Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  At the same time, Truman jogged past them, followed by Allen, the redheaded Helmuth twins, and their cousins. Roman and Noah were close behind them. “Hey! Hold on there!” Truman hollered as he ran. The other folks who’d been at the grave were coming down the plowed path now, curious about what was causing the ruckus. Monroe, Amos, and Marlin jogged quickly around the crowd in an effort to catch up to the younger fellows—just as the loud buzz of a saw started up again.

  “I’m not liking this one bit,” Mattie muttered as she took off. “I’m going to make sure my produce stand is all right—”

  “Wait!” Christine cried, grabbing the sleeve of her sister’s black coat. “Truman’s reached the road, and Amos and Monroe will be sure nothing else goes wrong. It’s probably better if we stay out of their way—”

  “And we should be in the kitchen helping Beulah and Ruby set out the food,” Rosetta pointed out. “Now that folks are leaving the cemetery, they’ll be going inside to eat.”

  Mattie sighed, still frowning doubtfully. “Jah, you’re right,” she admitted. “It’s a gut thing those chainsaws didn’t disrupt Floyd’s funeral service. Who knows what might’ve gone down had our men been inside preaching.”

  The three of them hurried toward the lodge and entered through the mudroom door. The aromas of turkey and seasoned stuffing filled the air. As they hung their coats on wall pegs, Christine called into the kitchen. “The meal smells wonderful-gut, ladies.”

  Beulah opened one of the oven doors. “I’m mighty glad we cooked everything yesterday and put it all in the oven to warm before the funeral,” she said as she lifted the lid from a roaster. “I thought folks would stay longer to speak with Frances and the girls—”

  “Would you look at this!” Ruby huffed as she approached them with a pie. “I just checked to be sure the desserts were all out, and here’s what I found.”

  Rosetta joined Ruby and groaned. “Who would eat the middle of a cherry pie—with a spoon—instead of cutting a piece? My word, all that’s left is a couple of inches along the outer crust!”

  Mattie surveyed the damage and pointed silently up the back stairway. “Leola was the only one who stayed here this morning, jah?” she asked softly.

  “This seems like something Leola might do.” Ruby exhaled in frustration. “That’s eight slices of pie we’ve lost.”

  Christine gathered her thoughts quickly. “No sense in crying over spilled milk or a ruined pie,” she reminded them. “Seem to be a lot of strange things happening right now, but we still need to put the Lehman family first. They’ve lost a whole lot more than a pie—”

  “And a lilac bush, and a tree, and maybe a produce stand,” Mattie added sadly. “Jah, we can replace what we’ve lost, while Frances and Lester can’t. After we hear what’s been going on at the road, we’ll figure out what to do. We sisters haven’t come this far by whining and wringing our hands.”

  Ruby managed a smile. “You’ve got that right, Mattie. We’ll have everything set out on the buffet table in due time, and folks’ll be able to relax and enjoy their meal. Even with this many guests, we probably have more than enough dessert to go around.”

  Beulah started back toward the oven and then gawked out the window. “My word, would you look at that!” she said. “Here comes a big truck pulling a building behind it. And Maria’s little red car just whipped around it. Somebody better grab Queenie before she gets hit.”

  Christine and her sisters crowded around the sink to peer outside with the Kuhns just as Maria hopped from her car. Truman, Amos, and Monroe had jogged alongside the truck and were speaking to the driver and the other English fellow who’d been watching the bakery building as it rolled toward its new concrete slab. Noah took hold of his dog’s collar and placed his legs on either side of her as she sat down. When Monroe said something, beckoning toward the crowd that had gathered, a bunch of the men stepped forward.

  “What are they going to do?” Rosetta whispered. “Surely they don’t intend to move the building from the dollies it’s riding on by—”

  “My stars, look at those fellows!” Beulah interrupted. “They’re standing shoulder to shoulder, grabbing hold of the building at the bottom—”

  “And it’s rolling off the dollies—and up off the support beams—and they’re surrounding it to carry it over to the slab,” Ruby whispered excitedly. “Wow!”

  Christine chuckled, relieved that enough men were helping with the small building—and that they’d only had to move it a few yards with their gloved hands. “Those fellows are so strong from doing construction work, they could even move that bakery in their church clothes,” she said with a chuckle.

  When the men carefully lowered the building onto the slab and released it, the crowd broke into applause. Christine and the other ladies began clapping, as well. The truck’s engine roared, and as the second English fellow hopped into the cab, the other folks began walking toward the lodge.

  Christine started filling big pitchers with water. “Here come my girls and Amos’s twins and Minerva,” she said. “We’ll have everything set out in no time.”

  “And maybe we’ll get the rest of the story about what went on with those saws before Truman got to the road,” Mattie said as she grabbed two filled pitchers. “Even if my produce stand is all right, Maria owes us an explanation for that maple tree and the lilac bush coming down.”

  “The arched metal sign must be down, as well,” Rosetta added. “The bakery building was probably too wide to get through it.”

  Christine was grateful that her daughters, along with Barbara, Bernice, and Minerva Kurtz, had arrived so quickly and were removing their wraps. They began pushing wheeled carts holding large platters of sliced turkey and big bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy into the dining room. The guests from Ohio were ushering the Lehmans inside, and after the rest of the folks hung their wraps on racks in the lobby, Monroe and the preachers appeared.

  “Let’s all find seats in the dining room and we’ll have our prayer before the Lehmans lead us through the buffet line,” Monroe said above the chatter. He entered the kitchen then, just as Mattie and Christine were loading other wheeled carts with baskets of bread.

  “Let’s wait until after the meal to quiz Maria about what happened out at the road,” he suggested in a low voice. “No reason to let our guests hear all the details, because she has some pretty tall explaining to do.”

  Mattie’s eyes widened. “Is my produce stand all right?”

  Monroe squeezed her shoulder. “Amos already has a plan for fixing it. Truman and the Helmuth twins have agreed to cut up that maple tree and get it out of the ditch,” he continued. “And Noah sees this incident as a gut reason to make us a taller, wider metal sign arching over our entry. We’ll see how much of this damage Maria intends to pay for when we talk with her later.”

  “But no matter what she does or doesn’t pay,” Christine said, “we can be grateful that once again our men have pulled together to make everything right.”

  “Jah, thanks for watching over things out there, Bishop,” Beulah said. She carried a large bowl of cranberry salad in the crook of each arm. “Ruby and I are figuring to make a big batch of cheese tomorrow, so we’re glad that truck driver didn’t hit our little building with Maria’s.”

  Monroe’s smile hinted that he knew things he wasn’t telling. “Happy to help, ladies. Denki once again for preparing a wonderful meal. The turkey and sides remind us of Thanksgiving—and that we’re thankful the Lehmans are staying, despite the loss of their loved ones.”

  * * *

  That evening after a simple supper, the folks who’d come from Sugarcreek retired to their cabins, the rooms upstairs in the lodge, and the homes some of them were visiting so they’d be ready to leave in their motor coach before dawn. Rosetta checked to see that her guests had plenty of towels and soap and was gratified by their appreciation for the simply furnished cabins and rooms. “We’ll have biscuit sandwiches and muffins ready for you
r breakfast,” she told them. “It was so kind of you to come all this way for Floyd’s funeral.”

  After she said good night to the guests in her cabins, Rosetta made her way around the U-shaped upstairs hallway of the lodge. When she reached Leola’s room, she tapped lightly on the door. After a few moments, she peeked inside to see the young woman sprawled in her armchair looking miserable. Crumpled tissues littered the floor and a plate of food sat untouched on the end table.

  “Leola, are you all right?” Rosetta asked warily. “You look like you feel worse than you did this morning.”

  Leola groaned and hugged her middle. “Got a bad stomach now. Maybe I’m getting the flu.”

  Rosetta bit back a remark about how much cherry pie Leola had eaten. “Would you like some ginger ale?”

  The young woman rose from the chair, shaking her head. “Gonna go to bed. Don’t let anybody wake me up.”

  Rosetta closed Leola’s door and headed down the hall to the back stairway. She had a hunch that Monroe and Amos were ready to discuss the day’s damage with Maria, and she didn’t want to miss a word. When she reached the kitchen, Christine’s girls were helping Beulah and Ruby bake muffins and biscuits. Phoebe pressed a finger to her lips, nodding toward the dining room, where folks were talking.

  “It was awfully nice of you men to position my bakery on its slab today,” Maria said in a lilting voice. “What a sight, when you all lifted the building off that big dolly as though it didn’t weigh anything! And after the funeral meal, Truman sealed the edge where my building meets the concrete and Allen hooked up my water and electricity. I can be baking early tomorrow morning!”

  Rosetta slipped into the nearest empty chair at the long table where Bishop Monroe and the three preachers sat, along with Maria, Mattie, and Christine. Truman was there, too . . . and although Rosetta wondered why he hadn’t said anything to her during the funeral meal about helping with Maria’s building, she returned his quick smile.

  “Maria, we’re wondering why the fellows who moved your building took down a tree and a big lilac bush—as well as sawing off the posts of our metal Promise Lodge sign,” Bishop Monroe said. He sat back against his chair, apparently relaxed, but his tone of voice made it clear that he wasn’t happy.

  Maria’s eyes widened. “Well—because the bakery wouldn’t go through the opening—”

  “What we’re really saying is that you or your drivers should’ve spoken to us first,” Amos interrupted sternly. “I’m amazed the tree didn’t fall on the power line along the road—but it did take off one side of Mattie’s produce stand.”

  Maria sighed. “Yeah, Bobby Ray should’ve been more careful.”

  Mattie frowned, but before she could speak up, Preacher Marlin responded.

  “Careful doesn’t cover it,” he put in, gazing earnestly at the blonde across the table from him. “Moving a building is a huge undertaking that involves getting permissions all along the route beforehand, to be sure landowners understand what has to be moved out of the way,” he explained. “Not only did we lose a tree and a bush, our sign was also ruined, and Mattie’s building was damaged—and nobody offered to pay for those things or replace them. Had we been properly informed, we would’ve taken care of those obstacles ourselves.”

  The room got so quiet that Rosetta heard the gentle click of muffin tins going into the oven. She chided herself for enjoying the way Maria shifted nervously in her chair. You know how scary it feels when you’ve been wrong and folks are holding you responsible for your mistakes.

  The men were right, though: the responsibility for damage fell on the men who’d moved the building. Maria probably hadn’t thought a thing about trees and signs having to come down—but her movers were long gone, so the consequences were hers to bear.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Maria whispered, looking to Truman for help. “I didn’t know about this stuff. I hired Bobby Ray and Darrell, figuring they’d do everything right.”

  Truman cleared his throat. “They surely carry insurance for incidents like these,” he suggested. “You should check their contract—their customer care agreement—to see what they might cover.”

  Maria’s face was turning bright pink. “I don’t have a contract. I’ve known those guys for years,” she murmured—and then she sat up straighter. “But how would you figure what an old tree and an old lilac bush would be worth, anyway?” she challenged. “And the metal sign could be put up again—and it needs paint, so what’s the big deal?”

  Rosetta’s eyebrows rose at Maria’s attitude. Before she and Mattie could object, Monroe jumped in.

  “No, Maria, the sign’s posts were sawed off at the ground, so there’s not enough post left to put it up again,” he said. “If you or your movers had told us ahead of time about these objects being in the way—even if they’d asked us right before they did their cutting—we would’ve helped them remove these obstacles. As it stands, our property was damaged and we’re left to clear away the mess and make repairs.”

  Once again Maria sighed forlornly. “They tried wiggling the sign so they could pull it out, but they couldn’t move it. And if you folks are expecting me to pay for the damages, well . . . I don’t have the money,” she whimpered. “Bobby Ray charged me more than he originally said, because they had to take down the stuff you’ve mentioned. I wrote him a check that cleaned out my account.”

  Rosetta felt a little sorry that Maria’s friends had handled this move so unprofessionally. Plenty of times she’d hired Plain folks with just a nod of her head and a handshake, but they’d always followed a code of honor and made good on their promises. She now realized that her newest renter might not be very smart about money.

  “We learn some hard lessons as we establish ourselves,” Christine said softly. She glanced at Rosetta as she kept talking to Maria. “If you ever realize you’re going to be short come time to pay your rent, you should say something to Rosetta rather than writing a bad check—or thinking you can let it slide. Do you understand why?”

  Maria looked away, still upset. “Sure, that’s only fair,” she mumbled. “After all, my customers pay me the moment they’ve chosen their bread and doughnuts. I only hope I sell enough stuff here to . . . to pay my bills.”

  “You’ll do fine, Maria,” Truman assured her. “Come spring and summer, you’ll have all the customers who come to Mattie’s produce stand and the Kuhns’ cheese factory. You made the right move.”

  Rosetta considered what Truman had said. Was he trying to restore Maria’s confidence? Or did he figure to float her a loan whenever she ran short—or perhaps buy all the goodies she baked? Once again a worm of suspicion squirmed in her stomach, and Rosetta wished this conversation would come to an end. How many times, in how many ways, did they have to point out to Maria that she and her mover friends hadn’t accepted their responsibilities? She hadn’t heard Maria offer any reparations, either.

  “It’s been a long day and we have a very early morning, feeding our guests before they return to Sugarcreek,” Rosetta said as she rose from her chair. She nodded at Maria. “In case you leave before we’re up, have a gut first day in your new location.”

  Maria looked imploringly at Rosetta, and then at the others around the table. “I’ll make gut on all the damage that was done today,” she said in a quavering voice. “Please give me a chance! If nothing else, I’ll do all your baking to make up for any shortfall in my rent.”

  Mattie and Christine stood up and pushed their chairs under the table. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Christine said kindly. “As I recall, you paid your rent on March first, so you’re gut for another week and half, until April. You’ll sell a lot of rolls and doughnuts by then.”

  Maria’s face brightened. “I appreciate you ladies’ positive thinking. You’re making me feel as if anything’s possible here at Promise Lodge.”

  Rosetta was making her way through the kitchen, and as she stopped to admire the tins of blueberry and banana muffins cooling on the
counter, she heard giggling behind her. When she turned, Phoebe was planting herself against a counter, pulling Laura over beside her—as though to keep Rosetta from seeing something. Ruby and Beulah were trying to act as though they knew nothing, but their girlish grins gave them away.

  Mattie and Christine shared a loaded look. “Isn’t it nice that we have such dedicated ladies in our kitchen?” Mattie asked purposefully. “Denki for the fine funeral lunch today, and for baking such wonderful-gut muffins and, um, other goodies for us to enjoy.”

  “Our pleasure,” Beulah said. “You sisters make our lives so much fun, we’re happy to cook for you. We have been awfully busy in this kitchen lately.”

  “All for a gut cause,” Ruby put in. She smiled brightly at Rosetta. “Get your rest tonight, dearie. Tomorrow promises to be another big day.”

  As she climbed the back stairs to her apartment, Rosetta smiled in spite of the troubles they’d been discussing and the fact that they’d buried Floyd today. Could it be that her nieces and the Kuhns were preparing a surprise for her March twenty-second birthday? She lit her lamp, donned her nightgown, and pulled out her hairpins. As she stood at the window brushing the long brown hair that hung below her hips, she gazed out into the clear night.

  Moonlight glistened on the snow that blanketed the lawns and the orchard . . . and the Wickeys’ lawn up the hill. The glow in Truman’s bedroom window made Rosetta sigh. When he’d eaten with her after the funeral, he’d remained very quiet. Was it because of the somber occasion, or was he losing interest in her? Truman seemed to be at pretty Maria’s beck and call—always encouraging her. Was it because he had special feelings for her?

  Or are my sisters right, saying that Truman’s infatuation with Maria is a big overblown figment of my imagination?

  Rosetta climbed into bed. She would be thirty-eight tomorrow, and more than anything she hoped she wasn’t destined to grow dry and crusty . . . like a stale, unclaimed loaf of bread on Maria’s bakery shelf.