black coat and tied her black bonnet over her kapp, unable to stop smiling. Monroe’s secret felt like such an adventure! Her apartment was on the back of the lodge, so before she went downstairs she stepped into Rosetta’s apartment, because the large windows looked out over the snow-covered garden plots and Roman and Noah’s new houses, as well as Amos’s place—

  Christine squealed. Monroe was leading his Clydesdale out of Amos’s stable, and he’d hitched up the preacher’s wonderful old sleigh!

  She hurried down the back stairs and into the mudroom to put on her boots. Ruby and Beulah Kuhn turned from the oven, where they were removing more food, to smile at her.

  “Looks like somebody’s mighty excited,” Ruby remarked.

  “Who wouldn’t be excited about Monroe Burkholder?” Beulah said with a laugh. “Why, for him, I’d almost join the Old Order Amish church and give up being a willful, opinionated maidel. Almost.”

  Christine laughed along with them as she pulled her boots over her shoes. The two sixty-something Mennonite sisters had livened up the days at Promise Lodge ever since they’d left their brother’s home last summer to pursue life on their own terms. “The way Monroe raves about your cooking, Beulah, he’d probably take you up on your offer—”

  “Almost!” Ruby teased, elbowing her older sister. “I think you have first dibs, Christine. Go for it—and then tell us all the juicy details when you get back!”

  “My ears are burning already,” Beulah put in as she carried a blue enamel roaster to the worktable. “Must be something about this place that turns on the romance. Mattie’s married Amos, and Rosetta’s found Truman, and now you’re catching Monroe’s eye—not even two weeks after he came.”

  As Beulah opened the roaster, fragrant steam filled the kitchen with the aroma of another venison roast cooked with onions and vegetables. “You sisters should advertise Promise Lodge as a place for folks who’re looking to get hitched,” she added with a chuckle.

  “Speak for yourself, sister,” Ruby teased. She smoothed the white apron that covered her magenta and pink floral-patterned dress. “At my age, I don’t have time to train a man. And what would I do with a husband if I had one?”

  “I don’t want to know,” Beulah shot back. “If you’ll bring in that big platter on the serving table, I’ll put out this roast. The first one disappeared before I had a chance to eat any of it. These folks are tucking away a lot of food!”

  Christine squeezed Beulah’s shoulder as she passed through the kitchen. “Denki for such a wonderful meal, ladies. It made Amos and Mattie’s day even more special.”

  She hurried through the lodge’s lobby before anyone else could stop her to talk. When she opened the front door, Monroe was smiling at her from the sleigh he’d pulled up to the porch stairs. Queenie, Noah’s Border collie, yipped and whirled in a circle a few feet away—until the bishop silenced her by pointing his finger. “Sorry, girl, this isn’t your date,” he said.

  The black-and-white dog sat down in the snow, alertly watching the bishop and his huge horse.

  Christine was impressed that Monroe had so quickly—and kindly—put Noah’s dog in her place. The last thing she wanted was for Queenie to chase after the sleigh barking and calling attention to them. She inhaled the crisp January air. The early-afternoon sun made the snow-covered lawn sparkle—but it was nothing compared to the expression on the handsome bishop’s face.

  “Going my way?” he asked as he stepped over to help her down the stairs. “Amos
was a real sport, letting me borrow this fine old sleigh. Never met a lady yet who didn’t enjoy cuddling under the blankets and gliding over the snow.”

  Christine hoped her response would be rational. The way Monroe held her hand between his was wreaking havoc on her mind. She felt sixteen again, bedazzled by the chance to ride beside such a fetching man. “Jah, as I recall, Truman has given Rosetta a nice ride—and Roman Schwartz has driven Mary Kate Lehman around the grounds in it, as well.”

  When she’d settled on the cushioned seat and Monroe got in beside her, he held her gaze for a long moment. “Only one rule about this ride, Christine,” he murmured. “What happens in the sleigh stays in the sleigh, all right?”

  Her eyes widened. What on earth did he intend to do, if it had to remain such a secret?

  Monroe tucked a couple of old quilts around them. “Geddap, Clyde,” he said. The sleigh lurched, and then the enormous Clydesdale settled into an easy trot, making the harness bells jingle merrily as they turned onto the main road.

  When he looked at Christine, his eyebrows rose. “Did I say something wrong? Or did I cross the line with my teasing?” he asked softly. “Truth be told, I’m feeling like a clueless kid taking his first girl home from a Singing.”

  Christine laughed—and relaxed. “I—I’m feeling the same way. I wasn’t sure what you meant by—”

  “Everyone at Promise Lodge doesn’t have to know every little thing you and I do or say, that’s all.” When he sighed, the white vapor of his breath flew back in the breeze. “We have your girls to consider, after all. I don’t want to embarrass them, or make them think we’re doing anything improper or—”